ieMIDDLE 
 COURSE 
 
 Mrs. POULTNEY BIGELOW
 
 jf-6
 
 I 
 
 " 'Have you ever studied palmistry?' asked Althea."
 
 The 
 Middle Course 
 
 BY 
 MRS. POULTNEY BIGELOW 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY C. B. CURRIER 
 
 19O3 
 
 The Smart Set Publishing Co. 
 
 NEW YORK LONDON
 
 THE MIDDLE COURSE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 MARITAL MATTERS 
 
 MANY dramas, both tragedies and com- 
 edies, begin at a dinner table, though they 
 seldom end there, unless one of the princi- 
 pal actors be choked by a fish-bone or die 
 of a " surfeit," like one of England's early 
 kings. 
 
 There was, however, no hint of anything 
 dramatic at the hospitable board of Mrs. 
 Bertram Vincent on a certain evening in 
 early June. The light of the candles fell 
 pinkly on eight well-contented, gently- 
 
 2134275
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 pleased faces ; four women and four men 
 sat eating an exquisite meal and absorbing 
 unconsciously the beauty of the scarlet and 
 pink Shirley poppies, of the convolutions of 
 rosy silk and of the unique pieces of silver 
 that enhanced the purity of their spotless 
 damask background. It was a gathering 
 very representative of a certain section of 
 London society a most interesting section, 
 some people would say where bohemians 
 have retained certain gay and attractive qual- 
 ities and have added thereto a high degree 
 of moral rectitude and clean shirts. There 
 were, besides the host and hostess, an actor 
 and his wife, an American married couple 
 living in London, a well-known sculptor 
 and a lovely young woman who was, for the 
 first time since her marriage, dining out de- 
 prived of the protection of her adoring hus- 
 band. The last, Mrs. Mellor, was the living 
 incarnation of the smooth, delicately-tinted 
 
 beauties of a Christmas supplement, and to 
 
 16
 
 Marital Matters 
 
 judge from her conversation, had as little 
 mental depth as the supplement has material 
 thickness. 
 
 She found herself not only unprotected 
 by her Charles, who was out of town for a 
 day or two, but next to an actor, and the 
 unusualness of the situation made her heart 
 flutter and her color deepen. But the flutter 
 was that of a mechanical canary bird and 
 the blush was produced by trepidation, not 
 by any pleasurable emotion. 
 
 The actor was thinking that it was easier 
 to play a double role for a hundred consecu- 
 tive nights than to strike a conversational 
 spark from this unpromising material. His 
 only recompense for the attempt was a 
 super-excellent lobster cutlet, which he 
 addressed with more satisfactory results. 
 
 Mrs. Oliver North, the American, sat be- 
 side Clement Moorlake, the sculptor. This 
 was their first meeting, though they had 
 
 many friends in common. Mrs. North had, 
 2 17
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 of course, heard of him very often and had 
 seen several of his statues. She could not 
 help thinking, as she now looked at him, 
 that he was infinitely more interesting than 
 any of his creations. His was the face of a 
 man who has early found that life, lived in 
 its fulness, means suffering. There was 
 nothing, so far, in his conversation or his 
 manner to imply that he had sad or secret 
 memories, yet such was the impression at 
 once produced on the mind of his new ac- 
 quaintance. There was a certain quality in 
 his beauty, his manner, his general bearing 
 which can only be described as romantic. 
 Women were often at once touched by it, 
 and it sometimes led them to expect devel- 
 opments that would justify their estimate, 
 though these expectations were doomed to 
 remain unrealized. 
 
 In thinking of persons who are absent ar d 
 trying to recall their personality, we are apt 
 
 to remember vividly some one salient fea- 
 
 18
 
 Marital Matters 
 
 ture. In after days Althea, when conjuring 
 up Moorlake's face, always saw his eyes. 
 They were very remarkable penetrating 
 yet soft, keen yet kindly, brilliant yet tender. 
 Their color was a dark hazel, which in some 
 lights appeared brown, because of the black- 
 ness of the lashes. For the rest Althea 
 thought that had Romeo lived to conquer 
 his sorrow, he might, at forty, have been 
 externally just such a man as Clement Moor- 
 lake. 
 
 Althea herself was barely thirty. She 
 was a woman who, after eight years of mar- 
 ried life that left much of her nature unsat- 
 isfied, was reaching out always for a consol- 
 ing sympathy, which she seldom found, or 
 found only to reject, because the coarseness 
 of man's nature is prone to misinterpret 
 such spiritual yearnings. Such a woman is 
 dangerous often to others and always to 
 herself. 
 
 Moorlake already found her charming. 
 19
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 He who created only in colorless stone could 
 nevertheless appreciate the tinted whiteness 
 of arms and shoulders that he would not 
 have disdained to model. 
 
 Conversation just then was of the placid 
 and agreeable kind that promotes digestion. 
 No agitating party questions were ever al- 
 lowed at the Vincent table. The Vincents 
 did not " go in " for politics, though they 
 had intimate friends on both sides. Vin- 
 cent was a violent Radical, he always said, 
 yet no one could associate this characteriza- 
 tion with his benign expression and slow, 
 lazy utterance. 
 
 " Not only are Vincent's dinners irre- 
 proachable," a well-known diner-out had 
 once said, " but they always agree with me, 
 because they are accompanied by the sauce 
 of good humor." 
 
 In a pause of the general conversation Mrs. 
 Vincent's voice was heard. 
 
 " I learned such a good definition of * 
 20
 
 Marital Matters 
 
 wife the other day," she said. " Effie Nixon 
 said, in her sharp way : ' I don't want to 
 marry ! What is a wife, anyway ? Only an 
 upper servant engaged by the lifetime with- 
 out wages.' ' 
 
 North laughed a little. 
 
 "Are you sure," said he, "that it was 
 not my wife who said that ? I believe that's 
 her view." 
 
 Moorlake glanced at Althea. Her lips 
 compressed slightly. 
 
 " Do you remember," said Banfrey, the 
 actor, eager to divert the conversation, " a 
 pretty little American woman named Es- 
 cott ?" He addressed Mrs. Vincent more 
 particularly. 
 
 " Yes," answered that lady. " A gay, 
 pleasant creature. What about her ? " 
 
 " Since she has returned home her hus- 
 band is suing a man in New York for alien- 
 ating her affections. The man has had to 
 
 mortgage his house in order to pay." 
 21
 
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 " What a revolting thing ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. North, " to put a money value on a 
 woman's affections." 
 
 " Far better," said North, sharply, " to put 
 a bullet into the man." 
 
 14 My dear Oliver," protested Vincent, 
 lazily, " how drastic ! " 
 
 11 In my opinion that is the only way to 
 deal with such a scoundrel," answered 
 North, quite seriously. 
 
 Althea's cheek burned. She turned to 
 Moorlake. " Isn't that an awful idea," she 
 said, " to guard a woman's faith with a re- 
 volver ? " 
 
 " Unnecessarily stern, perhaps," he said, 
 smiling. "There are pleasanter ways of 
 keeping a wife's love." 
 
 Althea looked straight at her husband. 
 
 " What if Mrs. Escott wanted to have her 
 affections alienated ? " she demanded, with 
 more earnestness than the occasion seemed 
 
 to warrant. 
 
 22
 
 Marital Matters 
 
 " Then she ought to be shot, too," said 
 North, imperturbably. 
 
 Mrs Mellor looked pained. 
 
 " What a horrid subject ! " she murmured 
 to Banfrey, without, however, expecting his 
 sympathy. She had a fixed idea that all 
 actors are immoral. 
 
 The Vincents regarded Mrs. North with 
 interest. 
 
 " Let us have your opinion, dear lady," 
 said Bertram. " It is sure to be worth hear- 
 ing." 
 
 Althea's cheeks were very red, and she 
 held her head very high. 
 
 " I think," she said, deliberately, " that the 
 only man who is answerable for alienating a 
 married woman's affections is her own hus- 
 band." 
 
 There was an uncomfortable silence. 
 
 " That is a dark saying," observed Vincent, 
 presently, " but I suppose it means some- 
 thing." 
 
 23
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " I see ! " said Mrs. Banfrey. " It means 
 that you can't pour water into a full 
 jug ! " 
 
 " A full jug meaning a heart full of love," 
 said Mrs. Vincent. " I understand. Wo- 
 men can love only one man at a time, and 
 the husband has only to see that he is that 
 man." 
 
 " You have been happy in choosing your 
 women friends," said Banfrey, cynically, "if 
 that's the only kind you know." 
 
 " Oh, actors see the seamy side," said 
 Nellie Vincent, lightly. " No one minds 
 what they say." 
 
 " I wish Charlie were here ! " murmured 
 the bride to herself. 
 
 North looked very angry. 
 
 " Why did you start all this ?" he asked of 
 his wife, with an absence of courtesy which 
 made Moorlake indignant. 
 
 " As a warning to husbands ! " said Althea, 
 
 with an attempt at lightness. 
 
 24
 
 Marital Matters 
 
 North turned to his neighbor with some 
 rather irrelevant remark. 
 
 Under cover of the general conversation 
 that now began Althea spoke to Moorlake. 
 
 ' ' You understand what I mean, don't you ? t; 
 she asked, almost appealingly. 
 
 " I think I do ; and I quite agree with you," 
 he answered. 
 
 Just then Mrs. Vincent made a sign to 
 Mrs. Banfrey, and the women left the room.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE PICTURE 
 
 " COME upstairs to the studio," said the 
 hostess. " I want you to see Bertie's pic- 
 ture. I like it amazingly, though perhaps 
 I'm rather prejudiced." She laughed light- 
 ly as she stood on the shallow step, waiting 
 for her friends to precede her. 
 
 " You know I gave him the subject," said 
 Mrs. North. 
 
 " I know you did ; it's a good idea, and 
 one that wouldn't have occurred to Bertie. 
 He isn't given to ghostly things." 
 
 The studio was a room about thirty feet 
 square, in which Vincent painted, composed, 
 etched, sang, and did a few other things. 
 He considered himself only an amateur at 
 
 these various pursuits, for he asserted that 
 
 27
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 no man can espouse any one art if he co- 
 quette with all the others. 
 
 " Don't show the picture till Mr. Vincent 
 comes up," said Mrs. Mellor, with timid 
 sweetness. 
 
 " Very well," said Mrs. Vincent, and as 
 she spoke she deftly wheeled the easel round 
 so that the picture was hidden. 
 
 " Now, my dear, come and sit by me. I 
 haven't seen you for a blue moon," and she 
 took Althea's hand, leading her to a small 
 sofa. 
 
 The other two women, forced into friendly 
 relations by this manceuver, sat down beside 
 a fire of vari-colored driftwood. 
 
 The appearance of coffee and liqueurs 
 put the finishing touch to the sense of well- 
 being which should belong to the after- 
 dinner hour. 
 
 " Tell me, Althea," pursued Nellie Vincent, 
 11 why so severe on husbands ? Has Oliver 
 
 been alienating your affections ? " 
 
 28
 
 The Picture 
 
 " He has been ... as usual." 
 
 " No lucid intervals ? " 
 
 " Short very short. I am desperate ! If 
 it were not for the child I should leave it all." 
 
 " Ah, the child ! Children are the rivets 
 in the matrimonial chain. They hold the 
 wretched parents together. I thought you 
 very bitter at dinner. I saw the beloved 
 Moorlake look at you with interest. By the 
 way, did he impress you ? " 
 
 " Of course. He must impress everyone." 
 
 " But not always pleasantly. Some people 
 hate him." 
 
 " No doubt vain women and unattractive 
 men. He would make both feel uncomfort- 
 able." 
 
 " You know that coarse creature, Winter- 
 ham ? He calls Moorlake all sorts of names. 
 He says he's a prig looks like ' something 
 sugar-coated made up by the chemist.' " 
 
 " Tell him I wish he would give me the 
 
 address of that chemist ! " 
 
 29
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " Althea, you alarm me ! " 
 
 " No, my dear, you need not be afraid. 
 Where have you kept this rare creature all 
 these years, that you produce kim only now ? " 
 
 " He has kept himself in Italy." 
 
 " He looks a little Italian, though not so 
 black as some. I hate black men ! What 
 is his history ? " 
 
 " Why do you think he has one ? " 
 
 " Because he's unmarried. All bachelors 
 have a history." 
 
 " And some married men ! Yes, we think 
 he has one, but I won't tell you about him ; 
 it will make him too interesting." 
 
 " Providence has made him that already.' 
 
 At that moment a lady entered the room, 
 the maid, a little in advance, announcing, 
 " Mrs. Hilyer." 
 
 The new-comer was small and slight, with 
 dark, curly hair and deep blue eyes. She 
 wore over an amber satin gown a long white 
 
 .cloak trimmed withjeathers. 
 
 30
 
 The Picture 
 
 " Fm aware that this is without precedent! " 
 she exclaimed if a remark uttered in such 
 a low, sweet voice could be called an excla- 
 mation " but I'm on my way to a neighbor 
 of yours, and I wanted to remind you of to- 
 morrow. Had you forgotten ? " 
 
 She addressed Mrs. Vincent, and kissed 
 her on both cheeks as soon as she had fin- 
 ished speaking. 
 
 " Bother my neighbor ! " said Nellie, cor- 
 dially. " Take off this delicious, fluffy gar- 
 ment and spend an hour with us. The men 
 will be up in a minute. Clement Moorlake 
 is here." 
 
 " Do you think I require that as an induce- 
 ment ? " demanded Mrs. Hilyer, with soft 
 reproachfulness. " I can't stay. My car- 
 riage is here." 
 
 " Send it away, then. Bertram will take 
 you over to the Bascombes'. It's just across 
 the street." 
 
 " Very well. You always seduce me from
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 the path of duty" allowing the maid to 
 divest her of the cloak. " Tell my man to 
 come back to the house opposite at one 
 o'clock." 
 
 Then she turned to Althea. " How rude 
 I have been! I did not recognize you at 
 once. I'm rather blind. How are you ? " 
 
 Althea responded pleasantly. She knew 
 Mrs. Hilyer very little, but thought her in- 
 teresting. The new arrival then found that 
 she also knew both the ladies by the fire, 
 and went over to speak to them. 
 
 " What! a fire in June, Nellie ?" 
 
 " It looks pretty, and the evenings are 
 cold," said Mrs. Banfrey. 
 
 14 Yes," hazarded the lovely Mrs. Mellor ; 
 " there was a slight frost last night." 
 
 These profound observations were inter- 
 rupted by the entrance of the men. 
 
 Clement Moorlake came in first, with his 
 firm, elastic tread, very different from the 
 
 slouch, stride or waddle of the bulk of man- 
 
 32
 
 The Picture 
 
 kind. One could not hear his step without 
 divining how near perfection his proportions 
 must be. He spoke to Mrs. Hilyer with his 
 usual calm, gentle manner, but Althea fan- 
 cied that the lady in amber satin found his 
 greeting cold. She was certainly very pale. 
 
 They held a short dialogue. 
 
 " Where have you been all these weeks ? " 
 asked she. 
 
 " Working away in the fog at a statue that 
 wouldn't come right," said the sculptor. 
 
 " Not even for you ? " she asked, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 Moorlake looked annoyed. " It was not a 
 Galatea something much more obstinate, 
 but not half so dangerous," he said. 
 
 Vincent interrupted them with a boisterous 
 welcome. 
 
 " They all want to see the picture, Bertie," 
 said his wife. " And then they want a song, 
 that latest one, you know and then " 
 
 " And then they must go down into the 
 3 33
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 kitchen and see you make that deliriously 
 lovely pudding you invented last week ! " 
 laughed Bertram. 
 
 " Ah," sighed Mrs. Bertram, " we're a 
 wonderful couple." 
 
 As two or three of the company moved 
 toward the easel North came and began 
 talking to Mrs. Hilyer. The fireside group, 
 finding the blaze more picturesque than 
 comfortable, also drifted towards the pic- 
 ture. Moorlake stood near Althea. 
 
 " I inspired this picture," she confided to 
 him. " I feel quite anxious to see my god- 
 child." 
 
 " I hope it is worthy of such a sponsor ! " 
 he replied, with mock solemnity. 
 
 Vincent wheeled the picture into a good 
 position. " It is called," he said, " ' The 
 Faithful Soul.' " 
 
 "Which is the faithful one ?" asked Ban- 
 frey. 
 
 " The poor ghost," returned Vincent. 
 34
 
 The Picture 
 
 " Ah, it's easy for a ghost to be faithful," 
 said the actor. 
 
 Gladys Mellor looked shocked. 
 
 The picture was extremely well done. It 
 represented an avenue of lime trees in which 
 stood a man and a woman. It w r as night, 
 but the moonlight fell through the breaks 
 between the boughs and revealed the figures. 
 The girl, a lovely creature dressed in a 
 short-waisted white gown, was hanging on 
 the arm of the man. Every curve of her 
 young body told of love and of complete 
 absorption in her companion. But he, a 
 fine, stalwart fellow, was diverted from her 
 by something that was evidently invisible to 
 her. His startled gaze was directed at a 
 form white as a moonbeam and almost as 
 intangible ; the face of the fair wraith was 
 more distinct and the expression of mingled 
 reproach and agony on its features was 
 clearly discernible. 
 
 " Bravo, Bertie ! " said Moorlake, heartily. 
 
 35
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " This is good. You ought to send it to the 
 Academy." 
 
 " Don't you think there are enough ama- 
 teurs there already?" queried Vincent, with 
 assumed indifference. He was really im- 
 mensely pleased by Moorlake's honest praise. 
 
 "Isn't it good, Mrs. North? "asked the 
 sculptor. 
 
 " Alas, poor ghost ! " she sighed, her eyes 
 full of tears. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Banfrey. " I think 
 it's ripping, old man. Where did you get 
 the idea ?" 
 
 " From this dear lady," said Vincent,with a 
 look of brotherly regard at Althea " and 
 from Adelaide Procter." 
 
 "Ah, yes," said Moorlake, " I remember 
 
 "In that one minute's anguish 
 The thousand years have passed." 
 
 " Who was the person ? " asked Mrs. Hil- 
 yer, who, accompanied by North, had come 
 
 to look at the picture. 
 
 36
 
 The Picture 
 
 " The faithful soul belonged, of course, to 
 a female ghost," said Nellie Vincent. 
 
 " What nonsense ! " said Vincent. " How 
 can a soul belong to a ghost ? You do 
 muddle things so ! " 
 
 " It is beautiful, Bertie, beautiful ! " said 
 North, " but too ethereal for me. I like 
 real things," and he sauntered away. 
 
 " Do you think there is no fidelity in 
 man ? " asked Moorlake of Althea, as they 
 lingered a moment beside the picture. 
 
 " Not often," said Mrs. North. 
 
 " Yet I know a man," he said, reflectively, 
 " who has loved one woman for fifteen 
 years." 
 
 " Then he is all the nearer to a change," 
 she laughed, with assumed hardness. 
 
 He looked into her eyes almost sadly, 
 and saw that she was an unhappy wo- 
 man. 
 
 " How bitter you are ! " he said. " And 
 
 yet nature has done so much for you. . . 
 
 37
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 I hope we may meet again ; I must go on 
 now." He shook hands with her as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " Come to see me," she said, with a 
 strange sense of fear that she might lose 
 him altogether. 
 
 " I shall be most happy," he said, in a con- 
 ventional tone, and went to take leave of the 
 Vincents. 
 
 "Are you going to the Bascombes' ?" 
 asked Mrs. Hilyer. 
 
 "No; unfortunately in quite another di- 
 rection," said Moorlake. 
 
 Mrs. Banfrey remarked, a few moments 
 later, as she and Althea put on their cloaks 
 downstairs : 
 
 " Nellie is easily deceived. Mrs. Hilyer 
 knew that Moorlake was dining here. That's 
 why she came. She has been in love with 
 him for years . . ." 
 
 In the carriage, as they drove home, 
 
 Oliver North said to his wife : " Do you 
 
 38
 
 The Picture 
 
 know that you have been exceptionally 
 odious to-night even for you ? " 
 
 " You don't mind telling me so," said 
 Althea. 
 
 " Your remarks about marriage were 
 simply depraved. I wonder a decent woman 
 could make them. They make me wonder 
 if you are decent. You grow more reckless 
 every day, and let me tell you that your vul- 
 gar habit of making eyes at good-looking 
 men is growing on you. You flirted out- 
 rageously with that sculptor fellow." 
 
 " No one could flirt with Mr. Moorlake," 
 said Althea, indignantly. " You are too 
 vulgar ! " 
 
 " Not so vulgar as the actions I refer to. 
 No one has the courage to tell you your 
 faults but me." 
 
 " You have plenty of courage ! " she said, 
 sharply. Then silence fell between them. 
 When they reached home North put the key 
 
 in the door without a word and allowed his 
 
 39
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 wife to pass in. She went directly upstairs, 
 and without removing her cloak entered the 
 nursery, where her child lay asleep. The 
 nurse was in a bed beside the crib, and 
 slumbered too deeply to be aware of her 
 mistress's presence. Althea bent over the 
 little girl. 
 
 " If it were not for you ! " she murmured ; 
 " oh, baby, if it were not for you ! " 
 
 Then she went away noiselessly to her 
 own room. 
 
 40
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 
 
 ALTHEA had been one of those unlucky 
 girls who are born for love and for nothing 
 else. Her youth was taken up by poetry 
 and dreams. An orphan of small means, 
 she was brought up by an old-fashioned aunt, 
 who did not take much pains with her edu- 
 cation. She had fed her mind on visions of 
 love innocent enough, but enervating and 
 dangerous, because she made the mistake of 
 supposing that love is the whole of life. 
 Instead of filling her days with interesting 
 pursuits, she waited, wondering when the 
 king would come. She tried to fit her ideal 
 to every man she met, and when Oliver 
 North asked her to marry him, he seemed
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 nearer her romantic standard than the others. 
 She required to be loved. Her existence 
 was incomplete without someone on whom 
 to lavish the great devotion of which she was 
 capable. But she made, in the first flush of 
 her hopefulness and enthusiasm, the mistake 
 of marrying a man who began by being 
 somewhat cold and who ended, as we have 
 seen, by becoming something less than civil. 
 North was a person in whose life women 
 were a mere episode, and not a very interest- 
 ing one. He had, more than most men, a 
 talent for fidelity, physical and mental. The 
 idea of loving anyone but his lawful wife 
 would have been to him terrible. It is 
 doubtful whether he ever entertained it. 
 But no feminine creature could play a large 
 role in his existence. The charms of moun- 
 tain-climbing, yachting or exploring strange 
 countries appealed to him irresistibly. 
 When he tired for a time of these pursuits 
 
 he would return home, expecting to find 
 
 42
 
 Husband and Wife 
 
 that his wife had been quietly fulfilling her 
 domestic duties with discretion and was 
 ready to receive him with an ardor devoid 
 of reproaches for his long absence. And 
 that is what he did find. For years Althea 
 accepted this lot as the usual portion of 
 wives, hung on Oliver's words as those of an 
 oracle, punctually discharged her duties, and 
 solaced herself with her child and the com- 
 panionship of a few women friends. Men 
 she liked individually rather than collec- 
 tively, but she never had a shadow of a 
 flirtation during all those*xlevoted years. 
 
 North combined the passions of an ex- 
 plorer with the didactic talent of a school- 
 master. He thought he knew exactly how 
 everyone should think, feel and act, and in 
 his domestic intervals he occupied himself 
 with forming his wife's character. Pretty 
 young women who find that they have 
 power to charm even in their crude state 
 
 usually resent being formed, but for years 
 43
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 Althea submitted to this process with com- 
 parative equanimity. 
 
 One day there came a change. During 
 one of Oliver's more than ordinary protracted 
 yachting cruises, which a constitutional 
 aversion to the sea prevented her sharing, 
 it dawned on her that she did very well 
 without Oliver. The novel discovery gave 
 her a shock. On considering it she realized 
 that without him the house was quieter, 
 everything ran more smoothly, and her 
 nerves were certainly under better control. 
 In short, she became once more an individual, 
 not a faint reflection ; became herself, not a 
 poor attempt at a copy of someone whom she 
 could never really resemble. 
 
 When a woman once finds the wings of 
 her soul she is forever out of reach of the 
 man who has sought to cage her. Hence- 
 forth Althea belonged, in a sense, to herself, 
 though she had not the courage openly to 
 
 oppose the hundred small tyrannies with 
 44
 
 Husband and Wife 
 
 which North oppressed her. He had, with- 
 out deliberate intention, thrown away a heart 
 rich with unquestioning love. Friends who 
 had anxiously watched the slow process of 
 which he was unconscious, pitied while they 
 blamed him, and feared for the future. Yet 
 he thought he loved her, and it is certain 
 that he loved no one else. Indeed, as she 
 cooled, and failed to cower and weep under 
 his frequent disapproval, he grew warmer and 
 less willing to leave her than of old. What 
 she had once resented she would now have 
 prized freedom and solitude, leave to live 
 her own life, which, if not heroic, was at 
 least innocent. "1 
 
 North had one fault that no woman ever 
 forgives : he was stingy. Though in pos- 
 session of an income of about ^"4,000 a year, 
 he disputed every item of the household ac- 
 counts. Once a month, at least, when the 
 hateful tradesmen's books came in, there was 
 
 an unpleasant scene between the pair, which 
 
 45
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 usually ended for Althea in a nervous attack. 
 Oliver liked keeping open house, but did 
 not enjoy paying for the pleasure. He was 
 also under the impression that women in 
 society require next to no pin money. Al- 
 thea's financial position was a painful one, 
 because she had only 50 a year of her own, 
 and she could not possibly dress on such a 
 small sum. She had to plead abjectly with 
 her master when she wanted a new gown. 
 
 On the morning after the Vincents' din- 
 ner party she entered the library knowing 
 that a disagreeable encounter lay before her. 
 North was reading the paper. On his desk 
 lay a note, stamped and addressed. It con- 
 tained an order for extensive improvements 
 to his yacht, which was being put in com- 
 mission. 
 
 He looked up at Althea. 
 
 " What can I do for you?" he asked, with 
 a sort of sarcastic playfulness. " You never 
 
 come here unless you want something." 
 
 46
 
 Husband and Wife 
 
 Althea repressed the ready repartee on 
 her lips and said, quietly : 
 
 " I do want something. I have been 
 overhauling my wardrobe with Barnes, and 
 she and I both think I can't get through the 
 season without some new clothes." 
 
 " Why must you quote Barnes ? The 
 season is nearly over," said North, with a 
 vexed expression on his face. 
 
 " The Summer is here, and I can't possibly 
 make those country visits with the things I 
 have." 
 
 " Where are your last year's clothes ? 
 Given away, I suppose." 
 
 "Worn out, most of them." 
 
 " Can't you buy more, if it's absolutely 
 necessary ? " 
 
 " Certainly, if I have the money." 
 
 "You have 100 a year. Most women 
 can make themselves look well on that." 
 
 " Fifty of that is my own. If you allowed 
 
 me a hundred I might manage." 
 47
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 She began to be exasperated, and made 
 a struggle to remain calm. There was a 
 painful tension in her face which would 
 have told her husband what she suffered, but 
 he did not look at her. 
 
 11 What does it matter what you wear ? " 
 he asked. " Women spend far too much on 
 their clothes." 
 
 "It matters this much: I go now to a 
 second-rate dressmaker, and I can't afford 
 to do even that. If you refuse to give me a 
 decent allowance I must refuse to go into 
 the world any more." 
 
 " What a stagey expression ! ' Into the 
 world !' It sounds like a woman in a cheap 
 novel." 
 
 She still controlled herself. 
 
 " Oliver," she said, in a hard, low voice, 
 " why do you grudge me everything I need ? 
 I am not indifferent to your comfort. If our 
 positions were reversed, and I had your in- 
 come, you would not have to come to me to 
 48
 
 Husband and \Vife 
 
 beg when you needed things. I shouldn't 
 wait for that. I should give you what you 
 wanted." 
 
 " I have no wish to deprive you of what 
 you need. Need and want are two very dif- 
 ferent things. You have a charming house, 
 a very good turnout and " 
 
 " A generous husband ! " she interrupted, 
 her scorn breaking all bounds. " I have my 
 answer. You refuse me refuse me you, 
 \vith your thousands a year a few pounds 
 for the necessaries of life ! Oliver, has it 
 ever occurred to you that I hate my life ? 
 that I long to be free ? " 
 
 She flushed all over as she spoke, alarmed 
 at her own bluntness. 
 
 Her husband looked at her. 
 
 " You hate your life because you do 
 nothing with it. You starve your brain. 
 You should have pursuits and interests as I 
 have. And as to freedom, what woman has 
 
 more ? I leave you alone for six months out 
 
 * 49
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 of the twelve. Not many men have so much 
 confidence in their wives." 
 
 " You are a strange mixture ! " she re- 
 torted, "with your 'absolute confidence' 
 when you are away, and your constant sus- 
 picion when you are at home ! But there 
 is no use in talking to you about all this. 
 Do you refuse me the money ? " 
 
 " I can't very well let you have any now," 
 he answered. " The Jessamine needs a lot 
 done to her " 
 
 " Ah, my rival ! " cried Althea, with a 
 short laugh. " I might have known you 
 would deny me everything sooner than 
 grudge her a coat of paint." 
 
 " Many wives would be happy to have 
 only an inanimate rival ! " said he. "I am 
 going away soon, and you'll be rather quiet, 
 I suppose, and won't want many clothes." 
 
 Without another word Althea left the 
 room. Interviews of this sort always left 
 
 her with a half-stunned feeling. She could 
 
 50
 
 Husband and Wife 
 
 not understand why her life must be bound 
 up with this man's why her youth and her 
 prettiness must be wasted in such uncon- 
 genial companionship. As she sat brooding 
 in her morning-room, her unpaid bills 
 spread out before her, suddenly an image 
 rose before her mind. The eyes of Clement 
 Moorlake seemed to look down on her 
 troubled soul to penetrate into her weary 
 heart and their phantasmal glance brought 
 quiet to her being. " There are kind and 
 gentle men in the world, after all ! " she 
 thought. " Thank God for them ! "
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A TETE-A-TETE 
 
 SHE felt the imperative need of getting 
 away to some place where she could breathe 
 fresh air and see grass and flowers. Still in 
 a sort of blind rage, she went to the nearest 
 underground railway station and took a 
 ticket for Kew. How often she had sat in 
 cab, train, carriage or omnibus, with her 
 heart full of bitterness, her soul in revolt ! 
 She wearied herself with thought ; her lips 
 framed, without uttering, long colloquies 
 between her husband and herself imagi- 
 nary scenes in which at last she triumphed 
 and convinced him of his meanness. The 
 unhappy woman had been born with a strong 
 
 sense of the dramatic a gift that adds an- 
 
 53
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 other pang to an unhappy lot. All her life 
 appeared to her in scenes, acts, situations ; 
 and of each she felt the force and poign- 
 ancy, knowing meanwhile that she lacked 
 the self-control necessary to enact a consist- 
 ent role. She lacked the balance to adhere 
 to a certain line of conduct, or she might 
 have mastered her tyrant. She \vas canine 
 not feline, and there lay her failure. The 
 dog watches his master with fear or affec- 
 tion, or both, written in his eyes ; the cat 
 pursues her sinuous way with complete indif- 
 ference. The dog looks at you with his eyes 
 the consciousness of the cat sits behind 
 hers, and peeps through them, so that none 
 can divine her meaning. When she confers 
 a favor she makes the recipient feel proud. 
 As for the dog, one knows he will be pleased 
 if thrown a kind word, and there is rather a 
 contempt for his ready demonstration of 
 affection. 
 
