Qymvcish 
 
The Immortal Gymnasts 
 
 MARIE CHER 
 
THE IMMORTAL 
 GYMNASTS 
 
 BY 
 
 MARIE CHERc^^i 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
Copyright, 1915, 
 By George H. Doran Company 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 343101 
 
CHAPTER ONE 
 
 POOR old Papa Comedy, once Carnival King of 
 all Italy, lay dying obscurely in the narrow Paris 
 lodging whither he had been brought by his 
 faithful secretary, Messer Goldoni, seeking in vain a 
 life-giving air across the frozen Alps. 
 
 Three of those Essential Spirits in whom he had in- 
 carnated the happiest strokes of his genius — Pantaloon, 
 Harlequin, and Columbine — stole away weeping, when 
 all was over, from the shrouded bed in the poor attic 
 room, and sought a refuge by recrossing the border 
 into Italy. Pantaloon, venerable but elastic, sup- 
 ported the youthful Columbine, while Harlequin, tall 
 and slender, supple and gay, charged himself with the 
 conduct of their meagre baggage-train. 
 
 Ages ago, these waifs from Cloudland, stragglers 
 from the World of the Fourth Dimension, restless 
 pioneers of the subconscious, had entered, of their own 
 free will, the infinitely more restricted life sustained by 
 this poor old planet of ours. Earth-bound for the 
 moment, confused and charmed at once by the novelty 
 of their surroundings, they had fallen into the hands 
 of Papa Comedy, then young and strong, footing it 
 lustily through all the land of Italy. They served him 
 well, according to the age and sex they had half- 
 consciously adopted in the beginning and thereafter 
 kept unchanged. Thus Pantaloon is always the grey- 
 
 7 
 
8 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 beard, Harlequin the man of thirty, and Columbine 
 the fresh, fair, youthful woman. 
 
 Behind them lay a century of adventures in the 
 Italian States, which Pantaloon has a mind to edit 
 some day, when the evenings are long and when one is 
 old and not a very good sleeper. Here Columbine in- 
 terrupts with a laugh and says, " But what of those 
 long afternoon naps ? " Women are ever inconsequent. 
 At least Pantaloon has committed to writing the Ad- 
 venture of the Poet in the House on the Corso, for no 
 one now alive, save these three, has heard the great 
 Goethe speak. He was a young man then, with a cer- 
 tain fame, handsome and gay, discovering his Italy. 
 Do you know that land? 
 
 But, the years gathering one upon another, our 
 three Essential Spirits, having lost the power to change 
 back to their Fourth Dimension, moving from place 
 to place over half Europe, first in one disguising occu- 
 pation, then in another, felt the weight of earth-bound 
 life encroaching, little by little, on their cloud-heritage 
 — surely Pantaloon was becoming older, more worn, 
 more bent; Harlequin had grey streaks in his brown 
 hair, networks of tiny, humorous lines around his deep 
 kind eyes ; and Columbine, no longer the bud of a young 
 maid, had mellowed, ripened, and expanded into the 
 fair flower of, say, twenty-nine. All three were cer- 
 tainly " coming on," and they needed a change of 
 environment. Language presenting no bar to them, 
 they pitched upon England, that moist isle, and Lon- 
 don, that cloudy leviathan, as the home for their de- 
 clension, if decline they must. Having learned what 
 sticklers the English are in matters of respectability, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 they decided upon brand-new names and relationships. 
 High Comedy might " go " in Italy, as it once did at 
 the Court of the Grand-Duke of Tuscany, but never 
 in England. So Pantaloon becomes Mister Panton, 
 or Panta, as he is called in the intimacy of his own 
 home, a widower, with one charming daughter, Miss 
 Bina Panta, and a — umph — second cousin, a tall, acro- 
 batic-looking fellow, a Mister — Quin. O agile, brilliant, 
 merry Harlequin, who could trace you here? 
 
 Then, still on the trail of respectability, they must 
 needs have some visible means of support. Pantaloon 
 decides to feign to be a commissionaire in delicate 
 health, one seldom able — " Poor man, he has such a 
 cough ! " — to run the errands of the neighbourhood. 
 Harlequin, seduced by the roving, picturesque life of 
 the Sandwichman, hastily adopts that calling which is 
 susceptible of being followed, more or less successfully, 
 by either the languid or the athletic. Bina, for her 
 part, practical little housewife, sets up a milk-and-egg- 
 butter-and-cream shop in a small dwelling that serves as 
 roof-tree for them all. 
 
 It lurks modestly in that short, back street in the 
 South-West, where all the houses are one storey high, 
 with a scrap of an attic that does not show from the 
 outside, prudishly concealing itself and its tiny windows 
 behind the band of ornamental stucco, more often buff 
 in colour than not, that finishes off the top of the house, 
 as if you were to put a bit of edging on a square morsel 
 of linen. The doorways all describe the form of a 
 narrow Roman arch, cut at the left of two stubby 
 windows. The opening of this wooden door engages 
 the visitor, without preliminaries, in the close gloom of 
 
10 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 a hallway that tries to imitate a barrel-vault. The 
 yellowish linoleum under your feet, the yellowish paper 
 on the wall, veined to imitate who knows what Numidian 
 marble, compose no harmonies for your unhappy soul. 
 You begin to breathe only when the back door is open, 
 that carries your eye down two steps into a teacup of 
 a garden where the long, green fingers of untrimmed 
 shrubs straggle across the red-brick path that leads to 
 a pale laburnum, spraying its magic fountain of yellow 
 wine in the corner by the paling. 
 
 Bina lives in the house at the end of the row, so that 
 the milk tins can call almost surreptitiously at a side 
 door. The stubby windows have been let down, merged, 
 and inflated in the clever manner known to builders. 
 Within, circular white shelves bear fair blue tiles on 
 which repose the pots of cream, the rounded jars of 
 milk, the pyramids of eggs in wicker baskets, and the 
 cheeses — these tiny, moist ones, each in its own little 
 pannier, oozing drops of cream, the stately Cheshire, 
 the haughty Gorgonzola, the civic Chester, the mild 
 Edam, the coquettish Roquefort, the soft, swelling 
 Camembert in its wooden ring. Below, on white tiles, 
 lie the minted golden coins of the dairy — the pats, the 
 squares, the rounds, the " luscious lumps " of butter of 
 surpassing firmness, fragrance, and colour. 
 
 The early morning toilet of this little shop, attended 
 to by Bina in person, involves such a laving with pure 
 water, such a scrubbing and rubbing, such a patting and 
 polishing, such a fresh-filling of baskets and panniers, 
 such a meticulous care in the removal of crumbs and 
 splashes, of chips and flakes, that, even before the two 
 big china bowls that stand behind the milk jars are 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 11 
 
 filled with rosy garden pinks, sweet basil and sprigs of 
 thyme, you sniff an air as aromatic as lavender, as 
 sweet as a clover meadow. 
 
 As you enter the street from the farther end, the 
 rounded window stands out from among the dull house 
 fronts as fresh as a great country posy — all blue and 
 white and yellow, the blue of larkspur, the white of 
 hawthorn, the yellow of cowslips. No wonder that 
 trade is good, no wonder that the coins gather in the 
 till, that the order-book grows plumper and plumper, 
 and the customers sleeker and sleeker fed on such whole- 
 some dainties. Bina herself, busy at her shelves, sur- 
 rounded by the mild fruits of the field and the dairy, 
 has become a human little Bona Dea, duly engarlanded, 
 flying her Delia Robbia colours. 
 
 A door with an eyehole of glass in it, in order that 
 Bina may rake the shop when they have left it alone, 
 leads into the heart of the house, into the room of the 
 domestic hearth, of fire, of light, the room where the 
 three friends meet, where Panta has his leather chair 
 and his stand of books, where Quin keeps his pipe, and 
 where Bina sheds her warm, rosy, hospitable, human 
 glow. It is a room of ancient, friendly aspect, won for 
 it by the comfortable, unembarrassed manner of its 
 chairs and its tables, by its ample cupboards built into 
 the corners, whence emerge tea-caddy and cups at the 
 consecrated hours, by its warm, old curtains with their 
 faded pattern of singing birds and leafy branches to 
 draw across the cold, twilight squares of the windows 
 just before you give the fire the gratuitous poke that 
 must ever precede the ceremony of putting on the 
 kettle. 
 
13 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 In this room, late one afternoon, Panta broke the 
 silence thus: 
 
 " I sometimes forget, Quin, don't you, that we were 
 ever anything else but earth-bound? It is so long since 
 I have been conscious of the faintest stir of that cloud- 
 current that is our heritage. I do believe we have all 
 become almost as Cubical as any of the good people in 
 this very street." 
 
 " Why Cubical ? " inquired Bina, not unnaturally. 
 
 " Panta has been dipping into the Doctor of Harley 
 Street," answered Quin. " He has written an amusing 
 little book in which, actually, our existence as distinct 
 from our earth-bound fellows (whom he calls Cubes, 
 solids, you know, oh, stodgy!) is more than hinted at. 
 It seems that this clever fellow, this nerve specialist, 
 has run across the workings of our cloud-currents, the 
 strange waves that govern our being, as the earth- 
 currents regulate theirs. He has suspected our existence 
 for many years, we and our like, but he has never been 
 able to lay that long, supple, white hand on any of us — 
 feel us, yes, be dimly conscious of a something influenc- 
 ing those black, soundless underpaths in the minds of 
 those poor devils who throng his clinic — but i get us,' 
 never! There are so few of us left now, this hard, 
 definite, Cubical life bruises, blunts, and finally destroys 
 us. We have dropped down into their atmosphere from 
 our own peculiar Cloudland, and we have lost the way 
 back. We are scouts, perhaps, sent on to smell out 
 the country. But the time is not yet, and we are en- 
 gulfed and forgotten. We trail our clouds of glory for 
 a time, and then one colour of the sunset dies off after 
 another, and we sink down into the dull, practical, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 13 
 
 Cubical grey, lit by no flash, transfigured by no purple 
 and gold. May we not be, perhaps, the great-great- 
 grandchildren of the great-grandchildren of those minor 
 gods who went out into exile when that Voice cried, 
 braving the * thunder of Pontic seas • (a fine phrase of 
 one of their English poets), that Pan was dead? Some 
 few of us still guard the intuitive knowledge of how to 
 — shall I say — ' tap ' the earth-currents by means of 
 the touchstone of our own cloud-heritage. It is this 
 intrusion into the minds of his disordered flock that has 
 aroused our Doctor of Harley Street." 
 
 " Oh, I see," said Bina, although she didn't quite. 
 " How very interesting." 
 
 " How well I remember the old days," continued 
 Panta. 
 
 " Before we changed our names and became so oddly 
 respectable," put in the irrepressible Bina. 
 
 " Yes, yes," he admitted. " We men of Cloudland 
 were devils of fellows, eh, Quin? Doors and windows, 
 if I recollect, never kept you out, nor roofs either." 
 
 " Not when Bina was within, certainly," replied 
 Quin with immense conviction. 
 
 " I was inside the little house, to be sure, but it was 
 all of cardboard. Now this shop is solid wood, with a 
 roof that fits it like a skullpiece. That is the difference 
 between Cloudland and Cubeland, between dreams 
 and " 
 
 " Don't say * reality.' I couldn't stand that," pro- 
 tested Panta. 
 
 " Of course, these Cubes are not real. We only pre- 
 tend they are, because they believe it so passionately 
 themselves. Even we seem Cubical to them, and a 
 
14 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 good thing, too, or they would not buy my eggs and 
 milk. You would have to sleep in a cloud-cap, Pant a 
 mio, instead of in that tidy little — cubical upstairs." 
 
 Here a boy in a brown knitted suit that fitted over his 
 plump little stomach like a second, slightly woolly, skin, 
 came in for an egg. To his Cubical eyes Panta seemed 
 simply an old man with a wisp of beard and a black 
 silk cap ; to them, again, Quin was merely a darkish 
 person with nice eyes and extraordinarily long legs, and 
 Bina a pretty girl not unlike his sister. 
 
 When the boy had gone, carrying the egg in a 
 minute paper bag, the fellows of which Panta amused 
 himself by cutting and pasting in odd moments, Bina 
 said : 
 
 " Are we ever to know what is inside of us ? " 
 
 " A Cube would tell you fast enough, and coarsely, 
 too, ugh — anatomical charts," growled Panta. 
 
 " Sugar and spice, thyme and honey, for a lady," 
 sang Quin. 
 
 Bina stared at the two men with her large, bright 
 eyes. " Come into the sitting-room and we can talk it 
 out. It is dark enough to pull the curtains, the Cubes 
 are already at their tea, and no one will want even a 
 penny's worth of anything until to-morrow morning. 
 See how red the heart of the ash is f You don't need 
 a blaze for toast." 
 
 Panta sat himself down carefully in his leather arm- 
 chair, trying not to slide ; Quin crossed his legs on the 
 hearthrug, his favorite lounging place. He held the 
 toasting-fork with the careless ease of an expert, and 
 presently a sweet, familiar, heart-warming smell filled 
 the little room. Bina managed the table and the 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 15 
 
 service of cups from which they drank their velvety 
 J3 rew — oh, not what Cubes consume from tannin-stained 
 receptacles, but a full, rich, mellow liquid, bronze 
 streaked with gold, in which is caught, melted, fused, 
 transfused, all the sunny magic that rests on Indian 
 fields. 
 
 " When I asked what is inside of us," resumed Bina, 
 as she rinsed the three cups in a hand-bowl, " I did not 
 mean — tummies. I meant thoughts and feelings, pas- 
 sions and pains. We know them when they give us 
 a tug. They bite and tear us like little vicious blind 
 animals, or they caress and warm us with velvet paws. 
 We belong to them, not they to us. We are their 
 lodgings for the night. I don't like it. I want 
 to make them sign a paper of good conduct at the 
 door." 
 
 Panta had let his thin old body slip down helplessly 
 over the worn leather of his chair, so that he gave the 
 appearance of one who would fain recline upon the floor, 
 if politeness to a lady permitted. He said nothing, 
 being soothed to speechlessness by the warmth and the 
 tea. 
 
 Quin raised his tired eyes that kept their incongruous 
 look of faith and hope and youth — but that was because 
 he loved her — to Bina's face. " You poor child, you. 
 We are the hostels for the imps our ancestors made and 
 left to us. They make themselves at home without a 
 1 by your leave ' ; they swagger in our inn parlour, and 
 we suffer them to exploit us without a reckoning. But 
 we have the power, could we use it, to breed up one 
 stout champion to keep these unruly bullies and led 
 captains in order. He appears to me, this hero, to be 
 
16 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 dressed in blue, in doublet and hose, with a peaked 
 beard and a frill. He sometimes swings a short cloak 
 from his shoulders, and he is sometimes busy with 
 tablets in his hand. He is tall and rather pale. He 
 presents himself to my imagination in this period, be- 
 cause, like this great namesake of his, he is called — 
 Will " 
 
 " Think all but one, and me in that one « Will.' " 
 
 Quin sighed, then smiled. Panta was dozing. Bina, 
 having dried her cups, came and sat beside Quin, with 
 her hands about her knees. 
 
 " Talk to me," she murmured, and who wouldn't 
 have when she looked like that ? 
 
 " I will tell you of what I was thinking when you 
 spoke of the little beasts that scratch or kiss our souls," 
 responded Quin. " You know that I have not forgotten 
 all my old tricks. I can still tap the currents of certain 
 Cubical minds, and read what I find there. Now there is 
 a great house in Belgrave Square. There is a portico 
 with tall, channelled columns ; a pediment ; trophies of 
 arms. There you have the pure absurdity of a dwelling 
 masquerading as a temple, the Cubical idea of dignity, 
 pomposity in stucco. In the vast, dim cellarage are 
 men and maids — a warren of them — fighting, eating, 
 laughing, drinking, put there to serve and to be servile. 
 As a matter of fact, they gossip, lie, and brag. 
 
 " Above stairs, in that long, lofty drawing-room, 
 hung with old-fashioned, heavy red, there are candles 
 in brackets, an eighteenth-century lustre to wink and 
 twinkle at night in the clouded, greyish mirrors. If you 
 seat yourself near one of the windows that overlook the 
 square where plane-trees hang their coarse, trembling 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 17 
 
 leaves over the railings by the cab-rank, you will have 
 enough light, even on dark days, to read your book or 
 your newspaper, but over there, midway the length of 
 the great room, near the fireplace where that trumpery 
 little desk stands, there is a gloomy twilight that irri- 
 tates your eyelids like those of this girl here, that lies 
 upon them so that you strain them wider and wider 
 over tired eyeballs — a twilight that is not soft and tran- 
 quil, but harsh and menacing. 
 
 " This girl I tell you of is trying with all her little 
 harassed soul to write a letter, but what words can she 
 find to ache and burn in his brain, as the fever aches 
 and burns in her poor, pretty, tortured body? You 
 must remember that quite by accident, as I'll explain 
 later, I was plunged into the full flood of her painful 
 little story. There is a chap she calls Ambry, with 
 whom she has been quite desperately engaged for some 
 wild weeks, unknown to mamma, or to anyone else, 
 I gather. He is growing tired, after the fashion of his 
 kindj has even cast an appreciative eye, worse luck! 
 upon the little lady's more dashing sister. He has lied 
 to Anie — the first girl, you see — has said he was going 
 down to his place at Appleton — an old house among 
 the pines — when in reality he has been flirting with 
 Sister Estelle at Hurlingham. A rather ancient tale, 
 but none the less distressing for the young Anie, who is 
 as helpless and sweet as a small kitten with its starry 
 eyes just open. She has been innocent and mad enough 
 to meet her Ambry, who, at least, should have known 
 better, in the sitting-room of a German ex-governess, 
 as foolishly sentimental an elderly dame as her nation 
 can produce, which is saying a good deal. 
 
18 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " Anie, poor child, is writing now to deliver her 
 wretched little ultimatum that he shall meet her at two 
 o'clock to-morrow at this Fraulein Detmold's. You 
 gather that a painful scene is being prepared. It shows 
 how young she is to pin her faith to any such interview. 
 Her blessed Ambry has flitted for good. One can easily 
 see that." 
 
 Here Quin ceases with the manner of one who has 
 closed a book, but who still keeps a finger in the page. 
 Panta has not shifted an inch, his grey old eyelids 
 motionless. 
 
 " If I had a little daughter — — " began Bina. 
 
 " She would be clothed in morning light," said Quin. 
 " But this poor, pretty, hapless child, in that great 
 house with its stucco pomp ! What a type of the vicious 
 life that can be led in such places, the life of hollow 
 Cubes, mud-filled more often than not! This Ambry, 
 now, what a fellow for you ! With that charm and that 
 blond, amusing masque that has carried him straight 
 through from the nursery, serving him as deftly, as 
 neatly, as unscrupulously as any Caroline groom of the 
 king's closet, as any Baptist May of the Backstairs. An 
 honest man's hands itch for his neck. Yet he and his 
 fellows are such simple sorts of beasts — such physically 
 sane, clean, healthy, pink — ruffians, with their shoulders 
 and their boys' gaze, their swagger and their side. And 
 this poor little rag of a girl in Belgrave Square, with 
 her drowned eyes and her feverish blood, has poured out 
 all the gold of her morning, with its dew and its fresh- 
 ness, over this Ambry's careless hands ! " 
 
 Quin knocked hi? pipe against the fender, staring at 
 the little mess of grey ashes that resulted from this 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 19 
 
 simple act as though, for the first time, the mighty 
 concept called loosely " cause and effect " had swum 
 into his mind. In reality, he felt himself unduly heated 
 by his story, and shamefacedly did not want Bina to 
 remark his sensibility. 
 
 " So these pretty maids," said she, " in such great 
 houses, with mothers and grandmothers, fathers, uncles 
 and governesses, break their young wings as easily as 
 any poor friendless girl, come in from the country to 
 sordid alley or stifling shop. The same flesh in both of 
 them goes the same road. But tell me, Quin, when did 
 you run across this little lady? Is her story in the 
 making? Is she living it now from day to day, she and 
 Estelle and Ambry? Or is it something of long ago — 
 something that has burned out and ended? " 
 
 " It's as fresh as paint," answered Quin. " It hap- 
 pened yesterday morning. There was I as sandwich- 
 man for this Turkish bath-house in Victoria Street, in 
 my towel suit with a fez. Lord! You know what a 
 sight I am — a change from the spangled tights of the 
 old days, the masque, the lathe, and — you! Well, my 
 beat for the moment is Sloane Street, edging off now 
 and again to the Squares, and yesterday morning this 
 is what happened. The little lady came riding down 
 from the Row, such a thin slip of a creature — you could 
 snap her at the waist between your finger and thumb — 
 in her black habit and her mannish hat over her thick, 
 clubbed hair. Well, her horse lost his head at my fez 
 (I can't blame the brute), reared and snorted, and shook 
 her off like a bit of summer fluff. The groom and I 
 caught her between us. What a figure I cut you 
 may imagine. She barely touched my chest with her 
 
20 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 hand to steady herself, and that was all I wanted. In- 
 stantly the inner cloud-currents that differentiate us 
 from these Cubical creatures began to send me messages. 
 In a twinkling I was in the little hollow receiving-room 
 of this young girl's mind, where records, millions of 
 them, were being ticked off every second, sent in from 
 every tingling nerve-filament, every instant of her wak- 
 ing life. The touch of the little lady's fingers on my 
 breast gave me the clue. She never knew, you may be 
 sure. To her I was simply a street loafer, a sandwich- 
 man, perhaps a bit more repulsively grotesque than the 
 rest of my peers by reason of my fez and my towelling, 
 but a decent enough chap who caught her not uncleverly 
 when she fell. And there I stood, with the heart of her 
 mystery in my hand while she thanked me in that sweet, 
 high, little pipe of hers, and told me to come to the house 
 in Belgrave Square in all the pride of its columns, its 
 trophies, and its cellarage, its quintessential Cubical 
 prosperity, to be rethanked and paid, because neither 
 she nor the groom had any money on them. So I bowed 
 and removed my fez, and watched her go, riding her 
 subdued mount who seemed the least little bit ashamed 
 of himself. Then I slipped around a corner. Little 
 did she think that she had given me the royal right 
 of way, not to the servants' entrance (No bottles!) of 
 the house in Belgrave Square, but to her poor, tortured 
 little mind. I had but to concentrate my cloud-current, 
 sitting quite still up there in my room, and I was more 
 * on the spot 9 than had I slid down the chimney in my 
 spangled tights, waving my magic sword." 
 
 Bina fixed him with a serious gaze. 
 
 " But is it quite fair to the little lady, Quin? She is 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 21 
 
 so defenceless while you read off her messages, so ig- 
 norant that there is anything to hug and hide." 
 
 " My dear child, you misunderstand, or you forget," 
 cries Quin. " Were I a Cube like herself, I should be 
 a dastard to read her mind, to pry into her life, because 
 we would both be on the same plane, in the same eddy 
 of the earth-current ; what she felt, I would feel, exactly 
 in the same way — a matter of Cubical sensation. It 
 would be a shameful thing for me so to see the little 
 lady, my sister-Cube, off her guard, in that inner cham- 
 ber where there are no veils for even the most virginal 
 of shrinking souls. It would be as dastardly as an 
 assault for me to peek and pry. But, Bina, thank God, 
 I'm not quite Cubical yet, in spite of the fez, the towel- 
 ling, the sandwich badge of slavery. The cloud-currents 
 still sway and swing us instead of the earth ones* and, 
 by virtue of that, we can look into other lives with as 
 pure and dispassionate a gaze as the Bon Dieu himself." 
 
 Quin pulled his slim length up from the hearthrug, 
 and rested a lean arm on the mantelshelf, smiling down 
 into Bina's eyes. In some old Dutchmen's pictures 
 you see just such fair, smooth faces as hers, warm, 
 golden, glowing with the suave irradiation of firelight 
 or candlelight. Tiny flames seemed to flicker at the 
 end of each curl of hair upon her head, and two of 
 Loki's merry imps lit a dancing jet in each long-lashed 
 eye. 
 
 Then their talk drifted off, idly, happily, to the little 
 doings of their common life, while the twilight deepened 
 into evening and night. 
 
 Pantaloon, aroused at length by the sudden cessation 
 of their voices, sat bolt upright, pretending at once in 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 a way old people have that he had never been asleep 
 at all. 
 
 " Time for a bit of cheese and then to bed," sang 
 out Panta, speaking sententiously to show that — for, 
 oh, yes, quite several minutes — he had been thinking 
 this over, but had not wished to interrupt them. 
 
 Quin and Bina exchanged the amused glances of a 
 very wise, young father and mother whose offspring has 
 surprised them again by some unnatural cleverness. 
 
 Bina drew out the leaves of a small wooden table ; 
 Quin fetched the square cloth from a drawer ; the cheese 
 appeared, a ruddy golden one, knives came to cut it, 
 forks to toast it over the coals, salt to sprinkle it, and 
 small beer in two-handled mugs to circle about it, hot 
 in the mouth. Thus were assembled the minor domestic 
 spirits that keep the heart sweet and man's temper 
 equable. 
 
 So the three friends sat down to their sober snack in 
 the little room behind the shop — these three inheritors 
 of ancient glory, these fluid changelings dropped from 
 Hither-Space into a hard, definite, Cubical world, that 
 in a twinkling has caught them in its electric traps, and 
 broken them to its labour — Quin to the harness of the 
 sandwich-board, Panta to the brass badge of the odd- 
 job-man, and soft, young Bina to the till and the 
 counter, the scales, and the swinging door of the little 
 shop. 
 
CHAPTER TWO 
 
 " ^ X TELL, I won't go, that's flat. Go to that 
 
 \/ \f crazy old German woman's, and begin the 
 whole, awful thing again? I simply can't. 
 I simply won't." 
 
 He crammed the letter into his pocket, the flushed, 
 angry young face lowering across the little table laid 
 for breakfast, where a despoiled dish of kidneys and an 
 empty toast-rack unemotionally testified that shame and 
 bad temper do not necessarily interfere with the normal 
 appetite of man. 
 
 " You're rather a cad, you know, Ambry," said the 
 slim boy who faced his friend at the little table by the 
 fire. " You've bungled the thing from the very first, 
 telling me the story as one of Dick's silly messes, and 
 then letting out names and dates — you and Anie — — " 
 
 " Oh, shut up, will you? Don't nag at a fellow now. 
 I had to talk to somebody. How was I to know you 
 were so thick there? How was I to know that your 
 mother and Lady Cassock are half-sisters? I met her 
 at the Lynes, away from all her people. Of course, 
 each knew who the other was, connexions and all that, 
 but we had a pretty bad case while it lasted " 
 
 " Six weeks would cover your part, wouldn't it? " 
 interjected Varian. 
 
 " And we were not talking of family trees," went 
 on Ambry, without taking any notice of him. " For 
 me, she dropped from nowhere into my arms the day 
 
24 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 she came sidling, with that silly, little, uncertain gait 
 of hers " 
 
 " Don't ! " put in Varian angrily. 
 
 " I've got to tell you about it, haven't I ? " retorted 
 Ambry. " You know how she walks, characteristic 
 enough, I suppose, but deuced unsteady. Well, she 
 came into that pokey, green, drawing-room at the 
 Lynes, and no one else was down, and we got talking, 
 and that's the way it all started. She went mad, and 
 I suppose I did, too. Of course, I did. I completely 
 lost my head. I must have been insane to meet her at 
 that confounded German governess's. Lord! I'd give 
 a good deal to be well out of it. Why can't she 
 drop me? I've treated her like a beast. I'm willing to 
 admit it — — " 
 
 " Oh, it's an easy admission for the beast to make, 
 but she carries your claw marks. Good God, Ambry, 
 how can you sit down under it ? " 
 
 The slim boy pushed back his chair and went over 
 to the piano, keeping his back to his friend. Varian 
 Edmonton's smooth young face had that long, charming, 
 oval form you see in some of Van Dyck's portraits of 
 adolescents, that one of Thomas Wharton, for instance. 
 Here were the same large, clear eyes, set well apart 
 under the broad brow, the straight, short nose, with 
 sensitive nostrils, the well-cut, generous lips, the upper 
 one a trifle short. The whole presented an engaging 
 ensemble, gave an instant impression of courage, of 
 frankness, of chivalrous, clear purpose. 
 
 Ambry fidgeted about the room, rang the bell for the 
 man to remove the breakfast things, and when they 
 were alone again broke out with: 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 25 
 
 "Why do I sit down under it? How the devil can 
 I do anything else ? " 
 
 " Marry her, hang it, Ambry. You know that as 
 well as I do. Try to clean up your dirty work, at 
 least." 
 
 " Oh, it isn't so bad as all that. I — I'll have to 
 crawl, I suppose, but she'll get over it when she really 
 understands." 
 
 " Who's going to make her — you ? From what you've 
 told me of that letter this morning, I can see that 
 you've lied and shuffled and squirmed a bit, but you 
 haven't been frank. You haven't faced it. You're tortur- 
 ing the poor child. What she sees in you, Lord knows. 
 You can't run straight " 
 
 " Look here, cut it, Varian. Why must you preach ? 
 I'm no worse than the rest of us — well, not you, per- 
 haps. You can't seem to understand a chap losing his 
 head about a girl, and then — getting over it." 
 
 " Getting over it, yes, after you're tired of seeing 
 her down beside you in the mud. Oh, you can pull 
 yourself out of it, and you do. None of it sticks to 
 you" 
 
 Ambry kicked a chair about to face the fire, chose a 
 cigarette from the big silver box, but held it unlighted 
 between his lips while he laid an arm around Varian's 
 shoulders and looked him in the eye. There was a charm 
 in the gesture, a rather intense attraction in the tall, 
 well-knit body trained to the last inch, perfectly sane 
 and healthy, in the fair, florid face with a boyish fresh- 
 ness in the clear eyes, in the white teeth, in the vigorous 
 hair, to all of which Varian, nervous and introspective, 
 found he was, to his disgust, by no means insensible. 
 
36 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 He jerked his shoulder, as a sort of protest to himself, 
 but Ambry held on to him with that strong, firm hand, 
 bending his high head to catch the boy's indignant 
 look. 
 
 " It's not so bad as you think. I swear it, Varian. 
 There isn't any mud to stick. I've been frightfully 
 careful. Absolutely not a soul knows. Fraulein would 
 cut herself up in small pieces for Anie, and I have met 
 her there only — twice, yes, twice. First, when she came 
 up to town from the Lynes " 
 
 " You must have got awfully thick in three days. 
 When was it? " 
 
 " Yes, we did. There's something about her. In 
 the beginning, something pathetic. You're so infernally 
 sorry for her. Why, the Lord only knows. She's like 
 a bird some fool has hit with a stone. You take her up 
 in your hands, and — then you can't drop her. She 
 clutches you with those little reeds of fingers. You 
 can't get the look in her big eyes out of your head. 
 But you get tired of it — damned tired of it. I tell you, 
 Varian — . No, hold still; let me finish. Lord knows 
 I don't want to whitewash myself, but I tell you she 
 can't hold you. She can't hold me. She makes me 
 ugly. She eats you up — the same eternal thing. A 
 fellow can't play the game as she wants it. She's a 
 bundle of nerves, flying up over the housetops, while 
 you're standing in Piccadilly. Well, I prefer Piccadilly. 
 I'm over it now. I confess I lost my head at her first 
 sweetness — she's such a little sidling, big-eyed thing — 
 but I've shaken down, and she won't or can't. There 
 you have the whole thing. I tell you, Varian, if I 
 married her, I'd be a beast to her. So what's the use? 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 27 
 
 If she still went on — being fond of me, I think I'd have 
 it in me to break her neck." 
 
 Ambry withdrew his arm and lighted his cigarette 
 with a care that bespoke a desire to catch his breath. 
 
 " You're low all through," announced Varian, " and 
 the only good thing about it is that you know it. But 
 Anie ! I simply can't believe it. I went down to their 
 place for all my holidays when mother was in Rome. 
 Anie is only two years younger than I am. She was 
 always a delicate little kiddie. I used to read to her 
 under that cedar. You don't know Crops, do you? 
 They haven't the money to keep it up, but it has won- 
 derful gardens, simply because they can't pay enough 
 men to trim them and clip them out of all recognition; 
 a tangled, wild place, almost too sweet, with thickets 
 of honeysuckle and jasmine. She always wore little 
 white frocks, with that hair of hers tumbling down to 
 her waist. One day I read the   Ancient Mariner ' to 
 her. I'll never forget it. She grew the most beautiful 
 pink with excitement, and when I had finished the 
 colour all faded away and she threw herself on me, 
 crying in floods. Her tears got all over the book, and 
 my hands caught in her hair. It hung down all around 
 in a cloud. I'll never forget it. . . . And a child like 
 that to break her heart for you ! She's the most deli- 
 cate, the most sensitive " 
 
 " She's everything you say," put in Ambry, " and 
 there's where the trouble is. She's too fine for me. She 
 wouldn't be able to breathe in my world at all, and I 
 choke in hers. Besides, it irritates me. She irritates 
 me. She annoys me. She tires me. My fault entirely 
 for being a thick-skinned beast, but the fact remains. 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 What in heaven's name am I to do? I've lied to her, 
 and she's found me out, and yet she can write to me 
 like this and make herself sick. Good Lord, what a 
 world!" 
 
 Ambry Nunholme betook himself to the window and 
 blew a coil of smoke over the flower-box into the quiet, 
 sunny air. 
 
 Lady Nunholme, left a widow with one boy, the place 
 at Appleton, and an income that would be the better 
 for nursing, settled the matter in a few years, when 
 Ambry was at Eton, by a second marriage with an 
 elderly and amiable individual, a personage in the world 
 of banks and mines. Mr. Goodrich-Dow and Lady 
 Nunholme were familiar figures every season at those 
 swollen Continental villages where you take the waters 
 for Lord knows what. At other times they opened a 
 big, dull house not too far off Berkeley Square. Here 
 Ambry was instructed to call certain rooms his own, 
 wherein he changed occasionally when he was dining 
 with his mother and her agreeable, semi-paternal con- 
 sort, but for the actual purposes of life he kept the flat 
 in Wilton Place. 
 
 It was not till his last term at Oxford that he fell in 
 with Varian Edmonton, his junior by some three years. 
 Ambry, by no means a dunce, was capable of having 
 his ambition played upon by a rather youngish tutor 
 whom he happened to fancy. The brilliant-looking lad, 
 with his high head and the charm of manner he could 
 exercise when he saw fit, made himself uncommonly 
 interesting to this tutor, Johnstone-Ford, who enjoyed 
 a certain amount of small academic fame, working early 
 and late with his chosen flock, whipping their pride, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 29 
 
 beating up their student temper. Generous, eager, un- 
 sparing, he, more often than not, lighted up in these 
 youngsters the sacred flame of enthusiasm. His men 
 stood well in the lists, and the harrying of their minds, 
 the grapple with diverse, sometimes subtle tempera- 
 ments, interested Ford far more than the weighty 
 scientific memoirs he forced himself to labour at from 
 time to time, drawing them reluctantly enough from 
 their dusty receptacles. How much better to lick into 
 shape the living organism, with the clear blood show- 
 ing in the fresh young faces, the tall athletic bodies 
 tingling from exercise, coming up the towing-path by 
 the meadows in the twilight, towel over shoulder, pipe 
 in mouth. 
 
 As one of Ford's nurslings, Ambry met Varian, tak- 
 ing a warm liking to the slim, studious lad, younger 
 than himself in years, but much older by virtue of a fine 
 mind, just now in the ferment of self -discovery, of a 
 nicely-balanced moral nature, and a temperament chilly 
 enough to be its own stopcock. Ambry, for his part, 
 with his extraordinary good looks, his wild spirits, and 
 a certain very lovable, if fitful modesty in regard to 
 his own attainments, fascinated Varian Edmonton, who 
 found in him a vigorous, rough-and-ready correction for 
 the nervous boredom that frequently beset him. 
 
 Losing his father at an early age, Varian had been 
 brought up by his delicate, consumptive mother, hidden 
 away in the little, old, ivy-choked, Dorset manor house. 
 He had been a whimsical child, left very much to him- 
 self, save for regular lessons with the rosy-cheeked 
 young Scotchwoman who helped to teach the rectory 
 brood, and for his Latin with the vicar. Varian will 
 
30 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 remember as long as he lives the look, the atmosphere, 
 of certain low rooms in the old house. How, in the 
 spring, when the small-paned windows were set open, 
 the light would weave a wavering pattern on the par- 
 quetry floor, glancing and gleaming and bowing over 
 the big nailheads that held the morsels of wood to- 
 gether in one of the simpler designs of seventeenth- 
 century taste in such matters. How his mother's little 
 boudoir was hung with a clear-coloured French paper, 
 buff, striped with pale violet. How its long window 
 opened straight on the garden path, bordered with huge, 
 spreading begonias, orange-dappled, crimson-dappled, or 
 freckled like a ripe apricot. How, on sunny mornings, 
 there seemed to be a mysterious bloom, a sort of downi- 
 ness, on the ancient mellow bricks of the garden walls. 
 How . . . But he rarely went there now. The place 
 was let to cousins. Vagrant thoughts of it occasionally 
 stirred a nostalgic malaise in Varian, a vague, irrational, 
 reluctant regret for the long-past childhood that had 
 not been a conspicuously happy one. During his years 
 at Eton the house was closed, his mother staying in 
 Rome with some connexions of her Italian father — 
 people of wealth and consideration who were charmed 
 with the fair, delicate, intelligent woman. Lady Cas- 
 sock, her elder half-sister on her English mother's side, 
 with her two girls, Anie and Estelle, her big house in 
 Belgrave Square, and the place at Crops, took on the 
 boy for his holidays, growing fond of him in her care- 
 less way, principally because he was good-looking, with 
 little chilly airs that took her fancy. 
 
 After Ambry and Varian went down from the Uni- 
 versity, they saw little of each other until a year before 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 31 
 
 this council in the Wilton Place flat. Ambry, while 
 playing with the idea of diplomacy, a career for which 
 he was singularly unsuited, occupied the almost hon- 
 orary billet of secretary to a large, imposing individual 
 of enormous interests and atrophied personality, an 
 obliged friend of Mr. Goodrich-Dow. Varian, in modest 
 lodgings just around the corner from Eccleston Square, 
 cultivated a gauche little muse in the intervals of 
 working for a vast encyclopaedic dictionary of art and 
 artists, that a publishing firm of the new world-wide, 
 wide-awake variety had undertaken with immense gusto 
 and fatiguing fanfare of advertisement. 
 
 Ambry turned away from the window to reach im- 
 patiently across the table for another cigarette. 
 
 " Well, what am I to do ? We can't stick here all 
 the morning, staring at each other. Writing is no 
 good, for she simply won't understand. Varian — if 
 you'd only help a fellow " 
 
 " I've told you what you ought in decency to do, and 
 you fly out and swear you won't." 
 
 " Go to that infernal Detmold's— — " 
 
 " Exactly. You went there gladly enough once, 
 didn't you? Anie will drag herself out of bed to be 
 there to-day at two. Are you going to let her wait 
 after that letter? Where is the place?" 
 
 " Gordon Square." 
 
 " Go — go — go, and get over with it. Look as you 
 are looking at me now, and she'll understand. That it 
 should be little Anie ! " 
 
 " Oh, don't rub it in so. Good Lord, I wish I were 
 out of it ! I'm sorry for her " 
 
 " Don't whine. You've given her a blow just as 
 
33 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 brutal as if you had struck her in the face. Make her 
 understand " 
 
 " But I can't ! " exclaimed the desperate Ambry. 
 " Haven't I told you I've tried? For the last two weeks 
 I've neglected her, broken engagements, lied to her, 
 said I was going to Appleton, stayed and talked to her 
 sister at Hurlingham — quite a different kind of girl, 
 Estelle, tall and well set up. She had a ripping sort of 
 hat on with wheat ears all over it " 
 
 " Drop Estelle for heaven's sake. What has she 
 got to do with it ? " inquired Varian savagely. 
 
 " As I am trying to tell you, seeing Anie won't help 
 matters at all. When she sees me — oh, well, I feel like 
 a cad saying it, but she's so fond of me, she simply 
 doesn't see the real me at all. She looks at you so 
 with those eyes of hers, twiddling her little fingers on 
 your arm, that, in spite of it all, you try to play up to 
 what she expects — I don't say she isn't sweet — so you 
 funk what you were going to say, and the whole deuced 
 business is still hanging around your neck, choking 
 every bit of pleasure in life out of you. I can't face it 
 again. What's the use? I'm not lying to you. Can't 
 you see it only makes it harder for her? . . . It's eleven 
 o'clock now, by Jove, and I must look in on my old 
 man before twelve. Will you lunch with me ? " 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 Ambry got between the door and Varian who had 
 picked up his hat and stick. 
 
 " One minute, I say," pleaded Ambry. 
 
 Varian stopped, a little pale. " I don't think I want 
 to talk about it any more. You shuffle so unspeakably. 
 Why did you tell me all this? What have you in the 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 33 
 
 back of your mind that concerns me ? Why am I dragged 
 in at all?" 
 
 Ambry ran his hands desperately over his sleek head. 
 
 " You'll shriek, I suppose. Varian, you meet her. 
 You go to Gordon Square. You know us both. She'll 
 believe you when you tell her I'm no good." 
 
 " You must be mad," retorted Varian. " She'd very 
 properly refuse to see me." 
 
 " Good heavens, if you only would go ! It could be 
 managed perfectly. You ask for Fraulein Detmold, and 
 the slavey takes you up to the sitting-room. You don't 
 give your name or card. The girl has been told a young 
 gentleman is expected. You probably won't lay eyes 
 on anyone but Anie." 
 
 Varian was looking straight at Ambry, but he did 
 not see him. He was gazing at the shadowy figure of 
 a little girl in a white frock, a cloud of hair shading 
 her soft eyes, who appeared to come sidling up to Am- 
 bry, her pretty head on a level with his elbow, her tiny, 
 reedlike fingers groping timidly and uncertainly for his 
 unconscious hand. But surely there was something else 
 there too? Something that resolved itself into two, 
 greyish, smokelike figures, floating in an enveloping at- 
 mosphere of their own. What tricks the morning sun 
 could play with overstrained eyes, filtering in through 
 the striped awning, over the flowers in the window-box, 
 deepening the brownish gold shadows that hung about 
 the old-fashioned desk with the rows of books atop! 
 Somewhere in these shadows, appearing and disappear- 
 ing, darkening and brightening to Varian's astonished 
 gaze, hover these smokelike, gre} r ish figures, one on either 
 side of the childish Anie, like mysterious supporters on 
 
34 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 some shield of arms. One seems to be a woman, fair 
 and simple and young, and the colours she wears are 
 blue and white and gold, melting and mingling, darken- 
 ing and brightening, wrapping her about as with an 
 airy, unsubstantial cloud-mantle. The man, her com- 
 panion, tall and slim and dark and fine, in that curious, 
 close-fitting costume, outlined in diamond shapes, ap- 
 pears to be strangely armed with a kind of sword or 
 wooden lathe. . . . Why — Varian shut his eyes a 
 moment. 
 
 " Whisky ? " asked Ambry, putting a glass in his 
 hand. "What on earth's the matter with you? Do 
 your eyes hurt ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; at least not more than usual. It is that 
 confounded encyclopaedia. Take this whisky, will you? 
 I never drink before lunch." 
 
 Ambry miserably set the glass on the table beside 
 the siphon and the big silver cigarette box. He was 
 afraid to hint Gordon Square again, and yet he was 
 dimly conscious that in the last few moments some- 
 thing had occurred to change Varian's attitude, to make 
 him willing to see Anie. Lord, if he only would ! 
 
 " What's the number? " demanded Varian, without 
 looking at him. 
 
 " Forty-one," replied Ambry eagerly, fixing Varian 
 with that boyish, troubled, impelling gaze that had 
 served him so excellently in previous crises of his senti- 
 mental career. " If you go, I shall never forget it as 
 long as I live. I shall stick here all day waiting for 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, don't wait, I may not come back. I must do 
 it my own way. I don't promise to go at all, but, if 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 35 
 
 I do, it certainly won't be on your account, but on 
 hers." 
 
 " Of course, dear old chap. But couldn't you send 
 me a wire ? * 
 
 " No. This isn't a Stock Exchange affair. You are 
 impossible. You set my teeth on edge." 
 
 " I know it," said Ambry disarmingly. 
 