 The woman who lays bare her soul to a 
 54
 
 A Tete-a-tete 
 
 man has lost her hold on him. Her very 
 honesty is her ruin. 
 
 Through the purgatory of the underground 
 railway Althea reached the paradise of Kew 
 Gardens. They were in full beauty with 
 their masses of gorgeous rhododendron, the 
 daisied turf, like green embroidered velvet, 
 and the birds trilling, warbling, whistling 
 and chirping in the heavenly blue air of 
 June. 
 
 The human race began in a garden would 
 that it had stayed there ! 
 
 The turmoil in the soul of the woman 
 abated in the calm of the place. 
 
 For hours Althea sat under the great trees 
 or slowly paced the fragrant ways. The one 
 great safeguard of ardent, headlong natures 
 is a latent power to right themselves. The 
 pendulum swings lightly back again. By 
 three o'clock Mrs. North began to realize 
 that life was not quite without charm, and 
 
 that she was prosaically hungry. Almost 
 
 55
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 laughing at this assertion of her physical 
 being, she made her way toward the tea- 
 house. And as she turned a leafy corner, 
 she came full on Clement Moorlake. Life 
 is sadly unlike the drama in that the time, 
 the place and the man are generally wide 
 apart. To-day, of all the persons on earth 
 whom she might have met, Althea wished 
 most to see the sculptor. Yet for a moment 
 she shrank from the encounter. Only for a 
 moment ; Moorlake looked like the high 
 priest of conventionality. Althea's exuber- 
 ant fancy quailed before his calm greeting. 
 
 " Is this one of your favorite haunts, Mrs. 
 North?" he asked. " I come here often 
 when London seems to press too heavily." 
 
 " I love it," said Althea. " I break away 
 sometimes and sit for an hour under the 
 trees. Why is it that life under the trees is 
 so easy ? " 
 
 In her words there was an underlying 
 
 pathos, an unconscious claim for sympathy, 
 
 56
 
 A Tete-a-tete 
 
 that did not escape Moorlake's keen percep- 
 tions. 
 
 " Because," he said, looking down at her 
 with a kindly light in his eyes, " we have 
 nothing to do but rest and gather strength 
 there. But you would not like life always 
 to be made up of 'sheltering boughs and 
 soft turf, would you ? You are too active, 
 too intelligent, to like inglorious ease." 
 
 " How do you know ? " she asked. " You 
 have seen me only once." 
 
 " That is enough to enable me to at least 
 guess at your character, isn't it ? A sculptor 
 becomes a bit of a physiognomist but how 
 personal I am getting ! " he went on. " For- 
 give me ! " 
 
 " I think nothing is interesting unless it is 
 personal," admitted Althea, more gayly. 
 Her color had come back and her tread was 
 once more elastic. 
 
 " Interesting yes," said her companion, 
 
 reflectively. " But I have rather a horror 
 
 57
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 of personalities. One's own sorrows are 
 enough, without knowing the griefs of 
 others." 
 
 " What a selfish sentiment ! Do you 
 build a high wall about yourself ?" 
 
 "With a door in it ! " he said, smiling ; 
 " and I have been weak enough sometimes 
 to lend the key." 
 
 As he looked at her his somewhat sad, 
 stern face relaxed, and again she saw the 
 warm, friendly light in the eyes which belied 
 the coldness of his usual manner. 
 
 " Are there many keys ? " she asked, play- 
 fully. 
 
 " Not out of my keeping," he answered. 
 " I have learned to neither borrow nor lend 
 now." 
 
 " I know those resolutions ! One says, 
 ' This is the last time/ and one says it every 
 time." 
 
 " But some time must really be the last ! " 
 
 " Yes ; but the charm is, one never 
 58
 
 A Tete-a-tete 
 
 knows that that particular time is the last ! 
 ... I wish I could build a wall ! I have 
 only a hedge full of gaps not even a thorn 
 or two ! " 
 
 " Only flowers on the top ? " 
 
 Both laughed, and then were silent, 
 wondering whether they had known each 
 other ten minutes or half a lifetime. 
 
 " I once read in a theosophical book," re- 
 sumed Althea, "that one must imagine one's 
 self enclosed in a sort of shell, like a horse 
 chestnut, and then the sorrows of the world 
 will glide off, not stay to harass and torment. 
 Isn't it a funny idea ? " 
 
 "Not a pleasant one, certainly. Here we 
 are at the tea place. Are you hungry?" 
 inquired Moorlake, abruptly. 
 
 " Well yes I am," admitted Althea. 
 " It seems too gross a confession to make in 
 such a place, on such a day, but I've had no 
 luncheon." 
 
 " My dear lady, what a tragedy ! Instead 
 59
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 of metaphysics we should be having tea or 
 shall it be ' cold luncheon, two to six?'' 
 asked Moorlake, glancing at the placard 
 above them. 
 
 " Oh, tea, by all means buns, cresses, 
 jam all sorts of lovely things ! " cried Althea, 
 softly, with a child's pleasure. 
 
 The place was deserted, the lunchers 
 having departed and the tea drinkers not 
 having yet arrived. They chose a table out- 
 side the building and ordered tea. 
 
 Althea's day of misery had suddenly 
 turned into an exquisitely interesting occa- 
 sion, and fate having contrived a tete-a-tete 
 with the most interesting man of her ac- 
 quaintance, she submitted without a mur- 
 mur. 
 
 " I was most interested last night," said 
 Moorlake, as they settled themselves com- 
 fortably opposite each other at the little 
 table, " in the conversation about con- 
 stancy." 
 
 60
 
 A Tete-a-tete 
 
 " Mrs. Mellor was shocked, I think," said 
 Althea. " Isn't she lovely ?" 
 
 " As lovely as waxwork and as attrac- 
 tive." 
 
 11 1 thought beauty was always attractive." 
 
 " Yes, for a moment but think of a life 
 spent with such a woman ! " 
 
 " I have always supposed that men do 
 not require brains in the women they love." 
 
 " Some men may not, and if they don't 
 they don't deserve them. But you can't 
 seriously think that pink-and- white inanity 
 could satisfy a man with any mind ? Charm 
 is the enduring quality. I know women of 
 fifty who will never be old, because they 
 have charm. That nameless something 
 holds a man's interest longer than anything 
 else." 
 
 His remarkable eyes were fixed dreamily 
 on the gray-green distance. Althea looked 
 at him and wondered more than ever what 
 
 the story of his life was. His face had noth- 
 61
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 ing middle-aged in its lines, though the 
 thick, waving hair above it was shot with 
 a few gray threads. 
 
 " I wish," said Althea, averting her gaze 
 as his eyes traveled back to her, " I wish I 
 could for one hour be a man, in order to dis- 
 cover your standpoint. We women are so 
 helpless so in the dark ! We have no free- 
 dom in which to gain experience. We never 
 learn to know you well. There seems to be 
 no friendship possible between us. It is all 
 passionate love or utter indifference. I 
 wish I could know just once what you really 
 are ; what standards you have what beliefs 
 what convictions." 
 
 " There are as many standards as there 
 are men," said Moorlake. 
 
 " But there are hard-and-fast rules for you 
 as for us. You must not cheat at cards, for 
 instance. You must not 'kiss and tell.' I 
 always think life must be easy to men, be- 
 cause the world expects so little from them." 
 
 62
 
 A Tete-a-tete 
 
 " Most decent men have a few virtues be- 
 sides the negative one of not being black- 
 guards," laughed Moorlake. " Don't you 
 think we have our struggles ? that we mark 
 out a line of conduct for ourselves, and try 
 with tears and prayers, perhaps, to keep to 
 it ? I think men and women are wonder- 
 fully alike, only you are more complex." 
 
 " Have you ever studied palmistry ? " 
 asked Althea. " Do you notice how com- 
 plicated a woman's hand is, compared with 
 a man's ? Our hands are full of little, ner- 
 vous, niggling, criss-cross lines, and yours 
 have plain, deep-cut marks, either good or 
 bad." 
 
 "Those little marks mean flirtation," said 
 Moorlake, laughing. " Let me see yours." 
 
 " I have a chain of them but they aren't 
 true," said Althea, coloring like a girl and 
 hiding her hand under the table. 
 
 " Even a woman's hands can lie, then," 
 
 said Moorlake, still regarding her with an 
 
 63
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 amused smile. " Her lips are not false 
 enough! What little hands you American 
 women have ! " 
 
 " All wrong from a sculptor's point of view, 
 of course. I feel that I must admit no do 
 I dare?" 
 
 She paused and looked at him sidelong, 
 with a sort of childlike glance that charmed 
 him. 
 
 " Confess ? " said he ; " certainly. I can 
 endure a great deal." 
 
 11 Well I don't like statues," she admitted 
 and colored brightly. 
 
 " I'm very glad ! " said he, placidly. 
 " That saves a lot of trouble. You can't think 
 how tiresome people are who think they care, 
 and in point of fact know nothing whatever 
 about art. They torment me with ignorant 
 criticisms until my politeness gives way." 
 
 11 That I can't imagine," said Althea. 
 11 You are fearfully polite." 
 
 Moorlake laughed. 
 
 64
 
 A Tete-a-tete 
 
 11 Do you find that fault with the men of 
 this generation ? When I was young one 
 didn't dare to be rude." 
 
 " That, I suppose, was a long time ago." 
 
 " So long that you seem to me a mere 
 child." 
 
 Althea shook her head, and said, half-sad- 
 ly, " I shall never be grown up and eternal 
 youth of the soul doesn't save one's poor 
 face from wrinkles. It is terrible to be a 
 middle-aged baby ! " 
 
 There was now no further pretext for re- 
 maining at the table, so the waiter was paid, 
 and they rose to go away. 
 
 The day was growing more enchanting as 
 it declined. The level beams of light 
 played a thousand lovely tricks with flowers 
 and sward. The birds' hearts gushed out in 
 melody. London and its smoke seemed far 
 away. Sordid care and bitter disappoint- 
 ment have no place in Kew Gardens. 
 
 A calm settled on Althea's heart a calm 
 5 65
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 with a strange, pleasant fluttering under- 
 neath. She seemed to see how happy life 
 might have been. 
 
 She and Moorlake went back to town by 
 underground railway ; and for once the sul- 
 phurous air seemed sweet and bracing. She 
 reached home in a mood of quiet happiness, 
 which not even North's continued captious- 
 ness could mar. 
 
 But there is one drawback to spending an 
 hour or two with a very sympathetic and de- 
 lightful person one wants immediately to 
 spend many more ! 
 
 And the opportunity for this did not at 
 once recur. 
 
 66
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE MIDDLE COURSE 
 
 CONCEIVE a young and pretty woman al- 
 ternately bullied and neglected, and you 
 will understand that she may some day 
 begin to cry for the moon. It is generally 
 that moon which is so brilliant and attractive 
 and far away, called Love. 
 
 We call to it to come down, and it stays 
 above ; we rake for it in the stagnant water 
 of a pond, as did the " Three Sillies " in the 
 fairy tale, and we succeed only in stirring up 
 the mud. Love, that protean phantasm, is 
 no doubt a useful thing to the poet and the 
 writer of songs ; but the search after it is a 
 sad and unremunerative occupation. Althea 
 had not yet begun it ; but she was frequent- 
 ly troubled by a strong desire to see Clem- 
 ent Moorlake again. 
 
 67
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 Rigid moralists always say, in speaking of a 
 poor, disappointed, mismated woman and 
 the needs of her heart : " Are not her children 
 enough for her ? " As well direct a man to 
 the town pump to allay a craving for cham- 
 pagne. What woman of heart and imagina- 
 tion does not crave the thousand touches of 
 cherishing tenderness which a man who 
 loves her bestows on her life ? Can she dis- 
 cuss the problem of her soul with her baby ? 
 Can she spend all her evenings in hearing 
 her children's artless prayers ? Can even 
 the education of her family become so in- 
 tensely enthralling that she has neither time 
 nor inclination to listen to Love's voice ? 
 A human woman must and will love some- 
 body. When it isn't the right man which 
 it seldom is it will be the wrong one ; and 
 she always thinks that the wrong one is the 
 right one, or would have been if she had 
 had half a chance. 
 
 Oliver North departed, as usual, at a few 
 68
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 hours' notice, on a perfectly rational and 
 respectable yachting cruise, in company 
 with several estimable male friends. The 
 law could pick no flaw in his behavior ; 
 the divorce court could not pronounce on it. 
 Meanwhile his bored and starved wife was 
 left at home on short commons, both tempo- 
 ral and spiritual. 
 
 " You are a wonderfully good woman," 
 said Nellie Vincent one day when she and 
 Althea \vere driving together. " I wonder 
 why you've kept straight so long." 
 
 Althea opened her eyes. 
 
 " Why, how could I be anything else ? I've 
 never been tempted," she said. 
 
 " Then," said Nellie, " the men are better 
 than I thought." 
 
 " No one would dare to make love to me," 
 added Althea, as an afterthought. " Besides, 
 women don't want to be wicked. They only 
 want to be loved." 
 
 " Ah, yes, that's so simple, isn't it ? " said 
 69
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 Nellie, with a sort of grim gayety. " What a 
 pity the men won't understand!" Then, 
 after a pause, " Moorlake is going to call on 
 you." 
 
 "Really? How nice!" said Althea. I 
 think he is most interesting." 
 
 " A good many have thought so. Don't, 
 my dear, don't love him. It won't repay 
 you." 
 
 "I, can't imagine having the impertinence 
 to love him. I should revere him." 
 
 It was about a week after this that the 
 sculptor appeared in Pont street. Althea 
 had thought, after their semi-intimate tea at 
 Kew, that she should certainly see him very 
 soon. But she didn't know Moorlake. He 
 was vagueness itself when it came to making 
 calls or performing any other social duties. 
 Even his friendships had vast lapses, dur- 
 ing which he was seen by no one but his 
 old mother, with whom he lived. 
 
 When he entered the drawing-room Al- 
 70
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 thea was listlessly reading a small volume of 
 verses which had lately appeared. It was a 
 fine afternoon, but she had not felt like 
 rousing herself to go out. She was in the 
 mood that comes to some women during the 
 London season when every hour is not filled 
 with pleasant engagements. They feel that 
 they ought to be doing something brilliant 
 and fascinating every day, and when they 
 are not they lose interest in life. 
 
 Moorlake's entrance was a welcome inter- 
 ruption. It seemed all at once that she had 
 a hundred things to say to him ; and yet 
 when they were seated near each other, with 
 at least half an hour before them, she began 
 to experience a sense of vacancy. 
 
 He began with the usual conventionalities 
 the weather, inquiries after Oliver North, 
 and uninteresting remarks on the subjects 
 of the day. It did not escape him that 
 there was a certain dryness in her replies 
 when he mentioned her husband, and he at
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 once let the subject drop. She who was so 
 fluent with other men was perturbed and 
 unnatural in his presence. She wanted to 
 appear well to win his regard, and she 
 found herself dull and almost speechless. 
 His very look to-day was irritatingly imper- 
 sonal. Only life in the abstract seemed 
 capable of touching him. The longer they 
 sat thus the tenser became the strain. The 
 appearance of tea made a happy diversion. 
 
 Presently Moorlake said : " What were 
 you reading when I came in ? Something 
 new ?" 
 
 " A curious little booklet called ' Poems 
 of a Pessimist.' There appears to be much 
 pessimism in it and little poetry," said Al- 
 thea. 
 
 " Won't you read a little ? I fancy that 
 you must read well," he observed. 
 
 " Here is a bit very pathetic, though not 
 inspired at all," said she, turning over the 
 
 leaves. " It is called 'Woman's Lot.' That 
 
 72
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 is generally the preface to a moan, isn't it ? 
 It says : 
 
 " For what are women made ? 
 To sit and wait and wait and try to hope ; 
 To take with thankfulness the crumbs of life ; 
 To press back tears that else would dim the sight ; 
 To choke down sobs that else would rend the throat ; 
 To bear the sorrows that are laid on them, 
 Sometimes by hands that should be their support. 
 For this are women made. 
 
 And what is their reward ? 
 A year or two of love sweet, but soon cold ; 
 A gleam or two of sun, soon hid by clouds ; 
 A fervent kiss a hand-clasp an embrace 
 A kind word, and the dear-bought privilege 
 Of bearing pains and sorrows not their own 
 The rest is vain regret. 
 
 " Isn't that dreadful ? " she asked, falter- 
 ing a little over the last line. 
 
 "Dreadful !" assented Moorlake ; "and 
 written, of course, by a woman." 
 
 " Of course. I wonder what made her so 
 
 bitter and sad ? A man, I suppose." 
 
 73
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 11 It is not always like that. Men become 
 pessimists too, you know, through women." 
 
 " I'm so glad ! " Althea almost smiled. I 
 wish I could meet one." 
 
 " One sits before you," said Moorlake. 
 He also was smiling slightly, and a little 
 color had risen in his pale face. 
 
 " You ? Impossible ! You are too strong 
 and wise and well balanced to let such a 
 poor, inadequate thing as a woman change 
 your life." 
 
 " Who told you I was all those nice 
 ihings ? " 
 
 " Several people but I knew it before." 
 
 " Do you know, Mrs. North," said Moor- 
 lake, after a slight pause full of interest for 
 both, "you have a very unwholesome effect 
 on me ? You positively make me morbid, 
 and you cause me to talk about myself. 
 That will never do. You mustn't look over 
 my wall, you know ! " 
 
 " I can't ! " she protested. " I can't see 
 74
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 a thing. It's much too high and has spikes 
 on top. But you are rather unkind to go 
 about like a fascinating novel with the pages 
 uncut." 
 
 " Do you prefer men who make their 
 moan to every new acquaintance ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 She shrank a little and changed color. 
 
 " Forgive me," she said, quietly. " I was 
 forgetting that we are strangers." 
 
 Most men would have found this an op- 
 portunity for a pretty speech. Moorlake 
 only observed : " Not quite strangers, I 
 hope." Then he added : " What is the 
 reason there is so much unhappiness among 
 women, especially of late years ? Is it be- 
 cause you are idle and fanciful ? or what 
 is it ?" 
 
 " Because we are idealists, and we won't 
 accept the world as it is ; and the world to 
 most women means some man." 
 
 " I think that diagnosis is too flattering to 
 
 75
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 us, don't you ? There are many women 
 just now who appear to be quite independ- 
 ent of us." 
 
 " Who appear so ; but in reality you will 
 find, if you look, that the eternal masculine 
 is at the bottom of all their restless striv- 
 ings. They work to forget, most of them. 
 I suppose work dulls the pain of one's 
 heart, but it can't cure it. It's only a tem- 
 porary anaesthetic. Do you suppose if I am 
 unhappy and scrub a floor, or write a novel, 
 as the case may be, that when my floor is 
 clean or my novel written I won't be just as 
 unhappy as I was before ? " 
 
 " Possibly," said Moorlake. " Go on and 
 tell me more. You interest me enor- 
 mously." 
 
 " The more I see of life the less I under- 
 stand it," Althea continued, her eyes and 
 cheeks burning. She was at that moment 
 compellingly attractive. " It seems to me 
 
 as if Providence had put us all down on this 
 
 76
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 earth like a mass of blind kittens. We 
 crawl and mew, and scratch and knock into 
 one another, and have no idea why we're 
 here or w r here we're going. As soon as one 
 kitten gets to love another it loses it ; we 
 have scarcely got our eyes open when we're 
 snatched away to some other strange place, 
 before we have a chance to do more than to 
 wonder what it's all about." 
 
 Moorlake leaned forward and looked at 
 her intently. Her eyes shone with tears. 
 
 " My dear lady ! " he said, in a deep, 
 tender voice, " is that really your idea of 
 life?" 
 
 " Sometimes not always. It is to-day." 
 She tried to smile, and failing, got up and 
 stood at the window, with her back to him. 
 He came and stood near her very near, 
 though there was no actual contact. His 
 proximity thrilled her from head to foot. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. North," he said, in a low 
 
 voice, " I am years older than you are, and 
 
 77
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 therefore perhaps a little wiser. Believe 
 me, you are not a blind kitten ! Life is full 
 of sunshine for you if you will look for it. 
 We all go through a trying period in which 
 we feel that we are failures. No one worth 
 his salt escapes that phase. But by-and- 
 bye we recognize what our work in the 
 world is to be. We cease to expect great 
 happiness, but we find resignation." 
 
 Althea turned her face toward him. 
 
 " I^ave you found it ? " she asked. 
 
 " I think so," he said, gravely. 
 
 "And with it indifference," she said. 
 
 " I hope so but I am not sure." 
 
 There was a curious spark in his eyes as 
 he spoke. 
 
 " Friendship is left for all of us," Althea 
 cried, impulsively, almost with pleading in 
 her voice. " Be my friend ! Help me ! I 
 do so need a friend ! I felt at once that I 
 could trust you. Be my friend ! " 
 
 " I can't," he said, almost roughly. "You 
 78
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 can't trust me. You mustn't I don't trust 
 myself ! " He flushed scarlet. 
 
 " Oh, you don't understand me ! " she ex- 
 claimed. "You ought to you're not like 
 other men. I mean what I say. I have 
 dreamed for years of such a friendship, 
 which should be a constant consolation for 
 all that one suffers. One gets bruised and 
 battered on the sharp corners of life, and 
 the regard, the interest of a good man would 
 be a healing balm." 
 
 She stood and looked at him with eyes 
 full of a pure pleading. He did not misun- 
 derstand her. He took her hand very 
 gently and led her back to her seat. Then 
 he sat down beside her. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. North," he said, gravely, 
 " it is impossible. There is no such friend- 
 ship." 
 
 " There is ! " she persisted. " I say 
 there is ! There shall be. I will make it 
 true." 
 
 79
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " What you call friendship has another 
 name," he said. 
 
 " Won't you believe me that I didn't 
 mean that ?" she begged. 
 
 " I am quite certain you did not," said 
 Moorlake. " But I know, and you don't. 
 It might be possible for you, but not for a 
 man. We are not angels." 
 
 " Don't tell me that. I know there is a 
 middle course." 
 
 " Not for us men. Our motto is, 'All or 
 nothing.' " 
 
 They had both regained their self-com- 
 mand. 
 
 " I shall always persist," said Althea, "that 
 I am right." 
 
 Moorlake rose to go. 
 
 "You may try the 'middle course ' in 
 thirty years but not now, please, if you 
 value our peace of mind." 
 
 " Please believe, Mr. Moorlake," said Al- 
 
 80
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 thea, as she shook hands with him, "that 
 I am not always hysterical." 
 
 A smile was his only -answer. 
 
 As he walked away he thought : " A most 
 unhappy woman. There is only one thing 
 that could make her more unhappy, and that 
 shall never come to her through me." 
 
 The next day Oliver North unexpect- 
 edly returned and carried his family off to 
 America. 
 
 Unkind circumstances or a merciful 
 Providence kept Moorlake and Althea 
 apart for four months. 
 
 Si
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 AN INVITATION TO TEA 
 
 FOR several years Mrs. Hilyer had been a 
 widow. She had a daughter of fifteen, 
 though she herself looked marvelously 
 young without the aid of art. The girl was 
 in France, at a school where accomplish- 
 ments were plentiful though food was scanty. 
 Mrs. Hilyer very much disliked having a 
 daughter of fifteen in evidence ; besides it 
 was so bad for the child to meet men, and 
 Mrs. Hilyer's house was full of them of an 
 afternoon. 
 
 The deceased Hilyer had been an easy- 
 going, genial person in the City the sort of 
 man who slaps a friend on the back with one 
 hand to conceal the fact that the other is in 
 
 the friend's pocket. Clarice had been a 
 
 83
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 great help to him. She attracted almost 
 everybody who knew her ; the occasional 
 dissentient voices were so few and faint that 
 the general paean of praise drowned them. 
 Clarice got a very amusing, pleasant circle 
 about her. She had a great many men 
 friends, and a number of women liked and 
 admired her. There was one man partic- 
 ularly George Watson who had been for 
 years very much in evidence. People said 
 the friendship was extremely pretty and 
 manifestly innocent, because they used to 
 kiss each other good-night in public. When 
 Hilyer died somebody said, " Now she'll 
 marry Watson." But a cynic replied : " Men 
 don't marry widows they've kissed as 
 wives." 
 
 Certainly the marriage did not come off. 
 Clarice Hilyer continued to live in a small 
 house in Cheyne Walk and appeared to en- 
 joy life as much as ever. During her varied 
 
 experience in matters of the heart she had 
 
 84
 
 An Invitation to Tea 
 
 the rare good sense to avoid concentration. 
 The woman that concentrates suffers. She 
 only tires the man she loves, for nothing 
 bores a man so much as excessive affection. 
 She may give her body to be burned to 
 please him, but it will only annoy him. 
 The Indian widows used to wait for this 
 sacrifice till their lords were past being 
 bored by it. 
 
 Clarice could keep a leash of admirers 
 well in hand. Her nature was complex and 
 sinuous ; compared to Althea's it was what 
 Bradshaw is to an A B C when you were 
 once started you couldn't tell when or where 
 you would arrive. 
 
 During a Winter spent in Rome Clarice 
 became acquainted with Moorlake. 
 
 Henceforth other men had few attractions 
 for her. She tried every resource at her 
 command to gain his love ; she never left 
 anything to chance, but marked out her 
 
 plan of life as women draw a pattern in a 
 
 85
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 tea cloth, afterward folio wing it out with em- 
 broidery silk. She knew what she wanted 
 very distinctly, and when her silk grew 
 knotted or broke she picked it out or cut it 
 off and began again. She never had those 
 fatal moments of frankness which make a 
 woman blurt out things in five minutes that 
 spoil the work of years. She studied Moor- 
 lake as a musician studies a score, a painter a 
 model ; and the more she studied the more 
 she found that the moon she was crying for 
 was only a burnt-out crater. It took all her 
 exquisite self-control to keep back the mad 
 bitterness of the discovery. The sculptor 
 was as hard as his marble ; and his beautiful, 
 almost stately, courtesy to all women only 
 added a sting to the despair of the one that 
 loved him. 
 
 For fifteen years Moorlake had loved the 
 memory of one woman. What had been 
 the history whether she were alive or dead 
 
 no one knew, and no one dared ask him. 
 
 86
 
 An Invitation to Tea 
 
 In his early days he had been all made up 
 of sentiment and passion. Some cruel dis- 
 appointment dried up the one and left little 
 of the other. He avoided all intimate rela- 
 tions with women. He was accustomed to 
 say that society loses half its charm when 
 people confide their troubles to one another. 
 Before this reserve of character, this killing 
 indifference, all Clarice's weapons fell power- 
 less. Moorlake had one very charming 
 quality, however : he always knew how to 
 save a woman's self-respect. If any fem- 
 inine admirer became indiscreetly pressing 
 in her attentions, by a happy knack he man- 
 aged to make it appear that in reality it was 
 he who had taken the initiative ; whereas he 
 spent a great part of his life in repelling 
 such attacks. 
 
 When Clarice Hilyer left Rome she lost 
 sight of him. Once she wrote to him, and 
 received a prompt reply a perfect model 
 
 of a friendly letter, cool, pleasant, non-com- 
 
 87
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 mittal. There their intercourse ended. 
 On the night when they met at the Vincents' 
 house Clarice had come because she acci- 
 dentally heard that he was dining there. 
 It was not till Winter that she saw him again. 
 They met at a Sunday luncheon, and found 
 themselves next each other at table. 
 
 Clarice opened fire by saying : " I want 
 so much to see your studio. How does it 
 compare with the Roman one ? " 
 
 "Very much as the English climate com- 
 pares with the Italian," Moorlake replied, 
 smiling, and ignoring the first part of her 
 sentence. 
 
 " Ah, one misses the sun," she assented. 
 <( Do you think you are going to like Chel- 
 sea ? " 
 
 " I can hardly tell yet but inasmuch as I 
 am a near neighbor of yours " Another 
 smile finished the sentence. 
 
 Clarice smiled also. She was too clever 
 
 ever to look sentimental. 
 
 88
 
 An Invitation to Tea 
 
 " Neighbors are proverbially strangers," 
 she said. " Perhaps we shall meet occasion- 
 ally on the Embankment." 
 
 " It is a fine place for constitutionals. I 
 think I shall become fond of the river, even 
 when it is cold and gray, as it is now." 
 
 " Your mother is with you ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 During the brief pause that ensued the 
 man on the other side of Mrs. Hilyer spoke 
 to her. 
 
 It was not till some minutes later that she 
 turned swiftly and said, in an undertone : 
 " I cannot help thinking that we ought to be 
 friends. We have both outlived our illu- 
 sions, and we are both lonely." 
 
 Her voice shook a little. 
 
 " I thought loneliness was one of the few 
 things not to be had in London," said 
 Moorlake. " As for you, you are surrounded 
 all day by an admiring throng, and have no 
 
 time to be alone." 
 
 89
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " There is a loneliness of the heart, I 
 should say, if people hadn't ceased to plead 
 guilty of having such things as hearts. You 
 boast of being quite immune, I believe." 
 
 " Don't accuse me of anything so ill-bred 
 as boasting ! But I always think that 
 hearts are best kept in the background, 
 don't you ? " 
 
 " Or dispensed with altogether. Have 
 you seen Mrs. Oliver North since her re- 
 turn ? " 
 
 His companion's abruptness confused 
 Moorlake, as perhaps it was intended to do. 
 
 He hesitated for a moment, feeling sud- 
 denly guilty, he didn't know why, and then 
 said, simply, " No ; have you ? " 
 
 11 No, but I hear they are very unhappy." 
 i 
 Here again a diversion occurred, and the 
 
 subject was not renewed. But the one 
 allusion had the effect of sending Moorlake 
 to Pont street that afternoon. 
 
 He was in his mind so strenuously opposed 
 90
 
 An Invitation to Tea 
 
 to cultivating any intimacy with Althea that 
 it was almost with a sense of surprise he 
 found himself in her drawing-room. 
 
 A number of persons had been lunching 
 with the Norths, but the last one had gone, 
 and Oliver was out. 
 
 As Moorlake entered he received a dis- 
 tinct impression of the lassitude and dejec- 
 tion of Mrs. North's bearing the worn, tired 
 look on her face. In moments of animation 
 the lines were smoothed away ; but now 
 that she fancied herself alone they were very 
 apparent. 
 
 At sight of Moorlake she seemed almost 
 agitated. A sudden gleam of joy swept over 
 her face. He did not know what was in- 
 deed the case that for four months she had 
 craved a sight of him. 
 