 " Forty-one," repeated Varian, pulling open the door 
 quickly, as Ambry's servant knocked, carrying his 
 master's hat and stick. 
 
CHAPTER THREE 
 
 WHEN Varian reached the street, he hailed a 
 passing taxi in order to avoid seeing Ambry 
 again should he follow him out. He had 
 mechanically given his own address, but before they 
 had crossed Ebury Street, he shouted Gordon Square 
 through the speaking-tube, feeling that to go and look 
 at the outside of the house, to fix it in his mind as a 
 cemented brick entity, would make it more possible for 
 him to present himself, some three hours later at this 
 door, so infamously differentiated, so damnably set apart 
 from its fellows, the innocent constructions of a row, 
 by the forty-and-one marked under its fanlight. 
 
 The morning was already too broken into to serve 
 for working purposes, and he was too nervously con- 
 scious of a certain exaltation in himself to make it 
 possible to master his impatience in the tranquil sur- 
 roundings of his familiar quiet room, with his paper 
 slips, his stands and tables of reference books — the 
 paraphernalia of a studious and orderly, if as yet boy- 
 ishly self-conscious mind. At this moment he had never 
 felt less representatively studious and orderly, less like 
 himself in his everyday habit. His heart was pounding, 
 and his eyes hurt. He was beginning to recall, in a gush 
 of tenderness, the Anie he knew best, the child, and 
 the thin young girl, just letting down her dresses and 
 knotting up her hair — the sensitive, timid, and imagina- 
 tive Anie, to whom, during their last holiday together 
 at Crops before he went up to Oxford, he had opened 
 
 36 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS S7 
 
 his boy's heart, with all its plans, its ambitions, and its 
 proud little secrets. With what sweetness and charm 
 she had thrilled to all he told her, longing to be a boy 
 and to go to Oxford with him, begging him to write 
 to her. He had, and she had answered, but his work 
 absorbed him more and more, and Anie was presently 
 being unblushingly exhibited (holding her eyes for 
 shame one might suppose), by an anxious and worldly 
 mother from one end of London to the other. . . . Now 
 Estelle had come on, and he supposed Lady Cassock 
 to be bending her energies in that direction, desperately 
 nerved to a campaign of triumph by what she would 
 call the miserable failure of her elder daughter. That 
 poor child, left to herself, innocent, caressing, vague, 
 had clutched at Ambry, with all her soul in her eyes, 
 and that radiant, healthy, and beautiful person was at 
 this very moment engaged in shaking her off. No, not 
 Ambry, but Varian himself, doing his filthy work for 
 him. By Jove! 
 
 Varian had his hand on the speaking-tube, " Wilton 
 Place " forming on his lips. Then he remembered the 
 extraordinary impression he had received in Ambry's 
 rooms that very morning — the trick of light that had 
 seemed to project her shadowy little figure before him. 
 No, he must do it. His hands were those of friendship. 
 She would take it from him that Ambry must never 
 touch her again. 
 
 The taxi snorted its way into the green harbour of 
 the square, trailed by a bluish fume of petrol. 
 
 "Whereto, sir?" 
 
 " Drive around slowly, will you ? I simply wish to 
 make sure of a number." 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 So around they went, Varian perceiving that this 
 neighborhood was manifestly a brooding mother to the 
 international boarding-house. One after another they 
 affronted his eye, with their becurtained and belooped 
 windows, their shining brass bells and knockers, their 
 fallacious air of welcoming brightness. Oh, poor Anie ! 
 Surely never here could her desperate little romance 
 have flowered ! 
 
 " Thirty-eight — thirty-nine — forty " 
 
 Varian leaned forward to make quite sure. No, thank 
 heaven, forty-one was not a boarding-house. Forty-one 
 stood out from its smartened fellows by reason of its 
 sober, self-respecting dinginess, its dull paint, its 
 shrouded and shuttered windows. Here were discreet 
 lodgments evidently, quiet and respectable — exactly the 
 refuge for an elderly spinster who had put by a little 
 money. It would be sufficiently cool and dim within, 
 Varian thought, imaginatively sure of the long, high, 
 narrow room into which he would presently be shown. 
 
 He dismissed the taxi, striking out at random along 
 a dull, empty, sunny street, feeling that he could ar- 
 range his thoughts better, master a certain rising excite- 
 ment, were he on his legs. He would walk for an hour, 
 lunch somewhere, vagrantly, simply, in half an hour, 
 and present himself in Gordon Square on the stroke of 
 two. He found himself wondering, with a half-amused, 
 half-angry soreness at the golden youth's habitual in- 
 consequence, whether Ambry had been equally prompt in 
 those two acknowledged meetings in this house. . . . 
 What infamy ! He mustn't think of it in that way. 
 He must remember Anie. She was his clue of thread 
 in this amazing maze. 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 39 
 
 The street he followed grew gradually noisier and 
 narrower, degenerating at last into a mere alley. You 
 picked your way between dogs and children — poor, 
 screaming pigmies, tousled and imperfectly clothed, 
 who fought one another with sticks, with empty tins, 
 with bones wrested from the howling dogs. 
 
 Varian, becoming suddenly aware of this pande- 
 monium breaking in on his uneasy thoughts, turned off 
 in the direction of Oxford Street, the tops of the peopled 
 buses, the waving banners of the sandwichmen, the bril- 
 liant and fantastic shop advertisements, together with 
 a bellowing boom of traffic, announcing the proximity 
 of that energetic thoroughfare. Before he reached it, 
 however, he had an odd little experience that sent his 
 mind back on the track of the unknown, back to the 
 tortuous, lost paths of the subconscious on which his 
 hesitating feet had been set for an instant that morning. 
 He had called it a trick of light to himself, shuffling 
 thus with his better judgment, knowing quite well all 
 the time that what he had seen — the vision of Anie 
 as a child, with those two cloudy guardian figures — 
 was not to be explained by any ordinary scientific 
 formula. 
 
 Here, in this eddy of the London current, where 
 Berners Street sets strongly into Oxford Street, Varian 
 stopped to light a cigarette — a simple enough perform- 
 ance, even in the wind, if you happen to have a match, 
 but well-nigh impossible without that tiny yellow or 
 blue-tipped, wooden or waxen wand of civilization. The 
 cigarette between his lips, gloves and stick grasped in r 
 one hand, while the other furiously searched the network 
 of pockets the modern man bears upon his person, 
 
40 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 Varian was an object of sympathy to any fellow-devotee, 
 whether he were the passing individual whom you might 
 meet any day at the club, or this sandwichman who 
 smilingly regarded him, his board propped up against 
 a railing, at the moment of his noontime rest. Drawing 
 luxuriously upon his pipe, he held out on the palm of 
 too clean, too well-shaped a hand to be quite in char- 
 acter, the tiny, magic box of vestas. 
 
 Varian's glance first caught the hand and its offering, 
 then took in with the frank, wide-open stare of curiosity 
 the grotesque figure to which they belonged — the tall, 
 thin, supple body, draped in who can describe what 
 absurdity of bath-towelling, the thin, dark face, with 
 the kind, weary eyes, surmounted by the Turkish fez, 
 the sign of the great new bath establishment thus 
 screaming its birth across half London. 
 
 " Thank you so much," said Varian, as, striking a 
 light, he returned the box to its owner. 
 
 He lingered a moment, uncommonly attracted by 
 something in the demeanour of the towel man. . . . 
 Why, he seemed to know him. It couldn't be some 
 chap who — ? Oh, no, they never got quite to that. . . . 
 But where had he seen him, or rather what did he 
 recall? . . . Varian reddened to find himself at gaze 
 in front of the man, and walked on, with a salute for 
 his courtesy. ... It was the extraordinary length and 
 slimness of the fellow — ah, he had it. He seemed to 
 see him in tights, barred and disked and ringed and 
 glittering like a snake. . . . By Jove, the figure sup- 
 porting that vision of Anie! Oh, this was too much! 
 He was dreaming resemblances — everything to-day 
 seemed caught in the web of his own particular prob- 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 41 
 
 lcms. It was because he had had no lunch. He needed 
 a drink. 
 
 Pulling out his watch to see how much time he could 
 allow himself, Varian made his way to a small chop- 
 house in the vicinity, securing to himself, with some diffi- 
 culty, a microscopic table half-hidden behind the door, 
 for at this hour the place was filled with young clerks, 
 lunching voraciously and at extreme speed. The noise 
 of voices, of dishes, of hurried steps up and down the 
 narrow gangways, the confusion that seemed to hang 
 as something palpable in the air, mingled with the 
 hearty, heady British odour of hot roast, assaulted 
 Varian's senses like a barbaric army. Oddly enough, 
 what would have fatigued and enraged his almost femi- 
 nine fastidiousness at a more normal moment now 
 distracted and steadied him. He was glad to feel 
 himself as much a part of these healthy, feeding young- 
 sters as his retired seat at his little table could make 
 him. 
 
 With intense relief, while waiting for his whisky and 
 grilled chop, he slid away from 41 Gordon Square, and 
 its torturing implications, regarding with a facile 
 amusement born of relaxed nerves the young man with 
 the magenta tie and the enormous striped cuffs who 
 was chaffing the stout, tired waitress. But Varian's 
 respite was short; the place emptied itself as the time 
 wore on toward two. A redoubled clatter announced 
 the clearing of the tables. Before they would be set 
 again for tea, he whimsically mused, this ordeal of his 
 would be over. Would his inner pity and soreness be 
 soothed and stroked and cooled by anything that poor 
 Anie could give him? . . . How was he to carry on his 
 
42 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 life, how could he work with this strange inversion of 
 all his customary thoughts and feelings? . . . Anie — 
 Anie. If he didn't love her, what did it mean? What 
 wand had touched him, unsealing this hidden fountain 
 that was flooding all his being with waters not yet 
 blessedly crystal-pure and sweet, but turbid and heated 
 and brackish? . . . That fellow who had given him the 
 match — there was something odd there, something in 
 the man's look, in the touch of his hand. " Good Lord, 
 what a day to live through ! " groaned Varian to himself, 
 paying for his chop and his drink and for the box of 
 matches that the stout, flushed, tired waitress had pro- 
 cured for him. 
 
 Ten minutes later he ran up the whitened steps of 
 No. 41, and rang the bell. He set his teeth nervously ; 
 he was quite young, and these preliminaries were the 
 devil. When he saw her, the magic carpet, he knew, 
 would unroll between them upon which their feet could 
 rest in mutual confidence. But the door was opening. 
 Ambrey's slavey turned out to be a neat German maid 
 who stood back in the box of a lobby for him to pass 
 her into the hall that was clean and damply cool with 
 its paving of black-and-white squares. The stairs, 
 curving slightly in not a bad line, were furnished with a 
 slender, mahogany handrail. Up the wall to your right 
 as you mounted was hung a suite of small wood-engrav- 
 ings in modest, black frames, representing eighteenth- 
 century views of the palaces and gardens of Potsdam 
 and Sans-Souci. 
 
 The maid knocked at a door at the head of the 
 stairs, and then disappeared down the passage. Varian 
 waited an instant, but on hearing nothing from within, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 43 
 
 opened the door and entered the room. It was empty. 
 He was conscious at once of a faintish odour of the 
 encaustic preparation with which the wooden floor 
 had been rubbed, mingled with a certain disconcerting 
 melange of lavender and vanilla — doubtless some strange 
 old sachet of the ancient maiden Detmold. The room 
 was high and long, narrow and dim as he had fore- 
 seen. From the door you faced a flat, imitation black 
 marble mantelpiece, with an old-fashioned firescreen 
 of worked woollen tapestry that had been thrust 
 back into the blank aperture formed by the empty 
 grate. The large, old mirror above, sparsely bound 
 in lifeless gilt, seemed fitted to reflect in its tarnished 
 glass only the worn, the sad, the hopeless, the dis- 
 illusioned. It held no answering gleams for roses or 
 young love. . . . 
 
 But Anie? He waited. No sound in all the silent 
 house. Would she come through that door from the 
 hall? Where was she waiting? Could the maid have 
 said that she did not recognize the young gentleman? 
 Varian turned cold, and then prickingly hot, swinging 
 around on his heel to front the large folding-doors, 
 opposite the windows, that had been pulled back just 
 far enough to admit the childish figure of Anie, with 
 her little, white face, the thick hair tumbled on the 
 white brow — face and brow whiter, the great eyes larger 
 and wilder and deeper by reason of the tight black 
 riding-habit that she wore. 
 
 " Ah-h," broke from her in a strained little catching 
 whisper, as their gaze hung together across the quiet 
 room. 
 
 Varian fought down a nervous spasm that threatened 
 
44 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 to interfere with his voice, laid his hat and stick on a 
 table, and went toward her, walking quickly. 
 
 " Sit down here on the sofa, won't you, Anie? " 
 
 She followed him to it passively, feet dragging, the 
 little figure shrinking into itself. She began to speak 
 at once, without looking at him. 
 
 " Of course you have seen Ambry. How could you 
 be here, if you hadn't? He has told you about me? 
 He knows you — but I never knew." She made a pause 
 to catch her breath. Varian felt the edge of the sofa 
 with his hands. The voice trailed on. 
 
 " He cannot come to-day? He — he isn't — ill, is he? " 
 Then she looked at him. Spurred by the miserable long- 
 ing in her face, Varian plunged. 
 
 " He cannot come to-day. He never will come 
 again." 
 
 The hideous question sprang up in her poor, drowned 
 eyes. 
 
 "Dead?" 
 
 " No, no, good heavens, no ! You misunderstand me. 
 He is in excellent health. He is at this very moment 
 in Wilton Place, not at Appleton, as he told you he 
 would be. He gave me to understand that he had lied 
 to you repeatedly, that he had broken engagements, that 
 he was absolutely not to be depended upon " 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes, that is true." She turned from him, 
 so as to hide her face. Varian went on. 
 
 " I didn't come here to call him the miserable hound 
 that he is — no, wait, hear me out — Anie! You must 
 believe that whatever comes of this day, I have tried 
 to do what seems to be my plain duty to you, to you, 
 my little, old pal of those days at Crops." 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 45 
 
 No answer. He forced himself to go on. 
 
 " I knew Ambry at Oxford. He went down before 
 I did, but we ran across each other last year. He has 
 a personality that — well, you are attracted. I've never 
 met his people, nor he mine. He did not know till to-day 
 that mother and Aunt Etta are sisters. He never 
 dreamed that we were friends. I met him this morning 
 at his rooms in answer to a wire. He was greatly upset. 
 He had had a letter " 
 
 Anie interrupted him. 
 
 " I know. It was mine. When I wrote it, Varian, 
 last night, all alone in the house, I felt so ill. I wished 
 to be ill. Was it so weak, so childish, was I without 
 pride to want to see him once more? Oh, I can tell it 
 to you. I knew that he was tired of me, that he wished 
 to get away. But there was just one chance that I 
 might be mistaken, and that if we met here, where it is 
 so quiet and still, and where time seems to run back- 
 ward — oh, I can't tell you what I hoped. He came 
 here when he said he loved me — for he did love me for 
 those few weeks." Varian winced at her tone. 
 
 " You met him here — often? " 
 
 " Only twice, oh, for but half an hour, but how each 
 minute sang! We sat here on this sofa. We did not 
 even touch each other. He would not, he said, because 
 I was here alone. But I was alone at the Lynes, and 
 he kissed me then. Perhaps I was beginning to tire 
 him " 
 
 " Don't speak of it in that way," broke out Varian. 
 " It drives me wild. To tire him ! Good Lord ! " 
 
 " You said yourself that he has a personality that 
 attracts. There must be so many who are charmed with 
 
46 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 him. Is it odd that certain — eocigeantes are pushed 
 aside? " She had spoken calmly enough, but now her 
 voice rose slightly and her fingers twisted together in 
 her lap. 
 
 " Varian, there is something else. He has met Estelle. 
 She admires him. She speaks about him. Mamma has 
 noticed it. If he comes to the house, if I must see and 
 talk to him, en famille, I shall lose control of myself. 
 I know it, Varian. Is it not too much to expect of me? 
 Would he be so brutal as that? I could not! I could 
 not!" 
 
 "Leave all that to me," answered Varian grimly. "He 
 has put himself in my hands to a certain extent. For 
 your sake, not for his, I came here to-day. — There was 
 something queer about that, too. I'll explain it to you 
 some time, but not now. Imagine my disgust, and my 
 rage at him, when, after telling me your story and his 
 as something that concerned Dick Halsey, he suddenly 
 let slip your name, and with it the whole unhappy busi- 
 ness ! Anie, those long mornings at Crops came over 
 me in a flood. My little pal had put her heart in such 
 a pair of hands ! There he sat, with your letter, calmly 
 telling me " 
 
 " Yes, what did he say ? " broke in Anie eagerly. 
 " Do you remember it word for word ? If I could hear 
 it, not from his lips, but from yours, because you are 
 so different, it might burn away this horrible spot of 
 decay in my heart that makes me love him. If you 
 tell me, Varian, I don't think I shall mind the pain 
 so. — O Ambry, Ambry, what have you done to me? " 
 
 Varian, white as the girl, put an unsteady arm about 
 the thin, shaking young shoulders. 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 47 
 
 " Good God, what a beast ! He takes you up, and 
 tries to break you, and then tires of the sport. Listen 
 to me. Whatever he felt for you has gone out, flickered 
 out, dried up, choked by his selfishness. You are so 
 far above and beyond him — your goodness, your gentle- 
 ness — he says so himself, that he can't keep up. He'll 
 never see you again, if he can help it. There you have 
 him in his simple brutality." 
 
 The convulsive sobs had ceased. She lay against 
 him exhausted. 
 
 " Oh, it hurts so! How can I tell you? What will 
 you think of me, if I say that the thought of him — his 
 eyes, his hands, his hair, the way he walks, the sound 
 of his voice " 
 
 She lifted herself and drew away from Varian, 
 pressing back against the sofa. " It stabs me so here, 
 and here " — she pointed to? her breast and to her head, 
 " that I am sick, oh, sick with it." Her eyes miserably 
 searched his for some relief. He could give her none. 
 He looked at the floor. It was bare, with a small green 
 rug in the centre, near the table. He smelt again the 
 mixture of encaustic, of lavender, of vanilla. 
 
 " It's a hideous mess, you poor child," he took her 
 small, cold hand in his. " But what can we do? The 
 memory of him makes you suffer as if you had some 
 horrible malady — and I am like a bungler with a knife, 
 who can only torture you, but who cannot cut out the 
 cancer. You are the only one who can do that. 
 We must wait. I must think. You trust me, don't 
 you?" 
 
 She nodded her head. " Oh, yes, yes." 
 
 He went on, half speaking to himself. " You haven't 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 a chance to fight for your life in Belgrave Square. 
 Aunt Etta and Estelle, with their chatter of whom one 
 must meet and whom one mustn't, would simply be your 
 executioners. Oh, I remember Aunt Etta of old. She's 
 as hard and polished as a piece of metal. You break 
 yourself and your idealism upon that steel-like shell. 
 You and I never made a breach there, Anie. She had 
 enough of me that last holiday. She said I gave you 
 notions. I tried to, I confess." 
 
 Anie barely lifted her heavy eyes, but the tears were 
 over. 
 
 " You were the only friend I ever had. You will 
 never know what it meant to me to have you come 
 down to us. I was so wretched and fidgety. Once I 
 took from mamma's desk the letter you sent, saying 
 when you would leave school, and I wore it for days 
 pinned inside my frock." 
 
 " Oh, what sweetness ! Why did you never tell me? " 
 He felt an angel troubling the hidden waters; he felt 
 the nightmare oppression of the last few hours flowing 
 and melting under the sweep of its wing. 
 
 " I would have been so ashamed to," she said. 
 
 Varian saw that, from very exhaustion, she had ceased 
 for the moment to think of Ambry. She half lay upon 
 the sofa, looking at the floor. As he sat beside her he 
 noticed the relaxed, pathetic curve of her waist in the 
 straitly-buttoned habit, the tiny wrists that protruded 
 limply from the line of white cuff pinned into the black 
 cloth sleeves. Ah, if she had come here to meet — him, 
 instead of Ambry. How the dim room would have been 
 rayed about with light, how the pale mirror would have 
 gleamed with it! But now? He must think how best 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 49 
 
 to save this poor, racked, little Prisoner of Passion — 
 to save her from herself. He went no further just 
 then. 
 
 " Anie, would you go to mother? " 
 
 " Your mother? But I scarcely know her, Varian. 
 She seems always to have been in Rome. I thought the 
 place at Layton-Deacon was let ? " 
 
 " It is. We haven't been in Dorset for five years. 
 But since I have had rooms in Cambridge Street, and 
 mother has been so much better, she has taken a house 
 at Wimbledon. It belongs to Digby Colfax, my old 
 guardian, and he lets us have it for a song. It's old 
 and square and has a good garden and shrubbery. Aunt 
 Etta must have told you, but you have forgotten. Since 
 you came out, we poor relations have had no glimpses 
 of this young lady — " He was working for the smile 
 that he did not succeed in drawing to the red, tremu- 
 lous lips. 
 
 " Since I came out ! I shudder at the recollection. 
 My * hideous failure ' in mamma's eyes is what has 
 saved me. Estelle is making up for that. Yes, I do 
 seem to remember something about Aunt Gita and 
 Wimbledon. But what is your plan, Varian?" 
 
 " Oh, simply unformed and vague as yet, but the 
 first thing to do is to get you away from Belgrave 
 Square. Mother is alone, except for Miss Peet-Byng, a 
 dear old thing who looks out for her, and she would 
 jump at the idea of having you with her. Naturally, 
 she would never dream of suggesting it, fancying you 
 quite gay and happy. Aunt Etta always overshadowed 
 and overpowered her, and, in her heart, I am sure she 
 goes in terror of her. Poor petite maman! We must, 
 
50 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 however, manage things through her. It will be plau- 
 sible, and only decent, for her to come in to see Aunt 
 Etta. I will let you know the day. She is to meet 
 you and to find you shockingly white. You will have 
 been refusing to go to parties, and Aunt Etta will be 
 consequently enraged. Mother will beg you to run 
 down to her for a few weeks, and Aunt Etta will be 
 only too relieved to pack you off, disliking, as you 
 know she always inhumanly did, all languor and pale- 
 ness. Then mother will carry you away to a big, cool, 
 shadowy, white room I know of, and you will have time 
 to catch that poor, little, bruised breath of yours. Will 
 you care if I run down often ? " 
 
 Anie turned her face full to his. " Will I care? " she 
 echoed. " I must clutch at you, Varian, if I am ever 
 to belong to myself again. You have given me here, 
 to-day, by something in your eyes and in your voice, 
 the courage to go on living, even with this hideous 
 black hole in my heart in which I seem always to see 
 Ambry's face — to see him, to hear him, to feel him." 
 The poor child trembled all over, and put her hands over 
 her disfigured face. 
 
 " But you do wish to forget — the face and the 
 memories," urged Varian unsteadily. 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes. It hurts too much. Most girls 
 would be too proud. But I am not. I'm beaten down. 
 I should have lain where he dropped me, had it not 
 been for you. You came and pulled me up." Quite 
 simply she leaned over and kissed his cheek. The tears 
 came in his eyes, and he let her see them. Then they 
 both felt better. 
 
 " It must be horribly late," exclaimed Anie. 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 51 
 
 " Half-past three," answered Varian, looking at his 
 watch. " Where are you supposed to be? " 
 
 " Oh, here, of course. There is no concealment about 
 it. I told mamma I should lunch and stay a bit with 
 Fraulein. I rode late on purpose. Dixon came for the 
 horse and put me in a taxi." 
 
 " What will you do now ? Who will get you a cab ? 
 We can't go out together." 
 
 " Yes, I know. Ambry said the same thing." 
 
 Varian ground his teeth at her innocent readiness to 
 ruin her reputation, such an appanage still being, in 
 our present state of society, of incalculable value to a 
 marriageable maid. 
 
 " Fraulein sends for one," she went on. " It is quite 
 simple. You have been so good to me. I shall sleep 
 to-night." 
 
 " By the way, Anie, I don't like this Fraulein Det- 
 mold's ways and manners. She ought to know better 
 than you that what we are doing now is by no means — 
 convenable, to put it mildly." 
 
 " I know. I know. But she is an old dear, and she 
 loves me. She is intensely romantic." 
 
 " Thank God this is the last time you will make use 
 of her house in this particular fashion. Let me think. 
 This is Thursday. I will write to mother at once. She 
 will have the letter Friday morning, and will come to 
 town in the afternoon. Do you know if Aunt Etta is 
 dining out ? " 
 
 " One can always catch her at six. She says she 
 must have at least an hour in which to contract before 
 beginning to dress or Marcelle could never hook her up. 
 Mamma is getting so stout. Then six to-morrow. Per- 
 
52 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 haps Aunt Gita will take me down with her at once. 
 It is such a little run, and it would be so beautiful in 
 the dusk. Would you perhaps come on Saturday? " 
 
 Heavens, how sweet she was ! Varian shook himself 
 mentally, and took up his hat and stick. 
 
 " Count on me," he said, turning to the door. " I 
 let myself out, eh? " She nodded, such a babyish figure 
 in her tight habit, standing alone in the centre of the 
 strange, unfamiliar room. 
 
 So he thought as he hailed a taxi from the doorstep, 
 plunging into it in order to be removed as quickly as 
 possible from the, to him, haunted neighbourhood of 
 Gordon Square. 
 
 In the relaxation of his spirits, to make a little fete 
 for himself, as you give a strawberry-treat to a par- 
 ticularly good child, Varian directed the cab to the 
 entrance to St. Martin's Lane. Up the alley, to the 
 left, in a neat shop that smells of ancient, dampish 
 paper, he was courteously received and intelligently 
 ministered to. After an agreeable chat with the mild 
 spectacled Guardian of the Precinct, Varian emerged 
 carrying two more than fair-sized volumes in the crook 
 of his left arm. He was still boyish enough to be 
 reluctant to entrust them for delivery to the small, 
 buttoned minion of the establishment, who was at that 
 moment having his tea from a massive white china mug, 
 boy and mug and bread and butter discreetly screened 
 by a large, dismantled packing-box throning it in the 
 distant gloom. One book was a rather rare one, at least 
 rare with all the plates — a history of the ancient and 
 honourable Italian comedy, the Commedia dell' Arte — 
 from its cloudy birth at a Dionysiac festival was it? 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 53 
 
 to its decay at the end of the eighteenth century, burn- 
 ing out with so much else that was full of distinction, 
 charming, gay, fragile, and frivolous. The other was 
 a study, in Italian, of an obscure Lombard painter 
 about whom it was now becoming more and more the 
 fashion to be knowing. And Varian's encyclopaedic 
 editor demanded, above all things, that his young men 
 should be that. 
 
 In Trafalgar Square Varian attached himself to the 
 fleeting rear of a Victoria bus that presently deposited 
 him in the full flood of the station yard, with the cur- 
 rent setting strongly toward Suburbia. Breasting the 
 flow, with his books clasped to his breast, Varian suc- 
 ceeded in reaching the comparative calm of the Wilton 
 Road. Soon the waving, rich green tops of those tall 
 forest trees in Eccleston Square, beckoning to him in 
 the light, gold-dripping air of afternoon, proclaimed an 
 oasis in the far-stretching, monotonous London desert. 
 
 Around the corner, in Cambridge Street, quiet, mod- 
 est, and well-swept, were his lodgings, his first independ- 
 ent ones, of which he was immensely proud, concealing 
 as best he might those fatigued airs common to the 
 domesticated householder. This afternoon he ran up 
 the stairs, his mind full of the letter he was mentally 
 writing to his mother. As he did so, the little maid-of- 
 all-work sprang out upon him on the landing, as though 
 she had been suddenly released from a box at the end 
 of a bit of elastic, and hissed in his ear: 
 
 " The young gentleman's been waitin' for most an 
 hour." 
 
 " Oh, confound him," said Varian to himself, and 
 " Oh, has he, Susy? " to the little maid. 
 
54 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 Ambry, stretched out in the long, cane chair, prod- 
 ding aimlessly at a rug with his stick, pulled himself 
 up at sight of Varian. The latter deposited his books 
 carefully on the writing-table, making a place for them 
 by moving an untidy nest of papers, before he permitted 
 himself to notice the impatient "Well?" that sprang 
 to his companion's eyes and lips. Then he merely looked 
 at him. 
 
 " Good heavens, do speak to a fellow ! " bursts out 
 Ambry. " I've been kicking my heels in this beastly 
 room for the last two hours, and now you saunter in, 
 as if you'd been buying books all the afternoon. Is it 
 possible that you didn't see her after all? Is the whole 
 awful business to be gone into again ? " 
 
 " You simply make me sick," retorts Varian. " Any- 
 one would suppose you were the one who was being 
 hounded. Let me tell you this, and then let us consider 
 the matter absolutely closed. Anie knows your frankly 
 brutal attitude in regard to herself, and is strongly 
 desirous of not laying eyes on you again. In order to 
 simplify matters, and because she is really ill, she is 
 leaving town at once. I may as well tell you that she 
 is going down to my mother's at Wimbledon." 
 
 Varian delivered this announcement in a perfectly 
 unemotional tone, and then with his hands in his pockets 
 minutely regarded a large and to him nauseatingly fa- 
 miliar engraving of The Triumph of Chastity. 
 
 But Ambry was not to be put off by anything so 
 obvious as this. 
 
 " Dear old chap, look at me for a moment, won't 
 you? I know I'm an unspeakable cad, I see it now, 
 tiut — . Because you've helped me out of this awful 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 55 
 
 mess — don't think I don't know it's all the fault of my 
 confounded imprudence — no, that's not the word, but 
 you understand what I mean — because you've saved me 
 and saved Anie, too — >« Don't fly up. I must call her 
 something. Well, because of that, old chap, you can't 
 turn a fellow down and out. Look here, Varian, we've 
 known each other too long for that." 
 
 Ambry was right. Very few people could resist the 
 charm of his engaging personality, supported so admir- 
 ably as it was by a physique intensely supple, intensely 
 virile, and Varian, hypersensitive to every aesthetic ap- 
 peal, was not one of the few. So a hand came, however 
 reluctantly, out of one of those pockets, and was eagerly 
 grasped by Ambry, who, having gained his point, being 
 freed at the same time from the haunting incubus of 
 Gordon Square, was more than ready to act promptly 
 on his young friend's weary " Oh, get out now, will 
 you?" 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 THE house at Wimbledon, having been built with 
 intelligence at a pleasing architectural period, 
 was more than ever, at this debased moment, 
 an agreeable abode. Old Mr. Colfax came of a family 
 of distinguished collectors who had preserved the laud- 
 able habit of leaving the ugliest of their " pots," when 
 they collected china, the " finest " of their chairs, sofas, 
 and tables, when they collected furniture, and the most 
 impeccably " pedigreed " of their canvases, when they 
 collected pictures, to London and provincial museums. 
 This had the happy result for their descendants that 
 what remained in the old place really embellished and 
 became a part of it, not too fine for honest household 
 use, not so obviously rich and rare that you are dis- 
 mayed to find yourself unconsciously seeking the small 
 inscribed tablet, dear to officialdom, in order to check up 
 the " period." 
 
 The large, square, admirably proportioned rooms 
 bear distinct marks of the race that had produced them, 
 that had wrapped them in warm, softened tones, that 
 had hung that Raeburn just where the blur of powdered 
 hair, the fine hands crossed on the white silk lap, would 
 count for the most ; that had placed each delicate orna- 
 ment, each faintly flowered Aubusson carpet, in a spot 
 of all others dictated by right taste. 
 
 Mrs. Edmonton, though not herself of the family, 
 was here perfectly in the picture, sitting in her cus- 
 
 56 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 57 
 
 tomary low chair by the long window that serves as an 
 entrance to the garden, her small, black-slippered feet 
 on a tufted hassock, her morning letters, littering the 
 floor beside her, half-tumbling out of the gay Roman 
 silk bag that held her intricate embroidery. 
 
 Varian was like his English father; this gentle, fa- 
 tigued face held no hint of him. Her dark eyes looked 
 out at you with a pathetic, veiled brilliancy, set far 
 apart under the high, not broad, brow where the black 
 hair began to show thick filaments of white, streaming 
 back into the high, loose knot of her chignon, like the 
 pied markings on the plumes of certain birds. Her smile 
 was still delicious, betraying the almost girlish nature 
 that lurked under this disguising exterior of the deli- 
 cate woman, no longer young, indolent, and a lover of 
 the tranquil days of the South, where the warm hours 
 of the sun melt into the scarcely less warm hours of the 
 moon, where you follow the shadows from vine-hung 
 pergola to dusky, tottering pavilion, that still keeps 
 some bravery of plaster god and goddess, now sadly 
 skinned and buffeted. Oh, the steamy, earthy scents of 
 garden mould in the long hot afternoons ! 
 
 With the love of all this in her Italian blood she 
 cheerfully relinquishes her Roman home and, in order 
 to be near her boy, settles herself in Digby Colfax's 
 Georgian house, in this weeping English climate. For 
 the little chap she had left at Eton, developing far 
 from her all through his Oxford years, had become, in 
 his young manhood, a more vital, more dominating, more 
 stirring influence in her existence than she had ever 
 dreamed could be possible, since that day, twenty years 
 before, when, broken, wretched, inwardly bleeding, she 
 
 X 
 
58 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 had watched her husband die. Now the new, rosy flame 
 of reviving love played once more in her heart, darting 
 in and out of what she had thought to be a heap of 
 ashes, and Varian — Varian in his every engaging aspect 
 of ambitious youth, with his lodgings in town, his little 
 writings, his encyclopaedic and terrifying editor — Varian 
 became the darling preoccupation of his mother's iife. 
 Now she smiled to feel the thickness of his letter, 
 patting and turning it in her long fingers. The first 
 lines caught her attention and she raced through it, 
 letting sheet after sheet rustle down into her lap. So 
 that poor, pretty Anie wanted to run away from un- 
 happy love (as if one ever could!), and, in some fashion 
 not clearly brought out, her boy was arranging her little 
 affairs for her. Well, his mother would, of course, do 
 as he wished, not without a pang, perhaps, for daily, 
 more and more, she hugged to her soul her indolent 
 tranquillity, sitting or lying softly with her embroidery, 
 or her drawing-blocks, on which she would sometimes 
 throw out bizarre decorative designs, infiltrations from 
 Byzantine or Persian art to which she gave an odd, 
 extremely personal nuance. Her delicate health was 
 sufficient bar to neighbourly visiting, and after a year's 
 residence she was safe enough from indiscriminate de- 
 mands, seeking only at rare intervals those persons espe- 
 cially asked to come. Now her lazy mornings in her 
 cool, shuttered rooms, her long, drowsing afternoons 
 in the sweet, neglected gardens, under the beeches and 
 cedars, were no longer to be quite inviolate. Childish 
 Anie, with a love affair on her hands, was to become 
 her housemate. They would have to begin acquaintance 
 all anew. Why, she must be almost as old as Varian. 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 59 
 
 It seemed incredible. She remembered a little faded 
 photograph that Varian had sent her during his last 
 holiday at Crops. He and Anie were sitting close to- 
 gether on a garden bench, with a big book spread out on 
 their knees. Estelle had " snapped " them, doing it 
 badly, so that the negative blurred. Their young faces 
 stared out at you from the dark, leafy background, 
 white, rather startled, and confused. Anie looked 
 scarcely pretty, with her disorderly hair and her thin, 
 childish legs, but Varian's beauty came out even in this 
 wretched little attempt. And his mother could never 
 forget the pang that shot through her in looking at it : 
 " Oh, my boy is becoming a man ! I must go to him." 
 But she did not, and where were those lost years? She 
 could never make them up now. 
 
 She turned again to her letter. " So I am to catch 
 Etta at six, and beg for the loan of Anie, who will have 
 paved the way for what must seem to Etta my extraor- 
 dinary proposal, by refusing parties and looking ill. I 
 wonder if my life would have been very different if 
 I had had a girl? They certainly seem to Etta to be 
 merely so many attractive little scented packets to 
 barter with. As I remember Estelle, she will be able 
 to take care of herself, but poor, helpless Anie, drifting 
 heaven knows where, clutches at Varian with her burnt 
 fingers, and I am to supply the healing ointment." 
 
 She shrugged her thin shoulders, but with a smile that 
 betrayed her pride and gladness that her boy had thrown 
 himself and his wounded young relative upon her, sure 
 of the blessed opening of his mother's arms. She 
 would open them; she would be decently unselfish; she 
 would make herself the friend and comforter of this 
 
60 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 poor little London wreck ; refitting her, perhaps, through 
 the long, peaceful, perfumed garden hours that lay be- 
 fore them, for a second, more prosperous voyage. 
 
 But time was slipping, and she must prepare for her 
 expedition. Anie must have the large room in her own 
 wing, with the dressing-closet done in Chinese lacquer. 
 That might amuse her. The whole house was ever 
 aired and open* sweet with morsels of herbs strewn in 
 drawer and cupboard, fresh as the garden breezes could 
 make it, floating in at every wide-set window. 
 
 Gita Edmonton, her letters and her gay silk em- 
 broidery bag on her arm, removed her feet from the 
 hassock with the quaint little air of precision that 
 marked her movements when she was not bored, and 
 walked over to a diminutive table, reared upon four 
 disproportionately long and slender legs, upon which 
 stood an ivory bell, carved in the shape of a dame of 
 the eighteenth century, with high-dressed head and full 
 panniers looped over a laced petticoat. In answer to the 
 little lady's voice, a young maid, with a round-cheeked, 
 country air, entered, and was told to fetch Miss Peet- 
 Byng. In a moment the desired one made her appear- 
 ance, taking small, hurried steps under a black skirt that 
 was too long for her, so that she held it up in front 
 with one swollen, rheumatic hand. She was tall and 
 thin, flat and fair, with a square of black thread-lace 
 pinned on her head, beneath which her yellowish-grey 
 hair was laid in meagre bands. Her eyes were blue 
 and pale, but kind and not unintelligent, a large nose 
 bespoke generosity of spirit, and, even if her poor chin 
 did dwindle away, goodness and gentleness rested on her 
 lips. She was once Varian's nursery-governess, his 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 61 
 
 cherished " Peetybee," and since he outgrew her she 
 had been the faithful, ever-ready buffer between Mrs. 
 Edmonton and that oppressive, hostile, unknown, but 
 much-dreaded region where servants stalk, household 
 bills breed like maggots, and where, in order to live, 
 you must be piratically bold, dauntless, and defiant — 
 simply the world of every-day, and therefore no place 
 at all for the soul of Gita Edmonton, though good Miss 
 Peet-Byng swam as untiringly in it as in a native 
 element. 
 
 " Bee, sit down. I've had a letter this morning that 
 makes it necessary for me to go up to town this after- 
 noon to bring down one of Etta's girls, Anie, the elder. 
 She is worn out — you remember what a pale little scrap 
 she always was — and the garden here and the good air 
 will set her up. But we are so unused to guests, you 
 and I. Can you manage it for me, Bee, so that our 
 daily routine is as little disarranged as possible?" 
 
 Miss Peet-Byng raised a hand in protest, or was she 
 taking a domestic oath? 
 
 * Don't, I pray you, dear Gita, give yourself one 
 instant of anxiety. Guest or no guest, you will find 
 that the household will move exactly as usual. Your 
 precious hours must be safeguarded, if I have to sit on 
 your doormat as a sentinel. But, perhaps it will 
 brighten you to have the young thing here, and my 
 boy will relish that. He thinks you too pale. He told 
 me so." 
 
 " Oh, that dear Varian ! He is becoming a tremen- 
 dous fuss about his old mother. I do believe, Bee, that 
 I am looking forward to having Anie. I really know 
 nothing of Etta's girls, and this one was always 
 
63 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 Varian's favorite. He wrote about her at great length 
 in his letters from Crops. They read together. It will 
 make it easier for me if she cares for books. Then 
 we shall never be at a loss for table-talk. . . . Now, 
 what about her quarters? I had thought of the grey 
 room in my wing. She must have plenty of air, and 
 that one has three windows. The white roses are be- 
 ginning to hang around them so enchantingly. Then 
 the lacquer dressing-closet is one of the best things in 
 the house, with its extraordinary little men-monkeys. 
 You could study those tiny figures for hours — not that 
 I want the child to, but I like to have that room used. 
 It brings it to life again. . . . What do you say? *' 
 
 " A perfect selection, except for one thing. Won't 
 she be too near you? You might hear her moving," 
 said Bee, wrinkling up her nose thoughtfully. 
 
 " Nonsense ! I must change my habits if a child's 
 footfall is to annoy me. But you can hear nothing, 
 I am quite sure. The small passage between deadens 
 any sound. Let us consider that settled. Have every- 
 thing arranged for to-night. Put in flowers — the tulips, 
 I think — a few coppery ones among the pink. If the 
 car comes around by five, I shall have plenty of time 
 to drive slowly. It will be safer to have dinner at 8.30. 
 Anie can bring a few things with her in a dress-basket, 
 and have down later whatever she may need. Our life 
 is so much of a perpetual retreat that one could really 
 almost manage with a couple of frocks." 
 
 " Will she bring a maid ? " 
 
 " Good gracious, I had not thought of that ! No, 
 I cannot have a strange woman poking about here. If 
 Anie is as helpless as most London girls, Page can 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 do for her. Tell Page that she may be required to maid 
 Miss Cassock. Dear, good Bee, what should I ever do 
 without you? You are certainly the captain of my 
 wandering little barque." 
 
 Miss Peet-Byng's hollow cheeks ran up the unwonted 
 signal of a blush — pleasure and embarrassment con- 
 tending within her. 
 
 " Oh, say, rather, the faithful cabin-boy, who must 
 be about his duties this very minute." 
 
 She got up nervously, with a subdued, mysterious 
 rattling as of keys in some far-hidden, submerged 
 pocket. 
 
 At a few moments before six, Mr. Edmonton's car 
 turned into the comparative quiet of Belgrave Square, 
 large and leafy, inundated with a thick, golden, summer 
 atmosphere, not more than moderately polluted with 
 petrol. Gita eyed the pompous stucco facade of her 
 half-sister's abode with a tired appreciation of what it 
 must mean to lead a life that made such a setting not 
 only appropriate but desirable. 
 
 Presently Lady Cassock was begging Mrs. Edmonton, 
 through the medium of an unnaturally slim footman, 
 to come to her in her bedroom. 
 
 " My dearest girl, will you forgive me asking you 
 to come up in this way, sans fa$on? " 
 
 Lady Cassock commenced the pantomime of one 
 laboriously rising from a couch. Gita came forward 
 and put her hands on her sister's shoulders. 
 
 " Don't move, Etta, please. I can sit here directly 
 in front of you. How are you? " 
 
 " Dog-tired, of course, at this pitch of the season, 
 but one must keep up. I'm taking Estelle out, you 
 
64 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 know. She's off at this moment to Grove House with 
 Lady Juliet to attend a meeting for giving something 
 to somebody. Who can remember such things? You 
 haven't seen Estelle for years, have you? She is con- 
 sidered very pretty, and is a comfort to her mother." 
 
 This was delivered by Lady Cassock in a manner to 
 indicate that there were such beings as ungrateful chil- 
 dren who were not. 
 
 Gita saw her opening. " How is Anie ? Is she 
 visible ? I would so much like to see her." 
 
 Here Lady Cassock's too well-corseted efforts to sit 
 up becoming increasingly desperate, Gita hurriedly 
 stuffed another foolish little embroidered pillow behind 
 her sister, with about as much effect as a pebble would 
 have in damming a stream. 
 
 " I shall die if I don't get out of this thing ! . . . Ah, 
 that's better. I do believe I am growing a bit heavier. 
 Do you notice any change, eh ? " 
 
 " Um — m, no, perhaps not," murmured Gita sooth- 
 ingly. " A Spa in August will set you up, or — down. 
 That's what we all want nowadays with these impossible 
 skirts, isn't it? But what about Anie? " 
 
 Etta Cassock's ruddy, high-nosed, square-jawed 
 countenance became slightly more suffused across the 
 mottled cheek-bones, under the ironlike curves of rigidly 
 undulated, fairish hair. 
 