 The springs of sympathy surged up within 
 him, and there was real feeling in his tone 
 as he took her hand and asked her how she 
 was. 
 
 91
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " Oh, I'm unspeakably glad to get home ! " 
 she said, smiling brightly. 
 
 " And yet," he said, sitting beside her on 
 the long sofa before the wood fire " and 
 yet you have come from what was your 
 home." 
 
 " Yes in a way, but not in any true sense. 
 I never felt contented there. England was 
 somewhere in my blood calling to me ; and 
 when I came here I at once recognized its 
 claim on me." 
 
 " That is very pleasant for us to hear ! n 
 said Moorlake. " How did New York strike 
 you after your absence ? " 
 
 " As a place that is not over-comfortable 
 for the rich and quite impossible for the 
 poor. One must be either a millionaire or 
 a pauper to live there. What strikes me as 
 remarkable whenever I go back is the num- 
 ber of well-dressed women. Hardly any- 
 one looks dowdy. And yet one knows that 
 
 they are not all rich." 
 
 92
 
 An Invitation to Tea 
 
 " American women spend a great deal on 
 their clothes, I have always been told," ob- 
 served Moorlake. 
 
 "Yes, when they have the money; and 
 sometimes, I fancy, when they haven't," re- 
 plied Althea. "You can't conceive how 
 grotesque it is to see women in beautiful 
 gowns hanging on to a strap in an electric 
 tram car liable to be sent flying at any 
 moment into the laps of strange men who 
 do not get up to give them a seat ! The air 
 is full of clashing of bells, snorting of trains 
 overhead, clattering of hoofs, rolling of 
 wheels ! It is a pandemonium, which grows 
 worse every year." 
 
 "And how did your husband get on 
 there ? Does he like it ? " asked Moorlake. 
 
 " Not particularly ; we weren't there long, 
 only in the Autumn, a few weeks ago. In 
 August Oliver was yachting ; he is always 
 yachting when he is not mountain-climbing, 
 
 you know." 
 
 93
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 11 And you I hope you amused yourself. 
 I suppose you have a great many friends." 
 
 "Yes but one does so drop out in the 
 course of a year or two ! Everything 
 changes. New people are always cropping 
 up and taking the old houses one used to 
 know." 
 
 " It is becoming so here, too." 
 
 " But London is in a measure conserva- 
 tive. One sees the same butlers at the same 
 houses year after year. The servant ques- 
 tion in America has got beyond anything 
 you can imagine." 
 
 " And on the whole you are glad to be 
 here?" 
 
 " Oh, inexpressibly glad." 
 
 She looked as if she were very sincere. 
 , "What plans has your husband made ? 
 Is he going to run away again soon ? " asked 
 Moorlake. 
 , 4< Not yet, I think," she answered. " We 
 
 shall stay at home now for a time." 
 
 94
 
 An Invitation to Tea 
 
 " Have you any special projects for the 
 Winter ? " asked Moorlake. " I mean, have 
 you a hobby ? " 
 
 " No," said Althea ; " I wish -I had ! A 
 middle age without hobbies is worse than 
 * old age without cards,' which has been 
 spoken of as such a terrible thing." 
 
 " Middle age is nothing to you, Mrs. 
 North," replied Moorlake, " and need be 
 nothing for at least fifteen years to come." 
 
 " I am over thirty," said Althea, smiling, 
 *' and I should be sorry to think I was only 
 half through my pilgrimage." 
 
 Moorlake raised his hand as one playfully 
 threatens a child. 
 
 " Again the mournful note ! I thought 
 we were to have no more ' blind kittens !' ' 
 he said, with a humorous light in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Oh, haven't you forgotten the blind kit- 
 ten yet ? " asked she. " I've been one for 
 
 months, and sometimes a deaf and dumb 
 
 95
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 one which is hard to believe of a woman, I 
 know but it's true." 
 
 Her face wore a look half-sad, half-merry, 
 which made her charming. Moorlake's 
 heart relented. Why must he always assume 
 the highly didactic pose in her presence ? 
 He bent toward her slightly and let his eyes, 
 in all their expressive beauty, rest on hers. 
 
 " Do you know," he said, "there are two 
 reasons why I must never be an intimate 
 friend of yours can you guess them ? " 
 
 Althea felt a quite irrational excitement 
 pulsing through her veins. She withdrew 
 her eyes and said, half -nervously : " I can't 
 guess. Tell me." 
 
 " One is," said the sculptor, " that I am 
 so cynical and morbid that I should only 
 make you more low-spirited, and the other 
 well, I should want more than friendship 
 has to offer." 
 
 As soon as he had uttered these words he 
 
 cursed his recklessness. Their effect on 
 
 96
 
 An Invitation to Tea 
 
 Althea was intense. A wave of color swept 
 over her face, and was succeeded by a pa- 
 thetic pallor. Her bosom heaved. What 
 was there to answer ? At such moments an 
 impulsive woman who loves must make a 
 superhuman effort at self-control, or break 
 down and betray herself. 
 
 Which course Althea was about to take 
 remained a mystery, for at the very moment 
 that she was trying to frame a reply, Oliver 
 North entered. 
 
 He seemed in a good humor, and greeted 
 Moorlake warmly. 
 
 " Are you dining out to-night ? " he asked, 
 presently. 
 
 Moorlake replied that he was not. 
 
 " Come to us at eight, if you'll excuse 
 such an informal invitation," said North. 
 " I know you are hard to catch. Bertie 
 Vincent and his wife are coming. You will 
 second the invitation, won't you, Althea ? " 
 
 turning to his wife. She was feverishly 
 
 T 97
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 flushed, but Oliver's careless eye did not 
 observe the fact. 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course. I should like it im- 
 mensely," she said at once. Her eyes en- 
 countered Moorlake's. 
 
 " May I really ?" he asked, almost with 
 eagerness. 
 
 " Certainly," she said, smiling. " Do 
 come." 
 
 " Many thanks," he answered, recovering 
 his conventional tone, which seldom de- 
 serted him. Then, rising, " I have another 
 call to make," he added, " and must get back 
 to Chelsea to dress, and also to tell my 
 mother that I'm dining out." 
 
 He shook hands with the Norths, and 
 Oliver accompanied him downstairs, talking 
 agreeably all the way. 
 
 Althea's mind was in a tumult as she dressed 
 for dinner. Cold-blooded,reasonable women 
 may consider as preposterous the idea of a 
 
 woman falling in love on short acquaintance 
 
 98
 
 An Invitation to Tea 
 
 and without great encouragement. But 
 these virtuous critics must make large al- 
 lowance for temperament and circumstances. 
 Althea's unhappiness was not merely passive. 
 Her husband's presence acted like a moral 
 blister. A rankling sense of wrong and in- 
 justice inflicted on her during a term of 
 years incensed her constantly against him. 
 She had no illusions left in regard to him. 
 She knew that she never could be even 
 comfortable or peaceful with him again. 
 From the very beginning, from her first 
 glimpse of Clement Moorlake, he had taken 
 hold of her imagination. There was a great 
 void in her life waiting to be filled, and to 
 her it seemed that he, of all men, could best 
 fill it. The words that he had allowed to 
 escape his disciplined lips to-day set her 
 very soul on fire. She did not realize as 
 many naturally pure women do not what is 
 involved in a great passion ; that no matter 
 
 how large the spiritual element in it may be, 
 
 99
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 there is the insistent clamoring of the 
 earthly nature which will always make itself 
 heard. 
 
 To her Moorlake was a hero of romance 
 perfect, without insipidity. She saw only the 
 first steps of the path on which she had set 
 her feet, and they seemed to lead upward. 
 Women can go on much longer than men ig- 
 noring the bare facts of passion, or they can 
 more easily wreathe them about with the 
 garlands of sentiment. When the flowers 
 wither and fall off they are sorry, startled, 
 and even surprised. 
 
 At the same time that Althea was standing 
 in the glare of electric light, mechanically 
 preparing for her next meeting with Moor- 
 lake, he was steeped in a poignant sense of 
 what he had done. The habit of reticence, 
 which he had painfully cultivated now for 
 many years, had suddenly failed him. He 
 could not help knowing from experience 
 though neither a cad nor a coxcomb that his 
 
 TOO
 
 An Invitation to Tea 
 
 personality had extraordinary power over 
 women. Being that rare animal, an honor- 
 able and conscientious man, he had tried 
 not to influence them in the slightest degree. 
 He was liberally endowed with every quality 
 that goes to make a successful flirt ; but his 
 conscience, no less than his distaste for such 
 conquests, stood in the way of his being one. 
 It is astonishing how many men, who are 
 otherwise gentlemen, do not hesitate to make 
 love to their neighbors' wives, and having 
 done so fall to a lower depth of dishonor 
 that of failing to abide by the result. 
 
 If there was one thing Clement abhorred 
 more than another it was the slightest shade 
 of duplicity in a man's relations with women. 
 He could understand being a man, not an 
 angel that there might be circumstances 
 under which you might have the misfortune 
 to love your neighbor's wife. But if you 
 did, and should in any way compromise the 
 
 lady, it was inconceivable that you should 
 101
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 not stand by her before the world. His 
 opinion was that a man ought to consider 
 long and carefully before entering on an af- 
 faire with a woman ; but that, having once 
 decided to enter, he could not honorably 
 draw back. 
 
 To be sure, the few words that had es- 
 caped him to-day would have meant to some 
 women nothing at all. But he knew that 
 Althea was different ; he could see that she 
 waited thirstily for every sign of friendship 
 and affection that she would treasure every 
 utterance of his like an evangel. 
 
 It was this knowledge that made him 
 feel deeply responsible. Naturally enough, 
 he was not absolutely invulnerable. Though 
 he always told himself that the best part of 
 his nature was dead, there was still left 
 much that was emotional. No man can be 
 constantly appealed to by a charming, de- 
 voted woman without being in danger of re- 
 sponding to her ; and with a kind, chival- 
 102
 
 An Invitation to Tea 
 
 rous man there is always the subtle tempta- 
 tion to make the woman happy with such 
 love as he still has to offer, rather than to 
 mortify her by a repulse, no matter how 
 gentle. 
 
 Moorlake was shocked to find that he 
 could not at once adjust his social armor. 
 The "horse chestnut shell" of reserve, 
 laughingly alluded to by Althea in a former 
 conversation, would not fit to-night. " After 
 all, what a bother life is ! " he thought. 
 " Men and women are natural enemies ; 
 where the sex question once enters into 
 anything, all peace and pleasure are at an 
 end." 
 
 He scarcely knew the state of his own 
 mind as he rolled along in a humble brown 
 'bus to Pont street. When he saw Althea 
 his trouble deepened. Her eyes said, 
 "What next?" There was feverish joy in 
 them intense expectancy. Fortunately, 
 
 the Vincents and North were in the room ; 
 103
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 his conventional manner " priggish," Nellie 
 Vincent called it soon returned to him. 
 
 Althea was in the midst of a tempest, 
 moral and physical, which rendered her quite 
 incapable of judging w r hat impression she 
 was producing. She saw Nellie regarding 
 her with unusual interest. She was afraid 
 to look at Clement, who sat beside her, and 
 she ostentatiously talked with Bertie Vin- 
 cent on the other side. She felt guilty. 
 Though so little had happened nothing, in 
 fact the world seemed changed. She was 
 so absurdly ignorant of men that she fancied 
 a stray, careless phrase from the man she 
 loved was going to alter the universe. 
 
 She had had no experience of the crea- 
 tures who are all flames and darts to-day and 
 all indifference and contempt to-morrow. 
 Clement was a good man ; but the good and 
 the bad are singularly alike when it comes to 
 dealings with their natural dupes. They 
 
 both make love and are both soon sorry ; only 
 104
 
 An Invitation to Tea 
 
 the good ones pity the women, while the 
 bad ones are sorry only for themselves. 
 
 Oliver North was a very charming host 
 when nothing had happened to cross him. 
 He was far from being deficient in brains, 
 and this evening he was unusually entertain- 
 ing. He liked the Vincents sincerely, and 
 seemed to have forgotten that he was ever 
 potentially jealous of Moorlake. Conversa- 
 tion flowed smoothly on. 
 
 Moorlake remarked that Altheawas not at 
 ease in the presence of her husband. He 
 guessed that North had a way of taking her 
 to task, when they were left alone, for every- 
 thing she had said. Such a practice soon 
 freezes the most spontaneous woman. There 
 was at times a cutting tone in North's voice 
 when he addressed his wife, a sort of sar- 
 donic humor in his allusions to her, which 
 quite explained her want of ease. Between 
 her wish to please Clement and her fear of of- 
 fending Oliver, Althea's ordeal was a trying 
 105
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 one. North was the kind of man who could 
 not let even a culinary failure go unnoticed. 
 He would pause in the midst of a story of 
 mountain-climbing one of his hobbies to 
 observe that the bread sauce was like a poul- 
 tice. This evening he fell foul of the salad 
 dressing. 
 
 Althea pressed her hands together in a 
 sort of small nervous panic. 
 
 " I'm so sorry ! " she said ; " I ought to 
 have made it myself." 
 
 " My wife," said North, addressing the 
 company in general, " believes in doing 
 nothing herself which she can get done for 
 her. Hence this excess of vinegar." 
 
 "I thought the salad particularly nice," 
 said Bertie. 
 
 "That's right! flatter Althea. She thrives 
 on flattery. You see, only the husband has 
 the courage to tell her of her faults." 
 
 u That makes one glad that England is not 
 
 a polyandrous country," said Nellie. 
 1 06
 
 An Invitation to Tea 
 
 " ' Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but 
 the kisses of an enemy are deceitful,' " quoted 
 Bertie. " Give me an enemy every time." 
 
 " But let me choose my enemy, if he has 
 to kiss me ! " laughed Nellie. 
 
 Althea said nothing ; she felt the pity in 
 Moorlake's eyes. The salad-dressing inci- 
 dent was unimportant in itself, but it was a 
 text from which her whole married life might 
 have been preached. 
 
 After dinner North's humor changed and 
 he became affable again. 
 
 Bertie sat down to the piano, and Nellie 
 led North into the far end of the room to 
 look at some new photographs, with the kind 
 intent to leave Althea and Clement together. 
 They were for some minutes speechless. 
 Althea sat stiff and upright like an automa- 
 ton, her cheeks burning a poor, unhappy 
 creature who had been pitchforked by fate 
 into the wrong environment, or placed by 
 
 Providence in a hard primary school, accord- 
 107
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 ing as one inclines to the pagan or the 
 Christian theory of life. Moorlake was 
 thinking how he pitied her how, with scarce- 
 ly a throb of his lower nature, he could find 
 it in his heart to shelter her in his arms. 
 She inwardly palpitated with what she 
 scarcely recognized yet as an immense love. 
 Bertie began singing. He had a lovely 
 tenor voice, which he made light of, as of his 
 other gifts. The second verse of his song 
 one of the perfect love songs of the world 
 became thrilling as he sang it he, the happy 
 married man with no yearnings for a change 
 of lot. The eternal, passionate unrest that 
 is in the heart of every artist writer, singer, 
 player burst out in the lines : 
 
 " Wenn du mich liebst so ivie ich dich, 
 Soil ich dein eigen sein 
 Heiss ivie der Stahl und fest wie der Stein 
 Soil deine Liebe sein" 
 
 11 Do you know German ? " whispered Al- 
 
 thea. 
 
 1 08
 
 An Invitation to Tea 
 
 " Enough to understand," said Clement. 
 
 Bertie went on and plunged into Grieg's 
 " Ich Liebe Dich " and how much Grieg 
 has to answer for is known to all those who 
 have heard that song sung as it should be. 
 Clement lost himself in the music. 
 
 It was not he, but somebody else in tem- 
 porary possession of his body, who leaned 
 over to Althea and said : 
 
 " You have never been to my studio. 
 Won't you come to tea with me one day this 
 week ? " 
 
 She looked at him and answered, without 
 hesitation, swiftly and softly : 
 
 "Thank you. Tuesday?" 
 
 "Yes; about five." 
 
 " I will come." 
 
 Nellie came back from the corner with 
 the photographs, but the word was spoken 
 and the hour of fate had struck. 
 
 109
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 CONFESSION 
 
 TUESDAY arrived in due course, for good 
 or ill. As the hour of five approached Moor- 
 lake was restless. He wanted to smoke, but 
 would not, lest the atmosphere should be 
 contaminated by the fumes of tobacco. He 
 wished Mrs. North to find everything as 
 fresh and charming as possible. He had ar- 
 ranged some flowers with his own hands ; a 
 row of small glasses full of violets stood on 
 the high, carved mantel-piece and a cluster 
 of long-stemmed pink roses made a delicious 
 spot of color on the table. A fire of logs was 
 crackling in a hearth of De Morgan tiles, dif- 
 fusing a faint acrid perfume through the 
 great room. There were red-shaded lamps 
 
 burning. Moorlake hated electric light, and 
 in
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 used it only in the adjoining room, where he 
 worked. The so-called studio was really a 
 combination of library and sitting-room, 
 where he spent his leisure hours at home 
 and occasionally entertained his friends. 
 
 To-day he was more nervous and expect- 
 ant than he had been for years. He was 
 surprised at his state of mind. He desired 
 Mrs. North's presence, and yet dreaded it. 
 He asked which of the two warring person- 
 alities in his nature was to have the upper 
 hand the gentleman or the scoundrel. 
 
 He realized that what was outwardly a 
 friendly, casual visit and an ordinary tea- 
 drinking was perhaps to be the turning-point 
 in his relations with Althea ; and he swore 
 to himself that he would say and do nothing 
 that could render her more unhappy in the 
 long run. 
 
 At a quarter to five the bell rang. 
 
 In a few moments the servant entered and 
 asked if he would see Mrs. Hilyer. 
 
 112
 
 Confession 
 
 Moorlake was intensely annoyed, but did 
 not dare to refuse. 
 
 " Mrs. Hilyer knows that I'm at home ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the maid. 
 
 11 Ask her to come up," he said. 
 
 Mrs. Hilyer entered almost directly. In 
 the subdued light her small, pretty face 
 looked pale perhaps also because it stood 
 out against a high collar of dark fur. 
 
 " Am I interrupting you ? " she asked, 
 holding out her hand. 
 
 " No," said Moorlake, with cold civility ; 
 " I seldom work after dark. Won't you sit 
 down ? " and he drew a chair toward the 
 fire. 
 
 " Not yet I want to look about first. 
 What a room for a dance ! but you ought 
 to have electric light." 
 
 " I don't care for dancing, you know." 
 
 " Perhaps your friends might ! " 
 
 " I am not an altruistic person, I'm afraid." 
 8 113
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " How selfish men are! " 
 
 Clarice was frozen by his manner by the 
 invulnerability of the armor in which she 
 had never been able to find a crevice. 
 
 Moorlake was averse to rudeness, but he 
 feared intensely to make her prolong her 
 visit. 
 
 " How does the room compare with my 
 Roman studio ? " he asked, more pleasantly, 
 while he strained his ears for the sound of 
 wheels or the tinkle of a door-bell. 
 
 " It is very nice, so far as I can see in this 
 dim, religious light. Ah, violets! " and she 
 daintily sniffed the warm air. " I believe 
 you are expecting someone to tea ! " 
 
 " My mother sometimes has tea with me 
 here," said Clement. "You know she lives 
 with me." He could not help smiling at his 
 own words. 
 
 Clarice laughed. 
 
 " How funny you are ! And yet you 
 
 haven't much sense of humor," she said. 
 114
 
 Confession 
 
 " Perhaps that's why I am amusing to my 
 friends," said he. " Yes, I suppose I'm a 
 very dull, humdrum sort of person." 
 
 " You don't look it ! " and Clarice fixed 
 her penetrating eyes on his face. " You 
 appear at this moment to be in a fever of 
 expectation or annoyance. Which is it ? 
 You have a beautiful red spot in the middle 
 of each cheek. Never saw you with a color 
 before. It makes you look years younger." 
 
 At any other time her impertinence would 
 have entertained him, but just now, when 
 his heart was in his ears, he had scarcely a 
 thought for her. 
 
 " I will have pity on you," she went on, 
 " and leave you. I came really to know 
 whether you would dine with me to-morrow 
 night and go to the play. I've got a box at 
 the Lyceum." 
 
 " You are very kind," said Moorlake, " but 
 I am engaged." 
 
 Clarice rose.
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 11 Too bad ! " she said, and at that mo- 
 ment the bell rang. " Ah ! There comes 
 the unknown she ! I must fly ! I'm afraid 
 we shall meet in the hall ! " and with a light 
 laugh Mrs. Hilyer left the room, without 
 further leave-taking. 
 
 Moorlake was intensely annoyed. Before 
 he could collect his thoughts the maid an- 
 nounced Mrs. North. She came toward him 
 in great trepidation. 
 
 "Oh, I'm so vexed!" she exclaimed, as 
 he took her hand. " I ran against Mrs. Hil- 
 yer on the stairs. What will she think ? " 
 
 11 What could she think except that you 
 kindly stepped in to see me, as she did ? " 
 said Clement, reassuringly. " You know 
 quite well that if there were any harm in 
 your coming here I should not have invited 
 you. I didn't like to tell my maid not to 
 let in anyone but you ; servants gossip so." 
 
 " And is she used to this sort of thing ? 
 
 your having women to tea, I mean ?" asked 
 116
 
 Confession 
 
 Althea, looking about her vaguely, not yet 
 recovered from her perturbation. 
 
 " I don't have many," said Clement, smil- 
 ing at the unconscious little note of jealousy 
 in her question. " But there are enough vis- 
 itors at the house to make your call quite 
 ordinary." 
 
 " Not to you, I hope," said Althea, with 
 a timid but bright smile. 
 
 He pressed her hand for an instant. 
 
 " Give me your cape, and take this chair," 
 he said, taking her wrap from her. 
 
 " How pretty it is here ! And the flowers 
 so fresh and sweet ! Did you get them 
 because of me ? " 
 
 He could hardly bear the look in her eyes 
 as she turned to him an expression of pure 
 worship and trust. 
 
 " How good and thoughtful you are to 
 me!" she went on. "I never knew that 
 men could be like that till I met you." 
 
 She was not in a condition of mind to 
 117
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 weigh her words. Moorlake saw this, and 
 had to fight down his own rising passion a 
 passion compounded more of pity than of 
 love. 
 
 " How often must I tell you that I'm no 
 better than other men ? " he said, gently. 
 
 " You can't make me believe it ! " she 
 said. " You're the first man who has ever 
 brought me any happiness." 
 
 Her sweet face was turned toward him in 
 the firelight, her eager, shining eyes were 
 fixed on his. 
 
 " Any man who could knowingly make 
 you unhappy can't be worth much ! " said 
 he, impulsively, forgetting that he was con- 
 demning her husband. 
 
 Just then the maid entered with tea, and 
 the conversation became, perforce, conven- 
 tional. When she had left the room Althea 
 said : " I made up my mind not to tell you 
 my troubles to-day. I want to rest here, and 
 
 forget." 
 
 118
 
 Confession 
 
 "Would it make you happier to tell them ? 
 Could I help you ? " he asked. " I have 
 known since our first meeting that you were 
 unhappy, but you have never told me why." 
 
 " But you know ! you feel ! You've 
 seen me with Oliver ; how could you not 
 know?" she said. "I don't know how I 
 can bear my life. " I don't want to be dis- 
 loyal, though the time for loyalty seems gone. 
 He has thrown me away." 
 
 " Poor man ! " said Moorlake. 
 
 " You pity him ? " asked Althea, amazed. 
 
 " I pity any man, however unworthy, who 
 has lost your love." 
 
 Althea flushed deeply. 
 
 " He never had my love ! such love as I 
 am capable of now. Listen. Let me tell 
 you the truth a part of the truth. I've 
 come to-day because I couldn't help it. I 
 wanted so much to see you alone away 
 from the shams of society, away from the 
 
 jealous espionage of the man who grudges 
 119
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 me even my friendships. I've got to the 
 point where I can't go on without support. 
 The struggle is awful. You've seen me 
 with him you know. It's sinful for me to 
 live with him any longer. Even for the 
 sake of the child I can't. I hate the sound 
 of his voice the touch of his hand. I 
 must get free. I shall go mad if I don't ! " 
 
 She was trembling with violent emotion. 
 Moorlake was scarcely less stirred. He 
 took her hand in both his own and bent 
 over her. " Althea ! " he said. " My heart 
 aches for you ! " 
 
 She went on, wildly : " He has crushed 
 me gradually, year after year. He has killed 
 my spirit stolen my youthbroken my 
 heart ! My life is dust and ashes. People 
 call him a good man ; so he is, without 
 a vice only the vices of the slave-driver 
 and the torturer. I clung to him for years, 
 and he has unclasped my fingers one by 
 
 one ! If he would strike me I could leave 
 1 20
 
 Confession 
 
 him ; if he were unfaithful I should be free 
 to live my own life. But he is only cruel 
 cruel." 
 
 She broke down utterly now and wept. 
 
 Moorlake knelt beside her and laid his 
 hand on her shoulder. 
 
 " My dear, my dear ! " he said, his voice 
 vibrating with feeling, " I can't watch you 
 cry like this ! " 
 
 For a few moments she clung to him si- 
 lently, while her sobs moderated. Her face 
 was buried in her hands. His touch seemed 
 an anodyne for all suffering. 
 
 " Forgive me," she said, weakly ; " I'm 
 so unstrung." She reached out one hand 
 and laid it lightly on the side of his face. 
 
 His heart throbbed wildly. 
 
 " I long to take you in my arms and shield 
 you against the world ! " he said, very low. 
 " But the shield would be but a target to 
 invite the arrows of the world ! " 
 
 He was holding himself back with the 
 121
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 full force of his strong will. Her instinct- 
 ive caress had shaken him sorely. 
 
 " I know I know," she said. " But there 
 is still friendship. You have said that there 
 is no middle course, but that is not so. I 
 can't hide from you how much you are to 
 me ; I don't feel any shame why should I 
 be ashamed to love what is high and noble ? 
 I never dreamed that you could care for me 
 much, but I know you are my friend. 
 Aren't you ? You like me ? " 
 
 She was not touching him now, but her 
 eyes were probing his own. 
 
 " My dear," he answered, " I like you 
 only too well." 
 
 " Then we can have a friendship," she 
 said, triumphantly "a beautiful secret com- 
 pact a bond too sacred to be made known 
 to any but ourselves. I will make our love 
 so high and pure and stainless that God 
 himself could not chide us for it. Isn't it 
 
 possible ? " 
 
 122
 
 Confession 
 
 " A dream, dear child," he said, sadly 
 " a beautiful dream." 
 
 " Only a dream ? " she answered, eagerly. 
 " You hinted once that there had been 
 for years a woman in your life a love that 
 made all other love impossible. I don't 
 ask to know where she is whether she be 
 alive or dead ; I ask only the second place. 
 To be second in your heart would be hap- 
 piness enough for me. Ah, do you despise 
 me ? Am I unwomanly ? " 
 
 "Despise you?" he cried. "Despise 
 you, my child ? Is it nothing that such a 
 woman as you cares for me ? Is it nothing 
 that you awaken feelings that I thought were 
 dead ? I can't have your beautiful friend- 
 ship ; I've told you, warned you, that you 
 mustn't trust me. I should only injure you 
 make your life harder than it is, believe me." 
 
 She hid her face once more. 
 
 "You do despise me," she said, chok- 
 ingly ; "you do !" 
 
 123
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " So little," he answered, " that I wish to 
 God I were a different man and you a free 
 woman. Two things hold us apart, the 
 power of the past and my affection for you. 
 I can't offer you anything that won't be an 
 insult to you." 
 
 She looked up with a white face. 
 
 " Ah," she said, " you don't love me ! " 
 
 " I care so much for you," he said, " that 
 I won't sacrifice you." 
 
 " You don't understand me yet," Althea 
 protested. " You won't understand me. 
 I swear that I want to be your friend to see 
 you sometimes to have in my heart the 
 knowledge that one man cares for me that 
 I care for and believe in one man." 
 
 " I do understand you," he said, sadly, 
 " I recognize your purity, and I realize that 
 I am a man." 
 
 11 But such a man ! " she said ; " so much 
 higher and nobler " 
 
 "An ordinary man," said Moorlake, "who 
 124
 
 Confession 
 
 tries not to be a blackguard. It isn't always 
 easy. Don't think it's easy." 
 
 She looked at his pale, stern face. 
 
 " Oh, I love you for it ! " she cried. 
 There was a kind of radiance in her regard. 
 " I'm not ashamed ; I'm proud that I love 
 the best man I've ever known." 
 
 She turned away from him and walked 
 toward the dim end of the room. 
 
 He stood by the fire, looking blindly 
 down at the flames. His mind was in a 
 whirl. 
 
 In a few moments Althea returned and 
 stood beside him. They faced each other. 
 
 " So this is the end ? " she said, quietly. 
 
 " Of what ?" he asked, knowing her mean- 
 ing, yet wishing to gain time. 
 
 " Of our friendship our love what you 
 please to call it," she replied. 
 
 " I know no other course," he said. 
 
 She did not know what the answer cost 
 
 him. 
 
 125
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " We shall never meet again ? I have 
 spoiled it all all the hope'I had," she said, 
 wearily. 
 
 " For a time for a time," he murmured. 
 *' Let us not meet for a little while." 
 
 11 It must be so, if you say it. Will you 
 kiss me once, Clement for good-bye ? " 
 
 His breast heaved. He was less calm 
 than she, for she was learning what despair 
 means. 
 
 He took her in his arms ; she raised her 
 mouth to his. 
 
 And at that moment the door opened, and 
 Oliver North stood on the threshold. 
 
 126
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A TRAGEDY 
 
 FOR several seconds no one spoke. 
 
 Althea clung to Moorlake's arm, and 
 after the first involuntary cringe faced her 
 husband boldly. North's face was white in 
 the dim light, and set in an expression of 
 restrained fury. 
 
 " So," he said, presently, " she was right. 
 You are here with your lover ! " 
 
 " He is not my lover," said Althea, in a 
 weak voice. She was trembling, but she 
 did not flinch. 
 
 " That is for him to explain to me," said 
 North, with a black scowl. He made a step 
 nearer. Althea threw herself before Moor- 
 lake. 
 
 " Don't touch him ! Don't dare ! " she 
 127
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 cried. " He's too good for you to touch ! " 
 Then she turned to Clement. " Leave me 
 with him ; he shall hear the truth from me." 
 
 " I can't leave you," said Moorlake. " Let 
 me speak to your husband." His whole 
 anxiety seemed for her not for anything 
 that might happen to himself. 
 
 " I implore you ! " she said, and pointed 
 to the door. 
 
 Moorlake turned to North. " I will come 
 back when you want me," he said. 
 
 North's eyes were fixed on Althea. 
 
 " My business is with her. Time enough 
 to settle with you," he answered. He 
 glanced at Clement as he left the room, then 
 turned on his wife with a face fearful in its 
 bitter anger. 
 
 " Well," he said, " you shameless woman, 
 what have you to say ? How long have you 
 been deceiving me with this scoundrel ? " 
 
 Althea, though blanched, gathered firm- 
 ness every moment. 
 