 " I am exceedingly vexed with her," she answered 
 with asperity. " She is most trying, moping about 
 with no reason, looking like a wet rag. If I did not 
 know her so well, I would say she was jealous of 
 Estelle. She refuses to go anywhere. I believe she 
 still rides, but never with her sister at a suitable time, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 65 
 
 when other people are in the Row, and she won't even 
 have Dixon. It is most trying and stupid. She looks 
 half-ill. I shall have to take her to Dr. Partridge — 
 but when have I the time? How intensely awkward 
 were she to become ill at this moment with something 
 infectious. There's so much of it going around. Then 
 where should we all be? Quarantined in the middle of 
 the season 1 " Etta Cassock moved her high head im- 
 patiently, so that her long, jewelled ear-rings shook 
 like tiny, flaming tongues. Suddenly a thought struck 
 her. 
 
 " Gita, it is providential your coming this afternoon. 
 Would you take her off my hands for a month? She 
 is no good here. Would you? I'll send for her at 
 once. Marcelle ! " To the sharp, alert Frenchwoman 
 in the doorway she gave the necessary order. Her 
 relief in clutching at Gita was both frank and un- 
 ashamed. To get rid of a possible germ-carrying 
 daughter was manifestly a first necessity. 
 
 While they waited, Gita answered at random numer- 
 ous irrelevant questions about her life at Wimbledon 
 that her sister felt called' upon to put to her. Poor 
 Etta ! Such an existence as Gita led, within the thick- 
 shrubbed walls of her garden, seemed to her to indicate 
 active mental decay. Both had their eyes more or less 
 on the door through which presently the object of their 
 thoughts came forward with that light, hesitating, 
 sidling step. " You would almost suppose she limped," 
 Lady Cassock was in the habit of exclaiming with 
 disgust. " What a pathetic little bundle of nerves ! " 
 thought Gita sympathetically. 
 
 The girl came to her and kissed her with a soft pres- 
 
66 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 sure, affectionately but a little shyly, troubled perhaps 
 at the innocent conspiracy they were practising to- 
 gether. 
 
 " What have you been doing to your eyes, may I 
 ask? " demanded her mother, visions of summer-grippe, 
 which is so disfiguring, you know, floating through her 
 x mind. Then, without seeming to expect an answer, she 
 plunged at once. " What do you say to going down to 
 Wimbledon with your Aunt Gita until you can pull 
 yourself sufficiently together to behave suitably here 
 in town? It is very awkward to refuse invitations for 
 you and then to have you seen about. Juliet Newhaven 
 spoke of catching sight of you in a taxi — in your habit, 
 she thought. What on earth were you doing? And, 
 of course, she couldn't see why you were not well enough 
 to go to her cotillion. With your looks in their pres- 
 ent state, you're no credit to your mother, I assure 
 you." 
 
 " I'm sorry, mamma. I have tried to keep out of the 
 way. If Aunt Gita will have me, I would so love to stay 
 with her." 
 
 Mrs. Edmonton took the girl's hand. " I ran up 
 to-day with the half-intention of capturing you for the 
 week-end, but now I can have the pleasure of keeping 
 you for an indefinite time. The garden is lovely, and 
 we drink wonderful milk. But why not take her down 
 with me this afternoon, Etta? I motored up. Ask 
 them to put a few things in a dress-basket, Anie, will 
 you? And run and get your hat and cloak — a warm 
 one. If we start in fifteen minutes, we shall do it nicely 
 before dinner. Will you, dear? " 
 
 " May I, mamma ? " 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 67 
 
 " Why not? Tell Marcelle to help you. Oh, by the 
 way, leave your pearls for Estelle. You Won't need 
 them at Wimbledon. Don't lift anything. Let Mar- 
 celle do it." 
 
 " It isn't necessary for her to bring a maid, Etta. 
 We can do all that is needful." 
 
 " I did not intend that she should take anyone. The 
 girls share a maid, but, of course, Estelle must have 
 her now. Every night next week is engaged three deep. 
 Mothers must be made of steel these days. It is fortu- 
 nate you have only a boy. How is Varian? He quite 
 cuts us." 
 
 " My dear Etta, what nonsense ! He is working 
 hard, and neither of us could ever keep up with you, 
 you know." 
 
 " By the way, do you know Lady Nunholme? " asked 
 Lady Cassock. 
 
 " The name merely, from Varian," replied Gita. " He 
 sees something of the son, Sir Ambry Nunholme." 
 
 " Oh, he knows him, does he? " Lady Cassock paused 
 a moment. " I must look up that young man. Estelle, 
 who is not in the least impressionable, has spoken of 
 him to me on three distinct occasions. His mother has 
 re-married — a Mr. Something-or-Other, but whether the 
 money is his or hers — ." Etta was falling into the 
 familiar rut of a financial muse when her daughter ap- 
 peared, looking half her age in a mulberry-coloured 
 motor bonnet of shirred taffetas. 
 
 " Good-bye, mamma. Marcelle has the pearls." She 
 bent over her mother, and they exchanged a peck on 
 the cheek-bone. 
 
 Mrs. Edmonton got up. 
 
68 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " Good-bye, Etta, and many thanks for Anie. I 
 shall keep her until she is as rosy as her bonnet." 
 
 " So you are off? Estelle and I may run down some 
 day, if we can squeeze it in. You have ducal neigh- 
 bours, I hear. Do you ever give garden parties? " 
 
 " Never 1 " exclaimed Gita, and on that note of 
 decision swept her niece away. 
 
 As they started from the door in their panting car, 
 Mrs. Edmonton suddenly said, turning to the young 
 girl, " We are so near Varian here. Shall we bob in 
 on him for a moment ? " but, noticing a frightened little 
 movement on Anie's part, reproached herself for being 
 indiscreet, and turned the matter off. " Perhaps not, 
 we are a bit late, and he is probably dressing for dinner, 
 if he is in at all. We shall have him with us to-morrow. 
 Do you mind? " 
 
 Hadn't Varian leaned over her so charmingly with 
 that very same question? Anie's eyes filled again with 
 tears, and she squeezed Gita's hand without speaking. 
 
 " Dear child," murmured that lady. " Let us play 
 that I am your mother, too, for the time that you are 
 with me. Tell me what you will, or be silent — what- 
 ever you do, we are friends and comrades from this 
 moment." 
 
 " Then may I call you Gita? You seem so young," 
 said Anie, stuffing a moist scrap of handkerchief out of 
 sight. Gita laughed her assent. 
 
 A hideous reaction had kept Anie white and shaken 
 ever since she had left the house in Gordon Square the 
 preceding afternoon. " Ambry — Ambry — Ambry," all 
 night long she had clung to his name as instinctively as 
 she would have thrown her poor little body at him had 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 69 
 
 he been there. Then across the dark, impure flood that 
 seemed to be sweeping her away light would break 
 in fantastic squares through which Varian appeared — 
 Varian as he had been years ago at Crops, the slim 
 schoolboy in flannels, with bare head, and Varian as 
 he had looked yesterday when he had sat beside 
 her on that miserable sofa. . . . She choked back 
 that other name, holding her hot throat with hotter 
 hands, forcing flesh and spirit back into those cool, 
 quiet water-meadows of the soul, where there is 
 peace. 
 
 Now, as the car jolted her against this kind Gita, 
 his mother, who was snatching her away from Ambry- 
 haunted London streets and squares, Anie felt a blessed 
 numbness, creeping softly as a cloud over her whole 
 jarred and wounded being, melting the arid hardness, 
 seeming to stroke her as with long, flexible, soothing 
 fingers. Ah, she would do well at Wimbledon, she knew 
 it. She came back to hear Gita saying nervously, " To 
 such a country body as I have become, this confusion 
 is simply intolerable." 
 
 They were in the full tide of a late afternoon in the 
 roaring season, their car wedged in a mass of his brother 
 monsters, all engaged alike in chugging, jerking, gur- 
 gling, and expelling nauseous fumes. Gita leaned for- 
 ward to tell Peters that he must turn into a by-way, 
 must carry them around through quiet streets, even if 
 it did make them late for dinner. Presently they were 
 gliding through what appeared, by contrast, the trans- 
 fixed, frozen calm of a city of the dead — merely a 
 pleasant, tranquil thoroughfare, in rather a poor 
 quarter, but quite self-respecting. 
 
70 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " Oh, what a charming sight ! Go slowly, Peters," 
 exclaimed Gita, drawing her companion's attention to 
 a certain dairy shop that you and I know quite well, 
 set up in an old-fashioned house with a large bow- 
 window in which are arranged, with what would seem 
 extraordinary taste to a casual eye, such as Gita's, the 
 milk, the cream, the cheeses on the tiles and in the 
 baskets, the panniers full of eggs, the golden pats of 
 butter, the pots of pinks between the jars, the whole 
 delightful Delia Robbia palette of whites and creams, 
 greens and yellows and blues. 
 
 Anie leaned forward to see better. " What a pretty 
 woman in there, too! Did you see her? What a lark 
 to live in a tiny room and to buy your food here! 
 Everything looks so fresh and spotless. See what good 
 curtains there are at the back windows. Perhaps some 
 one quite nice keeps the little shop as a fad." 
 
 " I wonder," says Mrs. Edmonton. " I must remem- 
 ber the street, and tell Varian to look it Up. He is fond 
 of out-of-the-way, quaint things, and certainly that 
 shop is a jewel. It actually expresses something. The 
 pretty woman inside is doubtless as fresh and sweet as 
 her wares. I like that." She turned to Peters, "As 
 soon as the road is clear, go as fast as we dare." Then 
 to Anie, " Dear child, I am so anxious to install you 
 in my garden, in the sun, with never an idea in your 
 poor little tired head, with nothing to do but to watch 
 the bees, to smell the flowers, and to drink our wonder- 
 ful milk. I feel as if I should like to send in our 
 surplus to that delightful shop to be doled out to sick 
 babies and homeless cats. Do you know, that Is not 
 such a bad idea. We might talk it over with Varian, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 71 
 
 and he could investigate, see the pretty housewife, and 
 make the arrangements." 
 
 " Oh, I am going to be so happy with you, dear Gita," 
 whispered Anie, as the car shot up the shadowy drive 
 to the long, white house, glimmering pale in the evening 
 light, a blur of candles showing hospitably between the 
 misty curtains, good Miss Peet-Byng waiting for them, 
 a little anxiously, at the top of the shallow round of 
 steps. 
 
CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 IT is again the fragrant, tea-filled, twilight hour, the 
 best of all the day, some two weeks after what 
 Quin would call the Adventure of the Match. In 
 handing Varian that necessary implement that day near 
 Oxford Street, Quin, this child of Cloudland, imperfectly 
 fitted into his habit of sandwichman, was put at once 
 into spiritual contact with lives not his own by the 
 mere brushing of young Edmonton's hand against his. 
 And lo, the trail led straight to the little lady in the 
 riding-habit, and to the blond young gentleman, rasped, 
 guilty, and uneasy in his flat in Wilton Place. 
 
 Coming home that evening to find Panta gone up 
 early to his bed, Quin strangled mentally an unreason- 
 ing throb of joy at the thought of Bina alone by the 
 hearth, facing him in that intoxicatingly domestic pos- 
 ture for a blessed hour or more. There, indeed, he 
 found her ready for him, with her warm hand and her 
 kind, fair face. His belated supper was forthcoming, 
 set out on a napkin on a little round table, the tiny pan 
 of toasted cheese one mass of living, golden bubbles. 
 Then ale and a pipe, and his long, slim legs — those steel- 
 like, flexible, muscle-rippling legs of the famous dancer — 
 stretched out before him, with Bina's face, Bina's eyes, 
 Bina's hair, wavering, beckoning, shimmering like a 
 water-pixie's through the pipe smoke's hazy rings. 
 
 So he told her of that chance meeting, and of the 
 giving of the match. 
 
 " Describe him," demanded Bina. 
 
 72 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 73 
 
 " Oh, a charming boy, a year or so younger than our 
 Ambry. I caught the anxious, angry, wounded reflex 
 of his interview with the latter from which he had just 
 rushed blindly away. He, Varian, was killing time be- 
 fore going to meet the little lady. I gathered that his 
 heart is more engaged than he dreams of. While still 
 to the outward eye carrying my board and my fez and 
 my towel suit along our weary beat, the better part of 
 me, lifted by the cloud-current, was presently mounting 
 the steps of a house in Gordon Square in the wake of 
 Varian." 
 
 " Do girls have such liberty? Had she gone there 
 alone to meet Ambry ? " 
 
 " A foolish, romantic, old German governess has 
 winked at the affair, and lends her her sitting-room. 
 My young man, inwardly writhing, asking himself just 
 such questions as you have put, marched upstairs with- 
 out giving his name, Ambry, not he, being expected. 
 
 " The whole interior, you must know, is dull and 
 dim in the extreme, with odd little German woodcuts 
 hung in a string along the wall of the staircase — Sans- 
 Souci as it was a hundred years ago. We know it well, 
 Bina, eh, when we tramped from village fete to village 
 fete, blowing on our fingers when they were cold." 
 
 " Yes, and I remember how you used to buy me a 
 nice, roasted potato to slip in my old rabbit-skin muff 
 to keep my hands warm while yours and Panta's were 
 freezing. — Those old days growing dimmer and dimmer 
 as we become more — Cubical, for Panta cannot use his 
 cloud-current as you do, and I never could." 
 
 " Women rarely do. It is a trick of mental discipline. 
 I have always found it easy." 
 
74 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " But go on with — Varian, do you call him ? " urged 
 Bina, " that nice boy." 
 
 " He is lean and tall, with grey eyes and bright 
 brown hair. He is intensely in earnest, frank, fresh, 
 boyish, chivalrous, in love with the little lady, but too 
 innocently inexperienced to realize what is the matter 
 with him. I gathered, without paying much attention, 
 that he and she are cousins of sorts, their respective 
 mothers being half-sisters. 
 
 " Ambry, callously bent upon shaking off the little 
 Anie, yet, if he were to meet her, knowing himself still 
 sufficiently susceptible to her undeniable charm to weaken 
 in his resolution, pitches upon his young friend Varian 
 as a confidant. Dramatic moment when Varian dis- 
 covers that it is his own cousin who is to be so humiliat- 
 ingly disposed of. Now here comes in a rather curious 
 thing that I do not quite understand myself. Being 
 en rapport with Varian, I know that, at the most heated 
 moment of the conversation in Ambry's rooms, he, 
 Varian, believes himself to have had a vision of Anie 
 as a little girl, supported by two odd, strangely-dressed 
 figures, a man and a woman. Who but you and me, my 
 dear!" 
 
 Bina sat up straight and stared, showing every tra- 
 ditional mark of the liveliest surprise. 
 
 " You and me, Quin ? But how do you know ? " 
 
 "Who else could it be? The fair woman in misty 
 white, with a blue cloak, the man in glittering, diamond- 
 barred tights, with a scrap of a black masque, and a 
 wooden sword — Harlequin to the life, my child. You 
 and I, manifestly, but how did we project ourselves, or, 
 rather, how were we projected by the force of some 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 75 
 
 unknown connexion with the little Anie? To be sure, 
 I had entered her circuit the day before the meeting in 
 Wilton Place, when I caught her as she fell. Then 
 I read off and told you of her letter to this precious 
 Ambry. The circuit must be sufficiently strong between 
 Varian and the little lady (he's in love with her, mind!) 
 for an unconscious projection of herself to be visible 
 to him at a moment of mental excitement, he, of course, 
 being distinctly a sensitive — some Cubes can be aston- 
 ishingly so. The fact that he loves her makes the vibra- 
 tions more active. She, in the projection, drags me in 
 because I had just entered her circuit, and I must have 
 dragged you in because you are ever in mine — my 
 Bina." 
 
 Did Quin permit himself a warmer tone than usual? 
 He seemed to fancy so, and, rather alarmed, puffed 
 furiously for a moment upon his ancient, brown friend. 
 Bina, in that baffling way of the beloved woman, was 
 serenity itself. 
 
 " We may learn more of this later," said she. " I 
 am beginning to be so interested in it. It is much 
 more exciting than reading a story, because you are 
 behind the scenes, seeing and hearing the whole thing 
 hammered and beaten into shape. . . . But what about 
 Varian and his little lady ? " 
 
 " The poor child took it gallantly enough at the 
 moment. She is submerged in the rather overwhelm- 
 ingly thick, but sweet and heady flood of this Ambry's 
 merely physical personality. She struggles to keep her 
 feet, but the memories of him that have burned into 
 her poor little consciousness keep buffeting her, bowling 
 her over, sucking her back. She has fast hold of Vari- 
 
76 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 an's hand now, that young knight having put it very 
 plainly to her that Ambry is hopelessly tired of her, 
 anxious, desirous, nay, brutally bent on never setting 
 eyes on her again if he can help it." 
 
 " How hard for the young thing ! " 
 
 " Yes, it is rather a cold-blooded proceeding, but 
 these Ambrys are a feature of our civilization, and they 
 must be fed frequently with fresh girlish morsels. Some 
 colder, more biting nature will make him heel one of 
 these fine days — but never the Anie type. Our young 
 Varian sees that he must get her out of London, away 
 from the haunted pavements of Wilton Place, and from 
 the too facile opportunities of Gordon Square, so he 
 throws himself and his little wounded friend on his good 
 mother at Wimbledon, who, I imagine, is his willing 
 slave. I can tell you no more, for I grew too physically 
 tired to make the constant effort of concentration neces- 
 sary to expel the current and to receive the ticked-ofF 
 messages. I came to myself — my self of the bathing 
 establishment — to discover that I had distanced all my 
 mates, and was trudging along an interminable, down- 
 at-the-heel street, where every other house or garden 
 gate crookedly bore a dismal To be Let sign, out 
 somewhere near the Regent's Park." 
 
 " Oh, poor Quin ! Why did you do it? " 
 
 " My dear, I was not aware of it at all. I was 
 safe in Gordon Square, in that shady, cool, upper room, 
 with Varian and Anie, both in such dead, youthful ear- 
 nest, side by side upon a shabby sofa. But that con- 
 founded board on my shoulders was heavy by that time, 
 I assure you. I hope some of those forlorn householders, 
 with their unlettable houses on their necks, will slip 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 77 
 
 off some fine day and drown themselves, like eyeless kit- 
 tens, in ' our ' great Bath, newly established in its 
 gilded halls in Victoria Street. Then, poor devils, my 
 long tramp will not have been in vain." , 
 
 Bina laid aside her knitting — an old-fashioned habit 
 she had picked up abroad, good for the long, storm- 
 bound winter evenings by the glowing stove — and looked 
 attentively at her companion. 
 
 " Quin, my friend, you distress me. You work too 
 hard. You must not. This wonderful little shop makes 
 more gold pieces than we have ever had together in our 
 lives. You know that it is our common fund. You 
 know that I could cry to see your eyes as weary as they 
 are to-night. Don't ! " She leaned across and put both 
 hands on the arms of his chair, hemming him in, her 
 dear, kind, fair face, with foolish little motherly wrinkles 
 on the smooth brow, rather too maddeningly near him, 
 especially as he really was fatigued, less master of him- 
 self than usual, the long afternoon in the grip of the 
 cloud-current having induced its inevitable, sharp, 
 physical reaction. 
 
 Pressing his head against the back of his chair, he 
 summoned a smile, as nearly of the everyday variety 
 as he could manage at such short notice, being con- 
 vinced that this was not the moment to show her how 
 moved he was. 
 
 " My dearest girl, your sympathy and care for me 
 are the sweetest things in life." Here he laid a thin, 
 finely-shaped, brown hand upon each of hers, gently 
 detaching them from their hold upon his chair, keeping 
 them in his quietly for a moment, and then putting 
 them back in her lap on top of her knitting. 
 
78 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " I am tired to-night, I confess, but to come back to 
 this little house, to find you here, to sit with you by 
 the hearth, to have you minister to me with — toasted 
 cheese — such cheese ! " he blew an airy kiss, " ah, Bina, 
 Bina, no sandwich-board could be heavy enough to op- 
 press me after that. No, my dear, to be serious, it is 
 not the physical fatigue that takes it out of me. I 
 gave myself up a little too unreservedly this afternoon 
 to our young friend's lives, their predicaments, their 
 emotions. I admit it has worked on me a bit. But 
 this long body of mine, these legs and arms must be 
 exercised rigorously — the endless tramps in the wind 
 and the rain, or the dust and the sun, are what I need. 
 The press and passage of the people, streaming up and 
 streaming down, sending out infinite emotional waves 
 that I catch, if I will, for amusement, or allow to drift 
 by — all this gives to life a certain dim, ever-changing 
 pattern, and I am out, watching for the proper pieces 
 to slip into their places — such colours sometimes — green 
 and bronze and red, red gold — that hover all over it, 
 like an Indian scarf ! " 
 
 He had pushed his chair nearer to her while speak- 
 ing, fixing his eyes on her flying fingers. How the 
 lamplight caught and sparkled on the long, steel needles, 
 on a little, rosy nail ! 
 
 She smiled at him. "You but half convince me, 
 you know, but what chance does poor Columbine ever 
 have against Harlequin? How I love the old names! 
 I shall steal your sword some day and give you a fine 
 drubbing with it when you are not looking. Then, 
 perhaps, you will not wish honest householders to 
 drown themselves like kittens." 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 79 
 
 Quin laughed and felt ten years younger at once. 
 " A foolish desire of mine, that, for it would give the 
 Bath a bad name and then I should no longer be able 
 to foot it gallantly in fez and towelling." He stretched 
 himself with a slow luxuriousness, letting his long 
 length half slide out of the leather chair, that slippery 
 throne of poor Panta, who never can keep his ancient 
 body firmly affixed to its worn cushions. 
 
 Running an idle hand into the pocketlike cavity 
 under one of its arms, Quin drew forth a thin, mis- 
 shapen, blotched volume, bound in defaced, gold-rubbed 
 calf, with a certain fly-specked, weather-beaten air, as 
 though it had worn out weary days and longer nights 
 in some wooden trough, some catchpenny counter of 
 the second-hand man. How many idle, or trembling, or 
 merely soiled fingers had pricked it out, in a moment's 
 curiosity, only to cast it back again, in its poor sixpenny 
 section, with its battered brethren, repelled by the for- 
 bidding obscurity of its title — " The Immortal Gym- 
 nast?" 
 
 How many had conceived it to be a set of rules and 
 directions as to how to comport one's self in the pres- 
 ence of a trapeze, set up, say, in one's back garden ; or 
 a manual to inculcate the right use of the horizontal 
 bars, the Swedish ladder, or what not? These hardy 
 pioneers, interested in Physical Culture — what a fellow 
 can get for himself after shop hours — would pluck it 
 forth eagerly, turn over a few pages, then drop it with 
 a glazing eye, and the almost inevitable use of one or 
 two of those cutting adjectives dear to the tongue of 
 uncultured youth. 
 
 But our friend Pantaloon was never one to be deterred 
 
80 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 by appearances. In a morning stroll on the sweet shady 
 side of — but what does the street matter since it was 
 certainly not Pall Mall? — he was wont to loiter like 
 any other amiable old gentleman, in front of the book- 
 sellers' shops, for the mere pleasure of running his eye 
 over the heterogenous titles of these waifs and strays, 
 these hapless paupers of that Kingdom of Letters where 
 the maimed, the disfigured, the crippled, the blind, nay, 
 even the still-born, are as shamelessly displayed as in 
 any human clinic. 
 
 Being in a fair way of immortality himself, and 
 having a dear and intimate friend and companion who 
 was nothing if not gymnastic, Pantaloon, with quick- 
 ened interest, drew the thin, speckled, mildewed volume 
 from between its two vulgar, blowsy neighbours, and 
 fell to reading it there upon the walk, holding it well up 
 under his nose, as his spectacles were not upon his 
 person. They never were. For ten minutes Panta read 
 on, " The Immortal Gymnast," enjoying the first real 
 triumph of his life since publication. He had " ar- 
 rived," if only to the consciousness of an idle old man, 
 but that was glorious enough recognition after fifty 
 years of baffling, unpremeditated incognito. 
 
 Panta rarely dispensed even so modest a sum as 
 sixpence without one thought, but when this chance 
 opportunity presented itself to acquire such a bestirring 
 chap, so vivid and entertaining, so fresh and strange, 
 once you drew apart his mouldy, speckled covers and 
 listened to his heart beat, our Panta, without the least 
 hesitation, once he had been jostled from his reader's 
 dream by a pushing, outward-bound customer, marched 
 into the tumbled, stale tobacco-haunted shop, dark after 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 81 
 
 the sun on the pavement, and allowed to tinkle down 
 upon the counter the bright, required coin. 
 
 " Oh, that is something Panta picked up yesterday," 
 said Bina in answer to Quin's look of inquiry. " He 
 was full of it at teatime to-day, when you were not here. 
 He says he will read it to us, when he gets a bit farther 
 on in it himself. It is some strange and unknown treatise 
 on the soul, isn't it? Something philosophic? " 
 
 " Manifestly," replied Quin. " In what odd terminol- 
 ogy they swim, these old boys ! " He turned the yellow- 
 ish, crackling leaves. 
 
 Ten quick minutes ticked away. The neglected Bina 
 stifled but imperfectly a skeleton yawn. Quin was all 
 attention at once, stuffing back into its pocket-like cell 
 the history of the immortal one. 
 
 " You poor, sleepy child ! Time to lock up, eh? " 
 
 They stood together while she lighted two candles, 
 and then bent over, with that most charming of feminine 
 curves — the yielding dip at the waist — to blow out the 
 lamp. 
 
 " Good-night," she said, smiling at him, her dark, 
 soft eyes above the candle flame, her small pink hand 
 curved to cherish its smoky flicker. 
 
 " Good-night," he echoed, as she drew open the door 
 that concealed the tiny well of the staircase, putting 
 into that banal refrain, with the warmth of the voice, 
 with the absorption of the eye, as much as he dared of 
 that intense feeling, dammed back as it habitually was, 
 that now rose in him at the sight of this beloved woman 
 going up to bed with her candle in her hand. 
 
CHAPTER SIX 
 
 QUIN being again absent at teatime the following 
 day, it was not until the evening that the three 
 were gathered together in their accustomed 
 places — Panta in the leather chair, armed with his book, 
 absently speeding some stray crumbs off his old striped 
 waistcoat with a forefinger in brisk action with his 
 thumb; Quin, on the floor, his back against the side of 
 the empty fireplace, smoking a cigarette, his famous legs 
 coiled with professional negligence; Bina, in a little 
 rush chair by the lamp, her everlasting knitting in 
 her swiftly-moving hands. 
 
 Presently Panta, who had been dying for an opening, 
 said: 
 
 " This fellow here, in this book, tries to show that 
 it doesn't really matter what kind of people we are — 
 I might just as well be Bina, and Quin might just as 
 well be me." 
 
 " As well as what ? " asked Bina. Panta very prop- 
 erly took no notice of her. How could he? He con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " I should judge this man to be a philosopher, not 
 being one myself. He means that we are really, ulti- 
 mately, all the same thing — gymnasts, he calls us be- 
 cause we turn back on ourselves — that deep-down Us 
 that says ' I am I,' and not another living thing. But 
 when I say, * I am Pantaloon,' that is something different 
 entirely." 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 83 
 
 " So he has two ' I's,' " put in Quin, " one with clothes 
 off and one with clothes on, you, Pantaloon, being the 
 wardrobe, as it were " 
 
 " But it's the strangeness of it all, if it be true," 
 persisted Pantaloon. " And why not ? It seems so far 
 away from the business and the shop, from this little 
 room, from the candles and the lamp, and from — us. 
 But this fellow knows that tremendous things are going 
 on underneath everything all the time. Oh, he sees it 
 as clear as print — an old chap he must have been, dead 
 these fifty years or more." 
 
 " And here we sit, as snug as you please, nothing 
 going around but the hands of the clock," puts in Bina. 
 Quin smiled at her, but addressed Panta : 
 
 " Listen to me, Panta. Let us grant the inside 
 gymnast, all alike for all of us, but what about our 
 outsides, our bodies? How and why do we get them, 
 and why are they all different? Have you got as far 
 as that?" 
 
 The old man sat crumpled up in his chair, with the 
 book sustained on a generous hunch in his waistcoat. 
 
 " These philosopher-chaps don't fit it out so clear 
 and neat as we would make it, Quin," he replied, " if we 
 sat down to write. You can't ever find an answer to a 
 plain question like that, not in so many words. I'll 
 warrant you he'll say something about it later. ' Ex- 
 perience ' is a word he's always using. That means 
 what happens in the world. Now our bodies walk us 
 about this world, so he must put in a bit about how we 
 gymnast-fellows get our bodies, and what they are " 
 
 " But it's all so simple, you foolish men," cried Bina 
 merrily. " If I pinched you, Quin, or kissed you, 
 
84 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 Panta, you wouldn't be asking where your bodies came 
 from " 
 
 " But we'd thank God we had 'em and be quiet," 
 laughed Quin. " Isn't that it? When you feel some- 
 thing, you know it, but when you know something, you 
 don't always feel it, so it doesn't work both ways." 
 
 Bina threw up her hands in mock horror at this 
 fallacious explanation, and, womanlike, sought relief in 
 a material sedative. 
 
 " Let me get your pipe, Quin. You are never your- 
 self when you smoke those foolish little paper-covered 
 bundles." She got up so quickly that beneath her gown 
 you saw her pretty slim ankles and the flash of a bright 
 buckle on her shoe. Her hand went behind the clock, 
 whose hoarse, arrogant tick proclaimed age and in- 
 competency, and reached down to Quin his smoky, 
 brown companion. 
 
 His eyes had never left her, and he continued to fix 
 her fair face through the thin violet wreath that pres- 
 ently arose from the hot heart of his dumb, ignited 
 friend. 
 
 Some twenty minutes passed in this agreeable fashion, 
 Panta reading out a tremendous paragraph now and 
 then, Bina making great play with her slender, steel, 
 domestic weapons, stabbing them remorselessly through 
 the soft, yielding meshes of the grey wool, and Quin — 
 lazy, languid, graceful, virile Harlequin — lying prone 
 upon the rug, so close to Bina that he could have laid 
 a nervous brown hand upon that slim foot in its buckled 
 shoe, did he but have the courage. Instead, he kept 
 both hands carefully behind his head, out of harm's 
 way, gripping his pipe between his firm, white teeth. 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 85 
 
 Presently Panta looked up, struck by their silence. 
 
 " I must say, Bina, my child, that sixpence was well 
 spent. Here we've sat up till — Lord bless my soul! 
 eleven o'clock, and there are chapters and chapters to 
 be gone through yet." Panta closed his famous book 
 with a resounding smack, leaned back like a weary 
 warrior, and prepared himself for the felicitations of 
 his friends. 
 
 " It is wonderfully interesting, Panta dear," beams 
 little sly Bina. " I know I shall not sleep to-night." 
 
 Poor child, she had, after the manner of her sex, con- 
 fused the chaste problems of high philosophy with the 
 vulgar terrors of a psychical research report. But what 
 can a fellow do? 
 
 Quin, uncommonly practical, rose to his feet and went 
 to look for beer. Bina made an hospitable clatter with 
 their evening mugs, and all three drank deep to the 
 health of the immortal gymnast whose hidden activities 
 they had just begun ominously to suspect in their own 
 internal economies — cloud-capped as they knew them- 
 selves to be. 
 
 Panta said good-night, and bundled off up the stairs. 
 The other two lingered for a further chat. Each night 
 they seemed to find it harder to go their separate ways — 
 the cloud-currents drew them more feebly and more 
 feebly, the sweep of the Cubical life in which they were 
 caught became stronger and stronger, hurtling them 
 ever nearer that brink beyond which lies, sunny and 
 simple, shining in the light of common day, the happy 
 destiny of two united Cubes. No more launching out 
 of the soul on the cloud-current, O disfranchised Harle- 
 quin, no more proud withdrawal from the clamour, the 
 
86 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 heat, the dust of this Cubical life that hems you in on 
 every side. No more of that, to be sure, but what in- 
 stead do the gods place in your hands, — a human hearth 
 of your very own, all bright and flamy, fed by human 
 love — whose love but Columbine's, grown at last to be 
 a woman, grown at last to be your wife? And at the 
 end of all, a human death, a sleep and a forgetting. 
 No longer this torpid, semi-immortality that begins now 
 to weigh so irksomely, as you look back drearily 
 through the cloud-piled years. Something like this 
 flashed through Quin's mind as he watched Bina rinse 
 out the mugs and range them neatly on their accus- 
 tomed shelf, he, meanwhile, industriously knocking the 
 ashes out of his pipe to give himself a countenance. 
 But, being Quin, he must needs kick against the mani- 
 fest flow of the earth- current. Figuratively swinging 
 his cloud-cap, he gave battle with the deceptively harm- 
 less and misleading phrase : " I wonder how the little 
 lady likes her haven at Wimbledon? That young Varian 
 is a pleasing lad." 
 
 Bina bit instantly. " I was on the point of asking 
 you about them to-night, when Panta plunged us so 
 deep in his philosophic tub that I, for one, all wet and 
 stringy, couldn't crawl out. But, Quin, can't you tell 
 what they are doing, aren't you still — what do you call 
 it? — en rapport? " 
 
 " No, that's the deuce. I am becoming weaker and 
 weaker. Ages ago I could follow a trail for a month 
 without a fresh scent, but now, like a poor, decrepit, 
 half-blind old hound, I must be put on anew. Until I 
 run across one or other of them again I am as ignorant 
 as any placid Cube." 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 87 
 
 " You know that Varian lives in Cambridge Street — 
 not so far from here. Don't you think the good people 
 of that neighbourhood should be told about the Bath? 
 It is your manifest duty to patrol that street from end 
 to end." 
 
 " Alas," sighed Quin in mock despair, " we poor devils 
 have our inevitable ' beat,' and I am on the Oxford 
 Street gang at this moment. I have a feeling in my 
 bones, however, that I am about to take a bit of a 
 holiday " 
 
 " Really ? " cried Bina, coming close to have a good 
 look at him. " Oh, I am so glad ! Your poor eyes are 
 tired, tired, tired." 
 
 " Nonsense, my good child. But the fact is, I must 
 have some hard work in a gymnasium. It's noblesse 
 oblige with me not to let these legs and arms stiffen. 
 There are some new dances hovering in my fancy that 
 I want to work out, and when I have them well started, 
 we'll do them together here. But how do you, my dear 
 Bina, keep yourself as supple as a willow-wand, while 
 your poor Harlequin gets so shaky and old? " 
 
 "Ladling new milk, filling baskets and jars, unpack- 
 ing eggs, and flying from door to window, from counter 
 to shelf, fifty times a day," laughed Bina, wreathing 
 her arms above her head, and swaying her young body 
 in one of her old-time " movements." 
 
 " Charmin'," said Quin between his teeth, staring at 
 the wall beyond her. 
 
 " As for you calling yourself old and stiff," con- 
 tinued Bina, " that is simply a brazen and abandoned 
 attempt to extract compliments from me. Well, since 
 you must have your sugar-plum, here it is : I give you 
 
88 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 my word that I have never seen a more delightfully 
 graceful line and pattern than you coiled your won- 
 derful legs into this very night, sitting on the floor, 
 with your back to the fireplace. That is by no means 
 an easy thing to do, either, and you had been tramping 
 with that horrid sandwich-board all day. Oh, when 
 are you going to give up the old thing and start your 
 practice? Do it at once. I am wild to begin." Her 
 eyes shone like stars, her soft hair seemed to ruffle itself 
 into an airy crown, her whole little person quivered up- 
 ward like a dancing flame. 
 
 " Patience, carita" cried Quin, U we mustn't let the 
 old life carry us away again. We are sober house- 
 holders now, not tripping it at the fair. We must go 
 slowly. . . . How beautiful you always were when you 
 danced! Oh, Bina, Bina, this won't do. Give me my 
 candle, and let me carry my weary old bones up to bed. 
 To-day is Friday. A week from to-morrow I resign 
 from the sandwich corps, despite the passionate remon- 
 strances that I feel sure will burst from the lips of 
 the commanding officer. Thus do I cut short a promis- 
 ing, if not lucrative, career." 
 
 Quin had succeeded in escaping from the dangerously 
 sweet, dangerously emotional atmosphere that seemed 
 to hang about the quiet, brown, smoky room, simply 
 because Bina, suddenly becoming a starry Columbine, 
 had chosen to dance across it on the tips of highly- 
 trained toes. No more to-night. 
 
 He would not let her blow out the lamp, but sent her 
 upstairs ahead of him, and performed that last, mystic, 
 domestic rite himself. 
 
CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 ON her first night at Wimbledon, Anie shivered 
 down into her great, white bed, pulling her blue 
 bedgown up about her in a trembling, nervous 
 chill. Gita had been good to her, and the whole quiet 
 house, with its halls, its galleries, its large, square 
 saloons, set about with such deep, inviting chairs, such 
 somnolent sofas, seemed to hold out comfortable mother- 
 arms to the girl who had never felt the pressure of a 
 similar embrace. Nevertheless, here she was lying, 
 chattering her poor teeth, biting her lips to keep back 
 the sobs, drawing up the miserable little icy feet into 
 the folds of her gown. She would not think of London, 
 of a London at this midnight hour, waking, turning out 
 of its drowse, hanging itself with streamers of light, 
 rolling out crimson carpets, opening windows on balcony 
 and garden to let in the warm, scented air — because you 
 become so hot when you dance. It was the night of 
 Lady Juliet's cotillion. Estelle had a new gown for 
 it, something green and very tight. Anie held her 
 hands over her eyes, pressing the throbbing eyeballs. 
 Between the red and blue sparks, revolving like des- 
 perate demon-driven wheels, she could see Ambry quite 
 plainly coming up the staircase, with that high head 
 she knew so well each trick of, with those bold, full 
 charming eyes, looking past Lady Juliet, tired and 
 distinguished, with a splendid diamond crown too heavy 
 for her — looking past his hostess, ruthlessly, definitely, 
 
90 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 with a vivid intent and purpose, but looking for what? 
 For a tall girl with curling, red lips and dark eyes, her 
 flexible waist and long, slender, beautifully shaped legs 
 bound in the tight green sheath of satin, recognizable 
 by an initiate as the latest thing in ball-gowns, but re- 
 calling, to a detached observer, nothing so much as 
 the delicate wrappings of certain flower-stalks. . . . 
 Estelle ! 
 
 " Now I must stop, I must stop," murmurs Anie, 
 sitting up in bed. " I must hold tight to Varian and 
 to what he told me. I wish I were proud. I wish I 
 could feel outraged and insulted. Estelle would, in 
 my place, but such a thing could never happen to her." 
 A tiny star of a nightlight wavered and trembled in 
 the whispering current of air from the large, black 
 night-pools framed in each of the opened windows. The 
 small white figure, trailing its billowy garment, let itself 
 down from the high bed, moved quickly, with bare, 
 cold feet, without the slightest noise, to a great 
 wardrobe, opened it gently, drew out a dressing-bag, 
 fumbling among the gold-stoppered vials. . . . Back 
 in bed, with those innocent-looking white pellets in your 
 hand. There, between your fingers, you hold dreams 
 and forgetfulness. You hold the keys to sleep, to 
 delicious, indescribable sensations that steal away your 
 pain, your soreness, all the fever of your wounded soul. 
 Should she take them now instead of fighting? The 
 time until dawn would seem so long, so hag-ridden, lying 
 here alone in the great bed, in the strange room, in the 
 silent old house. No roar of London in that whispering, 
 flower-sweet breeze from the shrub-filled garden; no 
 rattle of distant cabs, no hoarse gurgling of the motor 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 91 
 
 as it sets you down in Belgrave Square. Estelle would 
 dance till sunrise. How lovely the light always looked 
 across the great feathery trees as you drive home down 
 Park Lane ! He would be close to Estelle and to cross, 
 sleepy mamma, saying good-night before striking off for 
 Wilton Place. He liked the walk — the cool morning air 
 after a hot dance. . . . 
 
 She threw herself back on her pillows, and held the 
 white pellets to her mouth. Only swallow them, and in 
 two minutes London and Ambry, Ambry and Estelle 
 would fade and dwindle and perish, wiped away from 
 your consciousness, painlessly, deliciously, as if by a 
 large, moist sponge of exquisite, icy freshness. But the 
 child still had some fight left in her. She dropped her 
 closed hand on the bed. She wrenched her mind away 
 from its obsession, and remembered where she was — in 
 Varian's house, in Varian's mother's house — that kind, 
 gentle Gita who had kissed her good-night with her soft 
 mouth — how many hours ago was that? Oh, ages! 
 To-morrow Varian would be down. How could she meet 
 him as she knew she would be — sallow, heavy-eyed, 
 broken, and fidgety, because the after-effects of the drug 
 never really wore off till towards night ? It was cowardly 
 to take it. If she fought now, she would be stronger 
 next time. She was doing it for Varian's sake. This 
 was Varian's house, Varian's mother's house. She re- 
 peated this sentence over and over, making a mystical 
 little sing-song tune of it, the words limping through 
 her tired brain, losing their meaning on the way. . . . 
 How deliciously drowsy she was beginning to feel ! How 
 cool and soft the air ! It was blowing straight in on her 
 forehead, blowing in — blowing in — blowing into Varian's 
 
93 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 mother's house. The little head sank lower and lower, 
 its coils of dark hair streaming out on either side of 
 the indentation in the pillow. In her sleep, the closed 
 hand uncurled, the white pellets rolled unheeded out of 
 the rosy palm. What a hunt she had for them in the 
 morning, waking up fresh and clear-eyed, thirsty for 
 her cup of tea ! It was a rush to be dressed by ten when 
 good Miss Peet-Byng was to show her the garden. 
 Before she went down, however, she emptied a cer- 
 tain little vial, holding dangerous keys to dangerous 
 pleasures, into the wood fire that had been lighted 
 in the lacquer dressing-room to take off the morning 
 chill. 
 
 The broad, shallow stairs lead you, with a proper 
 stately bend, into the large hall, furnished and used as 
 an antechamber. Several good French chairs are drawn 
 up near low tables, each carrying its reading-lamp; 
 bookcases have been fitted in at the sides of the fire- 
 place, and mellow lines of gilded calf meet the eye 
 pleasantly, their classic ranks broken at just the right 
 intervals by bold blocks of jaunty, yellow-uniformed 
 soldiers of fortune from across the Channel. Glass 
 doors and French windows open at the front on the 
 rounded steps of the portico and the long, green, park- 
 like vista of the drive ; at the rear, on the flagged ter- 
 race, cut into bricked steps that fall steeply away to 
 the gardens, the rose-alleys, the shrub tunnels, the box 
 bosquets, shimmering, odorous and aromatic, gold and 
 crimson, white and mauve and orange under the summer 
 sun. 
 
 Anie, looking like a child in a blue linen frock, 
 found Miss Peet-Byng waiting for her, nervously 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 93 
 
 twisting a pair of garden scissors in her long, gouty 
 fingers. 
 
 " Did you sleep well, my dear ? " she asked, a gen- 
 uine, gentle interest in what she was saying lending 
 dignity to the banal phrase. 
 
 " Better than for nights and nights. I love your 
 wonderful air blowing in on my face. And Aunt Gita? 
 Have you seen her this morning? " 
 
 " Oh, no, she does not see anyone till luncheon, but 
 she never forgets to send me a little pencilled scrawl, 
 saying that all is well with her." You were aware that 
 the faithful Peet-Byng treasured these flying slips, 
 regarding their bestowal in the light of an accolade 
 from her sovereign. Good, faithful, gouty Peetybee! 
 Her boy would be down this afternoon, and, her heart 
 singing as it beats, she takes his pale little cousin in 
 tow with more than her usual tremulous anxiety to 
 shelter and to be of service. 
 
 " Shall we go out in the garden now? I will take a 
 basket, in case you may want to pick anything, and the 
 scissors." While talking, the good lady was busily 
 pinning on her head, well over her eyes, a large, black 
 hat shaped like an inverted porridge-bowl. 
 
 "Hat?" she murmured interrogatively, looking at 
 the beautiful dense cloud of the girl's hair. 
 
 " No ; one of these sunshades, if I may," replied Anie, 
 picking out a big, flat, green one with a charming bam- 
 boo stick. 
 
 " A book, too ? " suggests Miss Peet-Byng, " for 
 when I have once settled you, you won't want me 
 pottering about." Her eye caught a small volume that 
 had slipped behind a cushion in one of the chairs. 
 
94 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " The very thing to talk to Varian about this after- 
 noon. He left it here last week. Shall I bring it 
 along ? " 
 
 Anie smiled her unnecessary assent. So she must 
 pretend to be interested in this cadaverous sixteenth- 
 century Toledan painter, since Varian evidently was. 
 The girl visibly brightened, as they stepped out on the 
 terrace, for what youthful ache could withstand that 
 charming garden scene, lawn upon lawn, flower-carpet 
 upon flower-carpet, originally planned in the French 
 style, but allowed by a later, whimsical, feminine 
 taste to be invaded, to be cut into, to be revolutionized 
 by impudent creepers, by irregular beds, by straggling 
 cones of undipped shrubs, by all the natural aids to a 
 mimic wilderness that English soil and English damp- 
 ness provide with such ungrudging prodigality? Not 
 Anie's for one. 
 
 They stood together for a moment before descending 
 the first series of yellowish, moss-covered, weed-invaded 
 steps. 
 
 " Here you may think green thoughts in a green 
 shade," put in Bee shyly, as the girl did not speak. 
 " There is scarcely any prospect, but who wants a view 
 nowadays? One can get that almost vulgarly any- 
 where. But it has taken a hundred and fifty years of 
 careful clipping to produce that lime tunnel. It is too 
 shady and damp there now, in the morning, before the 
 sun strikes it. There are some nice basket chairs near 
 the Bois, behind the calceolarias. I could tuck you in 
 there." 
 
 They walked on slowly, Anie twirling her parasol on 
 her shoulder, stopping to press her little nose against 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 95 
 
 the great sun-warmed roses, petal upon petal luxuriously 
 uncurling at this moment of perfect maturity. 
 
 " How like a theatre for a pastoral ! " exclaimed 
 Anie, as they came at last from behind a clump of 
 beeches upon an oval stretch of level turf, backed by 
 the wood they called the Bois — a thicket of young 
 trees, clipped and trained into the similitude of a high 
 dense wall of greenery in which some three, semi- 
 circular, doorlike openings had been cut to lead the 
 charmed eye down as many tapering sea-green twilight 
 vistas to the customary terme at the end — Bacchus with 
 his wineskin, a Faun with his pipes, Meleager with his 
 hound — those delightful garden subjects of doubtful 
 merit that we all know so well, and yet that come upon 
 us anew, in each fresh arrangement, with that little 
 shock of pleasure in their inevitable fitness that is 
 the surest test of the ultimate sanity of Le Notre's 
 schemes. 
 
 Anie discovered herself a willing victim to this green 
 magic. 
 
 " What a duck of a place ! " she breathed, lifting 
 eyes less stained with violet, moving softer and redder 
 lips. 
 
 Peetybee beamed. " I knew you would like it. Your 
 Aunt Gita found nothing better than this in Italy, I am 
 sure. It would be the very place for a midsummer- 
 night's play. Such charming exits and entrances as 
 one could make, flitting in and out of those little green 
 archways. Stay here a moment, my dear, while I draw 
 your chair nearer the cedar." 
 
 " But what are these extraordinary flowers, Miss 
 Peet-Byng? " Anie bent over a curious, deep, wedge- 
 
96 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 shaped bed that had apparently pushed itself into the. 
 left corner of the semicircle formed by the Bois. 
 
 " Oh, those are the calceolarias," replied Peetybee 
 rather indistinctly, engaged as she was in struggling 
 with a basket chair that seemed endowed with a wholly 
 malicious, half-human determination to cling to the 
 soil with all four of its foolish, knoblike, wicker feet. 
 
 Anie gazed a trifle disdainfully at the bed, remember- 
 ing the warm, soft, odorous roses, for these curious 
 flowers, shaped like a witch's pocket, have a certain 
 repellent, sinister, animal look about them. With their 
 swollen pendulous lips they might be secret poison-bags 
 into which small, night-hawking creatures might dip 
 tongue or snout. In the mass, what earthy, twilight 
 colours they show! They run to dull browns, to ashy 
 violets, and to all the tones of clay, each blossom blotched 
 and freckled with spots of orange or of golden bronze, 
 almost like an eruption of disease. 
 
 " Horrid things 1 " said Anie, " they make me shiver." 
 She turned away, furling her green sunshade as she 
 spoke. 
 
 " Stick this in your frock as an antidote," said Bee, 
 handing the girl a long sprig of heliotrope. " It always 
 seems to me to be the flower of our grandmothers. It 
 is fresh and faded at the same time. If one may so 
 express one's self about an odour, I should be tempted 
 to call the perfume of heliotrope plaintive. Did you 
 ever think of it in that way ? " Peetybee lifted the 
 basket into which she had thrown some clippings of the 
 flower in question, with its flannelly leaves, its char- 
 acteristic dashes of rust-brown among the violet. 
 
 " May I put it down on the grass beside me ? " asked 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 97 
 
 Anie, looking up. " Yes, so. How comfy this chair is 
 with little rests for my feet 1 " 
 
 "Are you quite sure you will not be bored here? 
 Shall I send out a light wrap? Why didn't I think of 
 it? " gently fussed Peetybee, patting and pulling Anie's 
 linen gown, laying for an instant on the girl's beautiful 
 head those gouty fingers with their marvellously tender 
 touch. 
 
 " Dear Miss Peet-Byng, I have everything I need. 
 I am deliciously lazy. I shall sun myself here like a 
 pussy-cat." 
 
 " I am so glad. I will send word to you a half- 
 hour before luncheon, when we meet in the breakfast- 
 room." 
 
 " What time will Varian be here? " asked Anie, know- 
 ing that she would feel safer when she saw him, better 
 able to keep down certain cravings, to give fiercer battle 
 to the Children of the Pit once he held her hand in his 
 cool, firm grasp. 
 
 Bee's face softened admirably, with the wistful 
 motherliness of elderly, childless women. 
 
 " My old boy," she said, quaintly unconscious of the 
 rather rollicking sound of the phrase. " He always 
 tries for the 2.10. That brings him here just when we 
 are idling over the fruit in the Green Saloon after 
 luncheon. Gita dislikes sitting long at table, and we 
 always move before our dessert, our fruit, or our coffee, 
 preferably into the room you saw last night. It is called 
 green on account of those little parrots in the pattern 
 of the paper. To be sure one scarcely notices them. 
 But how I ramble on ! Good-bye, my dear." 
 
 Anie watched the tall, lean figure, trailing its full, 
 
98 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 old-fashioned black silk skirts across the close-cropped 
 grass. 
 
 Languidly at first, then more boldly, more vigorously, 
 her jarred and fatigued senses were captured by those 
 airy garden sprites that lie in wait for us in all shady, 
 tranquil spots, hanging rosy shades before our eyes, 
 ringing faint, far, dizzying, flower-bell music in our 
 ears, stupefying us gently with odours as spicy as the 
 East, brushing our lips with golden honeydrops, tying 
 our idle hands with gossamer ribbons, binding our weary 
 feet with cool, mossy sandals. So we lie there, in their 
 power, believing ourselves, nevertheless, to be quite free 
 agents, although uncommonly disinclined to move, and 
 rather sleepy. 
 
 Varian, meanwhile, in Cambridge Street, with rumpled 
 hair and nervous eye, was furiously engaged at his 
 writing-table, numbering and checking up his proofs, 
 pasting thereon those little slips in his small, close hand- 
 writing, managing his tools — his ink, his scissors, his 
 paste — with an energy born of a restless night, the 
 consciousness of neglected work, and a certain very 
 definite determination to reach Wimbledon as early as 
 possible. 
 
 The afternoon before he had sat idly here, as it drew 
 on toward six o'clock, imaginatively intent upon his 
 mother's interview with Lady Cassock. Would she 
 come down presently with that pale girl tucked under 
 her protecting arm? He realized now, for the first 
 time, how much he had counted on the success of his 
 plan for removing Anie from London. What a fool 
 he had been not to ask his mother to telegraph him! 
 As she refused all intercourse with a telephone, and 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 99 
 
 refused to have one installed in the house, he could not 
 " get" her in that way. But if she had been baulked 
 of Anie, she would have come around here to him. 
 She had not done so, therefore all was well. He felt 
 too engrossed in his own affairs to be able to work 
 with any insight upon those of the vague little 
 Siennese genius he was at that moment supposed 
 to be cutting out from Simone Martini's puzzling 
 shadow. 
 
 He fidgeted at the window. The heavy, golden, 
 dust-laden London air hung in the gently-swaying tops, 
 of the trees in the Square. He had become too restless 
 to kick about his rooms. He felt suddenly bored to 
 intensity with his surroundings. At that moment he 
 desired ardently never to see again that heavily-laden 
 table, those notebooks, the lamp, the rug, the fire- 
 place, the photographs. He would walk it off. So 
 through that long, misty, incomparably soft twilight 
 he idled down one long street after another, making 
 mechanically for the river, coming out upon it near 
 Battersea Bridge. He leaned on the parapet near a 
 man in brown velveteens, and let the greasy, grey-green 
 flood carry him away to that sparkling sea wherein 
 you embark in any fanciful, golden galley that hap- 
 pens to take your eye, each one ready manned and 
 provisioned for no matter what mad, youthful quest. 
 The potent smoke from the ancient pipe of the in- 
 dividual in velveteen beginning to steal rather too 
 insistently over Varian's senses — it was perfectly good 
 tobacco, only somewhat stronger than you cared to 
 smoke yourself — Varian hailed a loitering taxi, and, 
 healthy appetite sending no uncertain message, he was 
 
100 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 presently facing a very complete little meal in a quiet 
 place he knew of. 
 
 Several hours later, digging his pillows savagely be- 
 cause they were too soft and too hot — sleepless, rest- 
 less, nervous, Varian told himself that he had eaten too 
 much. Perhaps he had; but that was not the reason 
 for his white night. Down at Wimbledon, in a large, 
 cool, shadowy room, was there a small, dark head on 
 the pillow? Was Anie sleeping in his mother's house? 
 Was she dreaming of Ambry — confound him! — with 
 the tears drying on her lashes? The boy lay still, 
 with his arms folded, thinking of her intently, of the 
 girl who, at that very moment, had seemed to catch 
 hold of his hand, to beg him to help her, there in 
 Wimbledon, to fight a little longer. . . . Could he help 
 her without knowing it? It seemed so, for he, too, 
 there in London, had fallen asleep just as those small 
 fingers had relaxed enough to allow certain innocent- 
 looking white pellets to roll out upon the sheet. 
 
 Anie was in the act of making a feeble dash at an 
 obstinate and intrusive bee, when Varian came up 
 quickly behind her, and laid firm, friendly hands for an 
 instant on her shoulders. 
 
 "How much more than jolly to find you here!" he 
 exclaimed, throwing himself on the grass by the side 
 of her chair. " Let me look at you. How did you 
 sleep? Did they make you comfortable? Peetybee 
 loves you already." He clasped his knees with his 
 hands, and looked her over carefully. Yes, the cheeks 
 were a shade less pale, the violet smudges around the 
 eyes less dark. It was working. He felt, at once, 
 singularly boyish and happy, if not slightly silly. As 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS, , , 101. 
 
 a matter of fact, in this mood, he was more than ever 
 Van Dyck's Young Wharton. 
 
 Anie smiled at him. " Oh, Varian, your mother and 
 the house ! I have the lacquer dressing-room " — he 
 nodded, as if he knew she would — " and Peetybee, and 
 the garden, and this identical wicker chair, are the 
 most delightfully good and comfortable things, I feel 
 hundreds of miles away from London. But," sitting 
 up and dragging her scant linen frock down to her 
 ankles, " are you not down earlier than you expected 
 to be? Oh, Varian, don't tell me that they forgot to 
 send for me and that I have missed my luncheon! I 
 am so hungry. I could eat this — parasol. You see, 
 it is just the colour of lettuce." 
 
 They laughed with the happy ease of youth. Varian 
 jumped up, gathered together her belongings, sniffing 
 at the basket of heliotrope, so that Anie gave him her 
 own particular spray. He said it was all the better for 
 being undeniably and shamelessly wilted. 
 
 " You behold in me," he announced, " the messenger 
 Peetybee promised you when luncheon should begin to 
 loom large upon the domestic horizon. They told me 
 an hors d'oeuvre had been signalled as I came in. How 
 jolly it is to have you here with mother! " 
 
 Varian's vocabulary dwindled when he became emo- 
 tional, as he was apt to when he looked at Anie, but 
 his tone and his glance provided all the commentary 
 necessary. 
 
 The little lady evidently thought so, not being a great 
 talker herself. They snipped roses recklessly on the 
 way to the house, because Varian said they were lovely 
 in her arms against her blue frock, so obedient Anie 
 
102 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 clasped a soft, fragrant, somewhat prickly pink mass 
 upon her breast in order to please his eye. 
 
 " Look, Bee, there they come," said Gita, standing 
 on the terrace, dressed in some cream-coloured stuff, 
 all delicate loops and drooping folds and embroidered 
 scallops, in a mode quite peculiar to herself, but very 
 graceful and becoming. 
 
 " How are you, dear? Ready for something to eat? 
 You slept? You were comfortable? Page wasn't too 
 stupid and countrified ? " She moved forward with her 
 languid step to hold the girl's chin lightly in her cool 
 fingers, smiling at her with soft,' dark, myopic eyes. 
 Varian put his arm around his mother, and the three 
 stood thus linked for a moment. 
 
 " I have been telling Varian how beautiful every- 
 thing is, and how sweet you are to me. In London — " 
 the girl drew a long breath of relief — " I felt as if I 
 were attaced to a wire, that some horrid ogre jiggled 
 and twiddled till I danced to his tune. But here, in 
 this lovely garden, where it is so quiet, with nothing 
 but roses and bees, I feel as if I could go to sleep so 
 happily for a hundred years." 
 
 They had been moving slowly in the direction of the 
 house while Anie was speaking, and now Varian and 
 his mother exchanged a glance of camaraderie over her 
 innocent head. Gita was pleased that her boy's little 
 plot was succeeding so well, and Varian's heart seemed, 
 as it beat, to melt into myriad-coloured dancing waves 
 that would give you that choky feeling in your throat, 
 if you let them wash up too high. 
 
 Bee marched them into the breakfast-room, wishing 
 that she could express her pleasure in her boy's early 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 103 
 
 arrival by the fabrication of some astounding dish. 
 But it was too late for that now. Nevertheless, one 
 did not get such strawberries every day. She threw a 
 satisfied glance at their grotesquely swollen forms on 
 their cushion of bright leaves, in their sumptuous Vene- 
 tian barca, 
 
 " Let us take our fruit in the Green Saloon," said 
 Gita, when the more workmanlike portion of the meal 
 had been disposed of. " One becomes so tired of sitting 
 up straight. You may smoke, Varian. Does Anie?" 
 
 " Oh, no ; mamma and Estelle do, but it makes my 
 lips puff up, and I really do not care for it. Do you, 
 Gita?" 
 
 " Occasionally, when I have a headache." 
 
 Varian settled his mother on her sofa with its large, 
 pale pomegranate silk cushions. Her fragile figure, 
 half-submerged in its cream batiste, had the effect of 
 some ailing or wounded bird, lying there in its white 
 ruffled plumage. 
 
 Varian kissed her hand. Peetybee had disappeared 
 on some dark, domestic errand of her own, and Anie 
 wandered about the room, examining the little green 
 parrots that clawed their fantastic way up the wall- 
 paper, reappearing again, but subdued, de-parrotized, 
 as it were, in the pattern of the hangings. 
 
 " How is the Simone Martini coming on ? " inquired 
 Gita. 
 
 Varian wrinkled a placid brow. " Rather scrubbily. 
 It is awfully hard digging. Fortescue put us on the 
 trail, but there is next to nothing to go on. We don't 
 even know the little man's name, so we call him Martini 
 fi, like a submarine. But his work is certainly there. 
 
104 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 You catch his touch every once and a while, oh, un- 
 mistakably. He was very personal, with curious little 
 tricks that Martini never had. For one thing, you 
 notice the extraordinary way he saw and painted heels. 
 He may have had an odd one himself " 
 
 " And people teased him about it," suggested Anie, 
 sidling up to lean on the back of Gita's sofa. " I know 
 about that myself, for everyone says my heels are too 
 small — horrid, bootmaker people, I mean." 
 
 " Martini /3 would have pleased them then," re- 
 turned Varian, " for his are always too big. He paints 
 them, in profile, with a straight, almost square protu- 
 berance. But it places him, by Jove." 
 
 " This new method of detective criticism that you 
 young people are launched on bristles with pitfalls, it 
 seems to me," said his mother. " You build up a most 
 imposing scaffolding on the flimsiest of foundations, 
 and we ignorant ones are supposed to stand about, 
 moonstruck, open-mouthed, and swallow you whole. 
 Indigestible, stony morsels you make sometimes, I must 
 confess. Is this what they want in London, this Frank- 
 ensteinlike fabrication of an ancient Siennese, who, 
 doubtless, never existed save in Rossiter Fortescue's 
 restless brain? I should like to take all you over- 
 subtle young men and bury you — oh, not together, for 
 you would talk interminably — but separately in some 
 tiny Apennine villages I know of, to live as the peasants, 
 to dig in that rich, old earth, to breathe that golden air, 
 to eat that coarse food " 
 
 " Garlic ! " murmured Varian, with a tragic gesture, 
 " thou Spartan mother ! " 
 
 " — and to throw yourself on your back at night, too 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 105 
 
 healthily tired and beaten to spin theories. After six 
 months of that you would have a glimpse of the true, 
 living Italy — the same that bred Martini, and then, 
 perhaps, your criticism would be human, vital, vigorous, 
 blood-filled, not the anaemic, microscopic, patient, pid- 
 dling, antlike kind of the present day." 
 
 Gita, interested in her theme, smiling, animated, 
 raised herself on her pillows to find her hands im- 
 prisoned in Varian's, his eager young face close to hers. 
 
 " Bravo, maman, you did that splendidly. Now will 
 you kindly be so good as to tell me where you stole 
 your thunder? What Olympian, in other words, has 
 been tearing Rossiter up the back? The hounds of 
 winter are on spring's traces — that plays the deuce 
 with the metre, but makes my meaning clear — those 
 old wintry — spaniels the   Friday Review ' keeps 
 chained up in its editorial office to snap and yap at 
 our young champion who goes out a-tilting with vine- 
 leaves in his hair. Fortescue for ever ! What have you 
 been reading? Confess! You know you were the dear- 
 est, most interested little person last week when I told 
 you about the work, and now — before Anie, too, by 
 Jove! — you let fly a deadly dart at your only son. 
 Where, oh where is that 'Friday Review'? I could 
 swear they have been at it again. Come, be a woman, 
 confess ! " 
 
 Rosy, laughing like a girl, Gita parries his arms, 
 only to fall into them at last. 
 
 " Oh, my child, how you make your old mother's 
 heart beat! Perhaps I may as well tell you that 
 Blackfoot has, as it happens, a little notice in the 
 1 Review ' " 
 
106 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 "Ha, ha, so it's he, is it — that ancient, hoary man? 
 Speak up, cara mia, do you believe in your Varian 
 again? " 
 
 How charming they were together, thought poor 
 Anie, a forlorn little beggar at love's gates. A crush- 
 ing nostalgia came over her, for a mother's arms like 
 Gita's, a brother's arms like Varian's. She resolutely 
 shut out what Ambry's arms might have been. She 
 could not bear that yet. Would they never look at 
 her? A little more and a tear would run down her 
 nose, she felt sure. As she slipped away from behind 
 the sofa, Varian, catching her eye, noted the droop 
 of the young shoulders, the significance of that bent 
 head. 
 
 Heavens, what a fool he had been making of him- 
 self! Poor child, she was very sore still, and must be 
 tended, oh, so gently. He would have liked, in pure 
 brotherliness, to put his cheek against hers. She 
 needed petting. He must see that she got it some- 
 where. Here Gita began to use some motherly intui- 
 tion. Snuggling her slender body deeper into the wide, 
 old sofa, she made a soft nest in front of her, within 
 the scope of her arms, to which she drew the small, 
 forlorn, blue figure that had wandered off to recom- 
 mence a rather blurred examination of those hateful 
 parrots. 
 
 " Come here, Anie dear, I want to look at you. 
 Sit down. See, I have made heaps of room." She 
 pulled the girl gently to her and clasped her hands 
 around her waist. Varian sat on a stool and smiled at 
 her. So little Anie became warm and almost happy 
 again, expanding in the deep, fresh, tranquil atmos- 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 107 
 
 phere in which these two, this mother and son, had 
 their spiritual being. 
 
 " Mother, tell us what we are to play at this after- 
 noon, Anie and I," began Varian, twiddling a scallop 
 of his parent's gown. 
 
 " So I have two babes on my hands to amuse, have 
 I? We must consult your Peetybee, who is a mine of 
 information as to innocent sports. Do you want the 
 car? " 
 
 Anie made a little face. 
 
 "So that's settled. She won't play that," said 
 Varian. "What next? Tennis would tire her small 
 chest, and " 
 
 Anie leaned forward with her hair in her eyes, look- 
 ing amazingly like the child who used to hang around 
 him at Crops, with her stick of an arm hooked in his, 
 and her general leggy look of a young colt. 
 
 "Did you think of Crops, then, Varian?" said she. 
 
 " I did, but how did you know? " 
 
 " Because I saw in your eye that you were saying 
 to yourself — ' Years ago, at Crops, I used to go out to 
 a green bench in the thicket in the garden with some 
 big, wise book, and out of it I used to read — oh, 
 for hours — to the quietest, the most intelligent of 
 little girls ' — which was — me! " ended Anie triumph- 
 antly. 
 
 Gita squeezed her gently and laughed. " There you 
 are, Varian. She has settled it for herself. Take 
 cushions out to the cedars. That is the best spot 
 for the early afternoon. The chairs are already 
 there. Then at four, or half-past, come round to the 
 Bois, where tea and Bee and I will be awaiting you." 
 
108 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 "Won't you come with us now?" asked Anie, "or 
 must you lie down? " 
 
 " Oh, no, but I have a thousand odd little ravellings 
 to pick up, and a regiment of unanswered letters is 
 manoeuvring all over my writing-table " 
 
 " She does not love us, Anie," remarked Varian 
 solemnly, getting to his feet. " You were the shocked 
 young female spectator only a few moments ago of how 
 she turned on me — O savage mamma ! We won't whine 
 for her favours, not we. What shall the book be? 
 You choose. Something venerable, and not too excit- 
 ing, please, so that you will feel like interrupting in the 
 middle of every page to talk to me. I enjoy being 
 talked to. Come, speak out ! " He menaced, with a 
 would-be ferocious eye, the pretty entwined pair on the 
 sofa. 
 
 " Tell me something, Gita," urged Anie. 
 
 " Ah, yes, that reminds me," replied Gita. " Varian, 
 hand me that package on the table. No, the one behind 
 the screen. This is something that Raoul has just sent 
 over from Paris — a catalogue raisonne of some Japa- 
 nese drawings, eighteenth century. See, they are really 
 quite charming. Would that amuse you ? " looking up 
 at her children standing obediently in front of her. 
 
 " The very thing," said Anie, while Varian tucked 
 the book under his arm. " A bientot, maman" kissing 
 her hand. 
 
 " Oh, wait one moment," cried Gita, as they reach 
 the door. " Anie dear, do you remember that we meant 
 to tell Varian of that delightful milk-and-cream shop 
 arranged so beautifully, the eggs in their little plaited 
 baskets, all of it so fresh and sweet? " 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 109 
 
 " When did you see it? " 
 
 " When Anie and I were leaving Belgrave Square 
 yesterday afternoon. But what was the name of the 
 street ?" 
 
 " It was some title, wasn't it, Gita? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, Countess — Countess Street. Do you hap- 
 pen to know it, Varian? " 
 
 " Vaguely, I think. I have patrolled that neighbour- 
 hood rather thoroughly at one time and another. But 
 what am I to do with the shop? Go in and buy an egg 
 to eat with my tea ? " 
 
 " You must hunt it up," said Anie, " because in 
 the back windows — it is a little house, you know — 
 there are such odd curtains, and I saw a very pretty 
 woman waiting on the shop. We are sure it is not an 
 ordinary place at all." 
 
 " So I am to go to Countess Street, ogle the curtains 
 from across the road, and the fair dairymaid at closer 
 quarters " 
 
 " Exactly," said his mother, " and, to break the ice, 
 you are to say that you have a foolish little parent 
 whose extraordinary cows give more excellent milk than 
 she knows what to do with, and that you are on the 
 look-out for a philanthropic and intelligent dairymaid 
 (here, I leave it to you to intimate that you see before 
 you the embodiment of this ideal), who, for a considera- 
 tion, will receive our daily surplus and dole it out to 
 deserving, poor, skinny, unwholesome London cats, and 
 to the same type of underfed babes of the neighbour- 
 hood. What do you think of that for a scheme? " 
 
 "Ripping, really," cried Varian. "I'll hunt the 
 place up the moment I reach town. It may seem a 
 
110 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 trifle irregular on closer inspection, but that makes it 
 only the more engaging. Anie, the cedars yawn for 
 us." This time they got clear. 
 
 " No, I shall hold it on my knees. It is too heavy for 
 you." 
 
 " But, Varian, it can rest perfectly on my lap. I 
 won't feel it at all, because I am practically lying down. 
 Please ! " Thus they gently squabbled. It ended, of 
 course, in the triumph of the little lady. The large, 
 fair pages lay outspread on the blue linen lap. Varian, 
 on the grass by her side, leaned over to turn each sheet 
 with a masterful finger at the proper time. 
 
 They were too much occupied with the drawings to 
 pay any attention to the text, and no wonder, for 
 Utamaro knows how to keep your eye. On those strips 
 of thick, dunnish paper, his fair, Japanese women, with 
 the blocked, black masses of their dressed heads, make 
 their simple little gestures so absolutely true to them- 
 selves and to their environment that they become types, 
 or ideas, of all such movements. There are scenes in 
 the open air, where women bathe, or fish, or boat, their 
 gracious silhouettes relieved against a pattern of poles 
 or mooring-posts, against the spread of nets, or some 
 complication of masts and rigging. An autumnal scene 
 shows the gathering of, say, quinces. How the arms 
 of the women raised to catch the fruit compose with 
 the trellislike branches of the trees ! In some of these 
 little figures there is the true feeling of the eight- 
 eenth century, as it expressed itself in Europe — the 
 same delicate, powdery, frivolous charm hangs about 
 this oriental lover and his lady, stepping daintily in a 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 111 
 
 winter garden, the snow weighting the top of their 
 coquettish paper parasol, as about that scene on the 
 frozen canal at Versailles where a courtier in satin 
 pushes a sled with its pretty silken burden. 
 
 So they looked and laughed, and wondered and 
 talked, forgetting the book, forgetting the garden, but 
 feeling intensely conscious of each other — Anie, with 
 the gratitude of a lost child whose little cold fingers 
 are gathered into a strong, warm hand, whose weary 
 young body is lifted high against a broad, protecting 
 shoulder; Varian, with the sudden knowledge that the 
 wave of chivalrous pity that had driven him to Gordon 
 Square was changing, had changed, into the deep- 
 flowing, full tide that beat impetuously with every 
 pulsation of his heart. 
 
CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 A WEEK later Countess Street was drowsing under 
 the heavy advances of the July sun, in that dead 
 " hour of the day just before four o'clock. The 
 small boy in the knitted suit, the only person in sight, 
 was playing a feeble game with a languid, underfed 
 puppy whose too-long tail had a discouraging, con- 
 genital, mongrel tendency to droop between his sallow 
 legs. Columbine's shop on the corner, with its green 
 awning, dappled with the shadow of the street's solitary 
 plane, whenever a puff of wandering air set its large, 
 loose leaves in motion, with its door open for freshness, 
 with its jars of sweet peas and spiky larkspur, was an 
 irresistible invitation to the passer-by to loiter, to look, 
 to enter, to fall a victim to a cream cheese, say, because 
 you could slip that rather sheepishly into your pocket, 
 not to a flagon of that wonderful milk, simply because 
 you couldn't get that into any pocket made for the 
 modern man — sheepishly or otherwise. The frank, free, 
 healthy, quite brazen influence of the little shop was 
 such that you desired to possess yourself, at first sight, 
 of everything in it. 
 
 It struck Varian in exactly this way, when, turning 
 into Countess Street this afternoon, from the other 
 end, he caught the bright spot made in the hot, deserted 
 street by the clear paint, the green awning, the rustling 
 plane, the jugs of flowers, and the cool, dim interior 
 beyond the open door. This was manifestly what he 
 
 113 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 113 
 
 was in search of. London could not afford two of 
 them. Before he went in, he admired the excellent dis- 
 play of neat baskets overflowing with large, clean eggs, 
 or with tiny, linen-swathed cheeses, the jars and bowls 
 of milk and cream, the pats of butter, fresh as cowslips, 
 the flowers, the few monstrous strawberries in their nest 
 of leaves, that he felt must have been introduced solely 
 for their colour, since painters will tell you how a dab 
 of crimson can be made to speak — sometimes to beat 
 the big drum — plump in the middle of your otherwise 
 undistinguished canvas. Varian stood and gazed and 
 smiled to himself, thinking of Anie and of his mother, 
 and of their original philanthropic scheme that he was 
 about to father. 
 
 Inside, the little shop was spotless but deserted, with 
 its broad, white, laden shelves that ran around the 
 walls, its miniature counter with its sparkling scales 
 and its piles of thin paper to wrap up purchases, its 
 mounds of miniature bags — to hold an egg, for in- 
 stance. The knitted boy was never sent for more than 
 one at a time, and, if half a one had been a marketable 
 commodity, he would doubtless have lisped a request for 
 that, looking up at the kind, pretty, motherly Bina 
 with his big, fatigued eyes. 
 
 Varian took it all in quietly for a moment. Perhaps 
 when the door was closed a warning bell tinkled your 
 advent. He thought he caught voices and laughter — 
 such a clear bell-note! (real tradespeople could not 
 possibly produce it) — from the room that lay behind 
 the one in which he stood. A morsel of glass had been 
 let into a panel of the door, on a level with the normal 
 eye. He made a discreet clatter with his stick. Then 
 
114 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 he heard a man's pleasant voice say quite distinctly: 
 " Let me go. You will burn your fingers. Gently ! the 
 brute is red-hot." Then a low murmur that he could 
 not catch. The man's voice again : " My dear girl, 
 do you suppose I can't sell an egg or a bit of cheese 
 or a ha'penny'sworth of milk? Listen, and you will 
 get an idea of how the thing ought really to be done." 
 Again the low, happy laughter, as the door was pulled 
 open with a quick turn of that well-shaped brown hand, 
 and Quin advanced, carrying his tall, slender, perfectly- 
 proportioned body with the rippling rhythm in every 
 line that betrays unceasing training as it is understood 
 by the artist and the expert. 
 
 Varian knew him instantly. When you have been 
 privileged to meet Harlequin, even for a moment, 
 incognito, you are not likely to forget the fact. 
 
 " How do you do ? I blessed you for that match." 
 
 Quin was as ready as Varian. He had a delightful 
 little internal throb as the cloud-current broke from its 
 artificial restraints. What happy chance could have 
 brought the boy here? 
 
 " It is a pleasure to help a fellow-smoker in distress. 
 You have a good eye. If I recollect aright, the last 
 time we met I was unrecognizably submerged, I should 
 have supposed, in my humble bath-towelling. How did 
 you know me again, and in this milieu? " Quin cast 
 an amused and comprehensive glance at the serried 
 ranks of dairy products that hemmed them in on every 
 side. 
 
 " Oh, when a fellow has a figure like yours," re- 
 turned Varian admiringly, " he can't disguise it. But 
 — but the — what you were doing before " 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 115 
 
 " Don't try to spare my feelings," interrupted Quin 
 with a friendly smile. " The long tramps with the 
 sandwich-board have had their day, and now the time 
 has come for something else. He broke off with a 
 gesture that dismissed the subject. " Did you perhaps 
 come in to buy something, unlikely as that seems? " 
 
 Varian smiled. " Everything looks so very nice, 
 I would like to loot the whole shop. I had no idea there 
 was such a place as this to be met with in London. In 
 fact, my mother saw it one day, and was so taken with 
 it, and with a scheme of her own as a corollary, that 
 she asked me to look it up. Do I understand that you 
 run it?" 
 
 " Not exactly, but it is a family affair. The daugh- 
 ter of my friend Panta is the presiding genius. You 
 may note her special touch. She really knows more 
 about life in general, and the best ways to meet those 
 semi-catastrophes with which the most uneventful day 
 is beset, than her father and I rolled together. As 
 she is the motive-power of the whole affair, had you 
 not better talk to her? I conceive her at this moment 
 in an agony of curiosity as to what, in heaven's name, 
 we are about. When you came in, you represented to 
 us simply the prospective purchaser of an egg or two, 
 or a drop of milk. But you see how the situation has 
 developed — one moment ! " and Quin disappeared. 
 
 " How delightfully strange ! " cried Bina, her eyes 
 alight at Quin's hurried explanation. " It looks as 
 if the cloud-current really meant us to be something in 
 his life. We must ask him in. Perhaps he hasn't had 
 his tea yet." 
 
 "Will you come in here?" said a soft voice, and 
 
116 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 Varian wheeled to face Bina's airy shape, to receive a 
 vivid and instantaneous impression of a flexible, light 
 young figure, of coils and spirals and vinelike tendrils 
 of ruddy chestnut hair, of large, clear, dark eyes that 
 seemed to radiate an innocent, warm, friendly hospi- 
 tality. 
 
 Varian smiled, and followed her with alacrity into the 
 pleasant precincts of the sitting-room, with its ancient, 
 wide-armed chairs, its broad, deep hearth, its cupboards, 
 and its curtains on which strange birds stalked. That 
 must have been what had caught Anie's eye. Varian 
 felt a shade of awkwardness for a moment as these 
 charming-looking but extraordinary people regarded 
 him with the marked, almost inquiring interest of old 
 friends who knew him well, and who were mutually 
 asking, after some interval of absence, how he did. 
 It was distinctly curious, but the effect wore off almost 
 at once, as Quin took his hat and stick, and Bina 
 recommended the deep recess of a wicker chair, be- 
 cause you slid so awfully on the leather cushions of the 
 other one. 
 
 Deftly, without haste, the little table became spread 
 for tea, the delicate cups and plates appeared from 
 their dim cupboard confinement, the spirit-lamp did its 
 manifest duty without snorting or spluttering, and 
 presently the quite particular aroma of Bina's tea 
 floated out caressingly as she poised the pot. 
 
 " It is the oddest thing," said Varian, settling him- 
 self as deep as he would go in his capacious chair, 
 refusing, with pain, his fourth cup of tea, "but you 
 two people remind me in the most tantalizing way of 
 some group, some picture that eludes me. I seem to 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 117 
 
 see you dancing, or just resting from a dance. It is 
 all smoky, and vague, and dim. There are lights, but 
 it is in the open air, in a garden, or on a stage in a 
 garden. By Jove," turning to Quin, " you have on 
 the most extraordinary costume." 
 
 " I seem to run to that sort of thing. Do you recol- 
 lect my rakish fez? " 
 
 " Rather, but you are very swagger here in darkish 
 tights, chequered with red and black diamond shapes, 
 or is it red and yellow? You have on a bit of a 
 masque, and a line of white shows at your ankle, just 
 above your flat, shiny pumps." 
 
 " It might be Harlequin," said Quin, with a whimsical 
 lift of his eyebrow. 
 
 " Exactly. But what the deuce has Harlequin to do 
 with it ? " Varian wondered aloud. 
 
 " To do with what ? " asked Quin softly, fixing his 
 guest with quiet, deep, impelling eyes. The story was 
 coming out. 
 
 " Will you think me quite mad if I tell you " 
 
 " Oh, no, we never do," declared Bina, highly inter- 
 ested, with the air of one to whom bloody and mysteri- 
 ous secrets were confided daily. 
 
 " A week or so ago," began Varian, " I was in great 
 trouble and difficulty about a friend's affairs. It was 
 a delicate matter, and I was on the point of throwing 
 up the whole thing, when suddenly, right there before 
 me, in the morning, in a room with the sun streaming 
 in, I had a distinct vision of something that didn't 
 exist." 
 
 "Something — creepy?" asked Bina yearningly. 
 
 " Not a bit in itself. But how the deuce do such 
 
118 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 things happen? I saw — someone, the friend whose 
 affairs were troubling me, as she was years ago, as a 
 child. But the strangest part is yet to come, the 
 strangest in view of the fact that by the merest acci- 
 dent I should be sitting here with you talking and 
 taking tea. For, in this vision of my friend, you two 
 people certainly appeared also, you," looking at Quin, 
 " exactly, definitely, as you are at this moment, but 
 in that eccentric costume I described. Miss Panta 
 was vaguer, mistier, in white, with a bluish wrap or 
 mantle." 
 
 " I'm glad I was in it," hazarded Bina. 
 
 " So am I," declared Varian. He certainly had a 
 delightfully boyish air. " The fact remains that some 
 subconscious chord in me was jerked by you two good 
 people, idly, involuntarily on your part, but just at the 
 right moment. We had to meet, you see. I felt the 
 tug as I turned into Countess Street this afternoon. 
 You lead me into this cosy room and feed me with the 
 most delicious things, with never a question as to what 
 the dickens I'm here for anyway ! " 
 
 " Ah, two minutes of talk, the glance of an eye, or 
 the brush of an elbow has been enough to put us en 
 rapport, to make us aware of a certain affinity, much 
 deeper than anything physical, that tells us we speak 
 the same secret tongue, are made free of the same 
 sacred mysteries." 
 
 Quin bent his kindly eye upon their young guest, 
 who was confusedly conscious that this was unusual 
 talk for a room-back-of-the-shop. He was immensely 
 interested, however, and did not care if he showed it. 
 
 " That day in Oxford Street," continued Quin, " the 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 119 
 
 day of the Adventure of the Match, you told me, un- 
 consciously, that we should have things to say to each 
 other, should we ever meet, messages to send and to 
 receive. You reinforce this perhaps rather nebulous 
 conviction by the account of the part Bina and I 
 played in your vision. It shows that we, drawn by 
 who shall say what currents of sympathy, lying far 
 beyond the probe of any psychical examiner, lent you 
 aid and comfort at a moment of indecision. You are 
 by way of being a sensitive yourself, or you would never 
 have seen our ' reflection.' We, for our part, were quite 
 unconscious at the time that we were appearing in— 
 where was the room in question, may I ask? " 
 
 u In Wilton Place." 
 
 " So that morning you were enabled to see us in 
 Wilton Place, when, as a mere matter of physical pres- 
 ence, Bina was tending shop, and I trundling my 
 sandwich-board. Some master hand jerked our strings 
 that day beyond a doubt." 
 
 " We must simply wait and see what will come of 
 it," concluded Bina, practical ever, with the wisest little 
 housewifely smile. 
 
 " So far, at least, a most agreeable hour of talk for 
 me," said Varian, looking from one to the other. " I 
 hope it won't be the last. You know I live rather near 
 you, in Cambridge Street. We might meet sometimes, 
 if you cared to look me up. One doesn't so often run 
 across such manifest ' sympathetics ' as we are. I ought 
 to have a card on me somewhere. Yes, here is an ex- 
 ceedingly messy one." He rose. " Good heavens, I 
 was on the point of wandering off without telling you 
 why I am here." They all laughed. 
 
120 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " Do sit down again," begged Bina. " I am dying 
 to know, but am too polite to ask." 
 
 " It is childishly simple. My mother has a place at 
 Wimbledon. It contains everything that can minister 
 to the comfort of man, including three excellent cows. 
 Now there seems to be a limit to the amount of milk 
 one's household can consume, and upon seeing this 
 charming shop of yours a week or so ago — she 
 was too late and too occupied to stop and explain her 
 scheme to you then — she was seized with the idea of 
 sending in the surplus from her dairy, begging you to 
 dole it out to the poor babies and pussy-cats of the 
 neighbourhood. What do you say to the suggestion? 
 Is it too grotesquely impracticable? Would it bore or 
 trouble you? " Varian fixed Bina with his most en- 
 gagingly anxious look. She played up at once. 
 
 " Indeed, it would give me great pleasure to help 
 your mother, especially as she will find the ground well 
 broken. I have already a number of unofficial little 
 pensionnaires in the neighbourhood — four-footed ones, 
 too, and with this Wimbledon milk I can regularly 
 serve a shelter for poor women and their babies, not far 
 from here, in Horsham Ground. It is run as a semi- 
 private offshoot from the big Neighbourhood House in 
 Ridges Street by such a sweet woman, a Miss John- 
 stone-Ford — thin as a reed, and so pale and jerky you 
 want to feed her up with eggs and cream. She needs 
 it more than the big, coarse, slatternly wrecks who 
 hang to her skimpy little skirts." 
 
 You instantly had a vision of pretty Bina, as a stern 
 but just Bona Dea, dispensing the bland fruits of the 
 home farm, but putting up with no nonsense, you may 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 121 
 
 be sure, from frail Miss Johnstone-Ford's riotous flock. 
 
 " How very jolly," breathed Varian with relief. " So 
 we may consider that as settled. You are quite sure 
 it won't bother you in the least? " Bina shook her 
 head. 
 
 " Mother will be so pleased," went on Varian, " she 
 will want to meet you. May she, some time, when she 
 is next in town? I could bring her. We are already 
 friends enough for that, not to wait on ceremony? " 
 
 They went well together, these two, Bina and Varian, 
 standing quite near each other, their eyes full of the 
 rather vivid interest and pleasure their unconventional 
 meeting had aroused. Yes, they certainly " composed," 
 thought Quin rather grimly, suddenly feeling flat and 
 tired. Heavens, what an old fool he was, becoming 
 more and more Cubical every day, with his uneasy — 
 no, he couldn't call it jealousy — with his uneasy anxiety 
 as to Bina and every person not actually doddering 
 with whom she exchanged a word. 
 
 " Good-bye and thank you most awfully," Varian 
 held out a frank hand, that, as Quin grasped it, sent 
 to his brain quick, cloudy tremors from the boy's most 
 intimate life. But, being on this new, friendly footing 
 with the lad, he refused to register them, and they 
 sank away again into those dim, lost undercurrents of 
 the soul. 
 
 " Oh, by the way, shall we send the milk here, or 
 would it be simpler to forward it directly to the shel- 
 ter? " asked Varian as a parting shot. 
 
 " No, here, please. That will be easier. Good-bye." 
 Bina followed him with bright, friendly eyes as he made 
 his way out of the shop. 
 
123 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " Oh, I do like your Varian," she exclaimed, coming 
 back to stand in front of Quin, as he leaned on the 
 mantelpiece. " He is so simple, and yet his eyes show 
 that he could be as complex as need be, as careful and 
 subtle as he was in the Ambry affair. It is good to 
 meet people like that sometimes, isn't it, Quin? " 
 
 The latter gave but a languid assent, then roused 
 himself. 
 
 " I like the boy immensely. Shall we see anything 
 more of him, I wonder? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, he will bring his mother, I feel sure. But, 
 Quin, how about your cloud-current? Now that we 
 really know him, on this footing, isn't it very awkward 
 for you to read his thoughts ? " 
 
 " It would be damnable, my dear child, quite dam- 
 nable to do so. Luckily — or is it unluckily? I don't 
 know — I have become so deucedly Cubical in the last 
 few years, more and more so since we left Italy and 
 settled down here in England — in fact, I think we all 
 have — that I can now, at will, disregard the messages 
 that importune me from this or that chance meeting. 
 By so doing, by keeping the door fast in their faces, 
 I save myself from peeking and prying. When I shook 
 the boy's hand a moment ago I was, for an instant, 
 submerged in his personality — I could have read him 
 more deeply, more clearly than he will ever know him- 
 self. But I shut off the current, and it ebbed and sank 
 down into the vast dynamo whence it sprang. Years 
 ago I did not have this negative power. I gloried in 
 my cloud-heritage, in the gifts and marks of our pe- 
 culiar race. I bathed triumphantly in the full flood of 
 the amazing force that swept through me, taking me off 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 123 
 
 my feet, in my contact with these Cubical men and 
 women. I could no more then have regulated their 
 messages, as I do now — could no more have avoided the 
 startling revelations of their inmost being, vivid as 
 lightning, photographic in their sharpness — than I 
 could have prevented myself from receiving them in the 
 first place. But we change, we grow old, we grow 
 Cubical." 
 
 Quin looked at himself in the shabby mirror, then 
 back again gratefully to the fairer, clearer one of 
 Bina's eyes. That young person appeared momentarily 
 dashed. Quin had not been himself lately — not the 
 brave, gay, intrepid mixture of comrade, playfellow, 
 and guardian to which the years had accustomed her. 
 