 128
 
 A Tragedy 
 
 " I deceived you ! " she said. " I have 
 treated you like a gentleman when you were 
 insulting me w r ith every breath ! I have 
 stayed quietly in your house while you 
 made my home a hell ; but from this 
 moment I'll deceive you no longer I hate 
 you ! I hate you ! You have done all you 
 could to drive me to dishonor ; but I am in- 
 nocent. Clement Moorlake is a man to die 
 for but he doesn't love me. Why should 
 he ? But I'm not ashamed of loving him 
 and I do I do ! Wouldn't any poor, 
 crushed, broken-hearted woman love the 
 best man she's ever known ? " She paused 
 a moment, panting. 
 
 " You confess to me that you love him ? " 
 cried North, with concentrated rage, " and 
 you say he isn't your lover ? A likely story ! 
 Does an innocent woman go to a man's 
 rooms alone and kiss him ? You ask me to 
 believe that ? " 
 
 "I asked him to kiss me because we 
 9 129
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 were never to meet again," said Althea. 
 " Would to God he did love me but he 
 doesn't." 
 
 North snarled inarticulately and half- 
 raised his arm. 
 
 " Strike me," she said, " and make me free 
 of you forever ! But I tell you, if you hurt 
 Clement I'll kill you kill you with my 
 naked hands." 
 
 "You a decent woman?" he cried. 
 "You're low and vile ! If you're not his 
 mistress you ought to be ! Stay here till 
 you make him love you ! I wouldn't soil 
 my hands with either of you. There are 
 other ways of punishing a woman like you." 
 He seized her by the shoulders, dashed her 
 to the floor and strode from the room. 
 
 Moorlake was in the inner room. He 
 heard the fall, and hurried to Althea's as- 
 sistance. By that time the frenzied North 
 had left the house, banging the door behind 
 
 him. 
 
 130
 
 A Tragedy 
 
 Althea's head had struck against the table, 
 and she was half-stunned. 
 - Moorlake knelt and raised her head till it 
 rested on his arm. There were signs of re- 
 turning consciousness, and at that moment 
 Mrs. Moorlake entered. The stately old 
 lady, white-haired and with eyes like Clem- 
 ent's, stood looking at her son and Althea 
 with a startled gaze. 
 
 "What is this, Clement? Who is it?" 
 she asked, sternly. 
 
 " Mrs. North is ill, mother. Will you ring 
 for your maid, please ? " said Moorlake, softly. 
 
 Althea's eyelids fluttered, and she feebly 
 raised her hand to her head. 
 
 " Oh ! " she murmured, " we are not 
 alone. Let me get up." 
 
 " Are you able ? " asked Clement. " Per- 
 haps, mother, you would better not ring. 
 Mrs. North is recovering." 
 
 Althea got up slowly, swaying slightly as 
 she regained her feet.
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 "I must go," she said, faintly. All her 
 force was gone. 
 
 " Will you take my carriage ? " asked Mrs. 
 Moorlake, stiffly. " It is waiting still." 
 
 "Thank you, I will go home. Oh!" 
 she wailed, suddenly, " I have no home." 
 
 Mrs. Moorlake looked shocked and sur- 
 prised. 
 
 "You are ill," she said. " Let me send 
 my maid with you." 
 
 11 I will take Mrs. North," said Moorlake, 
 firmly. He placed Althea's cape about her 
 shoulders. " I will take you to Mrs. Vin- 
 cent's," he said to her in a low tone ; " but 
 you must first have a glass of wine." He 
 made her sit down. " Perhaps I'd better 
 fetch the w T ine myself. You will stay here, 
 mother," he said. " I will see that Mrs. 
 North reaches home safely." 
 
 He was gone only a minute or two. Mrs. 
 Moorlake said nothing ; she saw that Althea 
 
 was dazed and unequal to conversation. 
 132
 
 A Tragedy 
 
 Clement returned with a glass of port. 
 Althea drank it submissively, and revived a 
 little. He led her from the room and down 
 the stairs like a child. The hall was empty, 
 and they got into the carriage without being 
 seen by anyone but the coachman. 
 
 " Lean on me, dear," he said, gently, and 
 she put her head against his shoulder. 
 
 Her mind was torpid. Everything seemed 
 wrapped in a haze. She knew that she was 
 touching Clement that he was supporting 
 her, as a father might. The contact gave 
 her no thrill only a dull sense that she was 
 being cared for, and that he was a tower of 
 strength. They reached Campden Hill in 
 silence. He left her in the carriage and 
 went in to prepare Nellie Vincent. She was 
 just going upstairs to dress for dinner, but 
 greeted him with her usual cordiality. 
 
 " Mrs. North is in the carriage," he said ; 
 " she needs you very much. There has 
 
 been a terrible scene with North she has 
 133
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 had a blow, and can't talk much. You'll be 
 good to her, won't you ? " He said this hold- 
 ing Nellie's hand. She had never seen him 
 so white and agitated. 
 
 " Clement ! tell me more. What does 
 this mean ? " she cried. 
 
 " Much to both of us, I fear," he answered. 
 " She will tell you when she is better ; but 
 we must not keep her waiting." 
 
 Together they went out to the carriage 
 and brought Althea in.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE HUSBAND'S FLIGHT 
 
 ON some nervous temperaments a sudden 
 shock produces a succeeding torpor of body 
 and brain. When Althea found herself in 
 her friend's boudoir her one desire was 
 to sleep. She had no other craving left. 
 Nothing seemed to matter. The great crisis 
 of her life, through which she had just 
 passed, had little significance for her. She 
 had let Moorlake go without a word ; she 
 had not even thanked him. 
 
 " Let me sleep, Nellie," she said, when 
 Mrs. Vincent questioned her. " Something 
 awful has happened Oliver Clement it's 
 all confused. Don't ask me till to-morrow." 
 
 Nellie had the sense to see that she must 
 
 not try to learn anything to-night. She 
 135
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 herself helped Althea to undress, induced 
 her to drink a cup of tea, and got her into 
 bed. She lighted the fire already laid, then, 
 returning to her own room, rang for the 
 housemaid and explained that Mrs. North 
 had been taken ill while calling, and must 
 not be disturbed. 
 
 Nellie's own confidential maid had fetched 
 the tea, and could be trusted not to gossip 
 in the servants' hall. 
 
 Nellie had barely time to slip on a tea 
 gown when dinner was announced. Ber- 
 tram Vincent was waiting for her when she 
 entered the drawing-room. He stood be- 
 fore the fire, whistling blithely to himself. 
 
 " Bertie," said Nellie, coming quickly to- 
 ward him, "something awful has happened," 
 and in a few words she told all she knew. 
 
 Vincent whistled again, this time with a 
 changed note. 
 
 " Clement ! " he exclaimed. "Well, I'm 
 
 blowed ! " 
 
 136
 
 The Husband's Flight 
 
 " Yes, Clement ! of all people ! " said Nel- 
 lie. "Come; we must behave as usual." 
 
 " After all, it's our servants who keep us 
 straight," said Bertie, with a sudden smile. 
 It tickled his sense of humor that he and 
 his wife must talk commonplace, and eat 
 clear soup while poor, ruined, sick-hearted 
 Althea lay in a half-stupor upstairs and 
 meanwhile the demure parlor-maid, under 
 her spotless cap with streamers, held the 
 distinct impression of the bruise she had 
 seen on Mrs. North's face. 
 
 At last dessert came, and the maid de- 
 parted. Wild with impatience, Nellie 
 jumped up. 
 
 " Parkins is on guard, Bertie ; she won't 
 let the others in. But I'm going up. Oh, 
 poor Althea ! What do you think it is ? " 
 
 "An infernal muddle, no doubt. Why 
 did Althea go to Clement's alone?" 
 
 " Why, many people do. I do." 
 
 " I know, but that's different. We've
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 known Moorlake twenty years, and then, / 
 am not Oliver North." 
 
 " No, thank God ! " 
 
 Bertie reflected for a moment. 
 
 "Will they fight, do you think? "asked 
 Nellie. " Do men have duels in England ? " 
 
 11 More likely, if there's anything in it, 
 North will shoot 'em both ! " said Bertie. 
 " Do you remember that unfortunate dinner 
 last Summer, when they met ? It was in 
 this very room that Oliver gave vent to his 
 opinion on faithless wives. He won't give 
 much quarter, I expect." 
 
 Nellie was half-crying. 
 
 " Whatever she's done it's his fault the 
 brute ! " she said, vehemently. 
 
 " But Moorlake, of all men ! " said Vin- 
 cent, wonderingly, as his wife left him. 
 
 The night seemed short to Althea. Her 
 sleep was deep and dreamless. When she 
 woke the dim Winter light barely made the 
 
 room visible. She looked idly at the bed 
 138
 
 The Husband's Flight 
 
 curtains, noted the pattern, and realized that 
 they were not her own. By the time she sat 
 up and looked at the other objects in the 
 room, Nellie, who had slept on the sofa all 
 night, entered fresh from her bath and morn- 
 ing coffee. 
 
 " Well, dearest," she said, trying to keep 
 her voice steady, " you've had a splendid 
 sleep ! You must be hungry. You shall 
 have breakfast at once. How do you feel, 
 love ? " 
 
 " My head aches a little," said Althea. 
 " I think I am rather hungry." Then, with 
 sudden excitement, " Nellie, why am I 
 here ? " 
 
 " You were ill, dear and Clement that 
 is I you were so tired " Nellie came to 
 a standstill. 
 
 A wave of recollection broke over 
 Althea. 
 
 " Oh, Nellie ! Nellie ! I remember ! 
 Clement ! is he safe ? Where is he ? Where
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 is Oliver ?" She clasped her hands tightly 
 and fixed imploring eyes on her friend. 
 
 " Safe ? Of course. Why not ? " said 
 Nellie. " He's big enough to take care of 
 himself, isn't he, dear ?" 
 
 The tragedy in Althea's face frightened 
 her into an attempt at playfulness. 
 
 "You don't know," said Althea. " I was 
 stupid last night I hurt my face or head 
 when Oliver threw me down." 
 
 She began to cry weakly. 
 
 11 My .tear," implored Nellie, her own eyes 
 wet, " you mustn't ! Lie down. Be good, 
 love. Let me bring you some breakfast. 
 Sarah will make a fire, and your own Nellie, 
 who Icves you, will take care of you. Don't, 
 don't, that's a love ! " 
 
 The childless woman crooned over her 
 like a mother with a baby. 
 
 She was quieted for the time. 
 
 The blazing coals were comforting and 
 
 cheering, and made one forget the yellow 
 140
 
 The Husband's Flight 
 
 day outside. Nature asserted herself, and 
 Althea was really glad to eat and drink. Life 
 looks so different after breakfast ! She was 
 then able to tell Mrs. Vincent all. When 
 the story \vas ended, Nellie sat beside the 
 bed, silent. 
 
 " Do you hate me, Nell, for being so 
 wicked ? " asked Althea, timidly. 
 
 " I hate Oliver ! " said Nellie. " No one 
 else. But I think Moorlake should not 
 have let it come to this." 
 
 " Oh, it wasn't his fault ! He is the 
 best the " 
 
 " I know I know. They always are ! I've 
 known Moorlake twenty years, and I thought 
 him the only sensible attractive man of my 
 acquaintance it's easy for the other kind to 
 be sensible. I'm disappointed in him." 
 
 Althea shook her head on the pillow. 
 
 "You've known him twenty years, but 
 you don't know him as I do," she said. 
 
 " Possibly not in just that way," said 
 141
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 Nellie, dryly. Then, presently : " Althea, 
 does he love you ? " 
 
 Althea winced piteously. 
 
 " Not as I do him," she said. 
 
 " There was that other woman" began 
 Nellie. 
 
 Althea raised her hand. 
 
 " Don't tell me ! " she cried. " If he wants 
 me to know he'll tell me himself ! " 
 
 " I can't tell you, for I don't know any- 
 thing. Clement's as close as wax. I only 
 know that it is generally understood that he 
 has loved one woman all his life. She may 
 be dead I don't know." 
 
 There was a short silence. The firelight 
 flickered cosily on the rose-pink walls and 
 the flowery hangings. Both women were 
 deep in thought. 
 
 " Nellie," said Althea, presently, " will 
 Oliver try to kill me or Clement ?" 
 
 " I sha'n't let him kill you, dear ! " said 
 
 Nellie. "Moorlake must defend himself." 
 142
 
 The Husband's Flight 
 
 " It would be awful to die so " Althea 
 shuddered a little " and for such a little 
 sin ! " 
 
 " It would be a large price to pay for one 
 kiss," said Nellie, cynically. "Well, well, 
 we must think what's to be done. Bertie 
 had better go to your house. He can man- 
 age Oliver." 
 
 " Oh, Nellie, my child ! my poor baby ! 
 How wicked I am ! Isn't it terrible that 
 I've loved him so much that I've almost for- 
 gotten Violet ! Oh, Nellie ! " and she began 
 to cry afresh. 
 
 When she was once more soothed Mrs. 
 Vincent left her and went to confer with 
 Bertie. 
 
 "You must go at once to the Norths' !" 
 she said. " You'll be able to find out what 
 sort of mood Oliver is in, and see how 
 Violet is, too. Althea is fretting about 
 her." 
 
 Bertie made a small grimace.
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " Pleasant mission for a fellow who hates 
 scenes ! " he said ; but he went. 
 
 When Nellie returned to her friend she 
 found her with a new idea. 
 
 " Something has flashed across me ! " she 
 exclaimed. " When Oliver came in yester- 
 day he said : ' She was right ! You are 
 with your lover ! ' Now, ' she ' must be 
 Clarice Hilyer. I forgot to tell you that I 
 met her in the hall." 
 
 Nellie Vincent threw up her hands. 
 
 11 Good Lord ! Then you are lost ! " she 
 cried. " That woman will hound you to de- 
 struction. Why, she's been after Moorlake 
 for years. Oh, Althea, you silly baby, why 
 did you go there ? " 
 
 " Because I was mad," said Mrs. North, 
 gloomily. 
 
 When Bertram Vincent arrived in Pont 
 street he was met by a solemn-faced maid 
 
 at the door. 
 
 144
 
 The Husband's Flight 
 
 " Is Mr. North at home, Alice ? " he asked. 
 He knew her well. 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Miss Violet, then?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " I came to tell you where Mrs. North is ; 
 I thought you might be worried about her. 
 She was taken faint yesterday while driving 
 on Campden Hill came to us, and Mrs. 
 Vincent is taking good care of her." 
 
 Alice's calm broke up. 
 
 " Come in, sir, please," she said, with a 
 sob. " There's no good in keepin' the 
 truth from you, sir, you as knows us all 
 so well, sir. Mr. North's gone that's the 
 truth ; went off last night, ragin'-like, and 
 
 and he's taken Miss Violet." 
 
 i 
 
 "Taken Miss Violet ! " cried Vincent, 
 aghast. "Where to, in heaven's name ?" 
 
 " That's what we don't know, sir. And 
 he's gone without nurse, and the poor wo- 
 man is near crazy. He come in about six 
 10 145
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 o'clock yesterday like a wild man. ' Send 
 cook to me,' says he, and tell nurse to get 
 Miss Violet ready to travel to pack her 
 clothes as fast as she can.' ' For 'ow long, 
 sir ?' I says, very respectful for he was 
 glarin*. ' A year,' says he ' two years ! 
 Pack all her things, and be quick ! ' Cook 
 come up all in a tremble. She told me he 
 said to mind everything while he was away, 
 till she heard from him, and he gave her a 
 cheque for forty pounds for expenses, which 
 looks bad, master being so close-fisted in 
 general. ' And will the mistress be back, 
 sir ? ' asks cook. ' Never ! ' says master, 
 in an awful voice. ' She's dead,' says he. 
 1 Oh, poor, dear lady ! ' cries cook. We all 
 loves Mrs. North, y' know, sir. ' How did 
 she die ? ' says cook. ' She killed herself 
 and me,' he says, wild-like. Well, you 
 know, sir, that couldn't be true, because Mr. 
 North wasn't a bit dead himself, only storm- 
 in' around cruel. So we plucked up spirit, 
 146
 
 The Husband's Flight 
 
 sir, and and here we are," she ended, 
 lamely. 
 
 These were the tidings that Vincent had 
 to carry back to Campden Hill.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A LOVER'S DILEMMA 
 
 THE next day Moorlake called at the Vin- 
 cents' to inquire for Althea. Nellie came 
 to ask if she would like to see him. 
 
 Althea was sitting huddled up in a great 
 chair before the morning-room fire. She 
 had scarcely stirred or spoken all day. At 
 the mention of Clement's name a wave of 
 color swept over her face. 
 
 " No, no ! I can't see him ! " she said. 
 
 "You will have to see him sooner or later," 
 said Nellie. " He will come again and again 
 until you do. Why not now ? " 
 
 " I can't," said Althea, and that was all 
 she would say. As soon, however, as 
 
 Nellie left the room she was in a fever. Oh, 
 149
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 to see him just a glimpse ! Oh, to hear 
 him one tone of his voice ! 
 
 The apathy of the past few hours changed 
 to a consuming hunger for his presence. 
 Yet, she thought, of what use was his com- 
 ing ? If he had not loved her before he 
 would despise her now when she had led 
 him into a position so hateful to a man of 
 honor. He had never loved her she knew 
 that ; only felt a great pity, a great kindness, 
 a great regret that so much love should 
 have been given unsought, undesired. Some 
 men would have played with the passion ; 
 would have extracted thrills and sensations 
 from it, while their souls held aloof. She 
 thanked God that Moorlake was better than 
 that, and she realized, amid the pangs of 
 a most human craving, that it was better 
 to preserve one's ideal than to have a surfeit 
 of mock love. 
 
 The knowledge that he was so near, yet 
 
 invisible, inaudible to her, made her long to 
 150
 
 A Lover's Dilemma 
 
 go to him. But the awe in which she held 
 him now more than ever kept her where 
 she was, and would not let her go. 
 
 In a little while, though the time seemed 
 long, Nellie Vincent returned to the morn- 
 ing-room. She sat down by Althea, seeing 
 the eager question of her eyes. 
 
 "He is very sad, very troubled, Althea," 
 she said. " He did not say much only 
 asked about you, whether you had any 
 plans, and how you were." 
 
 " Did you say anything about Violet ? " 
 asked Althea, in a weak voice. 
 
 " Bertie told him. He was awfully 
 shocked." 
 
 " Did he speak of seeing me ? " 
 
 " He only said, ' If I can be of any use, 
 let me know.' ' 
 
 11 And how did he look ? " 
 
 11 Pale and older." 
 
 " Oh, Clement ! Clement !" Althea cov- 
 ered her face with her hands. " I who
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 would die for him have brought him only 
 trouble." 
 
 Nellie did not answer ; she only held her 
 friend's hand and patted it. 
 
 Her mind was fixed on the near future, 
 and the prospect was a disquieting one. 
 How was Althea to regain her child ? How 
 was a scandal to be averted ? Sooner or 
 later something must transpire. It was 
 likely that Clarice Hilyer would be glad to 
 injure the woman of whom she had suddenly 
 become jealous. Besides all this, Althea's 
 financial position was insecure. She had 
 now but a trifle to live on, as evidently part 
 of Oliver's scheme of revenge was to leave 
 her without means of support. 
 
 " It would have been kinder to shoot her," 
 said Nellie to Bertie next day. 
 
 "I can't see what she's to do," admitted 
 Bertie. " I saw Ballard, the American law- 
 yer, this morning. He tells me that Althea 
 
 can't get the child unless she could get 
 152
 
 A Lover's Dilemma 
 
 someone to steal it, and we don't even 
 know where it is. Who knows what North 
 is doing ? He may be getting a divorce or 
 rather, he may do so when he arrives, for I 
 suppose he is gone to America." 
 
 " How can he do that ? He has no 
 grounds," said Nellie. 
 
 " You don't know American law, my dear," 
 answered Vincent. " Ballard tells me that 
 a man can go to Dakota, live there ninety 
 days, start divorce proceedings of which his 
 wife is perfectly ignorant ; the case 'goes by 
 default,' as they call it, and the wife has papers 
 served on her simply informing her that she's 
 divorced. That may happen to Althea." 
 
 " Heavens, what a wicked law ! " cried 
 Nellie. "And could Clement marry her?" 
 
 " That I am not quite certain of. Ballard 
 left me before we got to that. Do you think 
 Clement wants to marry her ? " 
 
 Nellie was silent for a moment. Then she 
 
 said : " I think he would feel it his duty." 
 153
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 11 Althea wouldn't take him on those terms. 
 She's too proud," said Bertie. 
 
 " My dear," said Nellie, "when a woman 
 worships a man as Althea worships Moor- 
 lake, she takes him on any terms especially 
 if they're respectable ones." 
 
 "Well," said Bertie, "we shall see. . . ." 
 
 No one besides the Vincents and Moorlake 
 could account for North's sudden absence 
 except Clarice Hilyer, who had made the 
 mischief. She needed all her coolness when 
 she thought of meeting Moorlake as she 
 might do any day. She found herself afraid 
 to pass his door ; every day she stood on 
 her doorstep before going out, nervously 
 looking up and down Cheyne Walk, dread- 
 ing to see his tall figure. She knew that to 
 inflict further injury on Althea North would 
 be to lose Clement even as an acquaintance, 
 and she preserved an unbroken silence. 
 She never did harm to any woman unless 
 that woman stood in her way ; and even
 
 A Lover's Dilemma 
 
 then her hatred was impersonal and calm, 
 scarcely deserving the name of a passion. 
 
 Mrs. Moorlake understood her son's tem- 
 per and character too well to question him 
 in regard to the scene in the studio. Clem- 
 ent was a man who scrupulously guarded 
 his individual rights of thought and action. 
 His mother's unyielding dignity had been re- 
 produced in him. He gave no one the right 
 to question him, and she had always re- 
 spected his reticence. In so doing she made 
 it possible for them to live together in har- 
 mony. Mrs. Moorlake had never before 
 entered his studio without an invitation, and 
 she blamed herself for having done so on this 
 occasion. 
 
 As for Clement, he found the work of 
 years undone in an instant. He had stren- 
 uously perhaps priggishly protected him- 
 self against the charm of women, only to find 
 himself in the odious position of a man accused 
 
 of a sin he has not committed branded as a 
 155
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 seducer, while he has almost attained to the 
 renunciation of a saint. The temptation 
 had been a fiery one, and he had come 
 through it morally unscathed ; yet here he 
 was, responsible for a woman's ruin. What 
 though that ruin was imaginary ? It was 
 real enough in the sense that her husband 
 believed in it, and had left her in jealous fury. 
 She was now dependent on three persons 
 the Vincents and himself and of these three 
 he was the only one who was morally respon- 
 sible. His one poor, abortive, brotherly kiss 
 had ended worse than the fiercest embrace. 
 He would have found something ludicrous 
 in the case had he not been the hero of it. His 
 quickened fancy pictured the cheerless 
 drama that might follow. He saw him- 
 self, for the rest of his life, charged with 
 the fate of Althea North. She was pretty, 
 she was charming ; she loved him, but yes, 
 that was it she loved him too much. It was 
 
 an entire reversal of the proper order of 
 156
 
 A Lover's Dilemma 
 
 things. His fine taste was offended by it. 
 Now that he was away from Althea he felt 
 astonishingly cold. There was none of the 
 warmth that her sweetness and pretty, plead- 
 ing ways evoked in him when they were to- 
 gether. He had been inexpressibly relieved 
 when she refused to see him. He com- 
 mended her discretion a quality not always 
 displayed by women who are madly in love. 
 Yet he knew that the meeting must come r 
 and the thought of it sat on him like a night- 
 mare. One side of his nature hated the 
 other. He wanted to love Althea. Tepid 
 affection wasn't enough ; pity, and the kind- 
 ness which every chivalrous man feels toward 
 a nice woman, were not enough. He longed 
 to rouse some emotion, some enthusiasm, in 
 himself. His nature was like his face, where 
 the cold, pure Grecian outlines were contra- 
 dicted by the fire of the eyes ; and at present 
 the coldness had it all its own way. 
 
 Meanwhile, Althea stayed on with the
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 Vincents. She went to Pont street one day 
 to get her clothes and various belongings 
 that she needed. The servants looked at her 
 in an awestruck way, but they seemed full of 
 affection for her and of stifled indignation 
 toward Oliver. North's solicitor, Alice, the 
 parlor-maid, said, had called two days before 
 and had put the household on a different foot- 
 ing. All the maids but Alice and the cook 
 had been paid a month's wages and sent 
 away. The other two were ordered to re- 
 main on board wages until further instruc- 
 tions should be received. The drawing- 
 room was dismantled, and its sheeted forms 
 gave Althea a shock. The house was full of 
 memories most of them miserable ones. 
 Violet's bedroom was more than she could 
 bear. It brought back the hours that mother 
 and child had spent together the hours al- 
 ways the most satisfactory in a mother's life. 
 Althea had thought then that she knew what 
 
 maternal love was, but the throbbing wave of 
 158
 
 A Lover's Dilemma 
 
 affection that swelled over her now as she 
 looked at the vacant crib made her past feel- 
 ings seem lukewarm and feeble by compari- 
 son. 
 
 She kept down her sobs while she se- 
 lected such garments as she needed and su- 
 perintended the packing of them. One of 
 the dresses was the pale mauve satin she had 
 worn on the occasion of her first meeting 
 with Moorlake the meeting that was des- 
 tined to alter her life. She scarcely knew 
 whether she loved or hated it. She remem- 
 bered how she had never had enough clothes. 
 She had gone to America the wife of a com- 
 paratively rich man, and had felt herself 
 shabby and ashamed before her old friends. 
 Each garment had some painful association ; 
 her life with Oliver had had little hippiness. 
 
 She got away from the house of ghosts as 
 soon as she could and drove back to Camp- 
 den Hill. All the way she was occupied 
 with wondering how she was to live
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 whether she could not force Oliver to make 
 some provision for her. The Vincents loved 
 her, and she was devoted to them, but she 
 could not live her whole life with them. She 
 felt a consuming desire to get away from 
 London, to know that there was no chance 
 of seeing Clement the one person whom 
 she longed for and dreaded. When she 
 reached the Vincents' she went at once into 
 the morning-room. The afternoon was 
 gray and cheerless, darkening into evening. 
 Even the glowing fire and the flowers, of 
 which the vases were full, could not make 
 the room bright. She stood looking about 
 for Nellie, and saw Clement Moorlake stand- 
 ing by the window. The shock stopped her 
 heart, then sent it bounding. Moorlake 
 looked so tall and pale and grave that he 
 somehow overpowered her. She did not 
 even stretch out her hand to him ; she stood 
 looking at him with wide eyes. It was Clem- 
 ent that spoke. 
 
 160
 
 A Lover's Dilemma 
 
 " I was waiting for Mrs. Vincent," he said, 
 *' But I am glad to have this opportunity of 
 seeing you." 
 
 He realized that he was priggish and stilted 
 that he had said the wrong thing. 
 
 " I will tell Nellie," said Althea, mechani- 
 cally, and moved toward the door. 
 
 Moorlake came a step nearer. 
 
 " No, no don't, please. I want to see 
 you." 
 
 Althea returned to the fire, and stood 
 taking off her gloves. She could not keep 
 her hands still. 
 
 " I cannot blame you," she said, " if you 
 want never to see me again." 
 
 That was also the wrong thing to say, she 
 thought. She should have kept the appeal- 
 ing tone out of her voice. 
 
 "That is impossible ! " said Clement. He 
 was fighting down his distaste for the situa- 
 tion trying to warm over his sympathy, that 
 
 had grown cold. " I want so much to tell 
 11 161
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 you " He paused. What did he want to 
 tell her ? He was distinctly conscious that 
 he wished to tell her nothing. Meanwhile 
 she stood opposite him, with white, pathetic 
 face. She had put down her gloves, and now 
 drew the pins from her hat, and laid that 
 aside. Then she smoothed the heavy masses, 
 of chestnut hair that had fallen over her 
 ears. 
 
 Why couldn't he love her ? Why couldn't 
 he take her into his arms and comfort her ? 
 It seemed to him nobler now to pretend than 
 to freeze the poor creature by an exhibition 
 of the truth. Yet something held him 
 back. 
 
 Althea found words before he could go 
 on. 
 
 " I want to tell you, Mr. Moorlake," she 
 said, " what an agony of remorse I've 
 suffered for having brought you to this. I 
 understand your position ; don't think I 
 
 imagine anything that is not so. You must 
 162
 
 A Lover's Dilemma 
 
 not trouble about me.- I have good friends 
 who will do all they can for me." 
 
 In that moment he admired her. Some 
 of the ice melted. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. North," he said, leaning toward 
 her. " I want you to feel that I am your 
 friend, though I have so far brought onlyun- 
 happiness into your life. I have no words 
 to express how I regret this. If I can help 
 you in any way " he paused, again at a loss. 
 
 Neither was sorry that Nellie Vincent at 
 that moment opened the door and ended the 
 abortive interview. When she saw Althea 
 she started back, then hastily decided to 
 behave naturally. 
 
 " I've kept you waiting, Clement," she 
 said, "but I was helping Bertie in the 
 studio." 
 
 Althea took up her hat and gloves. " Good- 
 bye," she said, turning to Moorlake, then 
 quietly left the room. -j 
 
 Nellie looked after her, then at Moorlake. 
 163
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " Can you say nothing do nothing ? " 
 she demanded. " That poor thing will go 
 mad." 
 
 Moorlake's face became set and haughty, 
 and his thin nostrils quivered. 
 
 " You needn't look like that, Clement," 
 said Nellie. " I've known you twenty years, 
 and I'm one of the women you can't intimi- 
 date. I'm as sorry for you as I can be, but 
 Althea didn't get into this miserable mess all 
 alone, and she's got to be helped. I'm al- 
 ways on the side of the women, you know. 
 We're handicapped from the cradle to the 
 grave." 
 
 Moorlake almost smiled at this outburst. 
 He was very fond of Mrs. Vincent. 
 
 " My dear Nellie," he said, " I don't know 
 how I looked at you I only know how I feel, 
 and nobody need-envy me." 
 
 " Let me know how you feel, please," said 
 Nellie. " You see, we're all accustomed to 
 
 look on you as something holy and remote 
 164
 
 A Lover's Dilemma 
 
 something on a marble pedestal. We've 
 always expected you to do the right thing, 
 and you've always done it, so far as we know. 
 Now, all of a sudden, you've stepped down, 
 and I naturally feel anxious to hear what 
 you think about it. I can't think it's no 
 business of mine. I love Althea North she 
 is my best friend and at present I see 
 ruin ahead of her ruin without any com- 
 pensation, apparently that is, if you don't 
 love her." 
 
 Moorlake was making a heroic effort to 
 conquer his repugnance to personal conver- 
 sation. It was indeed difficult to preserve 
 the haughty pose with Nellie, the friend 
 of his boyhood. Their relations had always 
 been those cordial, unemotional ones that 
 alone endure between women and men. 
 