 " Are you so tired to-day, Quin ? " she asked in a 
 small voice, seeking, womanlike, a physical explanation 
 (it is always so much safer) for the impression he gave 
 her of indefinite malaise. "You have been working 
 too hard at that old gymnasium." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," cried Quin, mentally shaking him- 
 self savagely. Why must he worry that happy nature 
 with his whims ? " It is rather good sport sometimes 
 making old Heffendorfer's eyes pop. One isn't Harle- 
 quin for nothing, eh ? " Quin fell into one of his old, 
 easy, graceful, inimitable postures, and stood poised 
 for a moment with winged ankles, as though waiting 
 for the first gay throb of the carnival music. Bina 
 clapped her hands. The shadow had passed off for this 
 time. 
 
 " Oh, do dance ! " she begged. 
 
 " Ah, not now. I really am a bit stiff — and after 
 such a tea! Do you want to kill me? By the way, 
 
124 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 where is Panta? He roameth far. To be sure we had 
 tea earlier to-day, didn't we? " 
 
 "Yes, because of Varian. Wouldn't it be jolly if 
 his mother were to bring in the little Anie? If I could 
 see her, I think their story would be clearer." 
 
 Quin, with a restless desire to get away from the 
 whole subject, suddenly bethought himself of " The 
 Immortal Gymnast " languishing in Panta's chair. He 
 fumbled for the book and drew it out of its recess. 
 
 "Has Panta finished this yet?" 
 
 " Oh, no, he keeps going back to the beginning, and 
 starting all over again. He says you must do that with 
 anything deep, so as to get your sea-legs." 
 
 Quin made a wry face as he settled himself to the 
 task, opening the book in the middle and boldly com- 
 mencing to read with the hardihood of inexperience. 
 
 Bina laid the table afresh for poor, tired Panta, 
 when he should drift in, and then sat down in her little 
 chair with a formidable list of bills and accounts, 
 checking them up briskly, with a deft exactitude. 
 
 A quiet half-hour ebbed away before Quin began to 
 show signs of returning animation. Then he looked up, 
 beat his book upon his knee, and fixed Bina with a 
 humorous eye. 
 
 " This old fellow has certainly struck out a vein 
 of his own," he said. " Let me read you this." Bina 
 stood it as long as she could, then she burst out : 
 
 " Oh, stop a moment, Quin, till I catch my breath. 
 I am not sure that I understand all you have been say- 
 ing, but this much I know — it is a doctrine of despair, 
 wiping all meaning out of life — calling it horrid names 
 into the bargain — ( jarred,' ' secondary,' ' out of tune.' 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 125 
 
 Why, it is pure Nihilism. If we believed that old man, 
 where should we ever gather the strength to face each 
 new day? If we considered that this miserable little 
 ' I ' of ours was the only thing that mattered, we should 
 become the most pagan, savage brutes. Where would 
 unselfishness and pity and loving-kindness come in? 
 Why, the whole meaning would go out of life like a 
 shot. I don't like that book at all." Bina slapped 
 her accounts down on the table, and turned an ani- 
 mated, combative face in Quin's direction. 
 
 " Your remarks do credit to your heart, my child," 
 replied Quin with mock gravity, " but you have com- 
 mitted the unpardonable sin — natural, however, as all 
 sin is considered to be by the judicious — the unpardon- 
 able sin, I say, of dragging ethics into a philosophic 
 discussion. It is tempting, I confess, but, believe me, 
 it won't do. Now, as to the theory's nihilistic tenden- 
 cies, on which you put your small finger at once, the 
 author admits them himself with disarming frankness. 
 He practically says that his work is for the perusal 
 and acceptance of the ' Priests of Egypt ' only — the 
 hopeless sceptics — the poor, tired, world-weary, bat- 
 tered and worn men of parts. He can have no message 
 for the young, the healthy, the happy. He even nar- 
 rows it down to a matter of circulation, when he says 
 that the mystic, the idealist, is not a full-blooded per- 
 son. There you have it in a nutshell. You could ex- 
 plode his precious theory in the market-place, and, I 
 wager you, there would be the most discouraging trickle 
 of smoke and no bang to speak of. The man in the 
 street now finds a pragmatic sanction for everything 
 he does, or wishes to do, and that is enough for him." 
 
126 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " I still contend that your old philosopher would be 
 a dangerous person to have around," protested Bina. 
 " His scheme takes all the light, and colour, and — 
 smell out of life. It makes it seem dull and papery, 
 like scenery. I feel that depression sometimes in read- 
 ing novels. All the exciting experiences of the people 
 in the book can have only a kind of secondary meaning 
 for me — all these amusing, interesting, or painful 
 things are so simply in relation to the characters, not as 
 happening to me at first-hand, as a living person. Now 
 your old man would reduce my real, own, true, every- 
 day life to just this dim, weak, twilight existence of 
 half-tones and shadowy reactions. I refuse to have 
 anything to do with it." 
 
 " Ah, my dear, thank God you need not." Quin 
 closed the book carefully and tucked it away again. 
 " He is not for the young or the beautiful, the happy, 
 the gay, the free. Not for the Binas of this life does 
 he weave his spidery chain ! 
 
CHAPTER NINE 
 
 A S they spoke, the lovely evening light began to 
 Z\ steal moist, powdery, gold fingers between the 
 •*• ^ half-drawn curtains, dripping over dim, shad- 
 owy spots in the old flooring, heightening the darkish 
 polish of the worn mahogany, lingering with a vanishing 
 brightness on the warm, ruffled top of Bina's head, 
 beckoning to all sensitive souls, house-bound at this 
 magic moment, to come out helter-skelter, hand in 
 hand, hatless, breathless, slippered feet in the long, wet 
 grass — only to come out, to hunt and find, across the 
 yellow fields, beyond the farthest bronze-green glimmer 
 of the waving forest-ride that pot of gold the sun is 
 always too drowsy and heavy to carry with him as he 
 sinks into his yawning West. 
 
 Quin sprang up suddenly. " Oh, I say, you know, 
 Bina, this evening is too heavenly. What a stretch 
 for our legs, what sights to see, what streets to im- 
 portune! Isn't this Mrs. Ruggles' day to clean up? 
 Couldn't she tend shop at this morte saison while you 
 and I take a frisk ? " 
 
 This was so much like the old, irresponsible Quin 
 that Bina wavered. " Do you think it would be quite 
 safe? Rug-Pug is such a fool. Could she do it, do 
 you think? Panta must surely be in from moment to 
 moment now. I should love to go. It seems ages since 
 we have had a walk together." 
 
 127 
 
128 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " Up and away then, be our word. Shall I fetch 
 your hat? " 
 
 " No, I must run up and drag down Rug-Pug. I 
 shan't be a moment." 
 
 A trifle breathless they set out, just in the mood for 
 adventure. Happily they met Panta at the end of the 
 street — a weary, rumpled Panta, who made the liveliest 
 pantomime, as of one overcome with surprise, when he 
 saw them. He had been belated, it appeared, at his old 
 trick of fingering books in Tottenham Court Road, 
 where, waking up, he found himself to his dismay 
 devoid of anything in the nature of coin of the realm 
 ("Oh, naughty, careless old man!" interjected Bina), 
 so he had been forced to foot it, bookless and tealess, 
 half across London. 
 
 They were so gay and slightly foolish at the prospect 
 of their little expedition that, extremes readily meeting, 
 they would have mingled their tears with his, had he 
 given them the opening. As it was, he merely showed 
 a touching solicitude as to what had been left out for 
 his tea, brightening considerably at the mention of 
 anchovy paste. He promised faithfully to back up 
 Rug-Pug should she become embroiled with a possible 
 customer, and waved them a jaunty farewell. 
 
 " I had an easy round with your gymnastic friend 
 this afternoon," called back Quin over his shoulder. 
 " We were sparring for position." 
 
 " He's a dark one," muttered Panta, wagging his 
 head. "Take care!" 
 
 But the spell of the streets took them instead — this 
 spell made up of movement, of scent, of colour, of 
 darkness shot with light, of subtle emanations, of ob- 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 129 
 
 vious contacts, of fleeting snatches, of half-heard words ; 
 a matter of interruptions, of broken connexions, of 
 eyes that invite, of gestures that rebuff, of things un- 
 finished, of things never begun — that haunting, fatigu- 
 ing, piquant mixture that envelops you as densely as a 
 November fog, stinging your eyes, so that they open 
 only the wider, the more eagerly; flicking you smartly 
 on the cheek, so that the other may be the more readily 
 turned; stealing with its curious, penetrating odour 
 into your nostrils, so that hereafter no Arabian per- 
 fume can be sweet; sinking into and burning on your 
 palate, so that no food less exciting can ever be savoury 
 again. All this it does, and more, and Quin and Bina 
 found themselves to-night in a mood to relish its magic. 
 
 They struck out in the direction of the park, walking 
 slowly along the palings in Belgrave Square, so that 
 Quin could point out the famous cream-coloured man- 
 sion that once housed unhappy little Anie until her 
 young kinsman spirited her away to Wimbledon, where 
 live and thrive those wonderful cows. There were lights 
 behind the rows of dimly-shrouded windows, pinkish- 
 reddish, as from shaded, glowing lamps. 
 
 " This is the time one would be dressing for late 
 dinner, eh ? " remarked Bina. " How long their days 
 and nights must be ! " 
 
 " Long, dull, and empty in reality, but very short, 
 crammed, and exciting to the consciousness of these 
 young men and young women, these Anies and Ambrys, 
 who dash in vague circles every day, with as much in- 
 tense, if undirected energy, as any small steam-machine, 
 rushing off on its tiny track, without the guiding hand 
 of its maker and engineer." 
 
130 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " Our friend Varian is not like that, is he? " queried 
 innocent Bina. " He works at something, doesn't 
 he?" 
 
 Poor Quin had a sensation of goose-flesh at what he 
 chose to consider her obvious interest. 
 
 " Oh, yes, he writes little art notices for the little 
 magazines." He softened, when he saw that she did 
 not resent his disparaging adjective. " Our Varian is 
 refreshingly in earnest," he went on. " He will do 
 something yet. Did it strike you that he meant it 
 seriously when he asked me to look him up, or was it 
 a mere fapon de parler, born of gentle habits and the 
 worthy desire to be agreeable? " 
 
 " Oh, I am quite sure he meant every word of it," 
 cried Bina. " I could shake you sometimes, Quin. 
 Don't you know that the moment a person looks at 
 you he wants to know you ? Can't you see how awfully, 
 how most unusually attractive you are? " 
 
 A glow shot through poor Quin, raying out so richly, 
 so ruddily, and so warmly that no goose-flesh could 
 stand against it. 
 
 " My dear child, you rave," he said, but he was im- 
 mensely pleased nevertheless. 
 
 " Then I'll go sometime to Cambridge Street," he 
 continued with decision. " We can talk about Italy. 
 What do you say to turning through Wilton Place? 
 It will bring us out at Knightsbridge." 
 
 Bina obediently followed her leader, a dainty figure, 
 with the airy, perfectly-balanced walk of the born 
 dancer, a little black lace toque pinned on the shining 
 coils of her hair that curled into a great roll on her neck, 
 a cloudy scarf drooping from her shoulders, hanging 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 131 
 
 across her slender arms, over which she had pulled up 
 the long, wrinkled tops of her gloves. 
 
 " Why should Wilton Place have so familiar a 
 sound ? " she openly wondered. 
 
 " Because Ambry lives there. It was in his rooms 
 that Varian had his vision of us." 
 
 " To be sure. It is a pity my scarf isn't blue. Who 
 is he, exactly ? " 
 
 " Sir Ambry Nunholme, son of a deceased worthy 
 baronet and of his widow who has married again. I'll 
 tell you something that has just come to me. When I 
 permitted myself to remain en rapport with Varian, I 
 caught a number of flying cues, got hints of people who 
 had influenced him, who had left their impress on him. 
 Has your Miss Johnstone-Ford of the Shelter for Dis- 
 tressed Females and their Offspring by any chance a 
 brother?" 
 
 " Of course she has. How odd of you to ask ! He 
 used to be something or other at Oxford, but he has 
 gone into Socialism, and is the Secretary for some 
 League, or Guild, or " 
 
 " Well, he was Varian's tutor, Ambry's as well. See 
 how the filaments of this affair catch our hands at every 
 turn! We are in the same web too, busy, no doubt, 
 in shooting out our gossamer strands, as invisible to us 
 as to them." 
 
 At this moment the door of a house a few feet away 
 was pulled open, letting out a gush of orange light 
 upon the walk, and a harassed domestic appeared to 
 blow a shrill blast upon a whistle. Before an answer- 
 ing rattle, bang, or gurgle could announce the arrival 
 of the desired conveyance, a tall, fair youth in the 
 
132 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 pied garb of evening, with floating cape and opera-hat, 
 showed himself at the door with every mark of haste, 
 waved the man out of the way with a high gesture of 
 impatience, and started down the street at a pace 
 sufficiently rapid and impetuous. 
 
 Coming abreast of our friends under the gas-lamp, 
 the youth's attention was noticeably engaged, even to 
 the slackening of his gait, by Bina's face under her 
 filmy hat. Boldly his eyes spoke, unmistakably his 
 blond, expressive masque showed the ready desire for 
 adventure. " If he hadn't been in such a confounded 
 hurry and if the little thing hadn't had that lanky 
 
 dark chap with her " A taxi rattling by, he dashed 
 
 into it and was wafted away. 
 
 Quin looked after him sardonically, with ever so 
 slight a stiffening of those steel-like muscles. 
 
 " What a horrid boy ! " exclaimed Bina, without 
 analysing her repulsion. 
 
 " Voila, Ambry, my dear," replied Quin 
 
 " No? " Bina made the round O of astonishment. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He is not nice." 
 
 " Oh, this is merely by the way. In his accustomed 
 haunts he doubtless acts with more discretion. We 
 caught him off his guard. He has undeniable charm. 
 Also, to carry about that face and those shoulders is 
 a distinct asset." 
 
 "What impression did you get as he passed us? 
 There is no reason why you should disregard his cur- 
 rent, is there ? " 
 
 " Not in the least, so far. I shall suck him dry. I 
 got the shock of an impetuous, turbulent nature, with 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 138 
 
 a curious undertow, one must confess, of a certain 
 bitter sweetness, a certain heady attraction with a 
 strong physical pull. It is difficult to explain, but I 
 know enough now to understand what a poor, helpless 
 little leaf such a girl as Anie would be, launched on 
 the breast of such a spring-torrent. Ah, my dear, the 
 mystery of all these personalities — selfish, ardent, hun- 
 gering, devouring ! Shall we turn ? We might go down 
 Sloane and around by Cadogan." 
 
 They walked slowly, breathing the damp evening air, 
 heavy, near the gardens, with the scent of the limes, 
 or the slightly animal odour of the ailanthus. They 
 felt vaguely, comfortably happy, because they were 
 not thinking very hard of anything. They were to- 
 gether, alone, outside the daily atmosphere of the shop, 
 in the relative silence of the evening streets, and that 
 sufficed their languid senses for the moment. 
 
 All the world that uncoils a narrow, red carpet on 
 its doorsteps and allows it to trickle down upon the 
 walk whenever it has bidden guests to dine, seemed his- 
 pitably bent this night. How many crimson patches 
 had they passed in just the length of this street? 
 Broughams and motors with their great winking lamps 
 made the queue before these decorated doors, discharg- 
 ing pretty ladies who pull their peacock cloaks about 
 their white shoulders, agitating the strange, long, 
 straight feathers it was the momentary mode to stick 
 horizontally in their hair. 
 
 Bina, obviously taken with the sight, lagged behind. 
 A motor urged its petrol-scented way along the winding 
 lane of conveyances. 
 
 " Tell him to stop here," cried a woman's imperious, 
 
134 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 impatient voice. " We can save time by walking a few 
 steps. I must absolutely have two words with Lady 
 Susan before we are sent in." 
 
 The motor stopped with a jerk, and the woman who 
 had spoken opened the door precipitately with a fine, 
 white, ungloved hand, hurriedly dragging her awk- 
 wardly scanty, primrose train — again the mode of the 
 moment — across the pavement, huddling her violet and 
 silver cloak over her large, bare, braceleted arms, carry- 
 ing with a touch of natural arrogance her well-shaped 
 head with its ironlike waves of rigidly undulated 
 fairish hair, a frame, it may be said, that did nothing 
 to soften that high-nosed, square- jawed countenance. 
 In the wake of this meteoric lady, a young man emerged 
 from the car with a kind of sulky nonchalance, as 
 though to stamp her haste with the proper amount of 
 disapprobation. 
 
 " Ambry ! " murmured Bina under her breath, with 
 a finger's pressure on Quin's arm. 
 
 The next to descend was a tall girl, brilliant, warm- 
 coloured, glowing, with an abnormally long heron's 
 feather audaciously stuck in the rich, unruly web of 
 her hair, the thin, pale satin of her narrow gown as 
 revealing as Tanagra gauze. 
 
 " Your mother, you know — " Ambry grumbled in 
 her ear. 
 
 " What is that to you ? " she demanded. " It gives 
 us a moment to ourselves." She seized his arm to 
 steady herself on her high, pointed heels. They were 
 almost of a height, these two, he scarcely topping her 
 by an inch. She continued to hold him, as they made 
 their leisurely way into the lighted, palm-set doorway, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 135 
 
 their voices dying into a murmur Bina ceased to catch. 
 
 When they got clear of the carpets, the lights, and 
 the footmen, and had set their course for home, Quin 
 remarked : 
 
 " That's the storm-cloud on the horizon." 
 
 "Where? Is it going to rain?" cried Bina, think- 
 ing tenderly of her little lacy hat. 
 
 " Lord, no, what a child ! I was back with our din- 
 ner acquaintances, Ambry and the dark young woman. 
 She is the cloud that will overtake and submerge that 
 young man — a dripping and slightly unwilling captive, 
 I imagine. She is Estelle, you know." 
 
 " Oh, Quin, how can I know ? You forget that I am 
 quite in the dark. You mean that she is Anie's sister? 
 Then the hard, heavily-ironed lady must be their 
 mother, and Varian's — what ? " 
 
 " His mother's half-sister." 
 
 " How complicated ! " 
 
 " It sounds worse than it is. What a tale we shall 
 have to pop Panta's eyes with to-night ! " 
 
 " Must we tell him ? Let us keep this for our very 
 own — this Ambry-Estelle part. That shall be a little 
 secret linked with this walk of ours. We'll give him 
 Varian and the milk of the three cows — but not this. 
 Eh?" 
 
 That teasing Bina took his arm, and looked up smil- 
 ing into her friend's dark face. What secret would 
 he not have shared with her, having in his ears that 
 intoxicating reiteration of* those unmistakable pro- 
 nouns, " us," " our," " we," with which her plea had 
 been liberally sown? 
 
 So it was agreed. They found Panta dozing at his 
 
136 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 little table, covered with the fragments of an Homeric 
 tea. It seemed that Rug-Pug had done well, having 
 sold a slice of cheese and two eggs, actually making 
 change for the same. 
 
 " I told you so ! " proclaimed a triumphant Quin. 
 
 There is always someone in a family you can count 
 on for that classic phrase, and Bina — such a shining- 
 eyed Bina, fresh and cool-cheeked from the damp sum- 
 mer air — did not let him forget that fact. 
 
CHAPTER TEN 
 
 VARIAN, for the third time that morning, took 
 from an inner pocket his mother's letter and 
 spread the thick sheets upon the bundle of 
 proofs, damp from the press, that he had not yet 
 sorted. 
 
 There was some mention of Anie on every page: 
 Anie was a dear ; Anie loved the garden and the roses ; 
 Anie was reading Sir Thomas Browne; Anie played a 
 mild game of cribbage with Bee, who was her spaniel 
 and her slave, she, his mother, receiving no more atten- 
 tions from that quarter ; Anie was looking forward with 
 the prettiest show of impatience to his coming on Satur- 
 day; Anie — so the pleasant summer-song went on, 
 painting dream-pictures for his half-closed eyes, pic- 
 tures in which the same little figure, splashed with sun- 
 light in her garden hours, or moon-dappled in the quiet 
 light of evening, held his eye in the very centre of 
 each shifting, cloudy square. He pulled himself up. 
 Did the good mother suspect? Was she giving her boy 
 the sugar-plums she knew he craved ? Never a line from 
 Anie herself. Good Lord, how could he expect her to 
 write! She had been quite mad about Ambry, that 
 care-free scapegrace, and a sensitive girl couldn't pull 
 her slender little tortured limbs out of such a trap and 
 forget the pain and the shame in a matter of a week 
 or so. But, as the days went on, so, alas, went alarm- 
 ingly, degree by degree, his interest in Martini fi. He 
 
 137 
 
138 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 really must pull himself together; he was acting like a 
 fool. He hadn't a leg to stand on. It must be the 
 weather. So the bundle of proofs was torn open im- 
 patiently, and for two hours or so the blue pencil 
 dipped and wavered, crossed, recrossed, checked, starred, 
 and dotted, desperately bent upon proving that he was 
 a devil of a fellow and that no weaknesses ever escaped 
 him. Varian, the last page reached, threw down his 
 faithful, blue lieutenant, stretched his arms over his 
 head, and began to think agreeably of what he would 
 have for luncheon. Into this placid backwater of the 
 soul, with a resounding clap upon the door, burst little 
 Susie, bearing a telegram that she held in her apron 
 between two soapy fingers. 
 
 " Just come for you, sir," she announced briskly, 
 the desire that it might prove to be something exciting 
 visibly heaving near the surface. 
 
 Varian took it languidly, with a smile and a word of 
 thanks for the small handmaiden, who sidled slowly out 
 of the door only because she could think of no valid 
 excuse for remaining. 
 
 Varian tore the filmy paper open, and felt cold up 
 his back. It was from his mother, asking him to come 
 down at once, as she was worried about Anie. Good 
 heavens! what could she mean? Her letter, so full of 
 cheerful news, had been posted late yesterday after- 
 noon. Whatever had happened, then, was an affair 
 of last night or early this morning. It must be Ambry 
 again. But what could Ambry do? He would be only 
 too glad to keep out of it. Oh, Lord! Well, it had 
 to be faced. He'd pull her back. He'd fight for her 
 with every drop of blood in his body. Poor, unhappy 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 139 
 
 child ! Had she perhaps told his mother that she wanted 
 him? 
 
 Varian made a dash for his hat, replenished his 
 cigarette-case, seized some telegraph blanks that he 
 could fill out on the train, breaking the engagements 
 of the afternoon and night, shouting meanwhile for 
 Susie to commandeer a taxi from Eccleston Square. 
 
 Down at Wimbledon, in the humming garden, 
 through the cool old rooms, poor Anie wandered, the 
 ghost of herself. Last week-end, from the moment of 
 her talk with Varian over the Japanese prints, she had 
 been conscious that an angry little spot in her heart 
 had softened and almost melted away. The following 
 day she awoke without the accustomed sensation of a 
 stifling, black curtain drawn over all the sparkling 
 summer-world, a curtain that she must push aside, 
 with such leaden fingers, before she could raise herself 
 in her big, white bed and face the morning. Now she 
 was no longer so oppressed. She opened her eyes at 
 the first bird notes, feeling only the normal, warm re- 
 laxation of a drowsy girl. Varian was constantly in 
 her mind — his voice, his head as he turned to speak to 
 her, his fine, nervous, expressive hands. To be sure, 
 she was in his atmosphere, in the home of a mother 
 who adored, a Peetybee who worshipped. But she wel- 
 comed the spell, holding fast to the influence of his 
 personality, just as simply as she had held his hand 
 that dreadful day in Gordon Square. He braced her 
 when he was with them ; his memory when he was gone. 
 She drifted through quiet days, reading, with a faint, 
 feebly-stirring pleasure in their robust English, in their 
 vivid seventeenth-century thoughts, the old writers that 
 
140 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 Gita Edmonton loved. She played at cribbage and 
 bezique with dear Miss Peet-Byng, in the mellow per- 
 fumed evenings, sitting near the open window, full in 
 the rose breath of the gardens, the little table between 
 them bearing candles and cards, quaint pegs and ivory 
 counters. 
 
 But now, in one cruel moment, she was thrown back 
 on herself, cut and gasping, angry and outraged ; the 
 fair chapel-of-ease in which she had taken refuge was 
 knocked about her ears ; something violent in her, whose 
 existence she had scarcely suspected, broke its leash 
 and gnawed her ; the small, feeble tendrils of reawaken- 
 ing joy that had sprung up under Gita's tender care, 
 that had sucked their nourishment from Varian's pres- 
 ence, that had turned to him as to the sun, were plucked 
 up ruthlessly, bleeding at their roots, and flung away. 
 She shivered from head to foot, holding in her clammy 
 little fingers the instrument of her torture, one of Es- 
 telle's infrequent letters, already two days old, delayed 
 in posting, written at four o'clock in the morning 
 after a dinner in Ambry's company at Lady Susan 
 Cust's, and a dance passed mainly in his arms. The 
 girl, excited, very much in love, moved out of her usual 
 hard self-control, had dashed off this scrawl to the 
 sister who was better than no confidant at all, their 
 mother, unsatisfied as to Ambry's income, both present 
 and prospective, being flintlike in her disapproval. 
 
 Anie sat in the morning-room where her letters had 
 been brought to her. In all the quiet chambers there 
 was to be heard nothing more stirring than a discreet 
 footfall; garden sounds alone invaded the almost con- 
 ventual stillness and tranquillity that Mrs. Edmonton 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 141 
 
 craved, and that the faithful Bee knew the secret of 
 securing, even with a household of men and maids. 
 Anie stared with hot, strained eyes at a little landscape 
 hung low on the faded striped satin of the wall, just 
 in her line of vision. It was a simple enough scene in 
 the Jura, the merit of the sketch consisting in the sub- 
 tlety with which the long ripple of the distant foot-hills 
 approximated the dimpling indentations of a woman's 
 shoulder. But no vibration went out from it to Anie, 
 nothing existed for her at this moment except the 
 brittle paper in her hand and the harsh tumult in her 
 brain. Oh, she had been a fool to listen to Varian, 
 to bury herself down here, to leave London without 
 seeing Ambry again. How could she be sure that Varian 
 had not put his own construction upon that interview 
 of his with Ambry? The poor child, out of those 
 hidden, muddy depths that even the most crystal-souled 
 carry within them, drew up this cloudy sediment of 
 suspicion to poison the wells of her faith and trust in 
 the one person who understood her miserable plight. 
 If she had stayed in London — ah, yes, if she had, what 
 would she have been forced to see? Ambry, sick to 
 death of her, bored, hard, and cruel, telling her so in 
 as many words, turning his back on her to take up 
 with Estelle, fascinated by her recklessness, by her 
 beauty, by her sharp, witty, careless tongue. This is 
 what Estelle had taken the pains to write at four 
 o'clock in the morning. She had lost that usually high, 
 cool head, she was deep in those dangerous waters al- 
 ready, deep in them up to her beautiful white shoulders 
 — up to her very neck. 
 
 Anie moved her poor, feverish little body restlessly, 
 
142 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 head and hands hot and trembling. She must do some- 
 thing; she couldn't sit here, as in a hideous vacuum, 
 choking to death. How mad and stupid she had been 
 to destroy all those tablets! She had no means of 
 getting more down here. . . . Should she ask Gita to 
 lend her the car for the afternoon, to take her up to 
 London? She would go directly to Wilton Place, and 
 — but here she stopped, and desperately hid her eyes. 
 
 Miss Peet-Byng found her a quarter of an hour 
 later, when the first hysterical outburst was sobbing to 
 its close. Greatly alarmed, the good Bee knelt and 
 drew to her the hot, hopeless, wet little face, asking no 
 questions, soothing the poor child with that soft, in- 
 articulate murmur that pours the balm of human sym- 
 pathy into the torn, the bleeding, the heavy-laden. Bee 
 was distinctly frightened, and very much at sea, but 
 she did not show it. The child had had bad news — that 
 crumpled letter. She would have to disturb Gita, much 
 as she hated to. 
 
 Anie volunteered no explanation. She gave her 
 friend a small, damp kiss, and said she would go to 
 her room. Bee saw her safely there, and then flew to 
 Mrs. Edmonton. The short time that elapsed between 
 Gita's apprisal that something was wrong with her 
 young guest and the moment when she tapped gently 
 at Anie's door, short as it was, had been long enough 
 for the swallowing of certain innocent-looking white 
 pellets that desperate, rummaging hands had seized as 
 they lay winking at the bottom of the dressing-case, 
 having in some unexplained fashion escaped the auto- 
 da-fe of their comrades. 
 
 Listening, alarmed, hearing no answer to her knock, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 143 
 
 Gita drew open the door to find the girl, extraordinarily 
 bright-eyed, sitting on the edge of the bed ; the room in 
 disarray, the wardrobe open, the contents of the dress- 
 ing-bag heaped, pell-mell, upon the floor. The letter 
 Bee had spoken of was nowhere to be seen. A glass, half- 
 filled with water, was on the point of dropping from 
 Anie's limp hand. The girl, flushed but dreamy, tear- 
 stained but composed, seemed fast locked in some un- 
 natural reverie. She made no sign of having observed 
 Gita's entrance. The latter sat down beside her and 
 held her hand, feeling the pulse. She looked at the 
 pupils of her eyes, at the glass of water, at the dis- 
 ordered dressing-bag with its flock of gold-stoppered 
 bottles. Still no word or movement on Anie's part, 
 save the dawning of a sleepy little satisfied smile on 
 the dry lips. . . . Then Gita rang for the maid, sum- 
 moned Bee, ordered strong black coffee, and between 
 them, at the end of half an hour, they had called the 
 unhappy child, faint, weak, and racked, back to her 
 pain and to her responsibilities. 
 
 Her head on Gita's breast, her tears dropping on the 
 soft laces there, she told her little story. Estelle took 
 the stuff, too, when she was tired or fidgety. It is so 
 frightful to lie awake hour after hour. Oh, ever so 
 many girls did it. There were ways of getting it — she 
 didn't know exactly how. She had helped herself out 
 of Estelle's bottle. Still, the reason for its use to-day 
 hung fire. 
 
 " Something upset you this morning? Won't you 
 tell me what?" asked Gita gently. "Your happiness 
 and Varian's mean more to me than anything else in 
 the world. Let me help you, little Anie." 
 
144 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 Gita let her lips rest where they fell on the loops of 
 shining hair. 
 
 Varian's name pulled the girl up. Varian had the key. 
 Varian knew. Would dear Gita mind if she talked to 
 him? 
 
 Dear Gita, immensely relieved at having struck an 
 answering spark, no matter how faint and flickering, 
 sent off a man, hot-foot to the station, with a telegram 
 for Cambridge Street. 
 
 Coming up the drive the first thing that caught 
 Varian's eye was a magnificent, purple blob of colour, 
 moving slowly, like an air-blown bubble, up and down, 
 up and down, before the shallow, entrance steps — his 
 mother's parasol, from under whose rosy shadow her 
 delicate, lace-draped head turned toward him, her 
 soft, anxious eyes meeting the leaping questions in 
 his. 
 
 He seized her hands. " What on earth is the matter? 
 I am frightfully anxious. She is ill? Something devil- 
 ish has happened? She has had letters from London? " 
 
 " Come into my room." They crossed the wide, 
 shaded hall — sweet, too sweet, thought Varian impa- 
 tiently, because Anie was not there to smell it — with 
 honeysuckle and roses set about on all its little stands 
 and tables. 
 
 His mother drew him down beside her on the low 
 sofa. 
 
 " It began with a letter, from whom I don't know. 
 She hasn't told me. Doubtless the unhappy London 
 affair has broken out again. Either the man is writing 
 to her " — Varian shook his head impatiently — " or 
 Estelle has said something to open the wounds the 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 145 
 
 poor little thing is scarred with. Bee found her almost 
 hysterical, and got her to her room. Then she called 
 me. Now comes the serious part, Varian." His mother 
 looked at him fixedly. " Oh, Varian, if a child of 
 mine should ever be so tempted ! " 
 
 " Good heavens, mother," cried the boy, springing to 
 his feet, " tell me at once what has happened. You 
 leave me to imagine horrors. She didn't " 
 
 " No, no. She's safe, she's safe. You are to see 
 her at once. But — when I found her, she was sitting 
 on the edge of the bed — her eyes, her hands, her dry 
 lips, the whole look of her — the tumbled dressing-case, 
 the bottles tossed about. I knew at once. She had 
 taken some dreadful drug, and not for the first time, 
 either." 
 
 Varian groaned. " Poor little unhappy thing ! " 
 
 " Yes. I could weep when I think of Etta's abomi- 
 nable way of bringing up those girls. It all came out. 
 Estelle does it, too. Oh, all of them do. If you can't 
 sleep, if anything goes wrong, well, there's the con- 
 venient little bottle on the dressing-table — Bee and I 
 worked over her till she came out of it, but she would 
 not, could not, poor child, quite make up her mind to 
 confide in me. She will talk to you, I think. You care 
 so very much, Varian? Dear boy." Those soft hands 
 at his neck, that cheek pressed down against his own ! 
 
 " Bless you for understanding," he mumbled. " That 
 last year at Crops began it, and now the mischief is 
 fatally done. I got hold of her in London and pulled 
 her back from shipwreck. Will she let me carry her 
 in my arms a second time? They'll wait, empty, itch- 
 ing, all the rest of my life, if she won't. Carita, you're 
 
146 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 an angel to her and to me. I'll try not to make more 
 of a fool of myself than need be. It plays the devil 
 with work. Fortescue will be giving me the sack one 
 of these fine days." 
 
 "Martini fi isn't coming on?" 
 
 " How can he, poor chap, with his nose so hideously 
 out of joint? When may I see Anie? Now? Is she 
 down? Is she in the garden? " 
 
 " No, the light hurts her eyes. She's in the Lacquer 
 Closet; I'll take you up." 
 
 His mother left him at the door. He went in and 
 closed it behind him. The white face, the relaxed hands, 
 the small, helpless figure in the long, eastern chair, made 
 it difficult for him to speak. She looked up, saw him, 
 and attempted the ghost of a smile. He dragged 
 forward a carved stool and sat down beside her, both of 
 them glad of a moment or two of silence. 
 
 The light filtering through the pieces of greenish 
 glass set in the flat window was strangely tranquilliz- 
 ing. Varian had always liked this little room, due to 
 the caprice of one of Mr. Colfax's ancestors who had 
 known the East before P. and O. days. Lacquer cabi- 
 nets are in the four corners, holding the most precious 
 of porcelains, often more than daring in subject to 
 Western eyes, but all alike flawless in period and in col- 
 our. But the curious race of pygmy-men who crawled, 
 fought, loved and died on the surface of the cabinets 
 themselves had ever had a nightmarish fascination for 
 Varian. They were an evil race, the outcroppings of 
 some diseased, opium-haunted, half-mad, neurotic brain, 
 but what amazing virtuosity in the crafty lines, in 
 the massing of the tiny, antlike figures, in the vigour 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 147 
 
 of the drawing, what intense feeling for form, in action 
 or at rest! The head must be a strong one that could 
 live with this delirious oriental rout. Luckily, the 
 scenes were so small that, unless you chose to make a 
 business of it, the general effect was merely blurred, 
 pleasing, and bizarre. But venture a little nearer, and 
 you are lost. Take one of the tiny hunting scenes, 
 as bold as a Delacroix, where spotted pards tear at the 
 throats of other beasts. This mangling race of biting, 
 bleeding animals goes on, round upon round, while 
 the pygmy sportsmen, no less savage than their game, 
 shoot their poisoned arrows into the scuffle. Or this 
 arabesque, that, as a sort of leit-motif, winds its tortu- 
 ous way among more active scenes. The design, at 
 once simple and terrible, is worked out by means of 
 long, sinuous lines resembling the hollow, swaying stems 
 of water-plants. These cross and recross in large, ir- 
 regular curves — such curves as might well be studied 
 in a jungle, near a pool, but here the reeds bear strange 
 blossoms on each snaky tip, their brown, suckerlike 
 ends expanding into animal heads — a tiger, an elephant, 
 a gazelle — small but perfect models that can loll in 
 the breeze like a flower. In such a spot, where the 
 very plants take on bestial attributes, what might not 
 happen, you ask yourself, shaking off the confused 
 oppression common to dreams. . . . 
 
 Anie stirred uneasily, and Varian leaned over and 
 held her hand in a brotherly grasp. These few quiet 
 moments face to face with her had given him an ex- 
 cellent control of himself. But she must be the first 
 to speak. He would take her line. 
 
 The girl made a nervous effort to brace herself 
 
148 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 against the sloping back of her chair. She freed her 
 hands, pressing them down on either side of her on 
 the yielding cane till it creaked again, lifting her slight 
 body from the waist, dragging up her thin young legs, 
 the slim ankles, the arched feet from which the slippers, 
 bronze and buckled, were ever half-dropping. Now she 
 could look him full in the face, and she did bravely 
 enough. 
 
 " I've been wicked as well as weak, Varian," she said, 
 her voice pitched a little higher than usual. " Gita 
 made that plain. Her horror of — me ! " She searched 
 him with her miserable eyes. "Was it so bad of me? 
 Am I tainted? Am I lost? What did Gita tell you? " 
 
 " Oh, you poor child, don't you think I understand? 
 Whatever you do is, in the doing, changed for me. 
 Can't you see that? For me, you are always the little 
 girl at Crops, and I am here to be turned to, to be the 
 brother you never had — if that is what you want me 
 to be." Varian smiled an internal, rueful smile at the 
 insipid role for which he had thus cast himself. He 
 must get her confidence, in order to frighten her away 
 from that easy, royal, drowsy, white-pellet-strewn road ; 
 on whose border her feet were even now perhaps stray- 
 ing — nervous, indecisive, terrified feet, digging holes 
 in the spongy, sickly turf with an irritable toe and 
 heel. . . . Anie, Anie, you little fool! He must drag 
 her back to firm, fresh foothold on the hard, clean 
 gravel of sane living, if he had to hurt her badly in 
 the doing. 
 
 " Oh, you are good to me, but I am horrid." She 
 would not look at him now. " I fancied I was getting 
 stronger, more sensible. Who could help it in this 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 149 
 
 beautiful, peaceful spot with your mother? In London 
 I was torn in pieces, and mamma hounded me so. 
 You got me out of that. Then this letter comes " 
 
 "What letter? From whom?" Varian's irritation 
 was not quite so well under control as he had im- 
 agined. 
 
 " No, no, not from him," she hastened to reassure. 
 "Oh, rather not. What does he care? It was from 
 Estelle, written at four o'clock in the morning, after a 
 dance at — no matter where, I forget. She's mad about 
 him, do you understand? She had been dancing with 
 him all night. To have Estelle, who is so proud — , 
 write such things ! " 
 
 " Anie, listen to me." Varian forced her look. 
 " Can't you face it ? Are you so weak as all that ? 
 I don't believe it. Didn't I put it crudely enough in 
 London? Whatever you felt for Ambry was no last- 
 ing sentiment. How could it be? It had no root in 
 anything but a certain personal fascination he knows 
 how to use when he chooses. You had your day ; now it 
 is Estelle's turn. Am I too brutal? I maintain that 
 you do not love — that you never have loved Ambry. 
 What do you know about it, you poor little thing? 
 It was only a glamour you were caught in. He man- 
 ages cleverly enough. How were you, in your inno- 
 cence, to realize? It was that very incomprehension 
 of yours that bored him. You were always beating 
 your dove's wings toward the sky, and he knew himself 
 to be clipped and caged, down in the mud. What hap- 
 pens? He throws you over in the frankest terms, and 
 whistles for Estelle. . . . Yes, I mean to hurt you. 
 You must whip up your pride. You must save yourself, 
 
150 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 no matter what happens to them. Do you care to 
 admit that you are jealous? Impossible. Nevertheless, 
 you go to pieces, and are mad enough, culpably weak 
 enough, to drug yourself. Oh, he has poisoned you, 
 you're tainted with him, if you can do that ! " 
 
 He watched her. Yes, he had almost succeeded. He 
 had flicked her pride. A little flush was creeping up 
 the white cheek. The hands were less restless. He 
 pressed his advantage. 
 
 " I don't suppose you know for a moment to what 
 degradation that simple pellet commits you. If you 
 had the faintest idea — no, don't be afraid, I'm not go- 
 ing into horrors — you would never touch it again. It 
 is simply damnable the way girls are brought up. 
 Fancy your having the stuff! And the cowardice of 
 it! In order to forget for a few hours the natural 
 shock that letter gave you, you wantonly imperil your 
 whole life. O Anie, for God's sake, pull up ! " 
 
 He had said more than he meant to, but, as he spoke, 
 he had seen her sitting on the edge of the bed — vague, 
 stupefied, drowsily smiling, as his mother had described, 
 and everything manly, clean, and sane within him had 
 revolted. He could have shaken her, he could have 
 sworn at her — he could have struck her — and he felt 
 so helpless. 
 
 Going over to the window he set it wide open, and 
 stood looking out, seeing absolutely nothing. But his 
 ear strained for the least sound. It came — the creak- 
 ing of the bamboo, the click of heels on the polished 
 floor. Then the sense of touch vibrated, sending a 
 thousand prickling messages up his arm to his brain, 
 for Anie had put her hand in his, holding it firmly, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 151 
 
 pressing her other on his shoulder, keeping him turned 
 to the window. 
 
 " Don't look at me. I am too hideous. Never, never, 
 never, so long as we both live, will I touch one of 
 those abominable things again. I'll burn inside and 
 out first. I am low. I am jealous. But you have 
 shown me how to fight. Gita showed me this morning. 
 She could not conceal her horror of me. To her I 
 was unclean." 
 
 Varian turned to protest, to take her in his arms, 
 losing his head under the direct, close pressure of those 
 small hot hands. 
 
 " No, no, don't move — not just yet. I must tell you 
 something else. From this moment I will try never 
 to think of Ambry again, intimately, as someone who 
 has — (he knew she gulped over it) who has kissed me, 
 as someone whom I thought I loved. You have shown 
 me my stupid folly, but why didn't he leave me alone? 
 I bored him from the very beginning. We never thought 
 the same thoughts. He never knew me. Varian, that's 
 all over now — dead, dead, dead. I am going to show 
 you and Gita that I am not such a miserable little 
 fool as you imagine. I have some soldier-blood in 
 me as well as you. Will Gita keep me on a little longer, 
 do you think? Will she want me with her now? " Such 
 an anxious, flushed face barely laid against his arm, 
 as she moved around to look up at him! Varian mas- 
 tered a weakness that made him want to sit down. 
 
 " Anie, you amazing little humbug ! Don't you know 
 she loves you ! " 
 
 He felt that they had both had enough. He must 
 get her down gently from the heroic pitch. He did not 
 
153 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 fear a reaction, however. He knew the voice of an 
 awakened will, however girlish, however feminine, when 
 he heard it. But her nerves would presently set her 
 humming if he didn't change the note. 
 
 " The day is divine. Come into the garden. We'll 
 pick up Gita and Bee and have a conversazione in the 
 Bois. I have a premonition that I shall devour a tre- 
 mendous luncheon. Then this afternoon you shall read 
 to me. Come ! " 
 
 " My face is so hot. Let me run and put some 
 powder on my nose. Will you tell Gita I am coming 
 down ? Will you give her my love, too, Varian ? " 
 
 She stood with her hand on the low door leading into 
 her bedroom. Varian had opened the other one that 
 communicated with a private corridor. 
 
 " Varian " 
 
 He went over to her. 
 
 " If you mind my hanging on you, you must say so 
 now. For I do hang, body and soul, you poor boy ! " 
 Eyes and lips smiled at him as she vanished. He did 
 not care to analyze just then the impression her words 
 gave him. He had a shrewd notion that they would 
 be all he would have to feed on for some time to come. 
 So he went down to reassure a troubled Gita, wander- 
 ing restlessly about the hall, pinching unhappy rose- 
 buds not used to such treatment. She went forward to 
 meet him. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " More than well," he answered. " I've frightened 
 her out of her wits. She'll never touch one of those 
 beastly things again. She'll fight. She has it in her. 
 It seems the same chap is now hanging around Estelle, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 153 
 
 who doesn't know of his affair with Anie — not that it 
 would greatly disturb that young lady if she did. Oh, 
 it's a miserable business all around. The worst of it 
 is that Ambry and I have always been friends, but he 
 should have kept his claws off a young thing like Anie. 
 Estelle can jolly well look out for herself, but poor 
 Anie dropped like a shot. It naturally makes me boil. 
 He has acted like an ineffable cad, and I had to tell 
 him so; but, will you believe it? he considers that we 
 are still friends, and, when I come to think of it, I 
 don't know that he's far wrong. When you are with 
 him — there is something. It lies deeper than his ex- 
 traordinary good looks." 
 
 "Who is this wonderful youth?" asked his mother. 
 " Ambry — not Sir Ambry Nunholme ? " 
 
 " Yes. Do you remember him ? You never saw him, 
 did you? Do you know his mother? " 
 
 " Oh, slightly, years ago. Your letters from Oxford 
 used to be full of the boy." 
 
 " Everyone spoils him. He's that type. I almost 
 think Estelle may land him. She's that type, too. 
 The whole affair makes me rather sick. Why 
 aren't there more sweet women in the world like you, 
 mother? " 
 
 " Is she coming down, dear? What am I to say? " 
 
 " Nothing. Leave it to her. She sent her love to 
 you, and hopes you'll % keep her on ' ! " 
 
 "Poor child!" 
 
 Anie had bathed her face, powdered her nose, and 
 slipped on a batiste frock with a high, babyish belt. 
 She joined them, not more shyly than might have been 
 expected. Gita kissed her, as if she saw her for the 
 
154 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 first time that morning. This put them all at their 
 ease. 
 
 " We must make the most of our young man," Gita 
 was saying, her arm in Anie's, gently drawing her 
 toward the terrace. " He tells me he must go back to 
 London and his writing-table after dinner. Varian, 
 bring the parasols, will you? They are in the corner 
 by the clock. What a heavenly day it is! We must 
 not pass more of it indoors than we can help. Are you 
 sure you don't want to run up to town, Anie? You 
 know you can have the car and Bee whenever you 
 wish." 
 
 " Oh, no, no," cried the girl rather piteously, as if 
 shrinking from something that hurt her. Varian 
 couldn't keep his eyes off her. Of this she was no 
 doubt conscious, but she wouldn't look at him. 
 
 " Well," went on Gita easily, bent upon making con- 
 versation, as she could get no aid from the meditative, 
 youthful pair who dutifully accompanied her, one on 
 either side, holding green and violet sunshades, " Well, 
 what of that little expedition of yours to Countess 
 Street to the Boutique des Miracles, that you wrote 
 me about the other day, where the pretty young woman, 
 the athletic young man, and the aged father whom you 
 did not see — a complete bill of the play — are even now 
 engaged in collaborating with us and our milk cans? 
 Anie and I are thirsting for more details. I believe 
 they must all be long-lost heirs to some cloudy mar- 
 quisate, or to a barony, at the least. Nothing more 
 unlike shopkeepers could well be imagined. Varian, 
 if Anie and I come up some afternoon next week, or 
 the week after, will you take us there? Why not have 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 155 
 
 them down here afterwards, just ourselves, you know, 
 for tea in the garden before the roses are gone? Peo- 
 ple like that, with energy and ideas, are the only ones 
 who ever repay the tiresome effort we make to know 
 them. How does that strike you?" giving her dream- 
 ing son's arm a pinch. 
 
 u Jolly ! " he replies, with the exaggerated conviction 
 of one who wishes to prove to you that he has been 
 following your conversation with an attention so in- 
 tense as to be almost fatiguing. This, of course, never 
 takes anyone in, neither did it in this instance seduce 
 so naturally credulous a person as a mother. 
 
 " We must talk it over when you come down on 
 Saturday," went on the indefatigable Gita, not having 
 rambled along with so little encouragement for years. 
 " Bring with you what you have done on Martini P- 
 I want to see it." 
 
 Still that dreaming silence, the young feet carefully 
 keeping pace with hers, the hands busy manipulating 
 sunshades, so that they should not catch in one's laces 
 or one's hair, the eyes busy with the Lord knows what, 
 over one's head, plunged into the shadowless turquoise 
 blue of the summer sky. . . . 
 
 The faithful Bee came to the rescue, mounting the 
 terrace steps laboriously, her basket overflowing with 
 the coquettish, flaunting little faces of the sweet peas, 
 dyed every delicious tone of salmon, of shell pink, of 
 lemon, of cream, of citron, of orange. Just to enu- 
 merate them, just to look at them, made you thirsty for 
 some cool drink in tall, thin, frosty glasses. 
 
 " Oh, I say, Peetybee, dear, you look most awfully 
 hot," exclaimed Varian, giving his mother her purple 
 
156 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 parasol in order to relieve Bee of basket and gardening 
 scissors. " Come down to the Bois with us and I'll fan 
 you with a cabbage leaf if there's one about." 
 
 Bee's warm face beamed on her boy, her disregarded 
 spectacles zigzagging rakishly across her narrow fore- 
 head, her faded blue eyes filled with the light she could 
 always summon up for him. 
 
 " My dear Varian, let me go. I must arrange these 
 for the luncheon-table," stretching out tentative fingers 
 after her ravished basket. 
 
 "Arrange? Nonsense!" her boy carried it off with 
 a high hand. " Mother, did you ever hear of anything 
 so absurd? We'll stuff them into their little pots and 
 jars in two minutes, and whisk them on the table before 
 Jackson has had time to think of handing the fish, or 
 whatever else we begin with. See if we don't ! " 
 
 Gita laughed. " Humour him, my dear Bee. He 
 has had a touch of the sun, I think. Give me your arm. 
 Let Anie and Varian go ahead to pull out our chairs 
 for us." 
 
 So the batiste gown and the green parasol vanished 
 behind the laurels beside an impetuous Varian, who, 
 giving rein to his spirits after the cold douche of the 
 morning, played them out gayly. Watching for a 
 smile on those lips to which the deep red was slowly 
 ebbing back. . . . 
 
 " What a morning you have had, dear Gita," Bee 
 gently fussed. " You must let me tuck you up directly 
 after luncheon. Is Varian staying on ? " 
 
 " He will dine with us. He tells me he must go back 
 to-night. You see he has pulled her up. I took him 
 into the Lacquer Closet where she was lying down, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 157 
 
 limp as a rag. He was with her for more than an hour. 
 He finally appeared, all the strain gone, with the good 
 news that he had frightened her out of her senses, and 
 that she had solemnly promised never to touch the 
 dreadful thing again. There has been an unfortunate 
 singeing of inexperienced wings in London, you under- 
 stand, Bee, and one of her letters made too close a 
 reference to it. It hurt, of course, and behold, she 
 rushes to her tablets. Oh, these modern girls and 
 modern mothers! Etta is worse than I thought her. 
 If we can keep Anie with us for a month or so — she 
 begs to stay — we shall have her little heart and mind 
 and soul washed clean and sweet. She will be empty, 
 unmarked, quite virginal, tabula rasa, as is fitting. 
 Then will come our boy's opportunity." 
 
 Bee opened wide her eyes of amazement. Gita gave 
 her a little shake. 
 
 " Look, my dear, what more do you want? " 
 They raked the green entrance to the Bois. The 
 chairs having been duly placed, Varian had thrown him- 
 self down near the one containing the small batiste 
 figure, the dark, little bare head. His attitude, his 
 gaze, his stillness said nothing yet betrayed everything. 
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 A MBRY on the day of Lady Susan's dinner, feel- 
 /-\ ing rather let-down, was smoking a tasteless 
 **" cigarette after breakfast, stretched full-length 
 
 on the lounge under the window, flicking from time to 
 time tiny cones of grey ash over the ruddy heads of the 
 geraniums in the green box below the striped awning. 
 Lord! what a bore it was becoming to pick up the 
 day when you hadn't gone to bed till five o'clock of 
 that same morning. He must get away for longer than 
 a week-end. Estelle was growing a little bit too much 
 for him. They were beginning to be invited a little too 
 uniformly together. She was capable of managing 
 that, confound her. He was sure Lady Cassock knew 
 nothing about it. She showed her vexation too plainly. 
 He had never felt so hunted in his life. By Jove, he'd 
 clear out. But, as he mentally said it, he knew he 
 should never do it. He hated exertion and planning 
 and getting the money together. He wrinkled his 
 brows. Look at the bills on the table now. Great 
 heavens! Estelle ought to know he couldn't marry. 
 What was she after ? Why didn't her mother look out 
 for her a bit? It wasn't his place. He took what he 
 could get. What eyes she had when she threw her 
 head back against your shoulder! He could feel her 
 elastic figure under his hand now. She had given him 
 practically every dance last night, sitting out with the 
 other fellows when she had to, just to appease her 
 
 158 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 159 
 
 mother. They had rather cooked their goose, he was 
 afraid. 
 
 This London life was all very well, but women and 
 girls got hold of you so. You had nothing to do except 
 the things they did, and consequently they had you. 
 No matter how early you rode, some confounded habit 
 was there before you. They swarmed at polo, they 
 haunted the river, you fell over them in Bond Street, 
 they grabbed you for tea, hounded you, one on either 
 side at dinner, captured you for every dance, or your 
 hostess did it for them. You ran down somewhere — 
 anywhere — the most unlikely of places for the week- 
 end, and one was sure to pop up under your nose on 
 the very station. 
 
 He simply couldn't let this Estelle business go on. 
 She had evidently lost her head — he had, too, for a wild 
 moment, but he'd found it again — and he would have 
 to pay the piper. O Lord, what a grind it was! He 
 supposed it was different with a girl in your own set. 
 With the other kind you could put it rather plainty. 
 Also, as he could not afford to forget, Estelle was no 
 Anie. He was glad, in a way, because they met more 
 on a level. With the other little one, always in the 
 clouds, pleading, plaintive, helpless, so foolishly small 
 and thin, reedy like an undeveloped child, devouring 
 you with her eyes, you were continually at a disad- 
 vantage, trying to play up, and hating it — bored when 
 she gazed at you, savage when she touched you, des- 
 perately determined to shake her off, cost what it 
 might. She had made him feel like a cad, which is 
 never pleasant to your Ambrys, a certain fastidiousness 
 in their simple egotism demanding that nothing shall 
 
160 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 shake their inner faith in themselves — the most intense 
 thing about them. 
 
 Anie's sweetness, her innocent showing of her little 
 moved heart, had come as near as anything in his ex- 
 perience to touching to life Ambry's better qualities, 
 the manly, decent, wholesome ones that had had a kind 
 of forced spring at Oxford, but that the London air 
 had nipped and shrivelled. For a moment, under Anie's 
 fingers, in the first flush of their meeting down there 
 in the old country house, these tender shoots had very 
 visibly stirred and trembled. But it couldn't last, the 
 renascence was not yet. He had never mentioned her to 
 Estelle ; he didn't even know if she knew he knew her. 
 Estelle was busy with her own affairs, and with his, evi- 
 dently. He thought with vexation of the telegram at this 
 moment in his pocket, commanding him, with all the 
 curtness of their code, to meet her at eleven in front of 
 Harrod's. What extraordinary places she chose ! He 
 hoped she'd have the sense to be there on time. He 
 didn't see himself patrolling, if she weren't there. Half 
 a hundred people they knew might run over them. Well, 
 it was on her own head. She wouldn't listen to reason. 
 To be sure, she had a way of galvanizing you, when 
 you were with her, so that you went farther than you 
 ever meant to. She was so vivid, so high-blooded, as 
 free and strong as a young colt. If she ever were to 
 feel the bit some day, he had a disgusted suspicion that 
 his hand would not be the one to press it home between 
 those full red lips. She would be the one to run him. 
 Well, then, he must escape. He'd tell her so this very 
 day, when he had got her away from Harrod's into the 
 backwater of some half-slummy street. How he hated 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 161 
 
 them! You fell over children and cats. It was hot, 
 noisy, deadly. He believed women liked such things. 
 It was " shady," it was adventurous. It was all that, 
 but it was damned unpleasant, too. They ought to 
 have enough sense to realize that a chap can't stand 
 much of that sort of thing. At least, let the 
 suggestion for such clandestine snatches come from 
 him. But, oh no, the modern girl takes one bite at 
 you, and holds on. You are the prey, not she, as in 
 those dim Victorian days. The Ambrys of the time, 
 these fine flowers of our latest civilization, thus show 
 the weaknesses of over-cultivation. Their women are 
 no longer the innocent victims of native brawn or the 
 well-seasoned club. Far from it; the ladies scan your 
 points with an appraising eye, mark you down for their 
 own, asking no assistance from mamma, and get you, 
 too, by Jove! 
 
 Estelle had practically kidnapped Ambry, but he 
 still had some fight left in him. Aid and comfort, how- 
 ever, from an unexpected quarter were already on the 
 way. Had he glanced out, with those fine, lazy, half- 
 sulky eyes of his, under the striped awning, over the ash- 
 dotted red geraniums, into the sunny morning street, 
 he would have seen a solitary Grouchy, marshalling 
 airy legions to his very doorstep, numerous enough to 
 turn the scale of his imminent Waterloo. 
 
 As he pulled himself up to reach a long arm 
 for a cigarette, Dodgson knocked and presented a 
 card. 
 
 " Not a confounded bill in person, eh ? " demanded 
 Ambry, his eyes on the man, his fingers fumbling 
 vaguely over the salver. 
 
162 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " Oh, no, Sir Ambry," responded the dutiful one. " A 
 gentleman." 
 
 " Bills often look like that, nowadays." 
 
 He held the card under his nose. " Good Lord ! what 
 can he want? " he murmured. " Show him up, will you? 
 And I'm not home to anyone else." 
 
 He got to his feet, touched his collar and tie, saw 
 to his handkerchief, slipped his cigarette-case into its 
 accustomed pocket, looked at his watch, tweaked the 
 travelling-clock into position so that its face shone 
 roundly at you across the room — he must leave himself 
 ten minutes to get to Harrod's, even if he had to put his 
 guest out by the shoulders. 
 
 Another instant and he had walked across the room 
 to meet his friend, greeting him warmly, almost shyly, 
 if we can, without too much difficulty, associate such a 
 manner with what we know of our young man, who 
 was really of rather simple a mechanism for all his 
 gorgeous exterior. 
 
 " It's most awfully good of you to look me up," he 
 began. " Do sit down, here by the window — it's rather 
 hot, isn't it? — and have a cigarette." 
 
 " Thanks. It's good to get out of the glare of the 
 streets. You are wise to hang an awning. You seem 
 most comfortable here — very good rooms — nice street, 
 fairly quiet for London. How are you? You haven't 
 put on an inch since Oxford days. Do you train? 
 Polo, eh?" 
 
 The visitor leaned back in the leather chair, crossed 
 a pair of thin legs, showing a generous length of violet 
 stocking, held his finger-tips together in the way that 
 has been said to hall-mark your curate, and bent a 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 163 
 
 keenly interested, reflective gaze upon his young friend, 
 from behind the heavy, distorting lenses of his spec- 
 tacles. The thin, ungainly figure, the bent shoulders, 
 the meagre neck seemed at pains to rear upright the 
 massive weight of that fine head, with its closely-set 
 ears, its beaked nose, its extensive brow intensified by 
 the retreat of the fast-thinning hair, with its thousand 
 and one pleasant little subtleties of modelling due to 
 the restless, unceasing reaction of the mind upon its 
 encasing flesh. 
 
 After Ambry had gone down, Johnstone-Ford had 
 heard from him in some half-dozen enthusiastic letters 
 scattered through his first year of London life, as his 
 set leads it. Then the inevitable slump had followed. 
 No one reads in London, Ambry discovered, and serious 
 talk is always boring. He fell out of touch with his 
 old tutor ; certain secret bookish inclinations died a nat- 
 ural death. He could think of nothing appropriate to 
 say, so he wrote no more. Twice only had he seen 
 Ford, since leaving Oxford, once for a few moments in 
 London after an international scientific congress ; once 
 in Baden-Baden whither Ford had drifted one after- 
 noon from some obscure, cheap cure he was making in 
 the vicinity. 
 
 Now he sat here, in Ambry's rooms, in his leather 
 chair, and looked at him in the same old, kindly, owlish 
 way. The boy's heart met him, his mind grew alert, he 
 was glad Ford had come. But where had he dropped 
 from, and why? 
 
 " You are surprised to see me, no doubt," remarked 
 Ford. " You do not get our little Oxford news. I am 
 off for a year " — Ambry made a movement of astonish- 
 
164 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 ment — " Yes, that is the usual gesture, but one does 
 not choose oftentimes to take the whole world into one's 
 confidence. To you, my dear boy, I can easily say 
 that it is by the doctor's orders, but this need not go 
 any further. Young Talbot has stepped into my shoes 
 and I am on leave, here in London, free to carry out 
 certain small experiments that have been germinating 
 in my mind for some years. My book is shelved ; there 
 is to be no work of that kind. Again you perceive the 
 harsh professional note of the medical schools. So I 
 am experimenting with life, externally, empirically, as 
 it were. I confess there is a stimulus in it, but you 
 must let yourself go. I am just beginning to learn 
 how to do so. I had no idea I had been growing so stiff, 
 mentally and physically. Well! Now to my point. I 
 am the Secretary and General Manager of a Neigh- 
 bourhood Guild, a sort of shelter for men and boys, 
 non-sectarian, and sufficiently flavoured with socialistic 
 notions to meet the taste of the day. You must under- 
 stand that all that part of it is quite indifferent to me. 
 The founder, a wealthy manufacturer who keeps us go- 
 ing financially, oh, liberally, you know, also supplies 
 the shoddy propaganda to catch the ear of the homeless 
 multitude " 
 
 " But what are you doing in that galere, in heaven's 
 name ? " burst out Ambry. 
 
 Johnstone-Ford fixed him with a gaze rather humour- 
 ously magnified by his glasses into a good-natured 
 glare. 
 
 " I do not find that so easy to explain. For some 
 years I have been conscious of a desire to try my skill 
 upon the virgin material a slum provides in such un- 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 165 
 
 grudging abundance. The crude, the dumb, the in- 
 articulate, the raw 1 product of the poor, the waifs with 
 no background — upon such as these I have felt a 
 veritable itch to experiment. The charms of birth, of 
 breeding, of sophistication, the queer little mental de- 
 posits due to centuries of inbreeding — of all this I have 
 had enough and to spare with you and your likes at 
 Oxford. We swim along together with the current as 
 
 it ever sets, la-bas, but " Ford recrossed the left 
 
 leg over the right and mused upon the exchange. 
 
 "But what?" Ambry felt he must get him on. 
 
 " The pace was stultifying. I was turning to 
 mummy," Ford tapped his chest with one long finger. 
 " I had nourished for some time, as I have just told 
 you, the wish to inoculate the perfectly undeveloped, 
 the potentially worthless offspring of the very poor 
 with — well, with what do you suppose ? — Greek ! " He 
 brought it out with such whimsical defiance that Ambry 
 shouted. 
 
 " Homeric laughter is good for the soul. Laugh on, 
 m y boy, but come down and see me with one of my 
 evening classes. You will change your note. You will 
 perceive that if you awaken the intelligence with a 
 shock, if you hold its nose under water — even of the 
 Pierian Spring — till your young victim has become 
 purple, he will, when released, suck of that gladly 
 which before had been his bane. But enough of cloudy 
 theory." 
 
 Johnstone-Ford sat up straight and drew a watch 
 from his pocket. So he, too, had an appointment. 
 Ambry breathed again. 
 
 " How you ever make your young ruffians swallow 
 
166 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 it at all is a tribute to your character. Why you don't 
 find yourself with a small-sized riot on your hands 
 and a wrecked Neighbourhood House is a mystery to 
 me. Also, the whole affair is dead against the found- 
 er's intentions, isn't it? Socialism and the Classics — 
 the lion and the lamb! How have you managed it?" 
 
 " Oh, very easily. Our worthy manufacturer has a 
 healthy contempt for the literate. He knows that I 
 and my Greek are equally doomed to a just extinction 
 in no long time ; but, being broad-minded and humane, 
 he suffers me, I will not say gladly. Recently, he has 
 whistled a different tune. You see the boys come, the 
 men, too — well, I keep them quiet for an hour, perhaps 
 longer. Of my methods he is uniformly scornful. If 
 I chose to throw shadow-pictures on a sheet, it would 
 be all the same to him. In fact, he would probably 
 regard our chalk characters on the blackboard, when 
 we are in the midst of our business, as a fair equivalent 
 for the trail of hopping rabbits on a magic-lantern slide. 
 But progress is to be seen — slight, irregular, perhaps, 
 but real. I cannot be deceived in that." 
 
 " But tell me," urged Ambry, interested in spite of 
 himself, " what is it leading to ? Is it anything more 
 than an experiment to prove that the most unlikely 
 material, no matter how degenerate, will vibrate to 
 your master hand ? — oh, you must know you have that ! 
 Or is there something else behind it? What do the 
 poor devils themselves get out of it ? " 
 
 " A drug, Nunholme, a drug — something to take the 
 place of food and drink and heat and life." Johnstone- 
 Ford spoke warmly, rapidly, quite unlike his usual 
 manner. 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 167 
 
 Ambry was struck unpleasantly. Poor old chap, 
 that was probably what the doctor meant. He was 
 getting a bit queer, and they had shut down on work. 
 But here he was, hard on this eccentric trail, his idee 
 fixe, teaching Greek to the slums. O Lord! 
 
 Ford rose to his feet. " My dear Nunholme, I have 
 an appointment at eleven, and I dare say you have also. 
 Give me five minutes more. You naturally wonder why 
 I have dropped in on you to-day, out of the clouds. I 
 saw in the papers that Mr. Poynter had gone abroad 
 to rest. I have followed you sufficiently to know that 
 you are his secretary. I thought it more than possible 
 that you would be in London, free from your duties 
 for the time being. It may seem extraordinary to you 
 that I should associate you in my thoughts with my 
 present work, yet such is the case. Now that my 
 Greek classes are taking so well, my secretarial duties 
 suffer. Do you catch my drift? Will you come over 
 and help us? Will you disappear for a few weeks into 
 a new world? Will you come out of the darkness of 
 Society, as it is understood in Wilton Place, to emerge 
 into the light as it is made manifest in Ridges Street, 
 by the curious reversed 1 process of plunging? " 
 
 As he spoke, Ambry's mind went racing. How was 
 it that Ford had seemed to divine that he would like 
 nothing better, at this harassed moment, than to sub- 
 merge himself and his identity, that personality so 
 strongly coveted by Estelle, in some far haunt, lost 
 alike to fair, impassioned friends and to indiscreet, dun- 
 ning foes? By Jove! it was worth trying. He could 
 light out, leaving word with Dodgson that he had 
 quitted London for a fortnight. Much could happen 
 
168 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 in that time. Things would have a chance to cool. 
 Privately, he would instruct Dodgson that letters left 
 
 were to be forwarded to A. Holmes, so-and-so, 
 
 Ridges Street. He saw it all work out beautifully be- 
 fore his inner eye. Then he brought his gaze back to 
 Johnstone-Ford who was awaiting his answer. 
 
 " By what amazing chance," asked he, " did you 
 know that I would snap at just such an offer as you 
 make me? " 
 
 " You will snap, then ? " cried Ford. " You will 
 come ? " 
 
 " Like a shot. They hound me, they hunt me — bills 
 and — other things. My mother hasn't recovered from 
 the last cheque she wrote me, and although my step- 
 father has acted like a trump, you can't bleed him too 
 often, you know. To disappear blamelessly for a 
 couple of weeks would be my salvation. I'll come to- 
 morrow, or my courage may ooze out. Where is 
 Ridges Street?" 
 
 " In the neighbourhood of Pimlico. My sister keeps 
 a tiny flat for me. You will be our guest. My dear boy, 
 it is too late for another word." Here Ford looked 
 about nervously for his hat. " Expect a letter from me 
 to-morrow morning with directions and explanations. 
 The life will seem very odd to you at first — old clothes, 
 you know, no servant, and no title." 
 
 " Of course," said Ambry. " I shall be A. Holmes. 
 I've thought it all out." 
 
 " O youth ! You ride ever on the wine-dark wave. 
 To-morrow, then. Await my letter by the first 
 post." 
 
 In high good humour, Johnstone-Ford shook his 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 169 
 
 young recruit's hand, and was piloted into a taxi by the 
 ever-ready, whistle-bearing Dodgson. 
 
 Left to himself, Ambry envisaged the situation with 
 a kindling eye. There, on the horizon brink, were the 
 tall, waving tops of the palms; under their enticing 
 shade gurgled a cool trickle of clear water ; the caravans 
 were coming in with the evening — no mirage, this — 
 safety and seclusion beckoned to him in this beast- 
 haunted London desert, from the green oasis of Ridges 
 Street. Oh, it would be rum. He'd drop out; he'd 
 pass; he'd lie close, just around the corner, and be 
 safer than if he went to India. He must send a line to 
 his mother, telling her that he had suddenly joined his 
 old tutor for a — walking-tour; yes, that would do, and 
 he would see her again in a few weeks. He would keep 
 Dodgson posted as to where a telegram could reach 
 him; but she was not to write, not to worry, and he 
 had enough money. That would touch her. Now he 
 must fly to his purgatory in front of Harrod's. What 
 was he doing to-night? He swept over a heap of 
 cards. Dinner at Lady Susan's; must pick up Lady 
 Cassock and Estelle, and go on with them; then they 
 would drag him to some dance or other, he supposed. 
 They had him ; he couldn't escape — yet. He'd take all 
 he could get to-night; come home, write his letters, 
 pitch together his oldest togs, and, with the morn- 
 ing breeze, hoist sail for Ridges Street. It had an 
 engaging sound. 
 
 He left the taxi at the corner below Harrod's in 
 order to escape the attentions of the uniformed door- 
 opener in front of the shop, and found himself, to his 
 extreme annoyance, caught in a feminine flood that 
 
170 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 surged, and swept, and gurgled into the full tide of a 
 summer sale. What a cursed place to ask anyone to 
 meet you! He ground his teeth. How the devil could 
 Estelle expect him to find her in this unseemly rout? 
 In reality, he was too jostled and vexed to care whether 
 he saw the young lady or not. He'd give her five more 
 minutes. As a matter of fact, she had him in her eye 
 before the elapse of two of them. He had forgotten 
 that at this particular hour and spot he would be a 
 much more noticeable object than any girl, however 
 striking. Estelle came up and touched his arm with 
 the crook of her tall-handled parasol. 
 
 " Shall we get out of this ? " she asked coolly. 
 
 " Rather," he answered, barely looking at her. 
 
 She steered him skilfully through the mob of her 
 sister-souls, actually pausing for a moment to ask him 
 if some damnable turban wasn't a duck of a hat — the 
 aplomb of the girl! — till they found themselves around 
 a corner, out of the swarm, committed to a long, un- 
 lovely thoroughfare, whose principal commerce seemed 
 to centre in bicycle repair-shops, in petrol and tyre 
 vendors. 
 
 " I'm most awfully sorry I asked you to meet me 
 there," began Estelle, as she saw that he had no in- 
 tention of looking at her, " but I was at my wits' end, 
 mother was fussing, and I quite forgot about those 
 beastly sales. Sorry, Ambry." 
 
 She really was fascinating, incredibly so, when she 
 chose to soften a bit and smooth a fellow down. She 
 had on a ripping gown, white and blue, all stuck over 
 with little glass buttons, and the big. hat with wheat 
 absurdly standing up in it. Oh, well 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 171 
 
 " I don't mind much, now," he admitted graciously. 
 " You look awfully well this morning. How on earth 
 do you do it ? You couldn't have had five hours' sleep." 
 
 " Never mind that. I'm used to it. Let us talk," 
 but she seemed to experience a slight difficulty in be- 
 ginning, and he made no attempt to help her. They 
 moved on slowly. A most noticeable, but not an har- 
 monious pair — he, busy with his plans for escape, she, 
 weaving strands to bind him. 
 
 " Do you realize that you are as dumb as a fish some- 
 times ? " She plunged headlong. " What are you go- 
 ing to do from the end of the month? Mother says 
 we must stay in town till the 28th. If you showed a 
 spark of interest, we might arrange to see something 
 of each other. Mother hasn't taken a place this year, 
 because she says we are rather hard up — that I cost 
 too much. That is simply to grumble, because I don't 
 begin to cost as much as she does. So I suppose that 
 means we'll bob around from one visit to another. You 
 see, something could be managed in that way. Do you 
 know, sometimes I think you don't care, Ambry, and 
 then, as you did last night, you make it all come real 
 again." For Estelle to admit as much as this was 
 rather staggering. Ambry had the grace to feel 
 ashamed. He played for time. 
 
 " Tt's a hideous bore, you know, but my affairs are 
 horribly mixed up. I simply can't look ahead a week. 
 Mother and Goodrich-Dow have taken a shooting, so I 
 suppose I'll put in some of the time with them. I don't 
 know. I may stay on in town, getting in a bit of 
 work. I've let everything slide frightfully. You've 
 knocked me in the head, so that half the time I don't 
 
172 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 know what I'm about. You are becoming rather too 
 much for me, you know, Estelle. You are too expen- 
 sive a luxury for a poor devil like me. How can I live 
 up to you ? " 
 
 " You've never cared to try, Ambry," she replied 
 quietly. He felt cold; she was gaining on him and he 
 knew it. Oh, he was ripe for Ridges Street ! 
 
 " I don't quite know what you mean," he remarked, 
 thinking that subterfuge safe. " Even if I am mad 
 about you, there's nothing to be gained by losing our 
 heads. Your mother is rather ferocious, as it is. She 
 was barely civil to me last night — said I made you 
 conspicuous. Suppose I did? If you go to a ball you 
 must dance with someone, mustn't you ? Let us lie low 
 for a bit. Nothing can come of rushing things. When 
 a fellow hasn't any money, he's most awfully tied by 
 the leg. You can see that, can't you, Estelle? " 
 
 He felt like a worm, as he let her have it, but you 
 had to do something to keep your head and hers above 
 water, if she were too far gone to help herself. 
 
 They had moved out of the bicycle zone and were 
 now breathing the more rarefied air of the dealers 
 in antiquities whose windows, multifariously stuffed, 
 winked at you with the twinkle of their glass and their 
 brasses, with the polish of their mahogany, with the 
 shining of a hundred porcelain trifles. The morning 
 sun lay in white patches on the awnings that kept the 
 pavement cool and shaded before their inviting doors. 
 Ambry's wandering eye was caught by an airy little 
 dancing figure in biscuit de Sevres, some eighteenth- 
 century variation of Columbine, poised on infinitesimal 
 toes, when Estelle's voice reawakened him to the con- 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 173 
 
 sciousness of the hot, noisy, boring walk they were 
 having, arousing once more his uneasy distaste for the 
 role she was forcing him to play. So he put it to him- 
 self. 
 
 " You needn't rub it in, you know," she was remark- 
 ing. " I'm not going to run off with you to the first 
 Registry Office. Be a little decent, can't you, Ambry? 
 You know things like that — hurt." She put up her 
 parasol suddenly, and he had a suspicion that tears 
 might not be far from those brilliant eyes. What a 
 dangling fool he had been to get into this mess ! What 
 in heaven's name did she expect him to do? When he 
 tried to be sensible, he only made matters worse, appar- 
 ently. Well, then, he'd make her as conspicuous as need 
 be, if that was what she wanted. There'd be only one 
 day more of it, at all events. 
 
 " Darling, put down that confounded thing, I can't 
 see you. Estelle, what are we walking in this filthy 
 street for? Come in a taxi and be comfortable." 
 
 He signalled an empty one and they got in. 
 
 " I ought not to do this, I suppose," she said, as he 
 gave the vague direction, " Oh, anywhere in Bays- 
 water." 
 
 "Oh, what's the odds?" he answered. "When I 
 try to be prudent, you think I don't care, so let us be 
 rash." 
 
 " So that is how you feel, is it ? " she demanded. 
 No hint of tears now in the dark, angry eyes bent upon 
 him, the flush of her disappointment creeping up the 
 smooth cheek. " Whatever you do and say is calcu- 
 lated, weighed, and pondered. When you commence 
 to talk of prudence! Oh, you make me actually sick. 
 
174 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 Because I've been frank enough to show you that you 
 mean something to me, you begin to be frightened. 
 One isn't prudent when one really cares. A month ago 
 you pitched yourself at me headlong. You weren't 
 very circumspect then, nor did you exercise yourself 
 unduly that I should be. Oh, rather not ! " 
 
 To her own ear, her voice was on the verge of 
 trembling. She waited a moment. Ambry, a little 
 pale, was looking at his hands crossed on the top of 
 his stick. The taxi, a poor old thing, jolted and 
 richoted upon its uncertain course out Bayswater 
 way. When she was sure of herself, Estelle requested 
 that they stop. This was done to Ambry's secret 
 relief. 
 
 " Get out, please," said the girl, " and tell him to 
 take me home." 
 
 " I'm most awfully sorry, dear — " began a rather 
 conscience-stricken youth — you never knew what a girl 
 was going to do next. 
 
 " Oh, don't mind me," retorted Estelle. " I dare say 
 I'll be fool enough to telephone you this afternoon. 
 Our talk this morning has been so pleasant I shall be 
 longing for more." She leaned forward in the cab and 
 looked at him squarely. What did she expect? Some- 
 thing she evidently did not find. 
 
 " Lady Susan's to-night," he said, with a weak at- 
 tempt at propitiation now that he was rid of her for 
 the moment. " You remember that I am to pick up you 
 and your mother? " 
 
 " Did you suppose that I had forgotten? " she asked 
 with simple scorn, rapping on the glass with her parasol 
 as a signal for the man to go on. 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 175 
 
 The deserted Ambry, upon whom no further glance 
 was bestowed, regarded for as long as it was visible 
 the upstanding wheat that garnished Estelle's hat, bob- 
 bing, not ungracefully, over the lowered hood of the 
 cab. 
 
CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 AS our young man walked slowly back to Wilton 
 Place his thoughts were busy with the morrow. 
 h Lord, what a relief it would be to shelve all 
 these interminable, half-acid, half-tearful discussions 
 that could lead nowhere 1 He was immensely fond of 
 Estelle. If he could afford it, he almost thought he 
 would like to marry her. She had plenty of spirit and 
 would keep a fellow going. She was handsome, too, 
 the type that wouldn't go off in a few years. She was 
 a thorough sport, if she would only keep her head. 
 He supposed it was flattering, but it was a confounded 
 bore at the same time for a girl not to be willing to 
 play the game. Her mother knew quite well, and made 
 it deuced plain, that he was not a marriageable quan- 
 tity. He had the title, such as it was, and Appleton, 
 but no money to keep it up. His mother gave him what 
 she considered, poor innocent woman, a very generous 
 allowance, but if he couldn't scrape along on it, even 
 helped out of tight corners by his step-father's occa- 
 sional cheques, how could he be conceived as the possible 
 husband of an exceedingly expensive Estelle? Did 
 every girl he looked at think he wanted to marry her? 
 he asked himself viciously, being very well aware, 
 nevertheless, that he had done much more than merely 
 look at Estelle. Oh, he didn't flatter himself she 
 wouldn't get over it. When he crawled out of Ridges 
 Street at the end of the summer, she would probably 
 
 176 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 177 
 
 have difficulty in bringing him to mind. He said to 
 himself that he hoped so, not meaning it, of course, 
 and then, with a mental shake, let the whole affair glide 
 blissfully into his subconscious depths, without so much 
 as a splash. 
 
 His solitary ramble was beginning to amuse him. 
 The streets were taking on their proper aspect near 
 the park. If they were crowded, it was with his own 
 kind — a nod here, a smile there, to some particular 
 crony. To finish squeezing down the lid on the morn- 
 ing's ruffling episode, to end it with a proper twirl, he 
 dropped into his own particular flower-shop to send a 
 little woven basket of orange roses to Belgrave Square. 
 He had forgotten what she had told him she was going 
 to wear to-night, but, at least, the action would show 
 that he bore no malice. " H e to bear malice — ! " the 
 an g r y girl might justly exclaim, but of course he 
 never gave her the chance. 
 
 He was late dressing for dinner because he had spent 
 so much time over his letter to his mother, endeavoring 
 to give a plausible ring to what he tardily perceived 
 would seem uncommonly odd, i.e., his departure on an 
 innocent walking-tour before the end of the season, he, 
 of all people, who most detested the simple life, with 
 a knapsack, the rather sickly raptures of the scholar- 
 gypsy. Well, she'd have to swallow it. He could think 
 of nothing better on the spur of the moment. Dodgson 
 had packed a shooting-kit with some flannels and odds 
 and ends, a melancholy feeling invading his profes- 
 sional impassivity at the thought of the physical dis- 
 comforts his young gentleman would lay himself open 
 to, away from his capable hands. They called such 
 
178 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 flittings " larks," but Dodgson knew that he would 
 never had regarded them in that light had fate made 
 him a young gentleman. 
 
 Ambry, in the final throes of his apparelling, rang 
 the bell furiously, conjuring Dodgson to whistle up a 
 taxi, a hansom, anything on wheels. He was vilely 
 late, and Lady Cassock became a good imitation of an 
 uncaged lioness if anyone dared to keep her waiting. 
 Racing downstairs, pulling open the door to let out a 
 gush of artificial light from the hall into the pure, 
 purple twilight of the summer evening, Ambry found 
 a discomforted and nervous Dodgson, in response to 
 whose piercingly persuasive pipings no London gondola 
 deigned to swim over the asphalt waves. 
 
 " Never mind ; I'll pick one up," cried Ambry, brush- 
 ing past him, his floating, winglike cape hanging from 
 his famous shoulders. Hurried as he was, he instinc- 
 tively slackened his pace as one of the prettiest women 
 he had ever seen drew near, under the gas-lamp, com- 
 ing from the opposite direction. She was so fresh, so 
 quaint, in a rather odd style of dress, with a trans- 
 parent little black blur of a hat on her wonderful curls, 
 her slim arms in soft yellow gloves, her big bright eyes. 
 In an instant he received an unusual impression of 
 suppleness, of grace, of activity. How well she placed 
 her little feet! She must be a foreigner — a Russian, 
 perhaps. He supposed he'd been staring rather hard, 
 for she shrank the least bit in the world, and then 
 he saw that she was not alone. Beside her was a tall, 
 thin, equally foreign-looking chap with a corkingly 
 good figure. 
 
 At this moment a taxi spun into view around the 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 179 
 
 corner. Ambry threw himself into it, the name " Bel- 
 grave Square " on his lips effectually banishing the 
 little pretty woman from his mind to admit the per- 
 suasive image of Estelle, dark, warm, glowing, as he 
 knew she would be, waiting for him. 
 
 Estelle met him in the drawing-room alone, her 
 mother being delayed by the intricacies of a new gown 
 that hooked up in a simply impossible way, and by the 
 clumsy fingers of a scratch maid, picked up, heaven 
 knows where, to replace the tiresome but invaluable 
 Marcelle, flat on her foolish French back with a 
 migraine. 
 
 " Thank the Lord! " breathed Ambry devoutly. " I 
 was preparing to be torn limb from limb by your enraged 
 parent for daring to keep her waiting two minutes. I 
 had to rush like the devil. That's a stunning frock you 
 have on, my child," critically examining the skimpy 
 apricot satin affair, daringly twisted and looped 
 around the girl's tall young shape. She pointed a slim 
 white finger, without saying a word, where one of the 
 copper-coloured roses lay caught in her breast. She 
 bore no malice evidently. So he was forgiven, and their 
 night, his last one, was all before them. 
 
 Lady Cassock's penetrating soprano, sending a 
 shower of vague directions in advance of her down the 
 staircase, caused them to flock dutifully into the hall. 
 
 " You here, Sir Ambry," she remarked, with the acid 
 insouciance that always put his back up — as if she 
 hadn't known it all along ! 
 
 He muttered something non-committal, as he helped 
 them into the taxi. Lady Cassock had disposed of her 
 motor at the beginning of the season, just when she 
 
180 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 needed it most, for obscure reasons best known to her- 
 self. Doubtless Anie and Estelle's horses, half the 
 time eating their heads off, had something to do with 
 it. Her expenses were frightful, but the girls must 
 show decently in the Row. 
 
 Much harassed, the good lady, breathing so notice- 
 ably that it was quite unbecoming — that insufferable 
 fool of a girl must have jerked her in tighter than was 
 absolutely necessary to make her bodice meet — busied 
 herself, in the half-light, with an absurd little morocco 
 notebook, not taking the time to put on her long, dan- 
 gling gloves. 
 
 No one said anything. Estelle in her corner kept 
 her eyes, slightly beringed and tired, fixed idly, unsee- 
 ingly, upon the golden twilight streets. Ambry, seated 
 opposite the two women, felt suddenly invaded by a 
 kind of gene. His flicker of interest, aroused by the 
 sight of Estelle's evening beauty, was dying out. He 
 would have liked to pull open the door and vanish 
 silently — dinnerless, danceless — into the easy hospi- 
 tality of less gilded quarters of the town. 
 
 Looking up from her confounded little book, Lady 
 Cassock said, apparently to the world at large, cer- 
 tainly not to either of her companions : 
 
 " The woman must be quite mad to fancy she can 
 invite me to meet such a rabble, even for a week-end — 
 with a girl on my hands, too." The rigid hair of her 
 elaborate coiffure appeared to rear tingling little elec- 
 tric heads like a Medusa's. 
 
 They were nearing their destination, indicated by 
 red carpets and footmen. In fact, they were caught 
 in a mass of petrol-breathing, shining-eyed monsters, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 181 
 
 several yards from their hostess' door. Lady Cassock's 
 singularly scanty supply of patience ran suddenly dry. 
 
 " Tell him to stop here," she commanded Ambry. 
 " We can save time by walking a few steps. I abso- 
 lutely must have two words with Lady Susan before 
 we are sent in." The taxi stopped with a jerk. Lady 
 Cassock hurried across the pavement, huddling her 
 cloak, all violet and silver, across her shoulders. Ambry 
 sulkily followed. Really that woman permitted herself 
 to be an uncommonly uncomfortable companion. 
 
 " Your mother, you know — " he commenced to 
 grumble in Estelle's ear. 
 
 She looked at him in a way that pulled him up. 
 •' What is that to you ? It gives us a moment to our- 
 selves." This was obvious enough. She made the 
 most of it by taking his arm, tottering on those idiotic 
 pin-point heels. With the skirts and slippers women 
 were wearing they were as helpless as Chinese, and 
 when they were dancing you practically had to carry 
 them. 
 
 So they made their way into Lady Susan's abode, 
 Ambry praying that she'd give them decent wine. He 
 needed something to go on with. Estelle certainly got 
 on a fellow's nerves. . . . 
 
 Letting himself into his rooms, long after dawn, 
 when it was really quite respectably sunny, Ambry took 
 a cold plunge to clear his head. This treatment, while 
 steadying, was only partially successful, for when the 
 inner pulses of youth are running hot and free, excited 
 by movement, by lights, by warmth, by the contagion 
 of the jaded joyousness of a ballroom at the end of a 
 strenuous season, it takes more than a cold douche to 
 
182 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 quiet that impetuous throb. These particular pulses, 
 irritated by the touch, by the feeling, by the intense 
 consciousness of Estelle with which she had known how 
 to surround him the entire night, were giving our 
 young man something to think of. If he could still 
 feel this way, if she still had the power to carry him 
 with her, almost off his feet, mightn't there be really 
 something in it? He sat with his hot head in his hands 
 for an appreciable time, his thoughts circling ever 
 closer and closer around that threatening Dark Tower, 
 built of debts, mortised with bills, manned by duns, 
 that raked the entrance to whatever dim, delectable 
 green meadows of solvency might lie beyond its ugly 
 bulk. He ceased to ponder, not being of the stuff that 
 slings slug-horn to lip, defiantly leading a forlorn hope. 
 Not he I Hurt as it might, he clung to Johnstone-Ford 
 as to a plank of salvation. One more cigarette and 
 then he'd turn in. The expected letter would doubtless 
 contain all possible directions and exhortations, that 
 is, if he knew his ancient tutor. 
 