 When he answered her his face wore an 
 expression of unaffected kindness. 
 
 " I feel Mrs. North's position most 
 
 keenly," he said. " It seems disloyal to be 
 165
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 discussing her behind her back. I'm sure, 
 if she ever felt any admiration for me she 
 must have lost it by now. I was a brute to 
 her just now ! " 
 
 11 1 was afraid of it ! " cried Nellie. " Her 
 poor face made me shiver, it was so wan and 
 white ! Do you know what you ought to 
 have done ? You should have simply taken 
 her into your arms and told her you love 
 her. I don't care whether you do or not. 
 A lie like that will save a woman's reason 
 sometimes. I'm not speaking in the interest 
 of morality now. My heart simply bleeds 
 for that girl. I've never entangled myself 
 with any man but then, mind you, / was 
 never married to Oliver North ! " 
 
 Moorlake regarded her with deep interest. 
 
 " You're a good woman, Nellie," he said, 
 " and I'm a cold brute." 
 
 " Ah, my dear, the cold brutes are worse 
 than the other kind when it comes to this. 
 
 Here is this woman torturing herself, think- 
 166
 
 A Lover's Dilemma 
 
 ing she has lost your respect, as well as every- 
 thing else, and you come and patronize her 
 in a polite morning call . . . Oh, it's too- 
 much ; I'm ashamed of you ! " 
 
 Moorlake took his castigation meekly. 
 
 " Last time you met," Nellie went on, 
 " she was in your arms. This time I dare 
 say you didn't even shake hands with her. 
 Oh, you men ! I know your Spanish hidalgo 
 airs without any Spanish warmth behind 
 them ! I'm glad enough / was never in love 
 with you ! " 
 
 " Don't spare me," said Moorlake, a faint 
 flicker of amusement crossing his face, 
 " You do me good. But come, now, granted 
 that I'm a brute, a statue, a Spanish hidalgo 
 all these conflicting epithets what do 
 you think I ought to do ? Let us be prac- 
 tical." 
 
 " I think," said Nellie, " that you ought to 
 bolster up her self-respect. Don't keep on 
 
 telling her you don't love her that you 
 
 167
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 kissed her because you were sorry for her. 
 I'm sure you did tell her that you look so 
 guilty." 
 
 Moorlake smiled. 
 
 " I don't feel like laughing," he said, " but 
 you are really very funny." 
 
 " I am seriously anxious about Althea's 
 health. She is ill now all the result of a 
 few days' misery. How is she to live if she 
 thinks you don't care for her ? You must 
 love her a little now, don't you ? Come, 
 do tell me ! Keep your offish ways for 
 people who haven't known you for twenty 
 years. I've never, in all that time, asked you 
 an indiscreet question. Do answer just this 
 one ! " 
 
 " Nellie, there's no resisting you," said 
 Moorlake. His hazel eyes looked very hu- 
 manat last. " I hate talking about my feel- 
 ings I always have hated it ; but you have 
 a sort of right to know them now. I do 
 
 and I do not love Althea. She attracts me, 
 1 68
 
 A Lover's Dilemma 
 
 of course ; I'm not the statue you think me ; 
 I care for her, in a way ; I have great respect 
 for her, for she is pure and good, and I pity 
 her immensely because she is unfortunate 
 and unhappy. But what / call love the 
 thing that means me every part of me,, 
 physical, mental, spiritual I can't offer 
 her. I've offered it to nobody for fifteen 
 years." 
 
 There was a long pause. Presently Nellie 
 Vincent said, gravely : 
 
 " Thank you, Clement. I understand. 
 It sounds like Althea's death-knell. There 
 is one thing more I must ask you. Has it 
 ever occurred to you that Oliver North may 
 be gone to get a divorce ? " 
 
 " Of course not," said Clement, calmly. 
 " He couldn't possibly get one." 
 
 " Don't be too sure. Bertie tells me that 
 in Dakota you can get a divorce for anything 
 or nothing; and in that case " 
 
 Clement flushed deeply. 
 169
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 "" Yes," he said, "in that case ?" 
 
 " Althea would be free," said Nellie, very 
 low, with averted eyes. 
 
 There was an electric silence. 
 
 Mrs. Vincent dreaded the first word ; she 
 feared that she had gone too far. Clement 
 rose before he spoke. 
 
 " It is useless to speculate about all this," 
 he said. " When the contingencies arise 
 they must be faced. Until then " He 
 hesitated, holding out his hand. 
 
 " We're friends still, aren't we, Clement ?" 
 asked Nellie, looking up at him. 
 
 " Friends always, Nellie," he answered. 
 *' Good-bye." 
 
 170
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 AFTER her encounter with Moorlake 
 Althea broke down entirely. She went to 
 bed early that evening, and did not get up 
 for two weeks. There was no disease ; she 
 simply lay there, growing thinner, weaker, 
 more lethargic. It didn't seem worthwhile 
 to get up and dress. She would have for- 
 gotten to eat if Nellie had not insisted on her 
 taking food. Moorlake was kept informed 
 of her condition, but there was no commu- 
 nication between them. He was never out 
 of Althea's mind, waking or sleeping, yet 
 sucii was her languor that she felt no desire 
 to see him again. He had become a beauti- 
 ful abstraction. The Vincents were seriously 
 
 alarmed. For the first fortnight they hesi- 
 171
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 tated to consult a physician, but at last, when 
 they realized that Althea was fading away, 
 they sent for their own doctor. 
 
 Jim Burton all his friends called him Jim 
 was only forty years old. He was a man 
 of almost colossal size, with the skin of an 
 infant and the smile of a cherub. Before he 
 had talked five minutes to a patient the 
 sufferer felt on the high-road to recovery, and 
 his charming buoyancy and hopefulness 
 made him beloved by even comparative 
 strangers, while his friends doted on him. 
 
 Of course, it was necessary to confide in 
 him to a certain extent. In any case, he 
 would have known, after a glance at Mrs. 
 North, that she was suffering from mental 
 shock. Nellie took him in one day without 
 warning Althea. She looked at him with 
 eyes void of surprise, and listlessly greeted 
 him ; they had often met in society. Bur- 
 ton sat down and began talking of nearly 
 
 everything except illness. Althea was soon 
 172
 
 The Mastery of a Woman 
 
 languidly smiling. Burton described a first 
 night at a leading theatre, where he had 
 been the evening before. 
 
 The smile broadened, and in a quarter of 
 an hour Althea was taking the trouble to 
 talk a little. Nellie glowed approvingly in 
 the background. Not a word was said about 
 health, till, just as Burton was leaving, he 
 casually felt Althea's pulse. It was so feeble 
 that it shocked him, though the cherubic 
 face never changed. 
 
 " I suspect you are not eating enough," he 
 observed. " You're inclined to be anaemic, 
 you know ; you must eat." . i 
 
 Althea made a little face. 
 
 41 She's awfully bad about that, Jim," said 
 Nellie. " It takes me half an hour to make 
 her take a cup of soup." 
 
 " She doesn't want soup ; give her chops 
 and steaks and whisky-and-soda. Take 
 her out driving to-morrow, if it's a decent 
 
 morning," and the doctor departed, leaving 
 173
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 a light and warmth in the spiritual atmos- 
 phere which had not been there when he 
 came. 
 
 That afternoon Moorlake gave way to a 
 sudden impulse one that an American 
 would have had long before. He was pass- 
 ing a flower shop, and instantly resolved to 
 send some violets and roses to Althea. He 
 ordered the young woman in the shop to un- 
 bind one of the great, flat, jammed-together 
 bouquets of violets, liberating the poor little 
 blossoms and removing the bundle of straws 
 around which, for unknown reasons, the 
 stems are gathered ; the result was a lovely, 
 fragrant, loose bunch surrounded by leaves. 
 This, with a handful of tea roses, he ordered 
 to be sent to Campden Hill. On his card 
 he wrote, " So grieved that you are ill ; " 
 then, after a moment's reflection, added 
 11 Clement." 
 
 To him that addition of his Christian 
 name meant a great deal ; he supposed it
 
 The Mastery of a Woman 
 
 would mean much to her also. It seemed a 
 sort of acknowledgment that their intimacy 
 had not yet snapped in two a declaration 
 that he meant to stand by her. 
 
 The box was carried to Althea's bed. 
 When Nellie came in to have tea with her, 
 she found her lying with her face covered 
 with roses and violets. 
 
 Mrs. Vincent brushed the flowers aside 
 and looked into her eyes. The soul had 
 come back to them. 
 
 "Clement? "asked Nellie. 
 
 11 Yes," breathed Althea, softly, and held 
 out the little card, crushed and warm from 
 lying in her hand. 
 
 " You've been kissing it ! " said Nellie, 
 banteringly, while tears stood in her eyes. 
 " Oh, men, men ! they hold us as you do 
 that card to kiss or to crush us, as the fancy 
 takes them ! What a pity it should be so ! " 
 
 Althea's face beamed. 
 
 " I didn't know he cared," said Althea.
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 Next day she was a changed woman, and 
 went for a drive. 
 
 Meanwhile it must not be supposed that 
 the world was standing still. Women were 
 gossiping over their tea-cups, as usual, and 
 the North scandal was being pretty generally 
 discussed. Its vagueness made it the more 
 piquant. How do these things become 
 known ? 
 
 In the first place, Moorlake's servant had 
 heard North run from the house and bang 
 the door behind him. Then the coachman 
 had seen Clement supporting Althea and 
 almost lifting her into the carriage. 
 
 Next, the Vincents' parlor-maid had ob- 
 served the bruise on Althea's forehead. 
 The Norths' servants were but human, and 
 they had many friends in neighboring estab- 
 lishments. From the servants' hall to the 
 drawing-rcom is but the distance of two 
 flights of stairs, and news sails like thistle- 
 down through the air. Before long it be- 
 176
 
 The Master} 7 of a Woman 
 
 came known that the North household was 
 broken up and that Mrs. North had taken 
 refuge with the Vincents. 
 
 It was an anxious time for Clarice Hilyer. 
 It was the first serious mistake of her life 
 from her point of view when she told Oliver 
 North that his wife was in Moorlake's studio. 
 She dared contribute nothing to the surmises 
 of the tea-drinkers, yet her very silence was 
 taken to mean that she could, if she would, 
 enlighten them. Thus she became in some 
 wise involved in the mystery. 
 
 Althea's reputation had been so perfect 
 that nothing was said against her. Her 
 husband's meanness and neglect had been 
 an open secret, and she had won everybody's 
 respect by her silent endurance of his 
 caprices. It was scarcely known among her 
 friends that she had seen anything of Moor- 
 lake ; for that reason he hoped intensely 
 that a scandal might be avoided. 
 
 One afternoon Mrs. Hilyer sat in her 
 12 177
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 white-paneled drawing-room, surrounded by 
 the pretty and quaint things that her taste 
 had brought together. One rose-shaded 
 lamp painted the room with flattering tints. 
 The tea had just been brought up, the bits 
 of old silver on the tray twinkled delightfully 
 in the firelight. Clarice poured out a cup- 
 ful and daintily dropped a thin slice of lemon 
 into it. At that moment Clement Moorlake 
 was announced. 
 
 The hand she held out to him was cold 
 with a sudden emotion. 
 
 He had never worn more markedly his 
 " Spanish hidalgo air ; " his manner was 
 smooth and courtly, but there was a danger 
 signal in his eyes. 
 
 "You see, I am neighborly at last," he 
 said, as he sat down near her. 
 
 "You have owed me a call for quite a 
 fortnight a first call, too, that ought to be re- 
 turned within a week. Cream or lemon ? " 
 
 Her hand hovering over the flower- 
 178
 
 The Mastery of a Woman 
 
 sprinkled cups was not only cold, but un- 
 steady. 
 
 11 Milk and no sugar, thank you," said 
 Moorlake. " I was sorry your call was cut 
 so short. I wish you had stayed." 
 
 Clarice dared to look toward him, and met 
 his eyes full. He looked like an executioner. 
 
 " Are you quite sure you mean that ? " she 
 purred ; then, to hide the shaking hand, she 
 took up a silver cigarette case and selected 
 a cigarette. " Will you smoke ? " she asked. 
 
 " I will watch you," said Moorlake. 
 
 " Do you disapprove ? Do you think it 
 a vice ? " she asked, as she applied a wax 
 match and the tobacco caught fire. 
 
 " It is at least a vice that injures only the 
 person who indulges in it," said Moorlake. 
 
 " It spoils the curtains," said Clarice. 
 
 " They are easily purified," said he. 
 
 " Would that we might send our con- 
 sciences twice a year to be cleansed in the 
 
 same way," said she. 
 
 179
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " Do you feel the need of that ? I thought 
 women did not require that process." 
 
 He was drinking his tea, and she was 
 smoking. She was thoroughly at home in 
 her management of a cigarette ; she kept 
 the end dry and didn't gasp, swallow the 
 smoke or get it into her eyes till they 
 blinked, as some women do. She had a 
 knowing way of knocking off the ashes, 
 too ; she took refuge in the manoeuver now, 
 for she was not quite sure yet of her self- 
 control. 
 
 "You see," she observed, " it takes a fort- 
 night to have anything cleaned ; one couldn't 
 do for two weeks without a conscience ! " 
 
 Clement smiled in spite of himself. She 
 was exquisite, sitting in the pale brocade 
 chair, in her scarlet crepe tea gown. 
 
 " I have thought this last fortnight that 
 yours had gone to the cleaner's or some- 
 where else," he said. 
 
 " That," said she, readily, " pre-supposes 
 1 80
 
 The Mastery of a Woman 
 
 that I had one to send. When a thing is 
 soiled past all cleaning it goes not to the 
 cleaner, but to the dust-bin. But why this 
 magisterial air, Mr. Moorlake? What have 
 I done ? " 
 
 " What have you done ? I wish you 
 would tell me that," said Moorlake. He set 
 down his cup and gave his undivided atten- 
 tion to her. 
 
 " Do you know," said she, breathing more 
 freely now that the smoke veiled her face, 
 " I have always thought that what art gained 
 in you was a distinct loss to the Church i 
 With you I always feel as if all seasons of 
 the year were Lent." 
 
 " This is not the first time you have called 
 me a prig, Mrs. Hilyer. I dare say you are 
 right ; but a man isn't best pleased to be 
 thought ultra-good, strange as it may appear. 
 I think you know that." 
 
 " Then he should do something to prove 
 
 the contrary. Perhaps you have." 
 181
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 He smiled again at her audacity, but the 
 smile was chill ; she saw war in it. 
 
 " Is it your experience of men that they 
 are too good ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, I have known so many ! All kinds,' 
 said Clarice. All kinds, and yet all so much 
 alike." 
 
 " You find man a wearisome study ? " 
 
 " Not when he talks in enigmas, like 
 you " Then, quite abruptly : " Why do 
 you wish I'd stayed the other day ? " 
 
 " Because in my studio you would have 
 been " He paused. 
 
 " Yes ? well ? would have been ? " 
 
 " Safe." 
 
 There was a slight pause. 
 
 She looked at him with expanded eyes. 
 
 " Have I been in danger, then ? " she 
 asked ; adding suddenly, with a delicious 
 smile, " Is every one safe in your studio, Mr. 
 Moorlake ? " 
 
 Clement blushed crimson. 
 182
 
 The Mastery of a Woman 
 
 She did not wait to hear his answer. 
 
 "Where is Oliver North?" she asked, 
 quickly, with a splendid glow of courage. 
 
 " Where you have sent him ! " he retorted, 
 sharp and short. The answer burst out in- 
 dependent of his volition. 
 
 " Come ! " said Clarice. " Good ! The 
 buttons are off at last ! Which has pricked 
 the other deepest ? " 
 
 She laughed a little and began lighting 
 another cigarette. 
 
 "Stop smoking!" said Clement. He 
 stood up and came nearer stood over her, 
 towering. " Attend to me ! I want the 
 truth." 
 
 " An old want ! " she smiled ; " and such 
 a vague one ! Who knows the truth ? " 
 
 " You know it ! " he said, in a low, tense 
 voice. " You know what you've done to in- 
 jure an innocent woman. What did you 
 say to North?" 
 
 Her heart quivered with fright, but she 
 183
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 sat very still. She felt amid her fear a sort 
 of exultation in his strength and beauty while 
 he dominated her. 
 
 " Why do you think I said anything to 
 North?" she asked, steadily. 
 
 " I know it," he said, shortly. " What was 
 it?" 
 
 "I refuse to tell." 
 
 " I insist." 
 
 11 1 refuse." 
 
 Moorlake was terrified by the sudden fury 
 that swept through him. He dared not re- 
 main so near her ; he took a turn up and 
 down the little room. She sank back in her 
 chair, pallid above her scarlet draperies. 
 Fear, pride, love, desire, all fought within 
 her. She loved torturing him, yet her 
 heart was torn ; it was hard to deny him. 
 
 In a few moments he mastered himself 
 and returned to her. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said, with deadly 
 
 coldness ; " I was wrong. I will go." 
 184
 
 The Mastery of a Woman 
 
 He turned to leave her. In one spring 
 she flung herself against him. 
 
 "Moorlake!" she half-sobbed. "Don't 
 go! I'll tell you! Don't go!" 
 
 She seized his hand in both her own. 
 
 " Clement ! " she cried, " don't go ! " 
 She seemed incapable of any other 
 words. 
 
 He looked down at her half in pity the 
 pity that a man feels for a woman when his 
 passion does not answer hers a pity on the 
 border of contempt. But he was too kind 
 to hurt any woman unnecessarily. 
 
 " Sit down," he said. " Compose your- 
 self, and answer me one question. Don't 
 speak now ; take time." 
 
 In an agony of shame she hid her face in 
 her hands. She was within a few inches of 
 him, and she knew that the poles divided 
 them. 
 
 He was the only man who had ever really 
 
 mastered her ; and she knew that for him 
 185
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 she did not exist. In a moment he would 
 get what he wanted and she would never 
 see him again. She drew out the minute to 
 its fullest extent. They had sunk to the sofa, 
 he with unspoken scorn, as far from her as 
 its limits allowed ; she with her heart bound- 
 ing, her temples beating, every feeling swal- 
 lowed up in the one thought that she would 
 lose him at the end of a minute. And the 
 minute expired and another was born, and 
 still she was silent, still she crouched, palpi- 
 tating, with her face hidden. He was stern 
 and pale ; he would not relent. She dared 
 not face him, for she felt, without seeing, the 
 look in his face. The second minute slipped 
 by, and then he spoke. 
 
 " What did you say to Oliver North ? " he 
 demanded, and his voice sounded like the 
 trump of doom. 
 
 There was no help for it ; she had to 
 speak. 
 
 " I only told him" she whispered. 
 1 86
 
 The Mastery of a Woman 
 
 "Yes," he said, with forced patience. 
 "Yes; you told him ?" 
 
 11 She was there." Her voice died away. 
 
 " Is that all ? " he asked, still inexorable. 
 
 " Yes, all." 
 
 " Thank you," said Moorlake. He rose to 
 go. She stretched out one hand to him ; 
 the other still hid her face. 
 
 11 Is that all you want ? " she asked, in a 
 muffled voice. 
 
 Moorlake drew a deep breath. 
 
 " All," he said. " No, one thing more. 
 Will you promise me not to injure her ? She 
 is an innocent woman." 
 
 Then at last she uncovered her face, and 
 her eyes blazed at him. 
 
 " No ! no ! " she said. " I won't promise! 
 She must take her chances, like other 
 women." 
 
 His face hardened again. 
 
 "Think," he said, " if there were anything 
 
 in your life you would wish to hide ! " 
 187
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 She looked at him defiantly. 
 
 " There is no such thing," she said. 
 
 " Of course not," he assented. " I said, 
 '//"there were.' I appealed to your imagi- 
 nation that was all." 
 
 His cold words stung like hail. 
 
 He looked full at her and added, pointed- 
 ly : " There is nothing, of course noth- 
 ing." 
 
 She grew restive under his eyes and 
 changed color. 
 
 "Why should I go out of my way," she 
 asked, uneasily, " to shield a woman who is 
 not even a friend of mine ? " 
 
 " Only because she is a woman a woman 
 who never injured you, and never would 
 wish to injure anyone. Be magnanimous, 
 as you can afford to be." 
 
 " You think," said Clarice, with a strange 
 smile, " that I can't afford to be anything 
 else ? " 
 
 "You can afford to be anyt hingyou choose, 
 1 88
 
 The Mastery of a Woman 
 
 but I know that you will choose to be only 
 what is kind and generous." 
 
 She flashed out, suddenly : 
 
 " I wonder if you would protect me like 
 this, if / were in her power." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," said Moorlake. 
 
 " Why ? " she asked, and waited with a 
 strained face for the answer. It was very 
 simple. 
 
 " Because," he said, " you are a woman." 
 
 Her muscles relaxed and she fell back 
 listlessly. 
 
 " What a tragedy ! " she murmured, " to 
 be a woman ! " 
 
 " Only for those who will have it so," said 
 Moorlake. " Come," he added ; " I have 
 your promise ? " 
 
 She thought she saw a gleam of humanity. 
 After a moment's hesitation she said : 
 
 " I promise but it is for you." 
 
 " For me or for her," he answered, " it is 
 
 the same thing." 
 
 189
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 "You are one ?" said Clarice, with a re- 
 turn of the old mockery. 
 
 " One in the desire not to suffer for a sin 
 of which we are innocent," said Clement, 
 gravely. "Thank you," he added, presently, 
 and without another word left the room. 
 
 190
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 SCANDAL 
 
 IT is a well-known fact that a crushed and 
 sorrowing soul takes refuge in change of 
 scene and, what is equally trite, carries its 
 misery with it wherever it goes. 
 
 Althea's distaste for London grew and 
 grew to such an extent that she could re- 
 main there no longer. She was now prac- 
 tically dependent on the Vincents. Her 
 long and trying interviews with Oliver's so- 
 licitor had been unproductive. The man 
 pitied her sincerely and wished to help her ; 
 but the machinery of the law is hard to set 
 in motion and, like the mills of the gods, 
 grinds slow. He promised to extort money 
 
 from North if he could possibly do so ; he 
 191
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 disliked his client and respected Althea, and 
 she knew that he would do his best. 
 
 There was no news of Violet ; and what 
 that meant to the mother only mothers can 
 know. 
 
 Althea had a few fine jewels given her by 
 her husband during the soon chilled warmth 
 of the honeymoon. These Bertie sold for 
 her, and thus her immediate necessities were 
 supplied. 
 
 Somehow or other some hint as to the 
 condition of her affairs had got abroad. 
 Mrs. Mellor,the devoted and insipid bride 
 a bride no longer met her in the street and 
 passed her without recognition, while a 
 burning blush on the lovely Christmas-sup- 
 plement face told Althea that the slight was 
 intentional. The untempted virtuous 
 woman cut the tempted virtuous one. 
 
 Another day, when Althea was sitting in 
 Kensington Gardens under budding elms, 
 
 Mrs. Banfrey, the actor's wife, came by. 
 192
 
 Scandal 
 
 Althea prepared herself for another rebuff. 
 But with all its faults the stage is not nar- 
 row-minded. Mrs. Banfrey stopped and 
 seized her hand. 
 
 " My dear ! " she exclaimed, " where have 
 you kept yourself ? What are you afraid 
 of ? We all like you ; why don't you go 
 about any more ? " 
 
 Althea colored painfully, but she held the 
 hand with gratitude ; she was mean-spirited 
 enough to like pity. 
 
 " No one believes it," continued Mrs. 
 Banfrey. She sat down and patted the hand 
 she still held. "And if anyone did," she 
 added, " the time for high moral indignation 
 is over. Haven't other women had dis- 
 agreeable husbands ? and haven't they liked 
 other men better ? It's quite natural ; any- 
 body who says it isn't is a sneak and a story- 
 teller. Why don't you face the world ? It'll 
 be all right when you're married." 
 
 Althea pulled back her hand quickly. 
 13 193
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 "Married?" she repeated. "What do 
 you mean ? " 
 
 " Married to Moorlake. Of course, he 
 will marry you ? " 
 
 Mrs. Banfrey looked at her over her sable 
 collar, with a handsome face full of frank 
 friendliness. Althea turned cold. 
 
 " I don't understand you," she said, with 
 painful agitation. " Mr. Moorlake is nothing 
 to me or I to him. I don't know what 
 you've heard, but whatever it is, it is not 
 true." 
 
 Mrs. Banfrey looked confused. 
 
 "Now you're angry," she said. " I'm so 
 sorry. I didn't mean any harm. Even if 
 it were true, you know, I should like you just 
 as much and I always liked you when we 
 used to meet at Nellie's, though I never 
 knew you well." 
 
 " Would you like it," asked Althea, almost 
 fiercely, '* if people told lies against your 
 
 character ? " 
 
 194
 
 Scandal 
 
 Mrs. Banfrey reflected a moment. 
 
 "No," she admitted. " I don't suppose I 
 should. Perhaps they do ; if they don't, it's 
 because I'm absurdly, pitifully in love with 
 my own husband, as a hundred other women 
 are, worse luck ! " 
 
 " I have not wronged my husband in any 
 way," Althea burst out. " It is all the other 
 way ; but there is no use in talking about 
 him." Her mouth trembled weakly. 
 
 11 You poor dear ! " said the actor's wife. 
 " How can anyone be a brute to you ! I 
 almost wish it were true that that icy piece 
 of perfection would come to life and carry 
 you off." 
 
 Althea could not answer this preposterous 
 remark. Presently she said : " Mrs. Mellor 
 cut me dead day before yesterday. I think 
 she was cruel." 
 
 Mrs. Banfrey made an inarticulate sound 
 expressive of disdain. 
 
 " That china image ! She nearly killed
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 Geoff that night at Nellie's. It really isn't 
 fair of the Creator to make a thing so pretty 
 and fill it only with clockwork. Why, Mrs. 
 North, you have more soul in your little 
 finger than she has brains in her head ! The 
 little barber's block ! " 
 
 "She is happy," said Althea. "She has 
 a husband who loves and protects her ; she 
 has never known temptation, and she can 
 afford to trample on an unfortunate woman 
 who has nothing." 
 
 Mrs. Banfrey looked at her curiously. 
 
 " And it isn't true," she said ; " not any 
 of it?" 
 
 Althea faced her gravely. 
 
 "What is true," she said, " is that I am a 
 deserted wife, who has lost her child, and 
 who has no lover. That is the truth ; you 
 may tell it to everyone who wants to know." 
 
 "My poor dear!" cried Mrs. Banfrey. 
 " I believe you, every word, and I'll standby 
 
 you through everything. And as for Mrs. 
 196
 
 Scandal 
 
 Mellor, she must pay for her boxes after 
 this ! Geoff sha'n't give her any ! " 
 
 Althea hurried home and into Nellie's 
 arms. " Take me away," she said ; " I can't 
 bear it any more." 
 
 And so, without a word to Clement, they 
 crossed the Channel. 
 
 197
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MRS. MOORLAKE CALLS 
 
 BRITTANY in the Spring is a very fair substi- 
 tute for England. The lanes are full of im- 
 mense primroses ; the fruit trees are loaded 
 with bloom, for as yet no drought has 
 browned the grass and withered the leaves. 
 The keen sea breeze counteracts theunsani 
 tary condition of the towns and disinfects 
 the atmosphere of places where drains are 
 a name and good water a priceless boon. 
 
 The Vincents had found an old chateau, 
 standing in a great garden near a little Bre- 
 ton village, not many kilometers from a 
 certain fashionable town on the coast. 
 There was a winding path through the 
 
 beech woods which led to the shores of the 
 199
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 Ranee, that wide river which is really not 
 a river, but a huge salt arm of the sea. 
 
 The chateau was a large, square, white 
 stucco building three stories high, the third 
 story formed by the gray slate roof. It was 
 draped thickly with wistaria, Virginia 
 creeper and roses white and yellow, which 
 flowered riotously even in Spring in that 
 sheltered spot. The salon and the dining- 
 room were paneled in white wood. There 
 were old portraits and ancient mirrors in 
 tarnished frames on the walls. The furni- 
 ture was stately and chipped and moth- 
 eaten. The curtains were of white muslin, 
 so often washed that they had become what 
 the French call too "ripe " to bear washing 
 again. The garden was a mass of bloom. 
 The sun-dial was almost covered with roses. 
 The borders of the pond were rich in ferns, 
 the flower beds were edged with straw- 
 berries, and the paths lined with thickets of 
 
 lilac, bay and box. 
 
 200
 
 Mrs. Moorlake Calls 
 
 The life was ideally simple. The Vin- 
 cents, who never wanted company when 
 they had each other, were perfectly 
 happy in this solitude. Bertie had his 
 camera, his easel, his piano, his sailboat ; 
 Nellie tended the garden and learned new 
 dishes from the cook, who wore a wonder- 
 ful thin muslin Breton cap, full of inexpli- 
 cable pins and streamers ; took long walks 
 in the flowering lanes, sailed on the Ranee, 
 drove sometimes to the neighboring town r 
 where she had friends ; made lace, wrote 
 letters and was quite contented. 
 
 With Althea it was different. Nature 
 alone is not enough to banish sorrow. Soli- 
 tude has often a corroding effect on a char- 
 acter already inclined to be morbid. Althea 
 should have had company and distraction, 
 but she was too sensitive in her present 
 anomalous position to desire them. Moor- 
 lake was silent ; he, too, was waiting. 
 
 One day, when Althea was sitting in the 
 20 1
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 blooming garden, where the keen, almost 
 cold air contrasted with the wealth of flow- 
 ers, the postman came, as usual. She had 
 ceased to expect news from the outside 
 world, and when the maid handed her a 
 letter she took it with unfeigned lack of in- 
 terest. It was a document in a long, legal- 
 looking envelope, with American stamps on 
 it, and the postmark was Sioux Falls, Da- 
 kota. She opened the cover and read the 
 contents. It was long before she mastered 
 them. When the meaning penetrated at last 
 to her tortured understanding she rose and 
 went to Nellie. Nellie, her constant refuge, 
 was putting fresh roses into vases in the 
 dining-room. Bertie was sitting in the 
 corner, cleaning his palette. 
 
 " Nellie Bertie " said Althea, and for a 
 moment could say no more. Her face was 
 dreadful suddenly sunken as if death had 
 touched it. 
 
 Bertie sprang up, and Nellie put her arm 
 
 202
 
 Mrs. Moorlake Calls 
 
 round her. They saw the paper in her hand, 
 and gently drew it away. 
 
 " Look ! " she said ; " it is come. Look ! " 
 
 Vincent examined the paper. It was a 
 formal announcement that on a certain date 
 Oliver North had sued for a divorce and the 
 case had " gone by default." It had been 
 one of those monstrous and iniquitous mock- 
 eries of law which have become custom- 
 ary, and which the United States Govern- 
 ment either cannot or will not put an end 
 to. 
 
 "What does it mean, Bertie ?" asked 
 Althea. " I don't quite understand." 
 
 Vincent's face was very stern. 
 
 " It means," said he, "that North has had 
 his revenge. He has divorced her," he 
 added, to his wife. 
 