 Dodgson eventually brought it to him with the cus- 
 tomary cup of weak tea that was supposed to serve as 
 an eye-opener. Ambry, flat on his back, like a tired 
 navvy, unfolded' benumbed arms. Yes, it was all there. 
 If he could arrange to lunch with them at their rooms, 
 so much the better. There was enough to begin on 
 at once in the way of neglected secretarial work. Miss 
 Johnstone-Ford was impatient to make his acquaint- 
 ance. She was filled with hospitable activities and 
 housewifely anxieties on his account. Their life was 
 simplicity itself, but they hoped to make him comfort- 
 able. Had he told Ambry that his sister was deep in 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 183 
 
 a philanthropic enterprise, a scheme to feed poor women 
 and their babies with at least one nourishing meal a 
 day? Ambry made a face. He was confident, with 
 the crude judgment of youth, of such a golden youth, 
 that he could place the good lady at once. He saw 
 her, photographed by a secret, instantaneous process, 
 in a certain gallery open only to his inner eye. It was 
 a simple image, good and gentle, and he need fear no 
 sentimental complications. Thank heavens! for some 
 weeks he'd be free as he'd never really been in his 
 life before. He would be distinctly on his own bat, 
 with no aroma of name or family to hang about him. 
 The thought of A. Holmes caught and fixed him. Well, 
 the sooner the better. By the time he was dressed it 
 would be noon. He dragged himself up. 
 
 A copper-coloured rose, pinched at the edges, 
 crumpled as if it were made of paper, had been placed 
 in a tiny glass of water on the dressing-table. He 
 must have dropped it out of his things last night, and 
 Dodgson, the invaluable, the discreet, the sentimental, 
 had cherished it for him. Ambry looked at the pretty, 
 fragile, faded trophy, and forbore to smile. Neverthe- 
 less, he left it to blacken in the glass if it saw fit, as, 
 his toilet completed, with a last look around, such as 
 might have been thrown by the disinherited hero, pre- 
 paring to leave his gilded halls for the obscurity of a 
 South-West slum, Ambry closed the door on his old 
 personality for so long as it should please a certain 
 A. Holmes to keep it dark. 
 
 At the last moment, although he had not intended 
 to, he left a telegram with Dodgson to be sent off at 
 once, informing Estelle that he had been forced to 
 
184 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 leave town, and didn't quite know when he would be 
 back. After last night, this was almost worse than 
 sending no word at all. She'd never forgive him, but 
 wasn't that what he wanted? Being less sure of this 
 than he cared to admit, he threw himself and his kit 
 into a cab in a tumult of mind that only Ridges Street 
 could subdue. 
 
CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 RIDGES STREET, when you found it, was seen 
 to be a stumpy thoroughfare lying in the outer 
 purlieus of desolate Pimlico. Here were no 
 trees, no awnings, no flower-boxes. Nothing to temper 
 a roaring sun that beat down on broken pavements, on 
 blistered, cracked, soot-stained facades, on open buckets 
 of refuse, on the dirt, the confusion, the staggering 
 decay of a summer slum. 
 
 A hundred and fifty odd years ago this quarter of 
 the town was beginning to be occupied by prosperous 
 tradesmen who could afford to themselves a well-built 
 house in a genteel street. Trees flourished here then, 
 in the trim gardens that boasted grass alleys and goose- 
 berry bushes. You will still find the parlours and some 
 of the upper chambers of these houses to be solidly 
 panelled, with deep-set windows and comfortable cup- 
 boards; the staircases take a proper curve; you run 
 your hand along a mahogany rail; your feet follow 
 the well-placed flight of steps, worn by who knows what 
 innumerable contacts? Elaborate fanlights over the 
 heavy doors that sprawl open now from dawn to dawn 
 still let in an obscure streak of day through a dreary 
 deposit of soot and cobwebs. Wizened, gnomelike chil- 
 dren seem to burst out from every cranny, ready to 
 swarm up a stranger's leg on a voyage of discovery; 
 vague fumes of hot suds (why suds, when no person and 
 no thing has even the deceitful appearance of cleanli- 
 
 185 
 
186 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 ness?), and of miserable, greasy cookery hang almost 
 palpably in the well of the staircase; frowsy, battered 
 heads of incredibly ugly women, for true poverty is 
 the most active of disfiguring agents, dart out of the 
 open doors, like ragged turnkeys, at the least unwonted 
 sound; a stupefying air of hopelessness, of incapacity, 
 of hard brutality, of conscious degradation broods over 
 such neighbourhoods as this, making it necessary for 
 the unaccustomed intruder of aesthetic instincts to call 
 upon all his resources of decent feeling to keep him 
 from turning tail at the first onslaught of this inferno 
 upon his highly-cultivated sense organs. 
 
 Our exquisite Ambry cast a haggard eye from house 
 to house, wildly seeking the number that Johnstone- 
 Ford had given him. There it was at last, 117, but, 
 heaven be praised ! not quite like its drunken neighbours. 
 For 117 was a nosegay in a dust-heap, thanks to fresh 
 paint, green blinds, well-scrubbed steps, a neat brass 
 knocker, a shining, carefully-lettered doctor's bell, and 
 a row of bright, pink geraniums at an upper window. 
 
 Ambry heaved down his kit himself and bore it up 
 the steps, with the laudable desire to be in character 
 from the very first moment. A pale-faced little maid 
 with abnormally long, thin arms, opened the door to 
 him and took his name in rather a flutter, leaving him 
 standing in the hall, a stranded but much-interested 
 voyager. The shape of the house pleased his eye, the 
 broad lines, the good moulding on cornice and stair- 
 head, the low, heavy doors at right and left. An agree- 
 able, cool, fresh odour floated down from the upper 
 regions. On the first landing a small muslin curtain 
 moved gently in the languid air from an open window, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 187 
 
 bringing relief at once from that stifling oppression he 
 had brought in with him from the summer street. 
 
 In a moment the little maid reappeared at the top 
 of the stairs, followed immediately by a tall, thin 
 woman who bent her grey head and asked him in a 
 very sweet, rather odd voice if he would not come up. 
 
 " My brother will be so sorry that he is not here 
 to meet you — Mr. Holmes," she hesitated over the name 
 with a droll little intonation, " but he is doubtless de- 
 layed by some one of those extraordinary happenings 
 that are a commonplace of our life here. We are both 
 so very happy to welcome you. It will mean so much to 
 John to have you to talk to. I make but a feeble 
 listener, for I always wish to chatter interminably to 
 him about my own little affairs, in which, of course, 
 no one but myself can have any but the most per- 
 functory interest." 
 
 Gently rambling on, her thin hands moving rest- 
 lessly, now patting the brooch at her neck, now touch- 
 ing an invisible hairpin, now setting a net to rights 
 over the rather unruly fringe of her grey hair, her 
 kind eyes bent quietly, critically, quizzically upon her 
 young guest, Miss Johnstone-Ford led him into the 
 front room on the second storey, apparently fitted to 
 be sitting-room, study, and general meeting-place. It 
 was plain to severity, and spotlessly clean. The pan- 
 elled walls, the wood scraped and painted, carried no 
 pictures or ornaments; a carpenter had run up deal 
 shelves for the books ; papers, notebooks, and writing- 
 gear were arranged on a sort of long standing desk 
 near the window, leaving free a round, polished table 
 drawn up by the empty fireplace where the meals of 
 
188 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 the family were evidently served. A lady's rickety 
 little writing-desk stood against the wall, having near 
 it a low chair and a hassock with a worked tapestry 
 top. Half surrounding these objects was a screen 
 upon whose paper sides had been painted a fantastic 
 Roman episode of the Empire — some embarkation on 
 the Tiber from a riverside villa, the black and white 
 squares of the pavement diminishing, very well fore- 
 shortened, down to the water's edge. Evidently this bit 
 of the apartment represented the withdrawing-room of 
 the lady of the household. The gay, embroidered 
 petunias on the footstool top, and the pink geraniums 
 outside the muslin-shrouded window', were the only 
 dabs of colour in the cool, encompassing greyness. 
 
 Ambry, regarding his hostess with interest, could 
 have smiled at the neat fashion in which Nature, for 
 once unwasteful, had used the brother's features to 
 furnish forth the sister's countenance. You saw the 
 same bony structure, the well-set ears, the beaked nose, 
 but here the slightly narrower brow was covered by a 
 dense fringe of grey hair, the nose, with more generous 
 nostrils, had an oddly engaging upward tilt, the cheeks, 
 the corners of the eyes, unworn by the searching ac- 
 tivity of a restless mind, had a certain smooth, almost 
 youthful freshness. She was painfully thin and flat 
 under her little black blouse, and you had a shrewd 
 suspicion that she frequently forgot to eat. Ambry 
 felt a strong liking for her at once, of which, being 
 very feminine, she doubtless became subtly conscious in 
 less time than it takes to write it. 
 
 " How you are ever going to manage in your box 
 of a room, I don't know." She threw up her hands 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 189 
 
 in laughing bewilderment. " The only thing for us 
 to do is to work you so hard that you'll drop asleep 
 before you have a chance to feel the walls closing in 
 on you. Will you come and see it now? Then we'll 
 have luncheon and John will surely be back by that 
 time in a fever of impatience at not having been here 
 to make you welcome in person." 
 
 As she spoke, she opened a door masked in the wood- 
 work at one side of the room, and led the way into a 
 species of walled-in corridor, as narrow as a hall, that 
 might once have served as a dressing-closet. The orig- 
 inal slit of a window had been enlarged by some previous 
 tenant with an eye to symmetry, so that it now matched 
 the two in the adjoining room. A white cot, a minia- 
 ture dressing-table, and a chair were all that one could 
 possibly admit, leaving space at the same time for 
 the human occupant. Miss Johnstone-Ford pointed to 
 the bed. 
 
 " It looks wobbly, but I assure you it isn't, and you 
 perceive that it is long enough, even for you," she 
 glanced up at the high head beside her. " John made 
 me very particular about that." 
 
 " I feel perfectly sure that I shall be as happy as 
 possible here, dear Miss Johnstone-Ford, and as good 
 as gold," said Ambry, warmly and sincerely. " Your 
 offer to take me in, coming just at this time, has made 
 a tremendous difference to me. I really can't tell you 
 how much." 
 
 " It is nice of you to swallow us so easily," replied 
 the lady. " You are merely to sleep here, you know. 
 You must use the sitting-room exactly as if it were 
 your own. You have perhaps noticed that each of us 
 
190 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 has his little corner. One shall be arranged for you, 
 too, never fear. I have a feeling that we shall indulge 
 in some famous talks. John comes in simply bursting 
 with theories. By the way, how do you find him look- 
 ing? " She turned to Ambry rather sharply, with a 
 strange little, upward, birdlike look. 
 
 " Oh, awfully well, I thought, and tremendously keen 
 on this class of his " 
 
 " Too keen, I'm afraid," said his sister soberly. " Oh, 
 well, we shall see. I'll have your traps brought up. 
 It is immensely decent of you simply to try to get 
 along with a portmanteau after the mass of belongings 
 to which the modern young man accustoms himself. 
 Shall we go in? I think luncheon has been brought up. 
 John's room is directly back of this one, and mine 
 practically corresponds to yours. The third room in 
 the rear we have turned into a bath, with showers and 
 needle douches to keep us in condition." 
 
 As she spoke, Ambry involuntarily thought that 
 the poor lady herself would stand a good chance of being 
 knocked over by a properly directed spray, so frail 
 she was. 
 
 They found Jenny, the small maid, laying the cloth 
 and producing table furniture from mysterious cup- 
 boards and hiding-places. A pleasing odour stole up 
 the staircase, and presently they were sitting down 
 together to an excellent meal of cutlets and fish, green 
 peas and salad. In the midst of it they heard the 
 front door open and close, the sound of a voice in the 
 hall, of footsteps mounting the stairs. 
 
 " Here he is at last, poor dear," exclaimed Miss 
 Johnstone-Ford, half rising and dropping her napkin. 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 191 
 
 Ambry was cordially greeted by his old tutor, who 
 struck him, with his bright eye and flushed cheek, as 
 looking not quite himself. They reseated themselves, 
 and Johnstone-Ford made an attempt merely at eat- 
 ing. After assuring himself that Ambry really felt 
 that he could manage in his straitened quarters, and 
 that he still held to his determination to give them and 
 Ridges Street a trial, he told him that he would explain 
 his work to him this evening, after class. Just at this 
 moment he had something on his mind that he must 
 get into writing. Would Ambry excuse him? All this 
 said rather hurriedly, as if the speaker were under a 
 certain nervous strain, that he was making a more or 
 less violent effort to control. Ambry, of course, fell 
 in at once with his suggestion, and Miss Johnstone- 
 Ford, her eyes fixed on her brother, her poor hands 
 ceaselessly busy with her napkin, pinching, patting, 
 folding, and smoothing, threw herself gallantly at the 
 head of their guest, declaring that she would carry 
 him over the Neighbourhood House, give him a hint 
 of his duties, about which, indeed, she knew quite as 
 much as John, would lead him also to her own Milk 
 Shelter and show him cats and babies, for even a young 
 man should know about such things. 
 
 " Oh, yes, my dear boy, you will find Gertrude a 
 far better guide than I this afternoon. But once let 
 me pigeon-hole this matter I spoke of, and to-night 
 we'll have one of our Homeric discourses." 
 
 While they had been speaking, Jenny had cleared 
 the table, placing thereon plums and nectarines, downy, 
 sun-warmed, perfumed, in a sort of woven lacquer 
 basket, the coffee-machine, tiny cups, cigarettes, and 
 
192 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 little clay pots for ashes. With the soothing cloud of 
 their bluish smoke about them, Ford's eyes grew more 
 languid, and Gertrude's hands quieter. 
 
 Presently she turned to Ambry. " Shall we start in 
 ten minutes' time? Don't you want to change those 
 beautiful clothes you have on for simpler ones? I 
 know John told you to bring old things. I don't want 
 people to think you are an inquiring visitor I am show- 
 ing about — a strayed reveller from happier courts. 
 I wish you to get first impressions as one of us, 
 one of our small staff, eh? " She had a most at- 
 tractive way of throwing her head sideways, and look- 
 ing up at you. Anyone could see that presently she 
 would be playing Peetybee — dear simple lady! to 
 his Varian. How certain types repeat themselves 
 endlessly I 
 
 Ambry laughingly assented, and passed a somewhat 
 agitated ten minutes in changing into the most decayed 
 set of flannels that Dodgson had been able to find. The 
 smallness of the room proved intensely confusing, and 
 when he paused, flushed but at least clad, his eye 
 embraced a frenzied scene. Who would have supposed 
 that one portmanteau could contain so much? Who 
 would have supposed that its varied contents would 
 display such a superhuman agility in seeking individual 
 resting-places from one end of the room to the other? 
 On the bed, or under it, was all one to them. They 
 swarmed over the dressing-table and completely sub- 
 merged the solitary chair. You waded through a froth 
 of boots to reach the door, and Ambry, taking in the 
 effect with a distraught yet amused eye, for the first 
 time in his life rendered unto Dodgson the things that 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 193 
 
 were Dodgson's, and mentally raised that invaluable 
 person's wages on the spot. 
 
 Returning to the sitting-room, not knowing where 
 else to go, Ambry found Ford standing at his desk, 
 his hand moving easily, quietly, over the paper, cover- 
 ing it with line upon line of his small, firm, crabbed, 
 studentlike script. He looked up with a gentle smile 
 and no appearance of annoyance. The strain was over, 
 now that he was expressing himself in his best-loved 
 medium. 
 
 " Try that easy chair, my boy," he suggested 
 vaguely. " The books are there to your hand." Then 
 he sank once more beyond sight and hearing. 
 
 Gertrude, coming in softly from the back room, 
 beckoned Ambry out with her. She had pinned on a 
 small, rounded straw hat, coming well over her face, 
 trimmed with a twist of lace, and a little wreath of 
 what looked like elderberries. A cotton parasol was 
 tucked under her arm, and she was drawing on a pair 
 of thin black gloves that showed every ridge and bone, 
 almost every distended vein, in the nervous, restless 
 hands. 
 
 " Did you find your room too distressingly small? 
 Jenny is a very clever little person about keeping 
 things in order. I'll send her up now to unpack and 
 arrange for you. If those are your oldest garments, 
 I don't know how I shall ever pass you off as anything 
 but a nobleman in disguise, and a very thin disguise at 
 that. However, one can't help one's physique. There 
 is a case in point in this very neighbourhood. A young 
 woman keeps a dairy, sells you eggs and butter and 
 milk, looking meantime like the freshest, daintiest, 
 
194 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 most charming of Watteau shepherdesses. It's all in 
 the lines of her body, in the curves and tints of her 
 face. You never see the frock — plain stuff in winter, 
 or print in summer, no more no less." 
 
 Ambry's attention, however, was beginning to wan- 
 der. He hoped Ford would keep him busy. He'd have 
 less time to regret Dodgson and — other people. . . . 
 She must have his telegram by now. He almost pulled 
 out his watch, but stayed his hand in time and wrenched 
 his thoughts away from the exasperating sweets of Bel- 
 grave Square, back to the noisome realities of Ridges 
 Street. 
 
 They had been too much engaged in their conversa- 
 tion to notice that their advance on the wooden build- 
 ing with a zinc roof, known as the Neighbourhood 
 House, had many of the special features of a royal 
 progress — a line of slatternly heads at the windows, 
 an escort of doleful urchins at right and left, openly 
 curious, obviously cynical, the wag among them giving 
 a not bad imitation of Ambry's careless stride. 
 
 Gertrude, becoming suddenly aware of these frisking 
 youths, turned upon them, called them by name, in- 
 quired about the mother of one, the baby-sister of 
 another, plainly a very new acquisition, and, in two 
 minutes, by the exercise of the genuine, honest power 
 she possessed to meet other human beings, no matter 
 how small and impish, on a common, friendly level, 
 had turned the mocking cohorts into a band of youthful 
 friends, eager to accompany them to their destination. 
 Such is a simple woman's simple magic. 
 
 The bare rooms of the Guild presented the familiar 
 aspect associated with all such enterprises. They were 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 195 
 
 clean enough, with their painted floors, their calcimined 
 walls, on which had been tacked coloured supplements 
 of some of the better class of weekly periodicals. The 
 men's reading-room and smoking-room sheltered, even 
 at this hour, certain shuffling individuals, whose slouch- 
 ing backs, disorganized legs, unsteady eyes, and tatter- 
 demalion appearance placed them unerringly in the 
 wide pigeon-hole of the unemployed and the unemploy- 
 able. 
 
 " Nice Johnnies, those," thought Ambry. " Poor 
 devils," he added to himself, after another glance, pity 
 beginning to accomplish her mission within him. 
 
 The gymnasium was not badly fitted up. " You 
 might put the boys through their paces here, some- 
 times," remarked Gertrude. " Poor, little, stunted, 
 underfed souls! To teach them how to breathe would 
 be a step toward arousing in them the desire to do so 
 properly. Something really valuable might follow upon 
 such a beginning." 
 
 " Here is John's den, now to be yours." She un- 
 locked a door into a high, narrow room with a single 
 window opening on a blank-looking, melancholy court. 
 A faint odour of dusty papers, of stale tobacco-smoke, 
 of brown soap, made its inevitable impression upon un- 
 accustomed nostrils. 
 
 " A bit stuffy here," remarked Gertrude, throwing 
 up the window. She ran her hand through an untidy 
 accumulation of pamphlets, address-books, leaflets, and 
 other signs of anaemic propaganda. " You have to 
 send these things out — I'll give you the special lists. 
 Here is the key to the drawers. Then there will be 
 answers to write to the thousand and one idiotic letters 
 
196 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 with which people are continually bombarding us. It 
 is just about time to think about the circulars of appeal 
 for funds, and aid of one kind and another with which 
 we, in our turn, annoy our friends of philanthropic 
 or sentimental tendencies. Begging letters you must 
 bring to me, for a time at least, until you can distin- 
 guish the faked from the genuine. It becomes an art." 
 
 Ambry took it in, feeling not disinclined to set to 
 work at once. But his companion said that she knew 
 John would prefer to start him in person to-morrow 
 morning. " I must take a look in on my cats and 
 babies," said she, " and I want you to see them with 
 me." 
 
 They went out into the hall again where they en- 
 countered a plain, stout, fresh-faced woman in a blue- 
 and-white checked cotton, her arms full of what looked 
 like mattress-coverings. 
 
 " How do you do, Miss Naylor? This is my brother's 
 assistant, Mr. Holmes. He has run down for a few 
 weeks to help us out. How is everything going? " 
 
 Brisk Miss Naylor would have wrung her hands, you 
 felt sure, if they had not been otherwise employed. So 
 she rolled her china-blue eyes and said the children 
 would be the death of her. They had stormed the 
 Library last night, and little Miss Dickinson was afraid 
 of them. 
 
 " Pooh ! " returned the intrepid Gertrude. " I'll set- 
 tle them. Who was the leader? " 
 
 " That wicked Pilson boy." 
 
 " He's not wicked, the least little bit," replied Miss 
 Johnstone-Ford with some heat. " He has plenty of 
 energy — — " 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 197 
 
 " That he has," darkly admitted Naylor. 
 
 " Which is a good sign," continued Gertrude, " in 
 this depressed, diseased spot. If your little Dickinson 
 had a scrap of diplomacy, he'd eat out of her hand. 
 The next time they storm the Library, get up on a desk 
 or a table and begin to tell them stories. Pepper them 
 enough, a la Monte Cristo, and you'll have them hang- 
 ing on your words, three thick, begging for more. Oh, 
 that Pilson family, I know it well! The mother does 
 try, but a babe every year is a trifle upsetting. I met 
 a very small Pilson on my rounds the other day and 
 inquired after his mother. She had just been confined, 
 poor woman, and the small Pilson confessed to having 
 a new brother. * Another baby ? ' I exclaimed, about to 
 ask its name, following the etiquette in such cases. 
 4 No, ma'am,' said my small Pilson,   it's the same old 
 baby, but ma calls it Henry this time.' Now, who 
 wouldn't love that family, Miss Naylor?" 
 
 Ambry's laugh and Miss Naylor's delighted gurgle 
 filled the corridor. 
 
 " Ah, if we all had a way with us like you, Miss 
 Gertrude, this would be a different house. They do de- 
 press me so sometimes, these poor, sickly bad-lots, that 
 I often think I'll have to go back to nursing rich people 
 again." 
 
 " Never, never ! " cried Gertrude, " that would be so 
 unimaginative. We need you here. Don't desert us." 
 She patted the mattress-coverings, being as near as 
 she could get to Miss Naylor's motherly person. " But 
 we must be going." 
 
 " I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Holmes," put in the 
 nurse primly, thinking meanwhile how elegantly she 
 
198 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 would describe him to little Miss Dickinson. Ambry's 
 laugh and his inches had wrought their usual havoc. 
 
 " Now for my pet fad," said Gertrude, as they con- 
 tinued their way to the street. " When John had to 
 leave Oxford, I made up my mind that I would start 
 here in London the small milk-mission, as one might 
 call it, that has been so successfully tried in America. 
 But I determined to widen my sphere, so as to include 
 the homeless and battered pussy. Large dairy-farms, 
 for an advertisement; our old friend, the professional 
 philanthropist, if I may call him so; and other souls, 
 out of the simple goodness of their hearts, supply us 
 with pure milk. We have a pasteurizing plant, and 
 so provide for the weak and ailing babies. We dole out 
 so much each morning to as many clients as we can 
 handle. A couple of nurses I know having volunteered, 
 we keep open house, or open creche, for the youngsters 
 whose mothers go out working by the day. These are 
 the little strug-for-lifers that you are about to be 
 shown. In addition, I started a kitchen last winter 
 when there was so much frightful distress, and now we 
 give a decent meal each midday — meat soup, a vege- 
 table, macaroni, and bread — to the mothers of our 
 youthful pensioners." 
 
 " What about the tabby-cats ? " asked Ambry. 
 
 " Wait and see," laughed Gertrude from under the 
 minuscule shade of her little cotton parasol. 
 
 They had left simmering, too-odorous Ridges Street 
 behind them on their left, and were now committed to 
 a quieter thoroughfare, poor still but not pullulating 
 with infants and refuse. Two, rather high, brick 
 buildings, let out into flats or tenements, overshadowed 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 199 
 
 between them a trumpery wooden house set back a few 
 feet from the street, far enough to allow for an expanse 
 of sickly-brownish soil in which thin grass blades pain- 
 fully grew on either side of a boarded path that led 
 from the wooden gate to the small front door. All 
 this gave a fallacious, villalike appearance to an abode 
 that had lost caste along with its neighbourhood. A 
 small sign erected on the wooden paling announced the 
 hours when milk would be forthcoming, and as these 
 were now long past the gate was soberly latched, the 
 house door closed. 
 
 As they went up the path Gertrude waved and 
 nodded to a pretty white-capped girl whose head ap- 
 peared between the curtains at an open window. 
 
 " We are going around to see the cats first," she 
 said. The other smiled and drew back. 
 
 The path continued along the side of the house, 
 against whose stained boards morning-glories had been 
 laborously trained on stout threads, until it ended in 
 a fair-sized plot of ground, once a garden, for an 
 acacia still threw its thin shade across the stretch of 
 soil, now too filled with cinders, too sour with drainage, 
 too fatigued and old, even like the rest of the world 
 down here, to hold up its head with the grassy green 
 and flowery crown of earlier, happier years. 
 
 " Not a thing will grow here, as you see," said Ger- 
 trude, with a hopeless wave of her hand, " except our 
 faithful acacia and that clump of catnip over in the 
 corner. But the pussies don't mind; it's a pleasant 
 enough stamping-ground for them." 
 
 As she spoke, her furry wretches came creeping, 
 slouching, or sauntering from their little rickety 
 
200 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 shelters, from behind boxes, from under bits of carpet, 
 eyes shining, tails erect, drawing nearer and nearer to 
 the feet of their patroness. 
 
 " Oh, I say, you know," cried Ambry, " it's as good 
 as Circe to watch you. Look at that big one-eyed chap 
 with the jowl." 
 
 The creatures circled around her with loud, cracked 
 purrs, arching their scrubby backs against her feet, 
 rubbing their battle-worn visages on her black skirt, 
 with that ingratiating lowering and turning of the 
 head that the cat alone makes use of in his hours of 
 ease. She patted them indiscriminately, giving, per- 
 haps, an extra tweak to the elaborate whiskers of the 
 one-eyed one, manifestly the Sultan of this doleful 
 court. 
 
 " This is Richard Coeur-de-Lion, poor old thing. 
 He has some good blood in him." 
 
 " They must raise a devil of a row at nights," re- 
 marked Ambry. 
 
 " Not so bad as you would expect, they tell me. 
 They are too old and feeble. Also, the neighbourhood 
 itself, being distinctly animated after dark, their squalls 
 are lost in the general pandemonium. One of them, 
 Richard, for instance, in a more genteel milieu would, 
 undoubtedly, raise the dead or the devil — or both. But 
 come in and see the babies now. Take it as you would 
 a dose of medicine. You need not touch them, nor need 
 you say a word. I will let you off easily. You're just 
 here for a bob in." 
 
 "Well, Elsie, how are the youngsters to-day?" 
 
 They were inside by this time and the pretty be- 
 capped nurse had come into the hall to greet them. 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 201 
 
 " Nurse Peters, this is Mr. Holmes who has come 
 down to help my brother. If I know young men, he's 
 more afraid of one of your charges than of an enraged 
 Indian elephant." 
 
 Pretty Elsie blushed and laughed. * Do come in. 
 They are particularly good and amusing now, for they 
 have just been fed." 
 
 They saw a large, airy, white room filled with tod- 
 dling, nodding, or sleeping small beings in clean little 
 frocks and bibs, anchored in cribs, in chairs, or in big, 
 soft baskets. They might easily have provided models 
 for a great creche frieze, if such a thing could be under- 
 taken nowadays, their little forms bound against the 
 clear, cool, light stone with ribbons of yellow and blue. 
 As it was, they gurgled and ate and slept quite happily 
 through the long day, thus gathering sufficient strength 
 to withstand the hardships of the close, summer nights, 
 too tightly snuggled into the dingy yet warm bosoms 
 of their own families. There was a faint odour of hot 
 milk and orris powder in the air, and altogether the 
 roomful presented a pleasant, drowsy, healthy aspect. 
 
 " Jolly little chaps," Ambry was understood to say, 
 keeping, with a natural male instinct, as near the door 
 as possible. How easily women took to such things! 
 There was one of the more alert infants having a tre- 
 mendous time with Gertrude's finger from which she 
 had slipped her glove. The pretty nurse carried on 
 her shoulder a white bundle from which tiny hands, as 
 vaguely organized as baby starfish, stuck out strug- 
 glingly into the air. The two women were talking in 
 important undertones, doubtless settling some knotty 
 point of infantile cuisine. 
 
202 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 From the sad menagerie in the desolate garden you 
 could catch certain grumbling notes, certain long- 
 drawn cat-sighs. Ambry's thoughts began to wander, 
 but he jerked them back with a proper instinct of self- 
 preservation to hear Gertrude say, " How odd, it al- 
 ways comes so regularly. Are we really short? Hasn't 
 the new Wimbledon milk come either ? That is nearer. 
 Shall I run up there and inquire ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't believe that is necessary," replied 
 Nurse Elsie hesitatingly. " Still, if something doesn't 
 come this afternoon, we'll be rather in a hole for 
 supper." 
 
 " I'll go, of course," said Gertrude, drawing on 
 her glove, " If the Wimbledon milk can't get here, I'll 
 order some on our own account. Good-bye, the babies 
 are loves, and Mr. Holmes has enjoyed his privileges 
 enormously." 
 
 She swept him out with a laughing farewell to the 
 white-capped guardian of the sanctuary. 
 
 Standing in front of the wooden gate Gertrude 
 wrinkled her brows at him in mock distress. " What a 
 tale you will have to confide to John's sympathetic ear 
 to-night ! I can hear you say : ' My dear fellow, I 
 came down to help you, you know, and I shall be most 
 glad to stick to my bargain, but you really must keep 
 me out of the clutches of your worthy sister — an esti- 
 mable woman, doubtless, but — ! 9 Then you will throw 
 up your hands in a frenzied appeal to the gods." 
 
 " Rather not ! " exclaimed Ambry. " I'm having 
 the most splendid afternoon, you know. It is most 
 good of you to take me under your wing in this way. 
 I can't be too grateful. Lead on; I am yours; you 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 203 
 
 can't shake me off. What next? But first let me open 
 your sunshade." He did it very neatly, having had 
 experience. 
 
 " Oh, it's only a bit of an errand almost in the neigh- 
 bourhood — at least not far off. Our regular milk sup- 
 ply has not come, and the new Wimbledon offering is 
 mysteriously delayed likewise. It seems that a de- 
 lightful woman down there has a tiny toy dairy that 
 produces more milk than she knows what to do with. 
 She sends the surplus into a certain local shop to be given 
 away to homeless cats and needy babies. As my Shelter 
 cares for both, the little shopkeeper — I'll tell you about 
 her in a moment — is to forward the Wimbledon supply 
 to us. This was to be the first day, but it has not 
 appeared, and a dark cloud is hanging over our sup- 
 pers in consequence. Do you mind walking with me 
 to the shop? It is one of the prettiest places imagi- 
 nable — all white, scrubbed paint, blue tiles, delicious 
 pats of butter, thick cream " 
 
 " Jove ! You make me ravenous for my tea." 
 
 " We'll have a specially festal one, I promise you. 
 You certainly deserve it." 
 
 " To show how abnormally clever I am," went on 
 Ambry, " may I hazard the guess that the mistress of 
 the delectable shop is the Watteau shepherdess you 
 spoke of this morning?" 
 
 " O youth ! " cried Gertrude, " how things stick in 
 your memory ! You are perfectly right. 'Tis the very 
 little woman. I hope she'll be in so that you may see 
 her." 
 
 Ambry, being human, hoped with her, and said so. 
 
CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 THEY turned into Countess Street, and Bina's 
 window, set with its freshest wares, shaded by 
 its awning, perfumed with its pots of roses, 
 made its customary gracious appeal to more than one 
 of the senses. 
 
 " Isn't it pretty? Look at that ducky basket of 
 eggs ! " whispered Gertrude on the threshold. The 
 foolish little adjective that everyone was using in those 
 days struck upon Ambry's ear, dragging a veritable 
 living-picture with it — the feminine mob in front of 
 Harrod's, an idiotic turban on some stick of a girl, 
 and Estelle, close beside him in that blue-and-white 
 dress, stuck over with buttons — Estelle, asking him if 
 he didn't think it was a duck. Good heavens ! after 
 turning tail and running away from the girl, he found 
 her image haunting his mind as it had never done 
 when he was supposed to be tied to her chariot wheels. 
 
 An old gentleman in spectacles, seated upon a small 
 rush chair near the little counter that bore the shining 
 scales and the paper bags, reading a serious-looking 
 calf-bound tome, was the only occupant of the shop. 
 He looked up mildly as their entrance interfered with 
 the light, but at first appeared to regard them merely 
 as wandering shades who would go out again if you 
 didn't speak to them. This desired exit not taking 
 place, and Gertrude's eye being firmly fastened upon 
 him, he came back, with an effort, from dim tracts of 
 
 204 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 205 
 
 fascinating speculation, to a recognition of the im- 
 mediate human needs of impatient human custom- 
 ers. He now rose, with a certain old-fashioned man- 
 ner of courtesy, and inquired what Gertrude might be 
 wanting. 
 
 " Is Miss Panta in by any chance? I mean the 
 young lady I am in the habit of seeing about here." 
 
 Panta was very sorry, but she had stepped out for 
 a few moments on some errand connected with the 
 shop. To telephone to Wimbledon Station, he thought 
 he had heard her say. Was there not something he 
 could do? 
 
 " Ah," said Gertrude, relieved. " If she is telephon- 
 ing to Wimbledon, that is exactly my affair. I am 
 Miss Johnstone-Ford to whose Shelter the Wimbledon 
 milk is to be sent — not having been delivered to-day 
 . . . came to inquire. . . . Something to replace it, 
 you know." 
 
 Gertrude's interest in the conversation having died, 
 she drawled vaguely to a finish, her pleased eye mean- 
 time taking in the arrangements of the little shop, the 
 cream, the white cheeses, the cowslip-butter, the fat 
 pink roses. 
 
 Ambry, rather filling up the doorway, idle hands in 
 the pockets of his loose grey flannel, was engaged in 
 scanning the horizon when he received a shock akin to 
 that of the Ancient Mariner as he sighted his albatross. 
 For, where on earth had he seen this charming being, 
 in the light, clear gown, with the floating scarf, the loose 
 gloves, the flimsy little hat on the thick, curling hair — 
 such eyes, such skin, such lips ! — who was bearing down 
 on the shop, and, incidentally, on him? His gaze held 
 
 
206 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 her boldly as she drew nearer and nearer. He looked 
 at her slender feet, right — left, right — left — ah, he had 
 it now! She was the pretty little foreign-looking 
 woman, perhaps a Russian, whom he had caught in 
 passing under the lamp in Wilton Place. Was it only 
 last night? It seemed ages ago. By Jove, she was 
 coming in. He stepped back in a certain confusion. 
 Bina looked up and knew him at once, unlikely as his 
 presence was — crazily unlikely in this particular spot. 
 But, being a woman, you did not catch her off her 
 guard so easily, and she turned a sweet, properly blank 
 enough mask, first on Ambry, then, with a movement of 
 smiling recognition, on Miss Johnstone-Ford. 
 
 " I am so sorry you have been perhaps annoyed by 
 the delay of the Wimbledon milk," she began, captur- 
 ing the flighty ends of her scarf to draw it more closely 
 around her shoulders, thus unconsciously outlining a 
 very pretty bit of modelling. " The station people tell 
 me that the trouble has been on the railways. It will 
 be delivered from moment to moment now." 
 
 " It is very kind of you to take so much trouble, Miss 
 Panta," said Gertrude, patting Bina's hand. She al- 
 ways loved to stroke soft, ingratiating creatures, either 
 pussy-cats, babies, or young women. 
 
 " Will you let me send you some of our own milk for 
 this afternoon? There will be tea and supper to think 
 of at the Shelter, will there not? " added Bina. She 
 was intensely conscious of being in Ambry's atmos- 
 phere, as he took good care she should be, but she did 
 not show it, intrigued as she was by his unexplained 
 presence in the shop. Ah, he was not like the nice 
 Varian who had come in with Quin, so boyishly, so 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 207 
 
 frankly, so modestly! You could never have a quiet, 
 jolly tea with this one in the cosy back room. He was 
 too overpowering ; he would make one mouthful of you, 
 and you would be submerged, not caring very much to 
 save yourself, perhaps, letting yourself be engulfed 
 like that poor little Anie. The whole story came back 
 to her as she babbled on to Gertrude how dear good 
 eggs were. Wasn't it only last night that they had 
 seen him in the circles where red carpets and footmen 
 were everyday articles of furniture, with the beautiful 
 dark Estelle who had hung on his arm and looked at 
 him with such impelling, possessive eyes ? Whatever was 
 he doing in this galere? If she had only learned how 
 to use her cloud-current, then would she indeed have 
 lain at the heart of this mystery. He certainly had the 
 quality of making her very conscious of him, but this 
 merely agitated without pleasing her. Quin would be 
 so amused when she told him. They seemed ever on 
 the point of catching living threads, vital wires from 
 this group of lives in the small circle bounded by Bel- 
 grave Square, Wilton Place, and Wimbledon. 
 
 " Oh, no, it keeps perfectly well in an air-tight jar," 
 she heard herself explaining to nice Miss Johnstone- 
 Ford. 
 
 Gertrude looked at Ambry, amused at his silence. 
 " We must have some cream for that famous tea of 
 ours. Will you give me a small pot ? " she said, 
 turning to Bina. " I have been dragging poor Mr. 
 Holmes from cats to babies all the afternoon till he is 
 quite exhausted." 
 
 " Very jolly little chaps they are," remarked Ambry, 
 looking steadily at Bina, " and no wonder, fed on milk 
 
208 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 that passes through this delightful shop of yours. 
 It's the most amazing place; things look simply deli- 
 cious." 
 
 "Don't they?" chimed in Gertrude, carefully 
 nursing her wrapped-up little jar. " Come over and 
 see my babes, Miss Panta, whenever you can. Good- 
 bye, thank you so much for telephoning. Mrs. Edmon- 
 ton and her Wimbledon dairy will do great things 
 for us." 
 
 So they got themselves out of the shop, Bina half- 
 smiling farewell to the top button of Ambry's coat, it 
 being quite too much of an effort to lift your eyes to 
 other people's eyes when the people in question happen 
 to be so outrageously tall. There may have been other 
 reasons, too, but one needn't go into that. But why did 
 Miss Johnstone-Ford refer to Sir Ambry Nunholme as 
 Mr. Holmes? Bina screwed up her pretty face over 
 this problem, as she tucked away her hat and scarf 
 and gloves. Here was a pricking little mystery with 
 which to torment Quin. 
 
 Ambry, too, had been given something to wonder 
 about. Who was this Wimbledonian, Mrs. Edmonton? 
 Varian's mother? Hadn't Varian said, by the way, 
 that Anie had left town to escape his, Ambry's, baleful 
 influence, and surely Wimbledon had been the asylum 
 mentioned. He racked his brains. Estelle never spoke 
 of her aunt, and he, for his part, never engaged in 
 general conversation with Lady Cassock. Their inter- 
 course had ever been restricted to the subacid-sulky, 
 the jibe and the counter- jibe of two exceedingly antago- 
 nistic personalities. Consequently, with them he had 
 lived ever in the moment, their people and their past 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 209 
 
 being as veiled as if they had been music-hall artistes. 
 His pace and Estelle's had been so tumultuously rapid 
 that they had had ears and eyes for no one but them- 
 selves. 
 
 " Did you ever know a Varian Edmonton ? " in- 
 quired Ambry, as he insisted upon relieving Gertrude of 
 the cream. 
 
 " Don't squabble with me," she said feebly, as she 
 handed it over to him. They both laughed, having be- 
 come great friends. 
 
 " He was at Oxford. John licked us both into shape. 
 He is an awfully good chap, really ' good,' I mean. I 
 am wondering if your Mrs. Edmonton of Wimbledon 
 may not turn out to be his mother." 
 
 " John will know. He never lets any of his old boys 
 slip away entirely, if he can help it. You are aware 
 how wonderfully he trapped you." 
 
 " I'm jolly glad he did," said Ambry quickly. 
 
 " You see," went on Gertrude, " I never knew his 
 boys all the time he was at Oxford. I was living with 
 a relative in Scotland. Poor old auntie's death 
 two years ago left me free at last to be with John. 
 By the way, did I exaggerate the charms of my little 
 Watteau shepherdess? Wasn't she taking in that bit 
 of a hat?" 
 
 " She is one of the prettiest women I think I have 
 ever seen," replied Ambry in a rich tone of conviction. 
 He was on the point of saying that he had encountered 
 her before, but decided not to. " The old gentleman, 
 too, seems to be very much of a character. They are 
 not in the least the stuff of which shopkeepers are made. 
 They are not English, I imagine." 
 
210 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " I have understood vaguely that they came here 
 from Italy, but they are certainly not Italians." 
 
 " Father and daughter? " asked Ambry. 
 
 " Yes, and there is another member of the household, 
 a cousin, a nephew — a tall, slim, very distinguished 
 person indeed, I assure you." 
 
 " Um, a queer lot," said Ambry, going on to speak 
 of something else. " So that was the chap with the 
 figure," he thought to himself. 
 
 After they had reached home, and Ambry had had a 
 smoke, Gertrude threw over her shoulder to him: 
 " We don't dress for dinner, you know. John's class 
 wouldn't put up with it, we were given to understand. 
 Will dining at seven make it seem like a nursery tea 
 to you? " 
 
 Ambry, on the threshold of his narrow cell, declared 
 that she was not to worry her hospitable soul about 
 him — that he was perfectly happy. What a choice of 
 words, he thought to himself, a shade disgustedly, a 
 moment later, sitting on his bed that, thanks to Ger- 
 trude, really didn't wobble, his sole chair being other- 
 wise engaged. On the instant, like a child, he was in- 
 vaded by a cold discomfort that meant homesickness — 
 homesickness, be it confessed, for the luxurious com- 
 forts of Wilton Place, for the careful ministrations of 
 the peerless Dodgson — homesickness for his abundant 
 liberty, his freedom to give way to whatever silly whim 
 might seize him — to be trivial, to be sulky, to be bored 
 — here he was really much nicer than was natural. It 
 might prove a trifle wearing in the long run, but you 
 simply had to play up to what Gertrude expected of you. 
 She was the most appealing of good women, with her 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 211 
 
 kind, innocent eyes, her preposterous fringe, and those 
 thin, incapable, restless hands. Ambry drove his own 
 into his pockets, and regarded gloomily the old, familiar 
 faces of his boots, ranged in a smart though rather 
 staggering line by the inexperienced touch of the 
 young Jenny. 
 
 What had he got himself into, and why? To have 
 run away from a girl whom you found yourself think- 
 ing of every minute seemed sheer waste of time. What 
 could she have imagined when she read that idiotic 
 telegram of his? After last night — heavens, only last 
 night ! it seemed at least a month ago — such a message 
 was as brutal as if he had struck her. But, if he lost 
 her, wasn't that what he was after? Apparently not, 
 to judge by the sickish wave of anger, of pain, of miser- 
 able, thwarted longing that stole up through heart and 
 brain, cauterizing, perhaps, but not soothing. Oh, 
 hang it all ! Life was becoming too complicated. 
 
 Estelle, for her part, after driving home in the dawn, 
 with every nerve sending tumultuous, seductive mes- 
 sages to that proud high head, scratched off her famous 
 letter to Anie, being still girlish enough to find relief in 
 a confidential outpouring to no matter how unsympa- 
 thetic an ear. Estelle had always regarded Anie, 
 though actually the elder of the two, as weak and young, 
 full of silly, airish fancies. However, in such an event 
 as this, she might possibly be of some use. To get 
 Anie on her side, instead of on mamma's, in the struggle 
 that she knew was coming, might just possibly be 
 worth while. She didn't think this all out coolly at four 
 o'clock of the clear, softly-shining summer morning, 
 but it was subconsciously active as she scrawled away, 
 
212 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 with a simple delight in recalling, for poor Anie's 
 benefit, as intensely as she was able, the rather over- 
 powering sensations that Ambry had managed to arouse 
 in her that night by word and look and touch. Estelle 
 decided then, in her own overbearing mind, that she 
 would marry him, whether there was any money to go 
 on or not. Other people did it every day. Funds 
 could be found. Poor Estelle, having always had every- 
 thing she wanted, and having absorbed from childhood 
 the Belgravian atmosphere, was as incapable as a 
 small, bright, engaging kitten of judging anything 
 from a reasonable, financial standpoint. Conceive her 
 blind rebellion and her cold rage at being dragged down 
 from these blissful, airy summits, intoxicating in their 
 light and their freedom, by Ambry's shuffling telegram, 
 announcing his departure, with no string of an address 
 left hanging out by which he might be jerked back to 
 London and to her. 
 