 " The brute ! " cried Nellie. 
 
 "And my child ?" said Althea. 
 
 There was silence for a moment ; no one 
 
 answered. 
 
 203
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " I'm afraid he has the child," presently 
 said Vincent. 
 
 Again weakness overcame Althea; she 
 sank into a chair and hid her face. Nellie 
 felt that she could offer no comfort just then. 
 She went on mechanically handling the roses 
 on the table. After a few moments, during 
 which all three were silent, Althea looked 
 up. 
 
 " This means," said Althea, " that I am 
 free. Disgraced and free." 
 
 " Free, but not disgraced," said Vincent, 
 warmly. " There is not a creature in the 
 world who believes you guilty." 
 
 Althea smiled sadly. 
 
 " Can I keep this a secret for a time ? " 
 she asked. " I don't want. ..." 
 
 The Vincents had enough perception to 
 fill in the pause. They knew that she was 
 thinking of Moorlake. 
 
 " Will it be in the papers?" Althea went 
 
 on. 
 
 204
 
 Mrs. Moorlake Calls 
 
 11 In the American ones, I suppose," said 
 Nellie ; " but people in London don't see 
 them much." 
 
 " I will go away for a little," said Althea. 
 " I want to think," and she left the room. 
 
 Her friends heard her slowly ascending 
 the stairs. They looked at each other. 
 
 " Will he come ? " asked Nellie, and Ber- 
 tram only shook his head, like one in doubt. 
 
 A week after the arrival of the letter some- 
 thing occurred hardly less disquieting. One 
 afternoon, when the Vincents were sailing 
 on the Ranee, Althea was wandering aim- 
 lessly in the garden. Exquisite nature was 
 by degrees soothing her pain. It is hard 
 to carry a sorrow under a blue sky amid 
 roses. For a time, while the breeze blows 
 and the flowers bloom and the sun shines, 
 one must relax one's hold on trouble. It 
 was so with Althea. Something of the 
 
 sweet, impersonal charm of nature stole 
 
 205
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 over her ; her mind was gro\vn accustomed 
 to care, and to-day she bore it more lightly; 
 it began to chafe her less. 
 
 The Breton maid came out under the 
 trees, her snowy cap shining white under 
 the sun rays. She held a salver, and on it 
 was a card. 
 
 11 Mrs. Moorlake." 
 
 The utter unexpectedness of the name 
 stopped Althea's blood for an instant. 
 
 It took but a moment to cross the grass 
 and enter the house, but that moment was 
 fraught with a dozen sensations. She would 
 not give herself time to hesitate and grow 
 timid. She went straight to the salon. 
 
 Mrs. Moorlake sat very upright in an old 
 carved chair, one hand on its arm, the other 
 holding a parasol. She rose as Mrs. North 
 came in. Her gown was of black silk, made 
 in a bygone style, but she looked like 
 a queen the queen of fiction, not of real life. 
 
 Eyes like Clement's fixed themselves on 
 206
 
 Mrs. Moorlake Calls 
 
 Althea, who forced herself to meet them. 
 She felt that they were hostile. 
 
 Neither spoke for a few moments. The 
 strain was manifestly disagreeable. 
 
 " I have not the honor of knowing you 
 well," said Mrs. Moorlake at last. " You 
 may wonder at my coming. I am at Dinard 
 for a day or two, and I heard that you were 
 here." 
 
 Althea looked at her with fascinated atten- 
 tion. Even the voice was like Clement's. 
 An agony of longing rushed over her long- 
 ing to hear his voice, not the counterfeit, 
 which brought only a sense of trouble, with- 
 out consolation. 
 
 " Oh, you are at Dinard ? " she said, hardly 
 knowing what she said. " A pretty place, 
 isn't it ?" 
 
 " Pretty enough, but I don't like the na- 
 tives, said the old lady, dryly. " My mind is too 
 much occupied with a rather painful subject 
 
 I cannot enjoy the beauties of Brittany, 
 207
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 or of any other place, because of this pre- 
 occupation " 
 
 " I am sorry," said Althea, with colorless 
 civility. She was bracing herself for what 
 was coming. 
 
 " I will not apologize for my visit," went 
 on Mrs. Moorlake. 
 
 11 I am sure you never apologize for any- 
 thing," said Althea, and was shocked to hear 
 the enmity expressed in her tone. 
 
 The note of war had been sounded. Mrs. 
 Moorlake's nostrils expanded fine, sensitive 
 nostrils like those of her son. 
 
 " I do not apologize for what I do," she 
 said, " because I do nothing that I think 
 wrong." 
 
 11 That is certainly the way to be happy," 
 observed Althea. Her courage had returned. 
 
 " I have never seen you, except once in 
 my son's studio I will not recall that un- 
 lucky day but I fancy that you are a woman 
 
 who will listen to reason." 
 
 208
 
 Mrs. Moorlake Calls 
 
 " I have nothing else to listen to when 
 you speak," said Mrs. North, politely. 
 
 The elder woman eyed her narrowly. 
 
 " The present generation is trifling and 
 satirical. They would manufacture smart 
 phrases at the brink of the grave. It was not 
 so with us. We knew how to be serious. I 
 shall not make a long story. My son knows 
 nothing of this visit. He is at home, and he 
 does not think that I am near you. I heard 
 only two days ago that your husband had 
 divorced you. You must pardon my touch- 
 ing on this painful subject." 
 
 " Never apologize," said Althea, " when 
 you are doing right." 
 
 " I have been," proceeded the old lady, 
 " obliged to know what has happened be- 
 tween you and my son not much, perhaps, 
 but too much, certainly, judged by the 
 standards of virtuous women. Clement is 
 extremely chivalrous, fantastic even, in his 
 
 dealings with the other sex. He and I differ, 
 14 209
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 He considers man the aggressor. I, on the 
 contrary, believe that women are responsible 
 to the uttermost for whatever happens to 
 them." 
 
 "Your views are extremely interesting," 
 said Althea, who was very pale, " but I fail 
 to see why you made this long, dusty journey 
 for the purpose of declaring them to a 
 stranger." She spoke without a shadow of 
 insolence, but her words nettled the other 
 woman. 
 
 " Because I have more than the declara- 
 tion of my views to make. I think it highly 
 probable that my son, with his overstrained 
 sense of honor, may ask you to marry him. 
 You must see that, for several reasons, this 
 must not be." 
 
 " I should like to hear the reasons." 
 
 11 You shall ; that is only fair. First of 
 all I do not recognize divorce the Church 
 does not, either. In any case, your divorce 
 is one of those fraudulent ones obtainable 
 
 2IO
 
 Mrs. Moorlake Calls 
 
 only in America. You cannot marry again, 
 legally at least, not in England. Is not 
 that reason enough ? " 
 
 " If there are more reasons I should like 
 to hear them." 
 
 The old lady looked at Althea with a cer- 
 tain softening of countenance. She loved 
 courage, and admired that of her victim. 
 
 " There is nothing," she said, " so near 
 my heart as my boy. He is all I have. He 
 is the best man God ever made, and what 
 he is to me I can't even try to express. He 
 is a great sculptor ; everyone recognizes 
 that. He is on the eve of being made an 
 R. A. If he marries a divorced woman he 
 will be ruined." 
 
 She paused and looked anxiously for 
 Althea's reply. Suddenly Althea broke out 
 into a peal of laughter laughter scarcely 
 sane. 
 
 Mrs. Moorlake was appalled. 
 
 " You laugh ! " she cried, disgusted. 
 211
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " I laugh ! " said Althea, wiping her eyes, 
 and smiling like a mad woman. " Why 
 shouldn't I ? I am ruined, penniless, dis- 
 graced without husband, child or lover 
 and all this might be remedied if you hadn't 
 set your heart on your son being an R. A. ! 
 Oh, it's funny ! funny ! " and she laughed 
 again, while the tears trickled over her wan 
 face. 
 
 Mrs. Moorlake saw that she was on the 
 verge of hysterics, and was alarmed. She 
 produced a little flask of lavender salts and 
 offered it to Althea. 
 
 " You have been tried too far," said Mrs. 
 Moorlake, kindly. 
 
 " Don't mind it," said Althea, more calmly. 
 " Everyone insults me, except the Vincents. 
 I am used to it, only only Oh, have you 
 no sense of proportion ? Is the Royal Acad- 
 emy heaven ? I know R. A.'s who are not 
 angels. Would you rather have your son an 
 
 R. A. than an honest man ? " 
 212
 
 Mrs. Moorlake Calls 
 
 Mrs. Moorlake kept her temper. 
 
 "Try to be calm," she said. "Let us put 
 the Royal Academy out of the question, put 
 aside my natural pride in my boy, and think 
 of the other reasons. In order to marry you 
 Clement would be obliged to expatriate 
 himself. You and he could not live in Eng- 
 land/' 
 
 Althea's sobs and smiles ceased. She 
 was once more pale and composed. 
 
 " My dear lady," she said, " your reasons 
 are good, but I have one that is better. You 
 take it for granted that I want to marry your 
 son. Nothing on earth would induce me to 
 do so. Your son does not love me." 
 
 Mrs. Moorlake sank back in her chair. 
 Surprise was pictured in her face. 
 
 " You know that ? " she cried, and her 
 black lace draperies trembled with her 
 movement. " I never would have said it to 
 you ; I am not cruel enough." 
 
 "There was very little that you did not 
 213
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 say," said Althea. " You need not have 
 spared me that. I have never had the slight- 
 est wish to marry your son. I repeat, noth- 
 . ing on earth could persuade me to do so." 
 
 The mother drew a long sigh of relief. 
 
 "My dear Mrs. North," she said, "you 
 make me very happy." 
 
 " Thank you," said Althea ; " that is for 
 me a great privilege." 
 
 " You feel bitter toward me, I'm afraid ; 
 but I assure you that personally I have 
 nothing whatever against you." 
 
 " You are very kind ; but while we are in 
 the Palace of Truth let me tell you that I 
 very much resent what you have done. The 
 question was one that only Mr. Moorlake and 
 I could decide. You came here without 
 warning, with a face like a hanging judge, 
 to dictate to me. If I had wished to marry 
 your son, do you think I should have 
 hidden myself here and concealed my 
 
 address ? " 
 
 214
 
 Mrs. Moorlake Calls 
 
 " Clement knows your address." 
 
 " He is as indifferent to me as I am to 
 him." Althea stumbled in these words. She 
 was by nature a truth-teller. " We have 
 been," she went on, "involved in a net of 
 terrible circumstances. We must try to for- 
 get to live them down that is all." 
 
 " I am sorry for you, Mrs. North, and I 
 respect you," said Mrs. Moorlake. She rose 
 somewhat stiffly from her chair. 
 
 "Never apologize," said Althea, smiling. 
 
 " You turn my words against me," said 
 the old lady. " May I ask you one favor ? 
 Do not tell Clement that you have seen 
 me." 
 
 " I have no communication with Mr. 
 Moorlake. I trust you not to mention my 
 name to him." 
 
 Mrs. Moorlake extended her hand. 
 
 Althea ignored it and walked toward the 
 door. 
 
 "You have a carriage, of course ?" she 
 215
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 asked. She touched a bell, and the Bre- 
 tonne appeared. 
 
 " Good-bye," said Mrs. Moorlake. There 
 was a red flush on her cheeks. 
 
 Althea stood on the doorsteps and watched 
 the carriage drive away. 
 
 When Bertie and Nellie returned they 
 found her quite composed. She told Nellie 
 of Mrs. Moorlake's visit. 
 
 " It has done me good," she said. " She 
 made me feel raving at first, but afterward 
 I realized . . ." Her voice died away and 
 she looked out of the great window by which 
 they were sitting. 
 
 " Realized what ? " asked Nellie, softly. 
 
 " How impossible it all is. I think I had 
 had a sort of unacknowledged hope, or rather 
 wish, before. That old lady put it all so 
 clearly to me, Nellie. I saw it all Clement 
 the cold, respectable candidate for the Royal 
 Academy, and poor me, nobody in par- 
 ticular, weighed down by an ugly scandal, 
 216
 
 Mrs. Moorlake Calls 
 
 living on charity. You see it wouldn't do 
 even if he loved me ... I mean to be very 
 different after this. I intend to be done 
 with sighing and crying and making demands 
 on your sympathies. I am not old and I am 
 not wicked. My sin is that I have suffered 
 and suffered till I couldn't bear the pain any 
 more, and now I am punished for having 
 been patient so long. You know, when 
 people in the old days were crucified and 
 took too much time dying, they had their 
 bones broken. Well, I feel like that ; all 
 my tortures haven't killed me, but my bones 
 are broken. Mrs. Moorlake smashed a few 
 to-day her son broke some before I left 
 England. But I'm going to knit them to- 
 gether somehow, and stand up and face 
 people. Oliver North is the sinner, not I. 
 People will find that out some day." 
 
 Althea's words were feverish, but not her 
 manner. Nellie gazed at her in surprise. 
 
 " I think," she said, with some heat, " that 
 217
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 that old woman deserves to be shut up. It 
 was intolerable of her to come." 
 
 " She came because she loved Clement ; 
 and I resented it because I loved Clement. 
 That fact can't be mended. I must face it." 
 She was silent for a few moments, staring 
 out into the dusky garden. Then she went 
 on : " Nellie, do you believe in God ? " 
 
 " Of course," said Mrs. Vincent, startled. 
 "Don't you ?" 
 
 " Yes, I do ; but I can't understand any- 
 thing. I have prayed and prayed and 
 prayed, asking to be set free." 
 
 "And you have been." 
 
 " Yes, but in what a way ! I can't help 
 thinking all the time that there must be one 
 man on earth who would have loved me. 
 He might be poor, and not handsome ; but 
 if he had only just loved me . . . It is awful 
 to have all that taken out of one's life so 
 young ! For I am young for my age like a 
 
 child who feels that she has a right to be 
 218
 
 Mrs. Moorlake Calls 
 
 happy, and yet can't be. I have tried so 
 hard to find out why Oliver was so cruel and 
 so indifferent, why he always left me, why he 
 seemed to feel no responsibility toward me ; 
 and I don't know why. It's all a puzzle." 
 
 After a pause Nellie said : " There is one 
 thing for which I think you should be pre- 
 pared. I believe that Clement is coming 
 here." 
 
 Althea turned a shade paler in the dusk. 
 " Why ? Why do you say that ? " 
 
 " I don't know, but I feel sure of it. 
 Bertie thinks so, too." 
 
 " Don't let him come ! Oh, don't let 
 him ! " 
 
 "Suppose he were to ask you to marry 
 him to insist on it ? " 
 
 " I should refuse." 
 
 " It is easy to say so now here ; but sup- 
 pose he were in this room, beside you 
 near, near with his hand in yours.j Could 
 
 you refuse ? " 
 
 219
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 Althea sprang up with a little cry. "You 
 are cruel ! " she exclaimed. " I will not see 
 him." 
 
 She walked restlessly to the other win- 
 dow. The maid came in with the lamps, 
 and the mellow glow showed Althea with 
 white face and wide, scared eyes. When 
 they were alone again she came to Nellie. 
 
 " If you let him come I'll never forgive 
 you ! " she said. " It would be too degrad- 
 ing ! He will ask me from a sense of honor 
 to marry him and I shall refuse. And he 
 will go away again, and everything will be 
 worse than ever. Don't let him come ! " 
 
 Nellie sighed. 
 
 " I know I'm killing you," continued Al- 
 thea, "but there will be a change. I will 
 be different, I swear it. I shall begin to- 
 morrow." 
 
 Bertie came in, dressed for dinner. Al- 
 thea went up to him and laid her hand on 
 
 his arm. 
 
 220
 
 Mrs. Moorlake Calls 
 
 " I'm going to stop teasing you, Bertie," 
 she said. " I'm going to be a nursery 
 governess or something. I want you to tell 
 me how to begin. I want to earn my living." 
 
 " All right," said Vincent, with* his usual 
 careless, pleasant manner. " Begin by 
 governessing me. There are lots of things 
 I need done for me. Nellie neglects me 
 shamefully." The look he cast on his wife 
 made Althea's eyes fill. 
 
 11 I'll do anything you like and I want to 
 go sailing and I want to see Dinard. I've 
 been getting into bad ways lately I'm lazy 
 and out of sorts, but I mean now to be ener- 
 getic." 
 
 " Quite right," said Bertie. " Come along 
 and energetically eat. ' Madame estservie,' 
 and I saw a thundering big lobster in the 
 garde-manger this afternoon." 
 
 He held out his arm to Althea and took 
 her in to dinner. She was gay and talk- 
 ative, as they had not seen her for a year ; 
 221
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 but Bertie noticed, the observation of the 
 artist quickened by affection, how fragile 
 and pinched her face looked above the soft 
 lace of her tea gown. 
 
 As they rose from the table the post- 
 man arrived and the letters were brought 
 in. There was one for Althea. 
 
 It contained merely these words : 
 
 The day after you receive this I shall be with you. I 
 do not ask permission for fear you may withhold it ; but 
 you must be kind and let me see you. 
 
 CLEMENT MOORLAK.E. 
 
 222
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE LOVER'S COMING 
 
 WHAT Althea most craved and most 
 dreaded had come to pass. She finished 
 the evening creditably, having betrayed 
 nothing. Bertie also had received a letter 
 from Moorlake by the same post, and was 
 concealing the fact from Althea. He felt 
 nervous and uncomfortable, finding himself 
 in the midst of an affair that promised to be 
 eminently unsatisfactory to everyone con- 
 cerned in it. 
 
 Althea thought that Nellie kissed her that 
 night with a deeper, more yearning tender- 
 ness than usual happy Nellie, whose- mar- 
 riage was one of the few perfect ones. Each 
 knew the thoughts of the other, but had 
 
 learned during the past months to econo- 
 
 223
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 mize their emotions and save themselves as 
 much nervous wear and tear as possible. 
 
 When Althea was alone she gave herself 
 no time for thought. Every time that she 
 began thinking of Moorlake she instantly 
 thought of something else ; the more trivial 
 the subject the better it answered the pur- 
 pose. As she lay in the old paneled room, 
 in the dark, she tried to summon up land- 
 scapes she had seen, tunes she had heard ; 
 she even recited poems in her mind. There 
 was one stanza of " Come into the garden, 
 Maud," which she could never get right the 
 first time, and by constant mental repetition 
 she managed not to hear or to pretend not 
 to hear the voice of her subjective mind, 
 which constantly whispered : " Clement is 
 coming to-morrow what will you say to 
 Clement ?" Hers was a brain that worked 
 very much like a squirrel in a cage or rather 
 the brain was the cage and the squirrel was 
 
 the dominating idea that never was still. 
 224
 
 The Lover's Coming 
 
 It toiled with agonizing effort round and 
 round, round and round, and never got any 
 further. To lie in the dark all alone with 
 that in one's head is worse than a nightmare ; 
 the process is practically endless, and has 
 nothing of the sharp crisis of a bad dream, 
 from which one must wake. 
 
 Althea clutched her pillow and strained 
 every fibre in her quest of diversion. Scene 
 after scene rose before her mind with the 
 distinctness given by overwrought nerves 
 Often the face of Violet came, and it was so 
 terrible to her that she hastened to think of 
 something anything else. She found 
 herself trying to count her clothes and cal- 
 culate what a Summer wardrobe would cost ; 
 then suddenly she would repeat the names 
 of the Caesars, making a mistake and going 
 back to rectify it. The strain was growing 
 intolerable, when mercifully the tired mind 
 gave way and she fell asleep. 
 
 The first hint of morning roused her. 
 15 225
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 She came to herself in a moment with the 
 curious instantaneous impression that there 
 was someone in the room. But it was 
 empty of all bodily presence but hers. She 
 rose in the nipping chill of the early morn- 
 ing, threw open the blinds and looked out. 
 It was the solemn, the terrible hour of dawn 
 dawn, when sins and sorrows loom large 
 and near, and heaven and hope seem very 
 far away. The garden was dim and chaotic, 
 with clumps of deeper darkness blotting a 
 sombre background. The trees were still 
 and terrible, just discernible against a sky 
 only less black than they. 
 
 Who that is without God and hope can 
 bear to watch the dawn ? It is the hour 
 when the heart cries out, shuddering for 
 some voice, some promise, to tell us that life 
 with its struggles is not all in vain. 
 
 The neutral tints became pale, the sky 
 cleared and trembled with a faint luminous- 
 ness, the shrubs and bushes turned green. 
 226
 
 The Lover's Coming 
 
 Presently the garden gave a hint of color, of 
 heaps of pink and red and yellow roses, of 
 masses of young lilac and golden laburnum. 
 The birds twittered and chirped and whis- 
 tled ; the air was resonant with melodic 
 flutings. The sky grew blue, the sunbeams 
 shot up, and the flowers were no longer 
 delicate-hued ghosts ; the world was a mass 
 of color, a riot of music, and day had come. 
 
 The silent watcher crept ^ack to her pil- 
 low, and this time to unbroken sleep. 
 
 The inhabitants of the chateau drank their 
 morning coffee in retirement, a breakfast 
 table being a thing abhorrent to all three. 
 Althea slipped out of the house unobserved 
 and spent the morning in the beech woods 
 on the edge of the Ranee. She began to 
 understand the feelings of a man con- 
 demned to be executed ; every moment of 
 delay must, she thought, make death seem 
 harder. A few minutes before midday she 
 
 strolled back to the house. 
 
 227
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 Standing by the rose-embraced sun-dial 
 were the Vincents and Clement Moorlake. 
 Much to her own surprise, Althea felt no 
 immediate sensation at sight of him. They 
 shook hands very quietly, she without look- 
 ing at him. The human heart can hold 
 only a certain amount of joy or suffering in 
 the twenty-four-hours, and Althea's power 
 of feeling was, for the time being, exhausted. 
 
 11 This is an unceremonious hour for call- 
 ing," said Moorlake, " but I was impatient 
 to see you all." 
 
 "Clement came via Paris," explained 
 Nellie, who looked far more unhappy than 
 Althea. " The train arrives very early, you 
 know." 
 
 " This is a difficult place to get to," said 
 Clement. " All roads are equally disagree- 
 able." 
 
 He was looking at Althea ; she felt the 
 glance, though she was trying to pretend, 
 
 like a child, that he was somebody else. 
 
 228
 
 The Lover's Coming 
 
 She dared not let the full sense of his pres- 
 ence sink into her consciousness. Yet she 
 seemed to know without seeing that he was 
 worn and tired, that there was an accentu- 
 ation of that aspect of delicacy which 
 accorded so ill with his great muscular 
 strength. 
 
 Nellie noticed how colorless his clear, fine 
 skin had grown and how much grayer was 
 his hair at the temples. He, too, she thought, 
 had no doubt had his battles to fight ! 
 
 " My mother isatDinard/'said Moorlake. 
 " I saw her a few minutes this morning 
 met her accidentally, in fact. I did not 
 know she was there ; I thought she was at 
 Dinan." 
 
 " They are very close together, you know," 
 said Althea. She forced her eyes to meet 
 Clement's, and saw a question in them. He 
 was mentally asking, " Have you seen her ?" 
 
 " Come to breakfast," said Bertie, who 
 
 had been loitering about examining the 
 
 229
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 roses. "Looks like June, doesn't it?" he 
 added, turning to Clement. 
 
 " A lovely climate, apparently," said 
 Moorlake. " I always wonder when I am 
 on the Continent why we live in England." 
 
 " And I," said Nellie, as she led the way 
 to the breakfast-room, "always wonder why 
 we ever leave it. Even the costermongers 
 seem nice to me after the Latin races." 
 
 " Don't be rude, Nellie," said Moorlake. 
 " Remember that my grandmamma was 
 an Italian." 
 
 "That's the only thing about you that's not 
 nice ; it suggests stilettos and vendettas." 
 
 " To an American it suggests peanuts and 
 cheap ice cream, grind-organs and mon- 
 keys," said Althea, and she went on in this 
 vein as if she were entertaining a man she 
 had never met before. 
 
 Clement, after his racking night in the 
 train, was downright hungry, and unaffect- 
 edly enjoyed his breakfast, eaten from 
 230
 
 The Lover's Coming 
 
 Quimper plates with big fleurs-de-lis on 
 them in two shades of blue. Althea thought 
 bitterly how strange it was that men could 
 nearly always eat. She herself pretended, and 
 talked fast enough to cover the pretense. 
 
 It had been part of her plan of self-immo- 
 lation to take no extraordinary trouble in 
 dressing herself that day. She had on a 
 well-worn dark-blue coat and skirt and a 
 simple mauve silk blouse. Air and excite- 
 ment had given her a color of unusual bril- 
 liancy ; sorrow had a little sharpened fea- 
 tures already delicate ; nothing could spoil 
 the lovely mass of warm-tinted hair that 
 owed all its beauty to nature. Bertie and 
 Nellie looked at her anxiously, and thought 
 she had never appeared more charming. 
 To them she was lovely and lovable ; why 
 could not their friend see her with their 
 eyes ? After breakfast they all sat in the 
 garden, with their coffee and cigarettes, in a 
 
 spot made genially warm by the sunshine. 
 231
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 First Bertie made some flimsy excuse 
 and drifted away ; Nellie talked on bravely, 
 but in a few minutes Bertie called to her, 
 " Come, look at this rosebush ! It's, really 
 extraordinary," and she followed him. 
 
 Clement smiled ; even at that moment, 
 which he felt to be one of the most impor- 
 tant in his existence, the transparent pretext 
 amused him. Althea did not look at him. 
 She was wrapping about her more closely a 
 light scarf she wore as protection against 
 the Spring wind. There was only a min- 
 ute of silence. Then Moorlake said, 
 bluntly : 
 
 " Have you seen my mother ? " 
 
 The suddenness of the question startled 
 Althea ; and he saw that she was embar- 
 rassed. 
 
 " Are you under oath not to divulge her 
 visit?" asked Clement, " for I feel sure that 
 she has been here." 
 
 " I have taken no oaths," said Althea. 
 
 232
 
 The Lover's Coming 
 
 " I never will. I think they are unwise and 
 dangerous." 
 
 " No vows, either ? " he asked, with a 
 curious light in his eyes which she had 
 never seen there, which made her realize 
 that Moorlake, without his rigid sense of 
 duty, might be a very dangerous man who 
 would enjoy being dangerous. 
 
 " Nor vows, either," she said, firmly. 
 
 11 Perhaps I shall induce you to break 
 your vow not to make vows," he said, with 
 a deep, liquid note in his usually cold voice. 
 
 At that moment he felt very human ; the 
 past seemed less alive than usual, and the 
 future more vaguely desirable. 
 
 Althea felt the change in his mood, and 
 steeled herself against it. 
 
 " I don't think your mother made me 
 promise anything," she said. 
 
 "Then she was here?" 
 
 " Yes ; since I am truthful, I must say she 
 
 was." 
 
 233
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " With what object ? " 
 
 Clement had thrown away his cigarette 
 and was bending toward her. Intense in- 
 terest shone in his eyes. 
 
 Althea hesitated a moment, then said, 
 bravely : 
 
 " In the interests of her son." 
 
 " In what her son would call his inter- 
 ests?" 
 
 " I think so in the long run." 
 
 "But not just now?" 
 
 " Yes, perhaps just now, too." 
 
 " I don't believe it," said Clement, de- 
 cidedly. " But why must we talk in enig- 
 mas ? Are we strangers ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Althea. " I think we are." 
 Then, after a perceptible pause, " I think 
 we always shall be." 
 
 " Why don't you trust me ? " he asked, 
 impetuously. " Why won't you help me ? 
 You know why I have come." 
 
 " You came to see us the Vincents and 
 234
 
 The Lover's Coming 
 
 me because you needed a change. Let it 
 rest there." 
 
 He looked at her with astonishment. 
 
 " Do you think that I came all this dis- 
 tance to hear you give such an order as 
 that ? or to obey it ? " 
 
 Althea shivered a little. 
 
 " It is too cold here. Shall we go into 
 the house ? " she asked, rising. 
 
 " Certainly," he said, also rising, " if we 
 can be alone." 
 
 They walked toward the chateau in si- 
 lence. He felt curiously piqued and eager 
 for one intimate word or look. It seemed 
 as if their positions had suddenly been re- 
 versed. He knew Althea so little that he 
 believed for a moment her manner of deal- 
 ing with him was dictated by coquetry ; but 
 one look at her pale face and compressed 
 mouth undeceived him. 
 
 They reached the salon unremarked. 
 
 Moorlake shut the door and stood waiting 
 235
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 for her to sit down. When both were seated, 
 he said : "It is not kind of you to keep 
 me at arm's length." 
 
 To this she had nothing to answer. 
 
 " Surely," he said, " we have much to 
 say to each other. You may feel a natural 
 resentment because I have involved you in 
 so much unhappiness, but in spite of that 
 you must know that I am your best friend 
 that at least I want to be " 
 
 11 Please," she interrupted, " don't speak 
 of the past ! It is more than I can bear." 
 
 " Then let me speak of the future that 
 in which I beg to have a share. Tell me 
 what my mother said to you. She has 
 somehow turned you against me." 
 
 " Your mother loves you more than any- 
 one does at least in a more unselfish way "" 
 she hesitated and colored, then went on r 
 "You know what you are to her, how she 
 builds on your future your career. You 
 
 still have a long life before you " 
 
 236
 
 The Lover's Coming 
 
 11 1 am forty years old," said Clement. 
 " If I have done nothing so far, I shall never 
 do or be anything." 
 
 " But you have done something. You 
 are a great sculptor ; everyone says so." 
 
 "You mean my mother says so." He 
 made the amendment smiling. 
 
 " You are going to be an R. A.," she said, 
 also smiling, but with some bitterness. " If 
 you do nothing wrong or bohemian or un- 
 canonical you are going to be one of the 
 Forty." 
 
 A sudden illumination came into his face. 
 
 " That is what my mother said to you ! " 
 he exclaimed. " I understand." He looked 
 both amused and vexed. Loyalty and an- 
 noyance struggled within him. -' 
 
 " You must forgive her, Althea." She 
 winced at the sweetness of hearing him 
 pronounce her name. " Remember that 
 she is the one person to whom I am a 
 
 heaven-born genius. She has lived only for 
 
 237
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 me all these years, while I have been making 
 statues until I've almost become a statue 
 myself. A hard medium of expression 
 and you hate sculpture ; you told me so 
 when we first met." 
 
 Althea breathed freely. He was unbend- 
 ing, he was becoming a human being with 
 whom she might talk humanly, who could 
 in time, perhaps, open his soul to her that 
 part of it at least which did not contain the 
 mysterious Other Woman. 
 
 " Do you know," she said, impulsively, 
 leaning forward, "now, for the first time 
 in ever so long, I feel that we are friends ! 
 I am so glad, because I had come to feel a 
 sort of terror of you, as of something strange 
 and unreal and icy ! The thought of you 
 was dreadful to me." 
 
 " My poor child ! " he said. " I have 
 been but a bad friend to you. But I will 
 atone if you will let me." 
 
 They were not far apart. He stretched 
 238
 
 The Lover's Coming 
 
 out his hand warm, appealing, consolatory 
 and gently took her cold one. 
 
 She made a quick movement. 
 
 <( Oh, please don't touch me ! " she cried, 
 with a sharp accent of pain. 
 
 In a moment he understood her how she 
 was bracing herself to withstand him, steel- 
 ing her heart against him, fighting $own her 
 love for him, smothering and crushing the 
 passionate craving for his affection which 
 had well-nigh killed her during all the time 
 of her great trouble. And once again, as so 
 often before, he longed to give her his whole 
 heart and life and soul without reservation. 
 
 " Have I been presumptuous ?" he said, 
 softly, still lightly holding her hand. 
 " Won't you give me the right to care for 
 you ? You are free now, Althea." 
 
 " No, Clement, I shall never be free," she 
 said, with passionate sadness. " I am a dis- 
 honored woman ; all the venal laws in 
 
 America cannot make me free. Nothing 
 239
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 can right me now not even if there were a 
 man who loved me." 
 
 " ' If,' Althea ? There is no ' if.' There 
 is a man who loves you, who will try to 
 make up to you for what you have lost." 
 
 " Ah, Clement, don't tempt me ! A woman 
 who loves as I do is easily tempted ! But 
 she is not easily satisfied. Even if I were 
 really free, I would never, never " She 
 paused in distress before the word. 
 
 "Never marry me, Althea ? Why ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " There are so many good reasons so 
 many, and you know them all," she said. 
 
 " You are thinking about the legality of 
 it, aren't you ? We could go away we need 
 not live in England, where people are old- 
 fashioned and narrow-minded. Is a woman, 
 an innocent, unhappy woman, to go solitary 
 all her days because a brute has deserted 
 her ? That reason is soon disposed of." 
 
 " There is another reason, Clement," she 
 
 240
 
 The Lover's Coming 
 
 said, in a low tone. " I need not remind 
 you of it." 
 
 He stiffened suddenly. " You mean," he 
 said, " the other because " 
 
 " Because you do not love me." 
 
 She spoke very firmly and with immeasur- 
 able sadness. 
 
 He paused and looked at her squarely. 
 " Althea, it is five years since I saw the per- 
 son of whom you are thinking. She has 
 been married for some time." 
 
 " But you love her, Clement, and only her. 
 You have never deceived me. How could I 
 care for you as I do if you had ? You would 
 not be the man I love if you could lie to me." 
 
 He was confounded and knew not what 
 to answer. 
 
 "Do you think," she said, with sup- 
 pressed passion, " that I could be your wife 
 and know that your heart and soul belong to 
 that other woman ? Could I take your kind 
 
 pity for me your liking, even your affec- 
 16 241
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 tion when what you and I know to be love 
 is wanting ? I could not share you with 
 another woman, Clement ! Better that 
 you should be unattainable as the stars ! I 
 could still think of you still love you as 
 the worthiest man I have ever known but 
 marry you, no ! Ah, no, it would be ter- 
 rible ! I believe you know I know now 
 that there is no middle course, no happiness 
 in being second best." 
 
 Clement was still silent. This last revela- 
 tion of Althea's character showed him what 
 she was what sort of woman he might have 
 loved if the phantom of the past had not 
 been between them. 
 
 " This must be the end really the end," 
 she went on. " We must not meet any 
 more. I do not say that I shall try to forget 
 you, for the memory of you will be my 
 dearest possession ; but I shall try to avoid 
 ever seeing you again. I don't think I even 
 
 want your picture I could not bear it. I 
 242
 
 The Lover's Coming 
 
 have hurt you, troubled you dreadfully in 
 dragging you into my pitiful life, where you 
 should never have come ; but you forgive 
 me I know you do." 
 
 Her wide, pleading eyes gazed straight 
 into his. He sat in a tense, strained attitude, 
 with the look she had learned to know so 
 well his brows bent, his dark eyes like 
 those of no other man shining with strange 
 lights. 
 
 " Never speak of forgiveness, Althea," he 
 said. " My one wish is to atone to make 
 reparation to bring you some happiness, if 
 you will only let me. Althea, I swear 
 that I love you ! You are the only woman 
 I would marry. Will you not risk it ? Who 
 could help loving you ? I never knew you 
 till to-day, and I know that no man could 
 be indifferent to you." 
 
 A sudden wave of hope passed over her ; 
 her body tingled with the glow of leaping 
 blood. 
 
 243
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 11 Clement ! " she said, " if you can tell 
 me on your honor that I am dearer to you 
 than the other woman . . ." 
 
 His face changed. He stood up and 
 walked to the window. She sat with her 
 hands clenched, waiting. The birds sang 
 in the garden. All life its pain, its joy, its 
 hope, its disappointment was in that min- 
 ute while the birds sang. To the man at the 
 window death would have been less bitter. 
 When he turned Althea knew that the hope 
 and the joy were over, that only the pain and 
 the disappointment were left. 
 
 " I know the answer," she said, very 
 gently. " Don't grieve over it, Clement ; it 
 is better so." 
 
 Moorlake was a strong man ; he had 
 never cried in his life, but his heart wept 
 then. 
 
 244
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 i- , 
 
 DISILLUSION 
 
 MOORLAKE returned to London, but one 
 sunny morning in early August found him 
 on the beach at Dinard. He could hardly 
 have explained why he was there. He was 
 subject once in every few years to fits of 
 atrophied will periods of involition during 
 which half of his nature hurried him into 
 actions deeply condemned by the other half. 
 And at one of these times he came to Dinard. 
 
 He had heard nothing from the Vincents 
 or from Althea. Life seemed perfectly taste- 
 less and uninteresting. He felt the lassitude 
 left by a long, hot London season, in which 
 his part had been played even more per- 
 functorily than usual. But much of his sad- 
 ness, which was chronic and constitutional, 
 245
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 was temporarily banished by the scene about 
 him. 
 
 It was the hour when the smart world of 
 Dinard is wont to plunge into the gentle 
 waves and wash away some of the weariness 
 caused by all-night baccarat, prefaced by 
 dancing. Many bathed, but more looked 
 on. The sands, clean and glittering, were 
 covered with chairs, the chairs with lovely 
 ladies, and the lovely ladies with fresh, light 
 gowns. There were very few painted faces 
 and dyed heads ; even the most charming 
 had that seal of respectability which in the 
 eyes of the well-conducted adds a charm to 
 beauty. There was the usual sprinkling of 
 rackety August visitors who change Dinard 
 from a staid residential town, conquered by 
 Anglo-Saxons, into a vortex of baccarat, 
 cocktails, flirtations, picnics and balls. Then 
 it is that men have been known to drink 
 yellow chartreuse out of wine glasses at the 
 
 club in the morning, and mothers of families 
 246
 
 Disillusion 
 
 sit with greedy eyes fixed on the "little 
 horses " as they run along, winning for the 
 bank. Then it is that there is time for noth- 
 ing but enjoyment when one sits of an 
 afternoon opposite the Casino, at the pastry 
 cook's where the cakes are guaranteed to 
 add a stone to one's weight in six weeks 
 when one curses, if one is an Anglo-Saxon, 
 between sips of Ceylon tea, the truly Gallic 
 cruelty of the stupid Breton cockers who 
 congregate in that quarter a vile blot on 
 the loveliness of the place. 
 
 There is an amusement for every hour 
 and for every minute a fresh subject of gos- 
 sip dear, delightful, diverting gossip 
 which leaves " not even Lancelot brave, nor 
 Galahad clean." 
 
 Moorlake's sober face was out of place on 
 the plage, and many a woman thought how 
 pleasant it would be to call a smile to it. 
 The morning was made for happiness ; it 
 
 was neither cold nor hot ; the air was light 
 
 247
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 and exhilarating, with a tang of salt in its 
 softness. 
 
 Clement saw a chair standing somewhat 
 apart from the others, and appropriated it. 
 -There were a good many people in the 
 j water, but none wore the extraordinary cos- 
 tumes in vogue at other French watering- 
 places. Few dresses were coquettish, or even 
 becoming. Presently a tall figure waded 
 ashore. It was a woman who had been 
 swimming. She was dressed in pale blue, 
 and her head was covered by a blue silk 
 handkerchief with great ends standing up on 
 top. She was accompanied by several men, 
 and passed quite close to Moorlake on the 
 way to her cabin. For an instant he saw 
 her in profile, and was conscious of a sudden 
 shock. He turned and watched her retreat- 
 ing figure a very good one, even in its un- 
 disguised state. He saw her enter the cabin, 
 after a few chaffing words with her escort at 
 
 the door ; noted the number, and sat for 
 248
 
 Disillusion 
 
 three-quarters of an hour facing it, waiting 
 for her to come out. 
 
 At last, after several excursions of her 
 maid, fetching and carrying between the 
 cabin and some unknown point, the lady 
 opened the door, put out a well-shod foot y 
 and stepped forth on the beach. No wonder 
 it had taken forty-five minutes to make her 
 what she was. She was dressed in the fash- 
 ion of the day-after-to-morrow for which 
 she did not mean to pay till the day after 
 that. To look at her was to realize the actual 
 existence of all those mysterious French 
 words found even in the least French of 
 fashion papers tabliers, applique, revers to 
 say nothing of incrustations, pipings, accor- 
 deon pleatings and other things to be found 
 in England. The gown was a marvelous 
 collection of materials, so cunningly con- 
 structed that a man who was not in the busi- 
 ness would have called it "simple," thus prov- 
 ing himself the same. The figure inside 
 249
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 the gown was all that comparative youth, con- 
 scientious exercise and four-guinea stays 
 could make it. The lady's hat was a wide- 
 brimmed " confection " of big pink roses, 
 with yards of tulle that did wonderful things 
 all round them, and finally wound itself 
 about the wearer's throat. The face under 
 the hat was charmingly tinted by what did 
 not yet appear and had straight features 
 and hard blue eyes. The hair was the color 
 of gilt, with even waves that looked as if 
 they were cut out of brass, from the nape 
 of the long neck to the place where they met 
 the back of the hat. 
 
 Moorlake sat on his chair and looked at 
 the lady. He could not have catalogued her 
 like the cold narrator. He only knew that 
 she was the woman he had loved for fifteen 
 years. 
 
 She came over the sands directly toward 
 him. He rose. 
 
 " I can't be mistaken," she began, in a 
 250
 
 Disillusion 
 
 hard, clear voice ; " you are surely Clement 
 Moorlake ? " 
 
 " Yes," he admitted, " I am." 
 
 " You don't know me ? It is so long since 
 we met. To think of your being here ! It's 
 delightful. Do you know me ?" 
 
 She smiled as she asked the question. 
 
 Moorlake paused before answering. He 
 was visibly disturbed. 
 
 " You must be I am sure you are Lady 
 Bembridge." 
 
 " I am Hyacinth to you, Clement, or 
 1 Cinthy,' it used to be, didn't it ? " 
 
 She laughed lightly. 
 
 Moorlake winced. " That was a long 
 time ago," he said, stiffly. 
 
 " But how well you wear ! No dye, no 
 make-up ! That gray above the temples is 
 the finishing touch to your fascination. 
 Don't you remember, I always told you that 
 you would grow handsomer with age ? I 
 
 was a true prophet." 
 
 251
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 Lady Bembridge regarded him with un- 
 disguised interest. Clement looked square- 
 ly into her hard eyes. 
 
 11 Is Lord Bembridge here ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, how like you ! " cried Hyacinth. 
 " First of all the proprieties ! You have 
 changed as little as your face. No, Bem- 
 bridge is not here. We are like the little 
 couple who foretell the weather never seen 
 together," and she laughed again. " We do 
 not pose any more. Now ask me if I have 
 any children." 
 
 " Have you ?" and Clement managed to 
 smile a little. 
 
 " None ; it's a disappointment to my hus- 
 band, as he hates the next heir, but I don't 
 approve of them. Children spoil a woman's 
 career." 
 
 "That depends on what sort of career 
 it is." 
 
 11 Mine is a sort of ' Rake's Progress.' 
 
 Don't look shocked only ugly men should 
 
 252
 
 Disillusion 
 
 ever look shocked, for then nobody would 
 mind them. It's quite true, Clement. I 
 have every vice except stinginess. How are 
 you getting on ? Still doing those great, 
 lumpy statues ? Have you made a fortune ? 
 If you have you must lend me something, 
 for I ruined myself last night at the Casino."" 
 
 " My letter of credit is at your disposal," 
 said Moorlake, gravely. 
 
 " How solemn you are ! It is really toa 
 nice to see you again ! Where are you 
 stopping ? " 
 
 Moorlake named his hotel. 
 
 "I am breakfasting at the Terrasses, and 
 doing things all day ; but you must come 
 to the Casino to-night, won't you ? " 
 
 " I neither dance nor gamble." 
 
 " No, but you can talk and listen. Do- 
 come ! I want to see you so much ! " 
 
 " Is it really pleasant to you to see me ? "" 
 
 " Of course ! Why not ? One outlives 
 
 everything except one's appetite. I am so 
 253
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 hungry ! Oh, there's Dolkovski at last. 
 You're late, Prince. The Marchants eat at 
 half-past twelve." 
 
 One of the escort had approached, a big 
 Russian with a Romanoff look about him. 
 
 " They will not eat at that time to-day," 
 he observed, with a heavy smile. 
 
 Then he looked at Clement disapprov- 
 ingly. 
 
 u This is an old friend, Mr. Moorlake. 
 But he doesn't like Russian princes. He 
 reads Ouida, and knows they are all desper- 
 ate characters. Come along, Dolly. To- 
 night, Clement, about nine-thirty," and she 
 walked away with her prince. 
 
 The day passed to Moorlake like a con- 
 fused dream. He tried to join the new rev- 
 elation to the old conception. A disease 
 of fifteen years' standing is not to be cured 
 by one dose of medicine, no matter how 
 strong the drug may be. He shrank from a 
 
 repetition of the dose, but he knew that he 
 
 254
 
 Disillusion 
 
 must swallow it. And so, after hours of 
 walking, with unseeing eyes fixed on the fine 
 landscape, he returned to dress, dine and 
 meet Hyacinth Bembridge at the Casino. 
 
 It was easy to distinguish her among the 
 other women ; her superior stature and the 
 pronounced style of her gown attracted 
 everyone's attention. She glittered from 
 throat to feet with steel sequins, and round 
 her neck, looped up to her breast with dia- 
 monds and falling loose again, was a rope 
 of great pearls. There was a group of men 
 about her, but no women. One man was a 
 French count the sort of thing France 
 makes badly since the Republic a weak, 
 stooping, livid young creature with a prepos- 
 terous nose, no chin to speak of, and a red 
 orchid in his coat. Another was a clean- 
 limbed, well-washed Englishman, who could 
 not go back to England owing to pecuniary 
 misunderstandings. A third was an elderly 
 
 man with a magenta face and a bottle-nose 
 255
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 one of the props of the chartreuse industry 
 and the fourth was the Russian prince. 
 
 Moorlake hesitated a moment, then walked 
 up to the group and bowed to Lady Bern- 
 bridge. 
 
 " Oh, you did come ! So glad. Come out- 
 side ; it's stuffy here. Go and dance, Dolly ! 
 Madame de Ternon is looking for you." 
 
 The Russian glowered, and the little count 
 sighed as he surveyed Moorlake's inches. 
 
 14 Ces anglais, ces anglais ! " he murmured 
 
 "You should make them get out," said 
 Dolkovski, sulkily. " They think they own 
 the place.' 
 
 " Mon cher, I am English ! " observed the 
 magenta man, reprovingly. 
 
 " Pardon ! I forgot. You don't look it," 
 retorted the prince, with double spite. 
 
 " And I," said the other Englishman. 
 
 " Ah, but one doesn't think of you as an 
 Englishman ; you can't stand the climate ! " 
 
 Hyacinth drew Moorlake toward the un- 
 
 256
 
 Disillusion 
 
 lighted end of the veranda. The moon was 
 full and the tide so high that a short time 
 before it had dashed against the stones at 
 the base of the Casino. 
 
 " This is the flirtation corner," said Hya- 
 cinth, " but as you don't know how to flirt, 
 it's wasted on you. I'm glad there's a moon, 
 for people will see you, and I shall like them 
 to. I'm awfully tired of the men, particu- 
 larly Dolkovski. He's not amusing." 
 
 She leaned back in her chair, glittering 
 like a moonbeam, fingering her pearls. 
 
 " Aren't these nice ! " she went on. " I 
 have wanted them for years. One would 
 do anything for a rope of pearls ! Solomon, 
 who knew so much, said that the price of a 
 virtuous woman was above rubies ; you see, 
 he meant pearls ! " 
 
 " A new interpretation of Scripture," said 
 Moorlake, dryly. He was mentally trying 
 to peel away this present picture of her, as 
 
 one might scrape a palimpsest to get a 
 
 17 257
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 glimpse at the old meaning beneath the 
 accretions of time. 
 
 " How do you like Dinard ? " Hyacinth 
 rattled on. " They say Zola is coming to 
 write up the smells. I felt inspired to- 
 night as I came along the street to make a 
 poem called ' Moonlight on the Drain/ 
 Wouldn't it be a choice subject ? You see, 
 the French hate us, and try to kill us with 
 drains or want of them. But we come, all 
 the same, and bring Condy's Fluid. Isn't 
 it pretty here ? " 
 
 Clement thought her ill at ease, in spite 
 of her hard eyes. 
 
 11 Which question must I answer first ? " 
 
 " Don't be so serious. Tell me about 
 yourself." 
 
 " I am more serious than ever when I talk 
 about myself, and I dislike doing it." 
 
 " How little changed you are ! " 
 
 For the first time her voice was free from 
 
 mockery, and she sighed. 
 
 258
 
 Disillusion 
 
 " I am more changed than I thought or 
 knew," he said. 
 
 " How solemn your eyes are, Clement ! 
 I believe it was those eyes that frightened 
 
 me away Sometimes I think I 
 
 should like to pretend that we are young 
 again, and that we love each other." 
 
 " That /love you," he corrected. "You 
 never cared for me." 
 
 "Yes, I did in a way. I loved your 
 beauty and your strength. Do you remem- 
 ber when you stopped my horse that was 
 running away, and saved my life for 
 this?" 
 
 She shivered a little and drew her violet 
 chiffon wrap about her. The gesture re- 
 called that of Althea months before in the 
 garden, and the thought of Althea struck 
 warm on his heart. 
 
 " Why did you promise to marry me, 
 Hyacinth, and then try to break my heart ? " 
 
 he asked. 
 
 259
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 "Why? Who knows? Why do I do 
 anything ? My life is a series of question 
 marks, and I haven't been able to find the 
 answers. But I think you were too good 
 not only better than I deserved, but too 
 good to please me long." 
 
 " The old story I was a prig ! I sup- 
 pose men all the world over who try to be- 
 have like gentlemen are called prigs." 
 
 " There are so few, Clement ! Since I 
 broke with you I have hardly known a man 
 whom you would call a gentleman." 
 
 " Not one in fifteen years ? Poor thing ! " 
 
 " What is your definition of a gentleman, 
 Clement ? Opinions vary so." 
 
 Moorlake was silent for a moment. 
 
 " A man," he said, presently, " who tells 
 the truth and never takes advantage of a 
 woman." 
 
 " And yet, Clement, do you remember 
 our one meeting in fifteen years in Rome ? 
 
 You tried to make love to me then." She 
 260
 
 Disillusion 
 
 leaned forward, with the broad moonlight 
 softening her eyes. 
 
 Moorlake flushed deeply. 
 
 " Hyacinth," he said, " I've been five years 
 doing penance. I swore then that there 
 should be no women in my life." 
 
 " And you have kept your vow ? " 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 " You are sure you made no one un- 
 happy ? . . . No answer ? Never mind ; 
 don't tell me. You aim too high. You see, 
 / am contented with very small triumphs in 
 the realm of aspiration." 
 
 " Don't be so bitter about yourself," he 
 said. " It hurts me to hear it. Why do 
 you lead this life of which you complain ? " 
 
 " Because I love excitement, because I 
 must have money." 
 
 He glanced instinctively at the pearls she 
 was fingering. 
 
 " Ah, those," she said, " were a present. 
 
 I have nothing to live for except amuse- 
 261
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 ment, and I don't believe in a future life 
 so why pretend ? I am hopelessly estranged 
 from Bembridge. We seldom meet. Life 
 without movement, amusement, pretty 
 gowns and pleasant places and nice things 
 to eat would be worse than death to me." 
 
 " And the other things for which women 
 care honest love, a good name, respect and 
 consideration in society ? " 
 
 " Are deadly dull and awfully overrated. 
 I am going away from this place. There 
 are lots of the virtuous, hardworking, pains- 
 taking matrons whom you admire, here, and 
 they look askance at me. Not all, for I'm 
 still a countess ! but there are enough 
 shocked faces to annoy me. I shall go to 
 some place where the people are all French. 
 After all, they are the only ones who can 
 cook and who know how to wear their 
 clothes, and I shall be happy." 
 
 Moorlake was pale with disgust. 
 
 " Happy ? " he repeated. 
 262
 
 Disillusion 
 
 " Well, gay ! That's the nearest approach 
 to happiness." 
 
 There was a long silence. The sound of 
 the waltz drifted out, and stray couples 
 came up to the corner, then, seeing Hya- 
 cinth and Moorlake, moved away. 
 
 " What are you thinking, Clement ?" she 
 asked at last. 
 
 "I am thinking that I am glad I did not 
 kill myself fifteen years ago," he said, quietly. 
 
 " Take me back, please ; I want to dance," 
 she said rising. 
 
 Once in the room she turned a hard face 
 to him. 
 
 11 Are you going ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " Good-night and 
 good-bye." 
 
 He was glad to be alone. Fifteen years 
 had been suddenly sponged off the slate of 
 life. He was free free to love the woman 
 who loved him free to tell her so. 
 
 Early morning found him at the chateau. 
 263
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 Before Nellie Vincent had fairly entered 
 the room where he waited he said : 
 
 " Althea ! where is she ? " 
 
 11 Clement, you have come too late," she 
 replied. 
 
 " Too late ! What do you mean ? She's 
 not dead ? " 
 
 " Not dead ; but yesterday she left us, 
 and we don't know where she has gone." 
 
 264
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 IN RETREAT 
 
 IT had not been easy for Althea to leave 
 Dinard without the knowledge of the Vin- 
 cents. 
 
 For weeks her longing to go had been 
 growing. Her position began to appear in- 
 tolerable ; with the undue sensibility of 
 overstrained nerves, she felt that she was 
 becoming a burden to Bertie and Nellie, and 
 she determined to be so no longer. She 
 was possessed, moreover, by the haunting 
 fear that Clement would not accept her re- 
 fusal as final, and the thought of having to 
 undergo a second ordeal spurred on her 
 resolution to disappear. 
 
 One day, when the Vincents had gone to 
 
 Dinan, she induced the gardener at the 
 265
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 chateau to harness a cart and drive her and 
 her boxes over to Dinard. The boat, which 
 left at dusk, was not crowded, and she 
 easily secured a berth. 
 
 When Nellie returned she found only 
 these few lines awaiting her : 
 
 Forgive me, dear both of you my kind, good friends. 
 I am going away for a time. Do not try to find me. 
 Some day I will write to you, or come. I have worn out 
 your patience, and you must have rest. How I thank you 
 I need not say. 
 
 ALTHEA. 
 
 Nellie's grief and alarm were little short 
 of frantic ; and meanwhile Althea lay in the 
 cabin of the little steamer, on the way to 
 England. 
 
 It was a long night ; she was stark awake 
 her eyes would not stay shut. Her mind 
 was almost a blank. She had come to that 
 stage where there seems neither hope nor 
 fear ; where thought and reasoning faculty 
 
 are alike overpowered by a curious lethargy. 
 266
 
 In Retreat 
 
 Without such seasons of mental supineness 
 the nervous and overstrained must perforce 
 become the insane. 
 
 In the early part of the night, before the 
 few passengers settled down to rest, two 
 ladies near Althea were talking in low tones. 
 Althea listened mechanically. 
 
 " It is a very pretty place," said one, " and 
 quite cheap ; four miles from Arundel a 
 jolly old farmhouse with a thatched roof and 
 ivy ; quite a place to lose one's self in." 
 
 The last phrase interested Althea acutely. 
 
 "I often think," said the other woman, 
 "how easy it would be to hide in such a 
 place. That part of the world is very primi- 
 tive, though it's only about two hours from 
 town." 
 
 Althea listened still more intently. 
 
 " What's the address ? I might take the 
 children there for Easter." 
 
 " Kennerton Farm, Bury, Sussex. You 
 
 go from Victoria." 
 
 267
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 Then the conversation languished, and 
 the ladies slept. 
 
 To Althea what she had heard seemed 
 providential if anything could seem prov- 
 idential ever again. It was the voice of fate, 
 perhaps, at last giving her a hint as to what 
 she should do not leaving her to flounder 
 helplessly in the bog of circumstance. So 
 at least she chose to consider it. 
 
 Morning found her in England dear 
 England, where one wanted to shake hands 
 with the very dockmen and policemen after 
 a sojourn in France. Even the Hampshire 
 accent of the Southampton natives was not 
 unpleasing after broad, boorish Breton. 
 
 At Waterloo Althea breakfasted on the hay 
 tea and sawdust bread made exclusively for 
 the railway station "refreshment " contractors. 
 Then she went to Victoria and took a ticket 
 for Bury or rather for the nearest town, for 
 she found on inquiry that the railway did not 
 
 touch Bury itself. 
 
 268
 
 In Retreat 
 
 August shed its golden glory over the land. 
 The fields basked in the sunlight ; the trees 
 had lost their freshness and showed yellow 
 in places. Here and there were cottages 
 covered with deep purple clematis and late 
 Gloire de Dijon roses. Althea dozed un- 
 easily in her third-class carriage and heeded 
 the landscape not at all. 
 
 August is the month when, if a man have 
 a spot of earth with a wall around it, he does 
 well to enter in and lock the gate ; a month 
 when everyone who is anywhere pants to be 
 somewhere else. Sussex appeared to be full 
 of people engaged in this puss-in-the-corner 
 game. The whole population of England 
 was changing ; only, as everyone left his 
 home and went to that of someone else, ex- 
 change was no robbery, and each place re- 
 mained full. 
 
 The premier Duke of England, who owns 
 most of the land and houses in and about 
 
 Arundel, does not encourage newcomers ; 
 269
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 hence the region thereabouts is not too 
 thickly populated to be charming. It is a 
 noble country of great, rolling downs spat- 
 tered with beech woods. In the Spring one 
 may walk miles there and never be out of 
 earshot of the skylarks. The blue air is 
 drenched with their melody, and the plain- 
 tive cry of new-born lambs that most pa- 
 thetic of all sounds ascends ceaselessly from 
 the sheepfolds. 
 
 Bury is a hamlet whose beauty has no 
 jarring note, except the one shop where 
 most of the necessaries of life, and a few of 
 its superfluities, are to be bought. The na- 
 tives have not yet quite discarded the smock 
 frock ; there are farmers who are proud of 
 being farmers, and one or two are lucky 
 enough to have daughters who don't play the 
 piano. 
 
 The farmer at Kennerton was one of these 
 happy ones. Althea reached his door on 
 
 foot, as she could find no trap at the station. 
 270
 
 In Retreat 
 
 She had flagged miserably on the way and 
 looked plaintively at the cyclists who spun 
 past her in the dust, bowed over their wheels 
 as if bent on developing a curvature as soon 
 as possible. 
 
 The old house showed a cool, northern 
 face to the road. There, to be sure, were 
 the thatch and the ivy of which the lady on 
 the boat had spoken. The quiet beauty and 
 look of home which it wore brought a gush 
 of tears to the homeless one's eyes. By the 
 time the farmer's daughter came to the door 
 Althea was half-swooning with fatigue and 
 emotion. 
 
 Miss Burt gave her one look, and liked 
 her. 
 
 "Come in, ma'am, and rest. You had to 
 walk, and in this heat ! What a shame ! 
 Give me your bag," and she opened the door 
 hospitably wide. 
 
 " I am very tired," said Althea, keeping 
 
 back the tears. 
 
 271
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 11 Hungry, too, no doubt," said Miss Burt. 
 11 Perhaps you'd like something to eat before 
 you try to talk. This room is empty. Sit 
 down." 
 
 They were in a low-ceiled room with a 
 great whitewashed oak beam across it. The 
 window was long and low, and lattice-paned. 
 On the deep sill were jars of red roses. 
 
 "I've come from France last night. I am 
 very tired, and hungry too, I think. I want 
 to take rooms here if you have any vacant," 
 Althea explained. 
 
 11 We've just lost a lodger this morning. 
 But I'll speak to mother, and meanwhile I'll 
 bring you something. Perhaps you'd like 
 to wash, ma'am ? " 
 
 After ablutions in a quaint, uneven-floored 
 room upstairs, hung with pure white dimity, 
 Althea descended to find cold beef, salad, a 
 fruit tart and a jug of cream set out on the 
 table in the sitting-room. 
 
 While she ate, the kind young woman 
 
 272
 
 In Retreat 
 
 talked things over with her mother, and 
 the bargain was soon made. 
 
 Althea became a lodger at Kennerton 
 Farm. 
 
 18 273
 
 *" 
 
 ~ .V-
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 A HEART'S DESIRE 
 
 BENEATH the shelter of the old box trees, 
 with the humming of the bees about her 
 and the scents and sounds of late Summer 
 stealing in on her senses, Althea sat for 
 many mornings. Her life passed before her 
 like a dream as, at the last, it will do for 
 all of us, we may be sure " a tale that is 
 told." The vision brought a sense of final- 
 ity to her. How easy, leaning back in her 
 low, lounging chair, her head softly pillowed, 
 her tired eyes closed, to slip out of life ; to 
 give up forever the ferment, the striving, the 
 bitterness "the fever called living! " 
 
 Owing to her defective early training she 
 
 had never had a grip on life in its broadest 
 
 275
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 sense the life of strenuous endeavor, of 
 altruistic impulse that prompts unselfish 
 deeds. She had grown one-sided running 
 to emotion and not to action. Such a woman 
 is born to suffer. Life is not loving and 
 dreaming. 
 
 The light of the whole world dies 
 When love is done. . . 
 
 was true in the case of Althea. She had 
 moral stamina enough to hate the wrong 
 and love the right ; enough even to refuse 
 a half-love ; but she was too weak to resist 
 what seemed to be the current of fate. 
 
 She wondered ceaselessly what she was to 
 do next, not realizing that our destiny stalks 
 to meet us, and that there is no hole or cor- 
 ner of the earth which can hide us from its 
 dread eye. And so it came to Althea in the 
 old garden under the box-trees, amid the 
 booming of the bees. 
 
 One morning as she sat there a step on 
 
 276
 
 A Heart's Desire 
 
 the path made her raise her eyes, and she 
 saw before her Clarice Hilyer. 
 
 There was a moment of mutual astonished 
 silence. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" exclaimed 
 Althea. 
 
 Clarice's answer was ready. " I came in 
 for a drink of water. I am stopping in the 
 neighborhood." 
 
 Her voice was cool and steady, but her 
 color ranged from red to pale. 
 
 Althea got up slowly. She was trembling. 
 The two faced each other. It was no mo- 
 ment for convention both felt that their 
 naked souls were confronting each other. 
 Althea burst out : 
 
 " Why did you ruin me ? I never hurt 
 you 1 " 
 
 Clarice stretched out her hand. " Sit 
 down," she said, " you are very pale." 
 
 " How can I sit with you standing 
 
 there?" answered Althea. She was ghastly, 
 
 277
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 and Mrs. Hilyer half-expected to see her 
 fall. 
 
 11 Let us both sit," she said : " I must talk 
 to you." 
 
 She led the way down the box walk to an 
 arbor at the end, cut out of the living shrubs. 
 Mechanically Althea followed she was good 
 at following and they sat down. They 
 were so near that their gowns touched. 
 Clarice was lovely, blooming with health, 
 irradiating charm ; Althea pale, broken, dis- 
 ordered, and breathing painfully. What 
 man would not have preferred Clarice ? 
 yet she looked at the other woman and knew 
 the one man in the world who meant any- 
 thing to her despised her as much as he 
 honored Althea. 
 
 " Listen ! " she said. " You hate me, of 
 course ; you say I ruined you, but I swear I 
 didn't mean to. I yielded to an impulse 
 an unworthy one and then the trouble was 
 
 done. I did not want to hurt you." 
 278
 
 A Heart's Desire 
 
 " Since you did hurt me it is all the 
 same," said Althea. " I would not harm a 
 woman a poor, wretched creature who is 
 born to suffer because she is a woman no, 
 not for all the world could give me not to 
 obtain my heart's desire." 
 
 " Your heart's desire ! " said the other. 
 " Who ever gets that ? I wonder what yours 
 is?" 
 
 " I don't mind telling you," said Althea. 
 " My heart's desire is to die here, quietly, 
 as I sit, and be done with it all." 
 
 Clarice looked at her curiously. 
 
 " If I felt like that I should kill myself," 
 she said. 
 
 11 Ah, I have not your courage. You who 
 could stab another woman in the dark could 
 no doubt be brave enough to put yourself 
 out of the world ! " 
 
 Clarice was perfectly controlled. 
 
 " No wonder you are bitter ! " she said. 
 
 *' You have a right to be, but I assure you 
 
 279
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 again that I acted without thought. One 
 thing I have done I have not mentioned 
 your name since then except with respect. 
 I have killed any scandal I have heard. 
 That much I've done for you." 
 
 "You are very kind," said Althea. " I 
 wonder why you have done it." 
 
 A sudden rage for frankness took posses- 
 sion of Clarice such a gust of impulse as 
 shakes the most secretive of women at least 
 once in a lifetime. She turned full on 
 Althea. 
 
 " Because Moorlake asked me to protect 
 you ! " she said, deliberately. 
 
 Althea winced. " Moorlake ! " she said. 
 
 " Yes ; he came tome and and " Clarice 
 colored and her eyes hardened at the recol- 
 lection " asked me commanded me in his 
 masterful way to stamp out the scandal." 
 
 " It was like him," said Althea, and her 
 face became like that of the devotee before 
 
 the shrine of his patron saint. 
 280
 
 A Heart's Desire 
 
 Clarice saw the look and bit her lip. 
 
 " He loves you ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 Althea kept silence. 
 
 "He is coming here to-night at least to 
 Lord Parham's where I'm stopping," Clarice 
 said. 
 
 Then indeed Althea's calm broke. 
 
 She half-rose, then sank back on the 
 bench. 
 
 " Here ! " she cried ; " so near ! " 
 
 " I shall see him to-night," said the other. 
 
 " Will you do me one favor the first 
 the last I shall ever ask of you ? " panted 
 Althea. " Do not tell him that I am here ! " 
 
 After all, Clarice was not a devil, though a 
 jealous woman is first cousin to one. The 
 utter prostration, physical and mental, pic- 
 tured on her rival's face struck at her rem- 
 nant of a heart. 
 
 11 Is it possible," she said, " that you wish 
 not to see him ? to remain in hiding ? " 
 
 11 Oh, yes ; I must not, will not see him !" 
 281
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 cried Althea. " I have left the Vincents 
 and tried to lose myself here. Do, for God's 
 sake, help me ! You have no reason to hate 
 me ; we are not rivals at all ; Moorlake is 
 above and beyond us both ; he is not for 
 either you or me. Only let me be quiet ; 
 perhaps I shall not trouble anyone long." 
 
 Clarice Hilyer was silent for a moment. 
 Then she turned and laid her hand on 
 Althea's knee. 
 
 " I am a wicked woman," she said, " and 
 my cursed selfishness has ruined you ; but 
 I want you to believe that I will help you if 
 I can. But I want you to tell me one thing. 
 You are free now ; if Clement Moorlake 
 should ask you to marry him, could you say 
 no ?" 
 
 Enemy as she had been, there was now so 
 much pity and good faith in Clarice's face 
 that Althea could not choose but answer. 
 Her pride in Clement's chivalry would not 
 
 let her be silent. It was a small triumph, 
 282
 
 A Heart's Desire 
 
 perhaps, but it was the only spot of light in 
 her dark life the only hour when she might 
 prove herself a woman among a thousand. 
 She fixed her eyes on Clarice's face. 
 
 "I have already refused him," she said. 
 
 Mrs. Hilyer sank back with a blank look. 
 
 " Mad woman ! " she cried. " Refused 
 Clement Moorlake ! Why ? why ? " 
 
 11 We are telling each other the truth to- 
 day," said Althea. " I have not much pride 
 left ; I refused him because I knew he loved 
 another woman." 
 
 " That is his secret ! Ah, I thought so. 
 That explains everything. Yet he would 
 have married you ? " 
 
 " Yes, he would have married me." 
 
 Clarice hid her face in her hands, then 
 she raised it, and her eyes were wet and 
 shining. 
 
 " That" she said, her voice thrilling, " is 
 love. I have seen it to-day for the first 
 
 time. All my life I have known things that 
 283
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 called themselves love self-seeking, desire, 
 passion, vanity, coquetry but never the 
 real thing. I have seen men who, when 
 they had got what they wanted, rode away ; 
 women who added one conquest to another, 
 so that they might count them like beads on 
 a devil's rosary ! But to-day I have found 
 love. And it is too high for me." 
 
 There was a great stillness. A hard 
 woman had been brushed by the shining 
 wing of her guardian angel, and her heart 
 was purified by the touch. 
 
 Presently she stretched out her hand to 
 Althea. 
 
 "Tell me," she said, "what will you do ? 
 Have you money ? " 
 
 " Enough." 
 
 " You are all alone, aren't you ? Oh, I 
 wish I could help you ! " 
 
 "You can by keeping my secret, I de- 
 mand it. I have the right." 
 
 " Yes, you have the right. I will keep it." 
 284
 
 A Heart's Desire 
 
 Clarice stooped and kissed the thin hand. 
 11 Mrs. North, will you forgive me ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " I would not hurt a hair of your head," 
 said Althea. 
 
 Clarice rose. " I honor you, I respect 
 you, and I will serve you whenever and 
 however you choose." 
 
 And so they parted. 
 
 Althea knew that the time had come when 
 she must again be moving. She must leave 
 this green spot of earth and in the gray 
 wilderness of London streets seek an invio- 
 lable hiding-place. 
 
 285
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 A VAIN SEARCH 
 
 THE moon a huge orange-colored August 
 moon flooded the old Tudor house and its 
 surrounding park. 
 
 Lord Parham's guests had strayed out of 
 doors after dinner, wooed by the gorgeous 
 night. Some were walking in the Italian 
 garden among quaint, clipped yews, per- 
 golas and the slim white statues and urns 
 that peeped forth from masses of late climb- 
 ing roses. Others passed through the little 
 gate that led to the wild part of the park. 
 Among those were Moorlake and Clarice 
 Hilyer. 
 
 He had discovered, with a shock of violent 
 
 distaste, that she was one of the house party, 
 287
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 and had resolved to leave next day. He 
 had spent the past week in unavailing search 
 for Althea, and felt unfit enough for visiting ; 
 nothing but the strongest necessity would 
 have forced him to fulfil his engagement 
 with the Parhams. He had conscientious 
 scruples against breaking a promise if he 
 could possibly keep it, and so found himself, 
 weary and out of spirits, near the woman 
 whom of all the world he disliked the most. 
 
 Her behavior had been perfect ; though 
 she sat beside him at dinner she talked for 
 the most part with the man on the other 
 side, who soon came under her charm. 
 
 Afterward, on the brow of the hill that 
 overlooked the lower park, covered with 
 gnarled old oaks and tall bracken, the two 
 met again, quite by accident. 
 
 Clarice felt an almost uncontrollable im- 
 pulse to tell him that within an hour's drive 
 he could find the object of his search, for 
 
 she was sure that he was seeking Althea. 
 288
 
 A Vain Search 
 
 She conceived him to be urged only by a 
 consuming desire to right the woman whom 
 she had wronged ; but what she did not 
 know was that he was not alone prompted 
 by honor that something a thousand times 
 warmer, and not less noble, was making 
 every day's delay a year of torment to him. 
 
 Should she break her bad promise and 
 betray the hiding-place ? Should she make 
 Moorlake and Altheaa present of each other ? 
 The eager questioning within her kept her 
 tensely silent as she stood in the moonshine 
 looking over the enchanted valley. It was 
 Clement who spoke first ; they had not met 
 since the unforgotten interview in Chelsea. 
 
 " What a pity no one can paint a moon- 
 light scene," he observed. 
 
 " Many people think they can," said Cla- 
 rice. " Do you know you have one fault ? " 
 she added. 
 
 " Only one ?" said Clement, stiffly. " What 
 
 has that to do with moonlight ? " 
 19 289
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " Nothing at all. But I could not help 
 making the observation." 
 
 11 You are always very frank with me. 
 May I not hear what my fault is ? " 
 
 " You have heard it before intense con- 
 ventionality. Just look at this situation. A 
 wild park, bathed in moonlight. In the 
 background a fine old Tudor mansion. On 
 one side in the distance a herd of deer, two 
 of them white and spectral in the moonlight. 
 An old church on the other side. In the 
 foreground an extremely handsome man 
 with a face like a Lancelot turned Galahad ; 
 a not unprepossessing woman with bare 
 shoulders and a pink chiffon gown. The 
 man hates the woman and the woman fears 
 the man. They are at swords' points. And 
 at this supreme moment Sir Lancelot-Gala- 
 had makes a remark about moonlight ! " 
 
 "That is an interesting picture very," 
 said Moorlake. " There are only one or 
 
 two flaws in the description ; for instance, 
 290
 
 A Vain Search 
 
 1 the woman fears the man ' I don't recog- 
 nize the truth of that." 
 
 "Don't you? And yet you have great 
 penetration." 
 
 "You have no reason to like me, but I 
 can't imagine how you can fear me. If I had 
 the power to injure you, you know quite well 
 that I would not do it." 
 
 " I believe that, but one fears what one 
 admires. You know parsons preach about 
 fearing God. I once asked my mother what 
 that meant, and she said, ' fearing to offend 
 Him.' Do you see ? " 
 
 " I think you have quite atoned for your 
 former strictures by comparing me to the 
 Deity. 
 
 He smiled a little. 
 
 "It is blasphemous, isn't it ? but I don't 
 mean badly. You have for me the aloof- 
 ness and indifference of a god." 
 
 His smile grew more indulgent. 
 
 " Don't be foolish ! " he said. " A god ! 
 291
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 a poor, perplexed, faulty fool of a man, 
 who doesn't know what to do next ! " 
 
 He took a turn up and down the brow of 
 the slope. She followed him with a sudden 
 impulse. 
 
 " I think I can help you," she said. 
 
 He stood and looked down at her, paying 
 an unwilling tribute to her prettiness and 
 charm. 
 
 " I'm almost sure you can't," he said. 
 
 "Are you trying to find somebody?" 
 
 " Why do you ask that ? 
 
 " Only because I want to know." 
 
 11 I am trying to find someone. I wish it 
 more than anything, else on earth." He was 
 very serious now. 
 
 11 Have you searched all through the 
 neighborhood ? at Bury, for instance ? " 
 
 " Why do you ask that ? What do you 
 mean ?" There was no disguising his eager- 
 ness. His eyes were shining. 
 
 Clarice smiled provokingly. 
 292
 
 A Vain Search 
 
 " I don't mean much ! I'm cold. Shall 
 we go back ? " 
 
 " Listen ! " he said. " You owe me some- 
 thing ; you must tell me ! Do you know ? 
 Have you seen the person ?" 
 
 " I went to Kennerton Farm this morning 
 and drank a glass of water," she said. 
 
 She turned and walked slowly before him 
 toward the house. He followed in a fever 
 of impatience. 
 
 " Mrs. Hilyer ! I ask you I beg you 
 to tell me what you mean. Do I humble 
 myself enough ? Won't you tell me ? " 
 
 She turned on him suddenly. 
 
 " No," she said, " not enough. You shall 
 first tell me one thing : Do you love Mrs. 
 North ? " 
 
 He flushed deeply. 
 
 " You have no right to ask me that. It is 
 an intrusion," he exclaimed, his nostrils 
 quivering and the old haughty look on his 
 
 face. 
 
 293
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 " Perhaps you are right," said Clarice. 
 " Forgive me " and she walked on. She 
 had never seen him so eager. It stabbed 
 her to think that another woman was the 
 cause of his unusual emotion. He still fol- 
 lowed her, stifling his pride. 
 
 11 Mrs. Hilyer," he said, as they paused at 
 the gate, " there is, after all, no reason why 
 I should not tell you. I love Althea North 
 with all my heart and soul, and if I do not 
 find her it will be the greatest sorrow of my 
 life." 
 
 Clarice's face paled and contracted. 
 
 " Is it so serious ? " she asked, in a low 
 voice. " You really mean it ? She is the 
 happy woman ? " 
 
 " It is very serious," he answered, " and 
 she is the woman whom I shall try to make 
 happy, if she will let me." 
 
 With a perceptible effort Clarice threw 
 off her emotion. 
 
 " I can only tell you," she said, half-mock- 
 294
 
 A Vain Search 
 
 ingly, "that the water at Kennerton Farm 
 is very good. It will quench your thirst ! " 
 and she left him standing by the gate. 
 
 In the early morning he hurried away 
 once more to seek Althea ; and once more 
 he was too late. She had left the farm. 
 
 295
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 IN THE SHADOW 
 
 A SMALL room over a baker's shop in 
 Highbury was the next refuge. 
 
 Again mere chance had dictated choice. 
 When Althea arrived in London she yielded 
 to an impulse to drive through Chelsea, while 
 she tried to decide on her next move. As 
 the luggage-laden four-wheeler jogged along 
 the King's Road, she prayed for a sign. Just 
 before she came to the Vestry Hall, a blue 
 Highbury 'bus clattered by. It brought a 
 sudden inspiration. Why not Highbury ! 
 It was remote, unfashionable a perfect 
 hiding-place. What she should do when 
 settled in this deadly suburb she did not ask 
 herself ; she had become superstitious 
 enough to take anything for a sign, and she 
 
 at once bargained with her cabman to drive 
 297
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 her to Highbury. It was an almost unwar- 
 rantable extravagance, for her stock of money 
 was alarmingly low ; but she dared not have 
 her boxes sent after her, as they would 
 afford a clue to her seeking friends. 
 
 It was not easy to find a lodging, but after 
 a weary search Althea was at last able to in- 
 stall herself in the room over the bakery. 
 The landlady regarded her with suspicion ; 
 nobody like that had ever before applied for 
 a lodging. The amount of luggage, however, 
 combined with a fortnight's rent in advance, 
 overcame Mrs. Rose's scruples, and Althea 
 took possession. 
 
 She could not improve the appearance of 
 the room much, for with characteristic mean- 
 ness Oliver North had ordered all her orna- 
 ments to be packed away where she could 
 not gain access to them. She had only two 
 treasures, and these she kept under lock and 
 key. One was Violet's first shoe, the other 
 
 a portrait of Clement which she had cut out 
 298
 
 In the Shadow 
 
 of an illustrated weekly the year before, after 
 her first meeting with him. It was so like 
 that she dared not look at it now ; but the 
 little shoe she sometimes put under her pil- 
 low when she could not sleep. It seemed a 
 talisman with power to calm and soothe. It 
 is a characteristic of mother-love that it sur- 
 vives everything else. The child whom we 
 have brought forth with unspeakable agony 
 and inexpressible joy is inalienably ours. 
 Man's love is selfish and transient ; it may 
 pass nay, it surely will, for love between 
 man and woman does not appear to have 
 been created to stand the test of time ; but 
 nothing can take from a woman the unmixed 
 rapture of her child's early years. No mat- 
 ter what the future may have in store and 
 life's one great certainty is suffering there 
 must always remain the memory of the little 
 head that nestled in the mother's bosom, the 
 little face that found for a time its God and 
 
 its heaven in the mother's eyes. 
 299
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 August in London has none of the charm 
 of August in Sussex. The heat, the dust, 
 the dull roll of the 'buses, the sharp clatter 
 of the carts, the poor food, the dingy sur- 
 roundings, the absence of occupation and 
 diversion all these made up a daily life that 
 sapped such strength and hope as remained 
 to Althea. 
 
 She failed to realize how unhappy she had 
 made Nellie and Bertie, and even Moorlake. 
 Every day in the " agony column " of the 
 Times appeared a poignant appeal to her to 
 return. It was so worded that she alone 
 would have recognized it but she never saw 
 the Times. 
 
 She forced herself to walk a little each 
 day, resting sometimes on a bench in the 
 little park near her lodging. For hours she 
 would sit at the open windows of her room 
 watching the 'buses go by. Their clatter 
 seemed to say : " We can take you to Clem- 
 ent ! We can take you to Clement ! " For 
 300
 
 In the Shadow 
 
 a few pence she could have gone to Chelsea. 
 One day the desire became too strong ; she 
 hailed a blue 'bus had her foot on the step, 
 and then, as the horses started, withdrew it, 
 almost falling to the gutter. The conductor 
 exclaimed angrily, but she did not heed 
 once more she had conquered. 
 
 In September she went to the city and 
 saw her solicitor. He gave her the money 
 she needed more than usual, for he had 
 contrived to squeeze something out of North 
 and told her that Moorlake and the Vin- 
 cents had come to him more than once to 
 inquire if he had seen her. 
 
 " You must at least let me assure them that 
 you are'safe and well," he said, thinking, as he 
 looked at her, that her days were numbered. 
 
 " You may do that, if you like," she said, 
 listlessly. " But you must keep my secret. 
 I will never go back while there is a chance 
 of meeting Mr. Moorlake." 
 
 Then she spoke of Violet and asked what 
 301
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 prospect there was of her ever seeing the 
 child again, but he could give her little com- 
 fort. 
 
 When they parted he said : " Forgive me 
 for saying it, but you are in the wrong." 
 
 " Perhaps I am," she assented, dully, but 
 I can't do otherwise." 
 
 " You should see Mr. Moorlakeonce more, 
 at least," he urged. 
 
 She shook her head sadly. 
 
 " I prefer the guillotine to Chinese torture/' 
 she said, and so left him. 
 
 Physically she was near the end of her 
 tether. One day in October it did not seem 
 worth while to get up. It was a dull, lower- 
 ing day with a foretaste of Winter fog in the 
 air. The reek of chimneys mingled with 
 the pleasant smell of fresh bread coming 
 from the bakery below. Althea lay in the 
 narrow iron bed with its coarse sheets, gray 
 with the London blight, and stared at the 
 
 little room. In the window was a rickety 
 302
 
 In the Shadow 
 
 dressing table, the mirror of which had to 
 be coaxed with a wad of paper to remain at 
 a useful angle. There was a band of brassy 
 metal across the top of the lower window 
 sash, holding a short Nottingham lace cur- 
 tain that had also the dim bloom of soot 
 upon it. There were a chest of drawers, two 
 chairs, a washstand furnished with odd 
 pieces of china and with two flabby gray towels 
 on the rail ; the paper was a washable " sani- 
 tary " one with a maddening pattern in dull 
 brown ; the carpet was worn, faded and 
 grimed to an even, despondent tone. 
 
 " What a room to die in ! " thought Althea, 
 for she hoped that her intense lassitude 
 might foretell dissolution. She remembered 
 the white enameled wood and pale blue 
 chintz of her bedroom in Pont street, and 
 the irony of life in general and hers in par- 
 ticular made her smile bitterly. 
 
 Mrs. Rose bustled in with the breakfast. 
 
 Several weeks of prompt payment and un- 
 303
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 impeachable respectability of conduct had 
 softened her commercial heart. 
 
 "Well, I'm sure," she exclaimed, setting 
 down the tray on a chair, " you don't look 
 up to much this morning ! " 
 
 " No, I'm not," said Althea. " I think I 
 shall stay in bed a little while." 
 
 " Why should you get up ? Your life 
 isn't so busy, is it ? Not much to stir you 
 up like, is there ? " responded Mrs. Rose. 
 " I always wonder how you do get through 
 the days." 
 
 Althea began pouring out the tea, which 
 was always fresh and good. As she turned, a 
 little shoe fell out from under the pillow. 
 
 Mrs. Rose's face kindled with interest. 
 
 " Oh, the dear little shoe ! " she ex- 
 claimed, picking it up. " Did that belong 
 to a child of yours, ma'am ? " 
 
 A sudden flush surged over Althea's face 
 and weak tears trickled from her lashes. 
 
 " There, there ! " said the landlady, " I 
 304
 
 didn't ought to 'a' been so sudden ! Per- 
 haps the poor little darling's in heaven." 
 
 Althea lost all her self-control ; all the 
 silence, privation, repression of the past two 
 months rolled up and crushed her. A tidal 
 wave of emotion seemed rearing its crest 
 and tumbling nearer and nearer till it broke 
 over her and, breaking, blotted out the world. 
 By night she was delirious. 
 
 Such a thing had never before occurred 
 in Mrs. Rose's household since she had let 
 lodgings. She was extremely embarrassed, 
 and no less sympathetic. She turned for 
 advice to Mr. Rose, whom she was not apt 
 to honor in that way. He was a slow man, 
 and took time to consider. Next morning, 
 after his wife had had a sleepless night, 
 watching in Althea's room, he mildly sug- 
 gested a doctor. 
 
 The medical man, when he came, pro- 
 nounced the patient very ill, and asked if she 
 
 had any friends or relatives. Then again 
 20 305
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 the Roses were nonplussed. What clue 
 was there for them to go by ? A baby's 
 shoe afforded no useful evidence. But as 
 Althea grew worse the doctor became more 
 urgent. He pressed Mrs. Rose to examine 
 all Mrs. North's belongings in search of in- 
 formation. 
 
 " Which I feels like a thief," observed the 
 landlady, as, within sound of the patient's 
 ravings, she turned over the contents of the 
 boxes. 
 
 There was nothing to assist her. Only 
 one small box, which was locked, looked 
 hopeful. 
 
 " But I can't hardly break it open," said 
 the reluctant Mrs. Rose. 
 
 " I can and will," said the doctor, who 
 had the worst possible opinion of Althea's 
 condition. 
 
 When the lid of the box flew open it dis- 
 closed only the newspaper portrait of Clem- 
 ent Moorlake, with the name beneath. 
 306
 
 In the Shadow 
 
 " Well, I never ! " said Mrs. Rose. " The 
 poor thing's husband, I suppose." 
 
 But the doctor was a man who knew a 
 thing or two, though he did live in High- 
 bury. He had heard of Moorlake. He 
 went and consulted the Red Book, dis- 
 covered where the sculptor lived, and then 
 wrote him a note. 
 
 Next day Althea's fever abated, but her 
 weakness was pitiable. Pulse there was 
 next to none ; the overtaxed nerves, the 
 impoverished blood, were taking their re- 
 venge. She was conscious, but was too far 
 gone to show that she w r as. Toward after- 
 noon she felt a soft hand on her forehead 
 and smelt a delicate fragrance like that of 
 fresh violets an odor that contended trium- 
 phantly with the bread and the soot. She 
 did not want to know who it was it might 
 be her long-dead mother come to welcome 
 her into the other world. 
 
 The hand came and went, but the violets 
 307
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 stayed. Once or twice she heard a voice- 
 very far off, but very familiar. She could 
 not connect it with any person she had 
 known, yet its tones brought a curious, vague 
 comfort that curled round her scarce beat- 
 ing heart and warmed it. Then she began 
 to understand : she was dead, and the kind 
 spirits who had carried her away were let- 
 ting her rest and gain strength before enter- 
 ing on the new life. She liked being dead. 
 She felt warm and clean and comfortable ; 
 only, of course, being dead, she could not 
 move at all, just at first. One of the spirits 
 fed her very often, and if she had been 
 alive, she would have said that she swal- 
 lowed beef tea sometimes and sometimes 
 brandy, but she supposed that must be a 
 delusion, because the dead do not eat. 
 
 Then there came a day when somebody 
 kindly took the weights off her eyes. The 
 lids quivered and opened a little. It was 
 
 morning, and a little light struggled in. A 
 308
 
 In the Shadow 
 
 form wonderfully like an earthly woman, in 
 a white cap and apron, stood by the bed. 
 
 " She is sensible," murmured the woman. 
 
 A deep breath was drawn by someone else 
 near by. Althea searched for her voice, so 
 long unused that she seemed to have mis- 
 laid it. 
 
 " Not dead ?" she said, so softly it was a 
 wonder anybody heard it. 
 
 But the white-capped person bent over 
 her and the voice of someone else said, very 
 low: "Thank God!" 
 
 Then Althea's eyes opened wider, and she 
 saw Nellie. 
 
 309
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE GOAL OF HAPPINESS 
 
 CAMPDEN HILL once more love, friend- 
 ship, security, home ! Slowly Althea strug- 
 gled back to life ; slowly, yet with a sweet- 
 ness, a serenity that she had not known 
 before. 
 
 For she had looked life and death in the 
 face and had learned her lesson, the truth 
 the world holds for everyone of us, that we 
 can none of us be perfectly happy, but that 
 we can all be brave and patient. 
 
 No hint of Clement's new-born love had 
 come to her. Nellie was pledged to silence 
 indeed, absolute reticence was enforced by 
 Althea, who would not hear Clement's name. 
 
 But the time came at last when the secret 
 
 was to be made manifest. 
 3"
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 One afternoon in December Althea sat in 
 the morning-room, which seemed inexpres- 
 sibly restful and beautiful after the High- 
 bury lodging. She was still pale and thin, 
 but not white and wasted as she had been 
 two months before. It was pleasant to sit 
 looking into the fire, thinking about nothing. 
 She had learned how to do that, and found 
 it a wholesome accomplishment. When 
 ugly, wearing thoughts put up their heads 
 she promptly extinguished them. To-day 
 she was all peace. Nellie had left her for 
 half an hour, but presently she returned and 
 began to make tea. She was far from calm, 
 and clattered about among the tea-things in 
 an unusual manner. 
 
 "Where have you been, Nellie?" asked 
 her friend. " I'm like a baby without its 
 nurse wh6n you leave the room." 
 
 " I had a caller," answered Nellie. 
 
 " A woman or a man ? " 
 
 11 A man." 
 
 312
 
 The Goal of Happiness 
 
 " Someone you like ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and it's lucky I do like him, as he 
 has been here in the last two months just 
 fifty times." 
 
 " Good gracious ! He must be in love 
 with you." 
 
 " Not with me." 
 
 Something in the tone made Althea turn 
 in her deep chair and look at Mrs. Vincent. 
 
 11 Nellie . . ." she began. 
 
 " It's no use," broke out Nellie ; "you've 
 got to see him ! " 
 
 Althea half-rose. "If you begin that 
 . . ." she said. 
 
 Nellie was almost stern. She left the tea 
 table, came over to Althea, and stood with 
 her hand gently pressing her back into her 
 chair. 
 
 " Althea," she said, gravely, " you are 
 strong enough now to hear what Clement has 
 to say. It is unfair to him to refuse. He is 
 the loyalest, finest creature I've ever known.
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 Any woman would die for him gladly if she 
 loved him, and even if you don't you have no 
 right to deny him a hearing." 
 
 11 If I don't ! " said Althea, slowly. She 
 was looking up into Nellie's eyes, but she 
 covered her face after a moment with her 
 thin hand. " I thought you understood," 
 she said, with something of the old weak- 
 ness. 
 
 " I thought so, too, dear," said Nellie. 
 " But everything is changed. He has come 
 here nearly every day, hoping and praying to 
 see you to tell you. . . . He is here 
 now." 
 
 Althea made a movement as if to escape, 
 but all at once Moorlake was in the room 
 was beside her near, near, with both her 
 hands in his, and Nellie was gone. 
 
 " Forgive me," he said, softly ; " I could 
 not wait another minute." 
 
 He was half-kneeling beside her, still hold- 
 ing her hands. Of all she had had to bear 
 3H
 
 The Goal of Happiness 
 
 this was the strangest, the sweetest, the bit- 
 terest, for it was like life and death together. 
 All the sorrow, the joy, the mystery and the 
 fulness of a whole existence were in that 
 moment, in that touch. In an instant her 
 blood leaped and her heart bounded. For 
 something in Clement was changed some- 
 thing had gone, and something was come in 
 its place. His old look she knew, but not 
 this. On that face which she had loved bet- 
 ter than happiness she had seen pity, kind- 
 ness, affection ; but now, unless her senses 
 were fatally mistaken, here was love a love 
 such as few women ever win and fewer still 
 contrive to keep. His clasp sent fresh, full 
 life through her veins. She did not know 
 the meaning of it all, and so she only sat 
 still, finding it joy enough to feel, without 
 knowing. 
 
 " My dear, my dear," he said, " may I tell 
 you now ? Are you strong ? Can you 
 listen ? "
 
 The Middle Course 
 
 She only smiled assent such a strange 
 smile, like that of one who sees the heavens 
 open, but knows not if the revelation be for 
 him or another. 
 
 " Oh, Althea ! how I have searched for 
 you ! and how I have loved you ! " 
 
 " Loved me ?" she said, softly. 
 
 " Yes ; loved," he answered, vehemently, 
 "as I never knew I could love." 
 
 " I can't believe I dare not." She gently 
 drew her hand away. 
 
 " You send me away ? " he cried. 
 
 " No no ! Stay but tell me make me 
 understand." 
 
 And then he told her everything of his 
 love, his long misplaced loyalty, his sudden 
 disillusion. In that ardent, hurried story 
 lay the recompense for all she had suffered. 
 When it was over, he knelt once more be- 
 side her and asked her for an answer. 
 
 " Do you love me ? " he said, " did you 
 ever iove me ? " 

 
 The Goal of Happiness 
 
 But there are truths that need no telling. 
 Here at last she was in his arms, not pitied, 
 but loved. It was more than she could 
 bear. Her head drooped her eyes closed 
 closed, as he feared, forever. But the 
 weakness passed. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 312
 
 A 000 040 674 4