 Ah, she would make him smart for this ! He should 
 pay to the uttermost farthing for these unsteady hands, 
 these dry lips, this hot, spinning head of hers. She felt 
 herself quite capable of calling a taxi, of storming 
 Wilton Place, and wrenching his address from a pliable 
 Dodgson, had there been anything to gain by such 
 radical methods. No, that was just what he would 
 expect her to do, so she wouldn't do it. Let him wait 
 for a word or a sign from her in whatever beastly Con- 
 tinental hole he'd flown to. He wanted her as much as 
 she wanted him; he'd come crawling back. To give 
 him his head and not to fuss would seem to be the 
 dictates of prudence. Be prudent! That was what 
 he was always harping on; well, let him have it then — 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 213 
 
 oh, as silent and as prudent as you please ! Meanwhile, 
 there was the afternoon to face with mamma and her 
 warring legions, her dozens of stupid engagements, 
 and — this torn telegram, rolled into a disgusting little 
 ball by furious, hot fingers. 
 
CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 IF it seems to be always teatime, in the cool, pleasant, 
 shady room back of the shop, that is only because 
 we should never catch anyone there at earlier 
 hours when trade is brisk for Bina's nimble fingers, 
 when Quin is off on mysterious errands of his own, or 
 teaching the rudiments of the art of dancing to a hand- 
 ful of gloomy little groundlings with a hungry eye on 
 future engagements with the opera ballet; or when 
 Panta is trailing his tired old feet in and out of his 
 dark, dampish, paper and leather-scented haunts along 
 Shaftesbury Avenue, or in even less alluring emporiums, 
 hidden away back of the markets. 
 
 But the sacred tea-hour always drew them inevitably 
 together with its scented thread. Bina would trot in 
 first to set open the other window, or to lower a shadowy 
 curtain — Quin hated too much light — or to stick some 
 more roses in the big jar, bending over them a face as 
 fresh, as delicately pink as they. Then the little table 
 was rolled into position, the cups and saucers laid, the 
 water set to boil on the spirit-lamp. Then, if there were 
 as yet no sign of the others, and the shop still kept its 
 somnolent ease, the wick of the lamp was turned down 
 a bit, and a morsel of Italian embroidery was taken out 
 of its nest in the pretty cretonne box, to lie in Bina's 
 lap, to be held up this way and that in slender, capable 
 fingers, to be speared with a shining needle, to be bound 
 over and over, like poor Gulliver, with lilliputian 
 
 214 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 215 
 
 threads, to be twisted and knotted and pulled till finally 
 a delightful garland of grape clusters and wreathed 
 staves began to crawl about the edge of the close, 
 yellowish linen. Its pace was but feeble, as Bina never 
 worked on it unless she was alone, for talking goes but 
 ill with the purgatory of anxious counting of threads 
 into which this species of embroidery plunges you. 
 
 Ah, there they came, together this time ; Panta with 
 two books tied in a strap, Quin with his hat in his 
 hand, the fine head bare, the brown throat discovered by 
 the low, soft collar of the silk shirt. They seemed very 
 much interested, and even stopped aggravatingly in the 
 doorway to finish what they were saying. They should 
 have no tea if they didn't let her into their confidence at 
 once. They met this ultimatum with a disarming cheer- 
 fulness, telling her that they were simply bursting with 
 their news. They controlled themselves admirably, 
 however, until each had his own cup well in hand. There 
 are strawberries, too, lying in a leafy covert arranged 
 in old-fashioned champagne glasses whose slender stems 
 carried proudly this green and red panache. Quin 
 pretended to gloat over them, and Panta balanced his 
 cup upon his knees where his still unstrapped treasures 
 rested. 
 
 " Out with it ! " commanded Bina, smiling from one 
 to the other. " Remember, Quin, Panta and I did not 
 keep you waiting that day when your wonderful Ambry, 
 incognito like a prince on his travels, dropped in upon 
 us from the skies." 
 
 " Rather not," retorted an amused Quin, mutely 
 begging for another cup of tea. " Both of you fell 
 upon me so suddenly, both of you talked so charmingly 
 
216 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 and so rapidly at one and the same time, that you will 
 recollect it was almost ten minutes before I got it 
 through my poor old tired head — awfully stupid of me, 
 I confess — what had really happened. For quite three 
 of them I laboured under the impression that there had 
 been a frightful railway smash-up between Wimbledon 
 and London, and that Ambry, our magnificent Ambry, 
 had been mysteriously — found drowned, wasn't it? — in 
 a milk can ! " 
 
 Bina's eyes danced. " Quin, you villain, you know 
 how frightfully I am under your thumb, since you dare 
 to talk in this fashion while I actually have your cup 
 and could cut off supplies on the instant. But I am 
 much too weak and loving, you see." She brought 
 him his cup and stood looking down at him. He 
 saw only too plainly, but not quite as the little lady 
 meant. 
 
 He took up his tale. " The plot thickens, and we are 
 in the centre of it. With Ambry, in transparent dis- 
 guise, almost at our very doors in the role of Cat-and- 
 Baby inspector under the guidance of your friend, Miss 
 Johnstone-Ford, complications are certainly to be 
 looked for, since the other end of the kite, the Wim- 
 bledonian section, is bent upon paying you a visit, my 
 dear." He paused dramatically to let this sink in. 
 Bina rounded her eyes, like an inquiring, rather timid, 
 child, and said : " Oh, not only Varian, but the others 
 too?" 
 
 " Very much so. First, mother, who wishes to see 
 the unusual, pretty little woman," — here Quin bowed 
 elaborately — " who dispenses the riches of the Wimble- 
 donian cows. Oh, Varian has painted you well, my 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 217 
 
 child. One can see that. Secondly, poor young 
 Anie, who is recovering daily in the gentle atmosphere 
 of that rather remarkable woman, Mrs. Edmonton, she, 
 too — Anie, I mean — is filled with a burning curiosity 
 to see the genius of the shop of which she cherishes an 
 agreeable recollection, especially of our somewhat un- 
 usual curtains, I understand." 
 
 " Quin, I could shake you ! Are you making this 
 up? What have you been about, you two? Panta, 
 you'll tell me like a darling, won't you ? " 
 
 " I am just exactly as much of a darling as Panta," 
 interrupted Quin, " and I insist upon your hearing every 
 choice particular from my lips alone." 
 
 " I pant for them ! " cries Bina, maliciously leaving 
 it vague as to whether she meant lips or particulars. 
 
 " You see, my dear," began Panta, " we ran across 
 that nice lad, Varian. Quin had picked me up in 
 Trafalgar Square, and we were in Buckingham Palace 
 Road when our young friend hailed us. We were so 
 near his rooms that nothing would do but we must step 
 in for a moment to get our breath. This we did very 
 agreeably over some — what was it, Quin ? " 
 
 " Hock and Seltzer." 
 
 " Then I looked at his books — he has an unusual 
 collection for one so young — while Quin and he talked, 
 and the details of this visit of his mother and cousin 
 were arranged. He wished most politely to be very 
 particularly recalled to your mind." 
 
 " I like him so much better than Ambry," said Bina 
 dreamily. " Ambry would make furious love to you, 
 would snatch at you, sweep you off your feet, and then 
 let you dangle while that eye of his roved elsewhere." 
 
218 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " From what I have gathered of our young man, 
 that is a very excellent, thumb-nail sketch of him," said 
 Quin, " due to a woman's intuition and a five-minute 
 interview. Now, to return to the impending visit. 
 Varian asked, very prettily, if he might be allowed to 
 bring in his mother and cousin next week, on some day 
 to be selected by you, in order that they might make the 
 acquaintance of Miss Bina Panta, and, incidentally, 
 that of the agreeable bibliophile, Mr. Panta, and of 
 the odd, long-legged personage who seems to have no 
 visible occupation whatsoever, at least none that can 
 be referred to in polite society, sandwichmen and 
 dancing- jacks being quite too low." 
 
 " Varian never hinted that," exclaimed Bina hotly. 
 
 " No, no, my child," laughed Quin soothingly. " I 
 was merely improvising on my own particular leit- 
 motif." 
 
 "When shall it be, then?" cried Bina, becoming 
 hospitably interested. " We must have Rug-Pug on 
 the spot to mind the shop, as it would not be nice at all 
 to be bobbing in and out while they are here. There 
 will be three of them, and three of us." Bina cast a 
 calculating eye upon what might pompously be called 
 the seating capacity of the old, quiet, brown room. 
 " Two on the sofa, one on Panta's leather throne, that 
 makes three; my little sewing-chair four," checking 
 them off on her fingers. 
 
 " I can always twine myself about this stool, you 
 know," put in Quin, amiably anxious to be helpful. 
 
 " You could, like a dear, I know," replies Bina, 
 " but we should all be tripping over your lovely legs. 
 No, two seats must be produced from upstairs. That's 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 219 
 
 not a bad chair in your room, is it, Quin — the one with 
 the lyre back? " 
 
 " 'Tis a perfectly good chair," was his reply, " save 
 for its tendency to take nips out of your shoulder 
 blades, if you don't sit in it just so. I'll bring it down." 
 
 " That makes five," counted Bina conscientiously, 
 " and that prie-dieuish thing by my bed will do for me. 
 We must have two little tables instead of one, and 
 flowers that will not fight with the strawberries." 
 
 Bina sank into a housewifely muse, Panta assumed 
 his spectacles, and, with a leisurely luxuriousness of 
 anticipation, began to unstrap his treasure-trove, while 
 Quin, in his favourite position on the rug, his back 
 against the side of the empty grate, his legs in a grace- 
 ful, if not neat, sprawl, his hands in his loose coat 
 pockets, rested and dreamed with half-closed, tired, 
 summer-dazzled eyes. He amused himself by seeing 
 again, quite plainly, Varian's rooms in Cambridge 
 Street, with their scholarly litter, the big table drawn 
 up near the window, the books upon books climbing up 
 the walls, the copies of Italian pictures, the curious little 
 seventeenth-century, coloured wax medallions with their 
 rather repellent look of life and vivacity. The aspect 
 of the room was a shade precious, a shade precociously 
 cultivated, in the famous " Oxford manner," but that 
 was a fault of youth, something a few years and a little 
 rough-and-ready experience would correct. Let the 
 boy have his Italian spoils, his books and his papers, 
 let him be just a little self-conscious and dandified in 
 his pursuit of the true and the beautiful. He had the 
 root of the matter in him — the real fire was there, ready 
 to flame up, pure and clear, ready to burn through the 
 
220 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 pretty, concealing, decorative crust, at one or two good 
 puffs from that world-bellows into which the Zeitgeist 
 knows so well how to blow his potent breath. 
 
 Then Quin's idle, somnolent thoughts wandered to 
 Ambry and his mysterious descent upon Ridges Street 
 — to see his old tutor, evidently, but why? Fear of the 
 beautiful, storm-cloud girl, perhaps, had winged his 
 feet. But flight was useless. This Quin knew. Estelle 
 had marked down Ambry for her own, and she'd get 
 him, too. How absurd it all was, and yet what an 
 itching interest the pull and set of the current in all 
 these dissimilar lives could rouse in the detached ob- 
 server ! He would take an unofficial stroll some day 
 in the direction of Ridges Street to see what wires he 
 could tap. The Wimbledon friends must remain meat 
 only for his ordinary Cubical faculties, but Ambry, 
 with his conquering stare, his high head, and his un- 
 deniable charm, should give up the most secret clues 
 of his cherished mechanism, if Quin were ever to cross 
 his path again. The cloud-current, feebler as it was 
 growing, could still answer for that. 
 
 The men were so quiet that Bina had absently taken 
 up her embroidery in order to round out a minute grape, 
 as small as the head of an ordinary pin, that was to 
 finish off the rich little cluster, pinched and puffed and 
 worked and dotted, all in the tortured linen. This done, 
 admired at arm's length with one eye shut, and care- 
 fully emboxed, and Bina was ready for instruction or 
 amusement. 
 
 Poor Quin was so horribly quiet; she could see it in 
 his pose. She looked at him sharply, just a trifle 
 anxiously. Could he have fallen asleep? 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 221 
 
 Conscious of her gaze, as he would have been had he 
 lain in the icy Caucasus, Quin opened his eyes and 
 stared drowsily at her. 
 
 " Confess you thought me asleep," he said. 
 
 She nodded, drawing up the stool to sit beside him. 
 He wanted, childishly, to put his head in her lap, but 
 had enough sense to see the folly of such a move. 
 Did both of them feel the least little bit too much aware 
 of one another? 
 
 Simultaneously they turned upon poor Panta and 
 wrested him from his philosophic dream. 
 
 " Panta, dear, you are falling asleep," cries Bina. 
 
 This was indignantly denied. 
 
 " Let me have him, Panta," says Quin, putting up a 
 lazy hand for the volume, and assuming his old position 
 on the rug. 
 
 " These chaps are devils of fellows for coining 
 words. If their thought itself were only clear, they 
 could draw upon sufficient treasures in this majestic 
 English tongue, I wot, but they don't. The weak point 
 in your friend's celestial armour, Panta," he went on, 
 " seems to me to be a belittling of life, of everyday 
 experience, to the glorification of what he himself con- 
 fesses to be, as yet, a mere * blind ' swinging." 
 
 " It is blind, of course," broke in Panta, " but only 
 with the blindness of — of a new-born kitten's eye. The 
 organ of sight is there, packed away quite complete, 
 but the moment is not yet ripe for the awakening. 
 Once grasp that you are swinging, although your frame 
 be empty, yet it is there to be filled, pressed down and 
 running over, with the quintessence of all experience 
 — of more than you have ever dreamed — when its 
 
222 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 growth is completed, when its hour strikes. In this 
 final synthesis, when the flood that now surges out 
 of the frame shall sweep back into it, * you ' will be as 
 a god. He can say no more." 
 
 Quin rested his head on his hand and took this in. 
 
 " That pleases me enormously," he said. " If you 
 follow his thought as you have done, there is certainly 
 a very heady sense of exhilaration, together with the 
 intellectual pleasure in a whopping generalization to 
 which we are all more or less susceptible. But, being 
 very man, I must still register my normal plaint that 
 sheer life — the wonder and mystery of sex, the ravish- 
 ment of the senses, the homely pleasures and pains of 
 daily experience — terre a terre I grant you, if you will 
 — that all these are slurred over, regarded as of small 
 account by your philosopher, blind as all his tribe. 
 Ah, the most insignificant of lovers could teach him 
 his place I The world, to your man, seems but a place 
 where human beings drag through a kind of shadowy 
 existence ; it is but a species of stage setting for certain 
 lives, lived at second hand, as though through the mind 
 of a Balzac or a Stendhal. This anaemic, ' literary ' 
 way of regarding life is distinctly reprehensible, if not 
 stupid. You will grant that much. If life be ' jarred ' 
 and ' secondary,' how can we ourselves, as Bina, Panta, 
 and Quin, be anything but secondary, too? See how 
 that loosens every check; how the barriers sink; how 
 the waters rush in! We'd be submerged, drowned, as 
 your blind kittens, before ever our eyes could open." 
 
 " You forget that the foolish flood will turn when 
 the hour strikes — but not an instant before, Quin — 
 will turn and be transfused, transmuted, transfigured, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 223 
 
 and glorified, so that you would never know it for the 
 same old ridiculous ' life ' we thought so mad, so 
 bad " 
 
 " But, oh, how sweet it was ! " drawled Quin, follow- 
 ing Bina with dreamy eyes. 
 
 Panta shut the book with a smart clap, and took off 
 his spectacles. 
 
 " Of course, you are far beyond me," half-pouted a 
 slightly-bored Bina. " That bad old philosopher-man 
 may write till he's blind, but that won't give him his 
 meals, his tobacco, a nice warm fire for the winter 
 evenings, and someone to sew up the holes in his 
 clothes." 
 
 Unanswerable argument of the Eternal Feminine! 
 She has you there, every time. You come sneaking 
 back to the snug inglenook and to her, when the shoes 
 are worn through and the stomach empty, the head 
 light with pain and fatigue, and the pot of gold at the 
 foot of the rainbow as despairingly out of reach as 
 ever. 
 
 " But when the poor, bemused philosopher does see 
 the error of his ways," remarks Quin, " then shall we 
 sing: 
 
 ' Now winter nights enlarge 
 The number of their hours; 
 And clouds their storms discharge 
 Upon the airy towers. 
 Let now the chimneys blaze 
 And cups overflow with wine t 
 Let well-tuned words amaze 
 With harmony divine! 
 
224 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 Now yellow waxen lights 
 Shall wait on honey love ' " 
 
 His nimble baritone had carried him very agreeably 
 thus far, only to fail with him in mid-air. He came 
 down again to earth and the hearthrug to hear Bina 
 say: 
 
 " But why do you leave off at the prettiest part, just 
 when the candles are being lighted and the love-making 
 beginning ? " 
 
 " Why, indeed ? " moaned Quin. " Heaven knows 
 I'd like to go on, my dear child, but I have forgotten 
 the rest. Come now, I had quite lost sight of our young 
 Varian. I am to send him a line when a certain Miss 
 Panta makes up her little mind what day next week 
 she will be receiving. Get out your calendar, wrinkle 
 your childish forehead, tap your lips with a pencil, 
 meditate, cogitate — conjugate — only, speak up ! " 
 
 How he loved her when he teased her! How he 
 loved the soft, sidelong look in the dark eyes, the biting 
 of the lips to keep back the smile, the quick repression 
 throughout the whole length of the elastic young body, 
 the reining in of every petulant movement! Then she 
 let herself go with a ferocious menace. 
 
 " It would serve you jolly well right, Master Quin, 
 if Panta and I were to box your ears." 
 
 " Why me ? " inquired Panta mildly. 
 
 " Because I'm not strong enough to do it properly 
 by myself. However, since it is Varian (intense em- 
 phasis) who asks me, I shall make haste to set the happy 
 day." Tremendous activity with calendar, notebook, 
 and pencil. " We are so overrun with engagements," 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 225 
 
 she smiled at the two men, " that I don't see how we can 
 possibly make it before Wednesday. Shall it be 
 Wednesday, then? " 
 
 " Alas, ah me," groaned Quin, " I've promised to 
 help Heffendorfer that afternoon with a particularly 
 unpromising batch. Could we say Thursday ? " 
 
 " But perfectly," declared Bina. " Send Varian his 
 little line to that effect. Before Rug-Pug goes to-night, 
 I'll make arrangements with her. It will be pleasant 
 to see his mother, won't it, Quin?" Such innocent, 
 inquiring eyes raised to yours! 
 
 " Why so infernally pleasant to see his mother, I 
 wonder? " Quin asked himself savagely. " She's only 
 getting back at me, of course. I'll wring her little 
 neck!" 
 
 But all he said, not moving a muscle, was : " She 
 must be a very charming woman to have produced 
 such a son. Her picture is on his writing-table — a thin 
 slip of a young creature with large, languid Italian 
 eyes, the hair rolled up rather quaintly on her fore- 
 head. It was taken in Rome while he was at Oxford. 
 The mother was away from him so much in those days — 
 her health, perhaps — that the boy was thrown a great 
 deal with his aunt, Lady Cassock, and the cousins Anie 
 and Estelle. He showed me a queer little faded photo- 
 graph of Anie and himself, he a young lad and she a 
 child, with a wild mass of hair streaming down her 
 back and such little, thin sticks of legs — just at the age 
 when a girl-child's petticoats become, all of a sudden, 
 quite impossibly short." 
 
 " Now that I have seen Ambry," went on Bina — 
 " fancy if he had known that I knew him ! — I shall 
 
226 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 look upon poor little Anie with such different eyes. I 
 confess, Quin, although you told her story so chiv- 
 alrously, it was hard for me to get quite the right idea 
 of a young girl who could so desperately cling where 
 she was so obviously not wanted. It was rather horrible 
 to me. Now that I have seen her Ambry at close quar- 
 ters, I am beginning to understand a bit better. He is 
 so astonishingly good-looking, and, of course, he was 
 more respectful than when he stared at me in the street 
 that night." Here Bina stopped and shot a glance at 
 Panta, from whom this small episode had been carefully 
 concealed, but he was taking one of his restorative naps, 
 languishing rather distortedly upon his treacherous 
 leather cushions. 
 
 " That's perfectly safe," said Quin. " I told you, 
 you will remember, that we caught our youth off his 
 guard." 
 
 " Oh, he stared enough," put in Bina, " but he was 
 so charming and deferential to Miss Johnstone-Ford, 
 and he really did look so awfully well in some grey 
 flannels " 
 
 " O woman ! " cried Quin, " we little know what bene- 
 factors our tailors can be ! And, of course, our young 
 man was intensely occupied in mutely telling someone 
 how ravishingly pretty she was " 
 
 Bina had the grace to blush. 
 
 " So you see, as I did," continued Quin, " that the 
 full stream of such a personality as his is rather apt to 
 take young things off their feet, and to drop them far 
 beyond the reach of the ordinary ropes and safeguards 
 of the shallows. But Varian, far stronger than Ambry* 
 in the ultimate ways that count, has got her now, has 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 227 
 
 pulled her back to dry land, has pumped some pure air 
 into her lungs, and he will see to it, doubtless, that it 
 will be his hand to which she will cling when next she 
 wets those dainty feet of hers in an emotional flood." 
 
 " I wonder," interjected Bina, much interested. " He 
 is such a delightful boy, he will make her happy, while 
 the other sister, your storm-cloud, keeps Ambry in 
 order. Don't you think it very likely that he has 
 thrown himself on the Johnstone-Fords to catch his 
 breath a bit?" 
 
 " Doubtless," replied Quin. " A foolish move, for 
 it will only make her savage, but I suppose he couldn't 
 be expected to know that." 
 
 Quin rose from his rug. 
 
 " I must write a line or two to Varian, saying that 
 you will look for them on Thursday." 
 
 " Write it here," said Bina, pulling out a jiggling 
 little table drawer. " Here is everything to your hand. 
 Then let us go out together for a whiff of air, and we 
 can pop it into the box. Will you ? " 
 
 " Rather ! " replied Quin fervently, galvanized into 
 a pleasurable glow of action by her tone, her look, and 
 her suggestion. 
 
 The note was evidently composed and duly committed 
 to the pillar-box, for it went up to Varian next morning, 
 sitting in the toast-rack on his breakfast-tray, and was 
 read and enclosed in a letter to Wimbledon. 
 
 The more he saw of our three friends, the more 
 Varian liked them. It tickled a certain sense in him 
 to talk to individuals so frankly unconventional in their 
 attitude to the ordinary normal London life ; who were 
 unspoiled, unaffected, quite quietly indifferent to public 
 
228 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 opinion as a thing that could not possibly count for 
 the enlightened, and who somehow gave the impression 
 of being unspotted from the casual mud of the highway, 
 a liberal sprinkling of which the best of us are apt to 
 carry about on our nether garments. You felt it was 
 not from any particular virtue on their parts, but simply 
 because they were travelling on a certain line that, lying 
 parallel with our own rather shoddy, makeshift one, 
 was yet on a different plane, where heads were steadier, 
 brains clearer, and where the purity of the air kept the 
 whole bodily and mental mechanism taut and fit. Such 
 being the case, fortified by their unique position, Quin 
 could drop down temporarily to our level in order to 
 carry a sandwich-board, himself grotesquely travestied, 
 simply as one way of studying our cosmopolitan life, 
 cutting for himself a cross-section from the upper Pic- 
 cadilly crust to the wriggling protoplasm of the slums. 
 For the same reason, Bina could take money over the 
 little counter, could sell her perishable merchandise, in 
 its jars, its bowls, its panniers and its bags, all the time 
 keeping the allure of a dainty Columbine, who, in 
 gauzy, flower-wreathed skirts with beautiful, slender, 
 trembling legs, had fluttered down from heaven knows 
 where — running away from Pierrot, perhaps — into this 
 little cosy nest of a shop. 
 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 FORTUNE cajoled Varian these days. Martini P 
 was emerging from his mists, taking on a 
 personality that was not wholly gummed to- 
 gether, after the German manner, from gobbets of the 
 brave Simone, from snips and pinches of Ugolino or 
 of Guido. He was beginning to articulate with a voice 
 of his own, this poor Beta, who, until now, had choked 
 in the depressing promiscuity of " Scuola di — " filled 
 up as the fancy took the cataloguer. 
 
 But far more important than any such Franken- 
 steinish dealings with an early Siennese, any such home 
 manufacture of an Italian Primitive, was the success 
 that had so far attended Anie's efforts to throw off 
 the morbid hold that Ambry had unwittingly gained 
 upon her imagination. The affair of the pellets had 
 decidedly frightened her. She had interpreted aright 
 the horrified message in Gita's eyes. She had seen the 
 look on Varian's face, had felt the imperative grip of 
 his hands to some purpose. Estelle's horrible letter 
 gradually lost its Medusa look. Estelle was so clever, 
 she could hold him if she made up her mind to. If he 
 had thrown Anie aside like a limp little rag, he would 
 find it a different matter to loosen her sister's firm, 
 white fingers from around his. Perhaps he wouldn't 
 even try. . . . Mamma would be fearfully vexed. Poor 
 Anie could go through all the stock arguments by rote. 
 The only glimmer would be his title, which wasn't much 
 of a one, but everything helped. While the letter re- 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 mained unanswered, it seemed to send out tiny, restless 
 flames every time she entered her room and looked at 
 the writing-table. So she braced herself to the task, 
 and soon after Ambry's headlong retirement to Ridges 
 Street, sent Estelle a vague page and a half scrawl, 
 saying that she hoped they would be happy, but that 
 Estelle must know what a row mamma would make. 
 Then, taking her courage in both hands, she wrote that 
 she had once met Ambry Nunholme at the Lynes. 
 Didn't Estelle remember? There was absolutely 
 nothing, of course, for Estelle to remember, but our 
 young lady ignored that. Heavens, what a relief it was 
 to have that off her mind! She almost thought she 
 could meet him now without making a tragic little fool 
 of herself. She hurriedly sealed her letter and gave it 
 to the maid to put in the post-bag. Going to the win- 
 dow, the girl leaned out, breathing deeply of the night 
 air, dripping with garden scents, perfumed with honey- 
 suckle. She felt herself to be mysteriously washed and 
 purified, as clean and sweet as the good Catholic after 
 his Confession. 
 
 This blissful state of affairs gave her thereafter the 
 untroubled sleep of a healthy baby, and sent her down- 
 stairs of a morning with a step that beat a gay little 
 tattoo upon the old curving stairs, with eyes on which 
 the lids no longer weighed like white clouds, with lips 
 curving upward into the unknown future, not downward 
 into the too-familiar past. 
 
 Bee, meeting this changed young person in the hall, 
 was duly elated both for the child's own sake and for 
 Gita's, upon whom Anie's condition had had a depress- 
 ing effect. 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 231 
 
 " No need to be banal these days and to ask you 
 how you slept," said Bee, drawing the girl's arm 
 through her own. " I am walking to the dairy. Will 
 you come? " 
 
 The day was close and breathless. An apricot- 
 coloured fog, broken and thin enough in places to be 
 called a haze, had floated out with the dawn from their 
 gigantic neighbour, that heaving, petrol-stifled London, 
 prone in its vast bulk, blackened, tawdry, yet still 
 magnificent. From the airless squares, from the livid 
 courts, from the traffic-poisoned river, this feathery 
 morning fog had escaped, only to be caught again, only 
 to trail its tangled amber scarves among the trees and 
 gardens of suburbia. The sun was not yet strong 
 enough to suck up the shreds, and, meantime, the aspect 
 of Nature was enhanced, to the sophisticated eye, by 
 this odd fillip of the abnormal. What might not happen 
 in this wonderful atmosphere, this golden morning twi- 
 light, when not a breath moved a leaf, when bees for- 
 got to suck and birds to sing? 
 
 " How curious and rather nasty," remarked Bee, 
 who loved the flat, easy road of every day. 
 
 Anie wished for the sympathetic Varian, which was 
 a good sign. 
 
 When they had finished their business in the cool, 
 milky, creamy dairy-house, Anie drew Bee, faintly 
 protesting, toward the Bois and the lime alley, although 
 it was damper there than ordinary, and their heels made 
 tiny, imperfect, swollen crescents in the heavy turf. 
 The circle of lawn, half enclosed in its thick wings of 
 greenery, dripped with a crystal dew that hung tear- 
 fully on every other grass blade, and powdered with its 
 
233 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 diamond dust those gossamer webs that rarely outlive 
 the earliest morning hours. To-day the fog had set 
 back the clock, and you had the exhilarating impression 
 of having gained on poor old Father Time at last. 
 
 At the sides of this natural greenwood stage, where 
 the wings of a real theatre would commence, enormous 
 clumps of hollyhocks had been planted. This is what 
 Anie had come to see. They made an incomparable 
 decoration, the tall, budded spears shooting their 
 irregular lengths from the serried centre, rearing them- 
 selves valiantly against the clipped background of dense 
 shade. Their colours were that pure, cool, perfect 
 lemon that always makes you thirsty to look at, and 
 those freshest tones of pink that remind you of all 
 charming things, from Alpine glow to a country child's 
 flushed cheek. Just enough white, and deep, dahlia- 
 like crimson had been chosen for accent and relief. 
 The buds had burst, and the gardener's dream was in 
 a fair way to be realized. 
 
 " How enchanting ! " breathed Anie, as she tiptoed 
 her way across the soaking grass, dragging up with 
 difficulty her swaddling-clout of a skirt, tarnishing with 
 beaded moisture the gay, silver buckles of her foolish 
 little shoes. The rank stalks rose high above her head 
 from this covert of thick fleshy leaves. The green 
 about each giant bud gave the impression of having 
 been pinched together by an amateur out of pale, woolly 
 cloth, while the opened flowers themselves, especially the 
 double ones, bore a disconcerting resemblance to pink 
 and yellow paper. Anie stared at the horrid things, 
 open-eyed and disgusted. 
 
 " Oh, what a sell ! Don't come over," she cried to 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 233 
 
 Bee, who had just finished laboriously catching up a 
 voluminous black skirt with large, sensible pins that she 
 had been able to produce from some private hoard. 
 
 " What ? " asked this lady vaguely, as she made a 
 tentative sortie upon the water-logged lawn, moving 
 her feet gingerly in their flat, black-strapped slippers of 
 mid-Victorian cut. Anie waved her back. 
 
 " Don't try it. You'll hate them. They look as if 
 the stage-carpenter had thrown them together after 
 he had finished setting up the scenery. They are not 
 flowers at all; they are brutes, and yet how beautiful 
 they can be from here." She had regained dry land 
 by Bee's side, and they gazed together at a decoration 
 that, like so much else in life, has to be focused exactly 
 in order to yield its secret. 
 
 " They will be just right for Varian on Saturday," 
 remarked Anie, not quite realizing how he slid into 
 every experience of hers, however fleeting, how his 
 name had grown copartner with every stock and 
 stone of the garden, with every book and bibelot of 
 the house. 
 
 From the lower steps of the terrace they were amazed 
 to see Gita calmly walking out of the drawing-room 
 window — this Gita who ever played the Invisible Prin- 
 cess until the luncheon-gong sent her magical guardians 
 scuttling to their dim, story-book corners, and set her 
 free to emerge from her cool, tranquil, shady rooms in 
 her long-trailing, vaguely-coloured garments — silent 
 and gentle, always rather tired and aloof for the first 
 few moments — free to kiss Anie, to smile at Bee, and to 
 preside gracefully, if languidly, at their pleasant, in- 
 formal meal. Conceive their amaze, therefore, at see- 
 
234 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 ing her at eleven o'clock in the morning, with her draw- 
 ing-board under her arm, her colour-box and pliable 
 stool grasped awkwardly in her unaccustomed hands. 
 They hailed her with glad shouts, possessing themselves 
 of her belongings, and, begging to be told her wishes, 
 stood laughingly at attention in front of her. 
 
 " It is the fog, of course," she explained. " Who 
 could resist this enchanting light, even if one choke 
 for it? I thought I might get something if I brought 
 my things out." She looked about from the edge of 
 the terrace. " Is the Bois too wet? " 
 
 " Yes, yes — much," cried Anie. " And the holly- 
 hocks, though ducks, are much too obvious for your 
 darling little fanciful sketches." 
 
 " Fancy is banished to-day, my dear. Science shall 
 direct my pencil. Hence I suppose I may as well sit 
 here as anywhere else. I want to make some studies 
 of leaves and the way they hang from a branch. They 
 are perfectly motionless in this divinely clotted air. 
 See, it is as thick as yellow cream between those beech 
 boughs. Thank you, Bee," as the latter unfolded the 
 stool, pressing down its striped linen seat with an ex- 
 perienced hand. Anie set the colour-box close by upon 
 the balustrade of the terrace, under the shadow of a 
 stucco urn whose rounded, mellow sides showed long, 
 irregular, greyish cracks. 
 
 "May I stay and watch?" she asked, as Bee 
 melted away toward the house, housewifely cares not 
 being lightly cast aside at eleven o'clock in the 
 morning. 
 
 " Yes, do," murmured Gita rather absently, the 
 pencil busy in those long, clever fingers. With con- 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 235 
 
 siderable address she attacked her forms, but with 
 none of the painstaking care of the lady amateur. Her 
 pains had been taken quite otherwise, long ago, the 
 fruit of intense watchfulness, of close attention, and 
 of mental concentration. You saw at once that every 
 line was directed by intellectual effort, was the result 
 of a personal formula, carefully built up and now 
 applied to Nature in a fashion at once delicate and 
 individual. Behind each outline you were aware of 
 anatomical structure, each apparently careless, un- 
 related pencil scratch betrayed a deft foreknowledge of 
 the ultimate pattern the formula would succeed in 
 weaving, be it with a screen of beech foliage, or with a 
 group of fallen chestnut leaves, brown and sun-scorched, 
 their fragile, curled edges taking the movement of thin, 
 beaten metal. All this economy of line, accompanied 
 by the subtle intelligence made use of by people who 
 draw as Gita does, has come to be considered " Japa- 
 nese " in studio patter. It might with propriety be 
 called the result of a certain philosophic habit of mind, 
 not necessarily confined to any one country, but cer- 
 tainly more commonly found in the East where a knowl- 
 edge of the essence that lurks behind every particular 
 directs the hand of artisan and artist alike. In that 
 well-known circular movement of brush or pencil, in 
 that symbol of the shadowy, primordial egg, is held in 
 solution all the most intricate of natural forms ; you are 
 given a line or two — it seems no more than that — on the 
 thin, delicate, rice-paper, and, if your eye be not too in- 
 curably gross, you see the essential soul of a kingfisher, 
 say — a hawk or a tortoise; or you grasp the inner 
 magic of cherry-blossom petals, or you hear the Circe- 
 
236 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 song of the grapelike clusters of wistaria. The seven- 
 teenth-century Dutchmen did something of this sort 
 with their light. That light, which, sprayed on white- 
 washed wall or boarded floor, on the quietest of inte- 
 riors, on common fruit in a china dish, may be said to 
 transfigure these homely objects into Platonic Ideas. 
 All this cannot quite be claimed for our Madame Gita, 
 but those apples on a bough — three of them, I think 
 there were, with a few downy leaves — found among her 
 sketches, now has its modest place in one of the great 
 private collections of France. 
 
 However, no one was worrying her head about such 
 transcendental matters this foggy morning in the moist, 
 green garden, Gita least of all as she dabbed at her 
 drawing-board, with an occasional smile over her shoul- 
 der to an Anie perched on the balustrade, dangling 
 her feet. 
 
 " I don't suppose you ever felt like an Old Man of 
 the Sea, did you, Gita?" asked this young person in 
 a small voice, after some half-hour had gone by. A 
 mumble, taken to be dissent, from the sketcher. " I 
 have," continued the experience-worn jyoungster on 
 the balustrade. " Ever since Estelle's letter came, I 
 knew I must answer it before it would fall off my 
 shoulders where it seemed to be bound, all hot and sticky. 
 I couldn't tear it off, except on that condition. So I 
 wrote late one night, and Page popped it in the post- 
 bag. Varian pulled me out of a horrid mess, Gita, 
 that perhaps you don't know anything about. Please 
 don't turn around. I can tell you so much better when 
 you are not looking at me. There was someone I met 
 in the country, at the Lynes. Of course, they are your 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 237 
 
 old friends, as well as mamma's. I lost my head — we 
 both lost them for a week or two. That was as long as 
 he could care, I suppose. We are so unlike, I bored 
 him and made him savage, but I couldn't see it until 
 Varian opened my eyes. Then I came down here and 
 you took me in like an angel. To know you and to love 
 you, Gita, has given me something no one will ever be 
 able to take away from me. I am your girl much more 
 than mamma's. When you looked at me the other morn- 
 ing — you know — you burned up the wish ever to touch 
 one of the horrid things again. Varian frightened me, 
 but you saved me." 
 
 Gita leaned over with a hand on the girl's knee. 
 
 " You blessed infant," she said. 
 
 " So I wrote to Estelle," went on Anie, " telling her 
 that I had met Ambry at the Lynes. I never told 
 mamma. They never knew. Now Estelle is mad 
 about him — and he has never said a word. She means 
 to marry him. I thought I would have died when I 
 read it, but, actually, now, this very morning, safe with 
 you, I don't seem to care. I am humbled, I am ashamed, 
 I shall shiver when I meet him, but — it has all shifted 
 like a scene in a play, and you and Varian are my 
 centre, not Ambry any more." 
 
 "Thank heaven, little Anie!" Here Gita let her 
 sketch slide on a sudden impulse to take the girl in 
 her arms. As she pressed the warm, ruffled head to 
 her breast, she had the delicious, trembling sensation 
 that she held Varian there — Varian, her baby, once 
 more. 
 
 It was a moment that neither of them was ever 
 likely to forget. Gita knew now that she had got 
 
238 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 Varian's wife in her arms, in the shape of this soft 
 pleading young thing, and she kissed her with this 
 rather solemn knowledge. Anie, on the mother's 
 breast, feeling the secret presence of the son, drew her- 
 self away shyly, with a caress as light as one of the 
 curled leaves on the drawing-block. How good life 
 seemed, how fair the fog-wrapped day, how infinitely 
 that of Romance the tender, green, mysterious garden I 
 The girl looked far off into the smoky sky with the 
 dazzled, inward-gazing eyes of the mystic, but she was in 
 reality only a little pagan whose white skin under the 
 heart had just begun to show the minute, characteristic 
 red wound made by nothing under the sun save a cer- 
 tain god's tiny, feathered barb. 
 
 They were idling over tea that afternoon near the 
 lime tunnel when Varian's letter, enclosing Quin's note, 
 was brought out. Gita tore it open eagerly, for it was 
 an unexpected supplement to his unfailingly regular 
 morning budget. Quin's communication pleased her 
 immensely. 
 
 "I like his hand, don't you?" she asked, as she 
 passes it over the teapot to Anie. " He expresses him- 
 self charmingly, too. The man must be most unusual. 
 In fact all three are — the book-collecting aged father, 
 the philosophic sandwichman, and the Delia Robbia 
 dairymaid. I shall look forward to Thursday and 
 our entertainment in that glorified ( room-back-of-the- 
 shop,' where very good talk seems to go forward, ac- 
 cording to our boy. Perhaps they might enjoy running 
 down here for one of these long, light evenings, when 
 the day's work is done. Varian could bring them with 
 him and take them back in the car." 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 239 
 
 Anie looked up from Quin's note that she had been 
 twisting in her fingers. 
 
 " It would be jolly," she said. " We could sit in 
 front of the Bois, on our grassy stage, and imagine we 
 were a platonic academy, or strayed Florentines out of 
 Boccaccio, whichever way the conversation seemed to 
 draw us." 
 
 " Tamed and fumigated by the centuries, I hope, in 
 the latter case," smiled Gita. " Yes, that is a delight- 
 ful thought. We might arrange a little fete — perhaps 
 the pretty young woman sings or dances. No, it is this 
 Mr. Quin who does that, quite astonishingly, I under- 
 stand. We may succeed in warming ourselves up to 
 something of the kind, if all goes well. But you are 
 as sober as the woolsack, little Anie." Gita leaned over 
 and took her hand. " Is something troubling you, my 
 dear?" 
 
 " Oh, no, no," cried the girl. " I am only by way 
 of being more of a silly goose than usual. This note, 
 you know," holding up poor Quin's simple effort, 
 " gives me the oddest impression of having once come 
 in contact with the person who wrote it, or rather he 
 with me, for I cannot place him at all, and yet I have 
 the feeling that he knows me quite well. It is rather 
 creepy, isn't it ? and perfectly absurd, of course. Please 
 put it back in Varian's envelope again, and then I shall 
 forget that it tried to say something to me." 
 
 " Talk to Varian about it when you see him," sug- 
 gests Gita. " He is interested in all such subconscious 
 manifestations. A tiny pebble falls into our depths, 
 and it is as though the resulting ripple spread and 
 spread, gathering volume as it rises straight up into 
 
240 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 our everyday life, so that we say to ourselves, as you 
 did just now — * ah, something has happened la-bas,' 
 but we may never know the inner meaning of the stone- 
 throwing." 
 
 " I think I may know something when I see him," 
 replies Anie. 
 
 " Then Thursday is settled. Varian says he will 
 lunch with us and act as our pilot to Countess Street. 
 I shall be rather pleased to have the experience. Ah, 
 here comes Bee with those wonderful peaches. If you 
 will move the teapot, Anie, there will be just room for 
 the bowl." 
 
 There was equally lively anticipation in the little 
 shop. On the fateful Thursday morning Panta wisely 
 decided to take a nap directly after luncheon in order 
 not to sink into the insidious, involuntary embraces of 
 one after tea. To that end he forebore a bookish 
 ramble, getting in a small one, however, simply because 
 he couldn't help it, along Buckingham Palace Road 
 where there are but few pickings of the kind he loves. 
 
 The room was cool and fresh and dim, the thin cur- 
 tains gently moving in the afternoon breeze, as Panta 
 descended the little stair, the first of the party to be 
 ready. He let himself down on his leather throne, a 
 pleasing vision of an ancient man, in his grey coat and 
 trousers of some strange, far-off cut, to be sure; with 
 his broad, white collar with pointed corners turned down 
 over a black stock whose ends are laboriously interlaced 
 in an approach to a bow; with his thin, straight old 
 feet in snowy stockings that will wrinkle around the 
 ankle, a la mousquetaire, with soft slippers carefully 
 blacked at the toe where they are apt to be a little 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 241 
 
 stubby, you know. The long-fingered, veined old hands 
 were busy, with that polite, simulated air of business 
 that we all know how to assume when we have some 
 twenty minutes to get through in a gentlemanly manner 
 before something nice is going to happen — before the 
 guests arrive, before the car snorts gayly at the door, 
 before the water boils over in joyous anticipation. In 
 this delusive manner were Panta's hands busy — busy 
 with who but his ancient gossip, that " Immortal Gym- 
 nast " ? 
 
 Quin, in his character of strong man, had, earlier in 
 the day, brought down the required chairs, even to 
 Bina's bedroom one that certainly does bear a mystic 
 resemblance to a prie-dieu, with its low, sober-coloured 
 seat, its long, curved back that ends in a sudden roll- 
 over like a breaking wooden wave, that might form a 
 very good rest for a pair of folded, praying hands and a 
 sleek prayer-book, but when Bina choses to sit here, 
 with the mop of her gold-shot curls flinging their ten- 
 drils over the slippery ledge, folded hands and prayer- 
 books are the very last things you are apt to think of. 
 
 She had selected small, white, innocent-looking flowers 
 for the bowls on the little tables, with a branch or two 
 of pale-blue Canterbury bells to rise out of them like 
 campaniles. All the delicate tea-furniture so simply 
 set forth, the fair china, the curious silver, were of a 
 kind not often met with outside of proud collections. 
 They were mostly early eighteenth-century, and Bina 
 had always known how to use them. Just now she was 
 in the shop with a tray, hovering over the cream jars, 
 the golden butter pats, and the ripest strawberries in 
 their woven, brown-green, lined nests. Rug-Pug, in a 
 
242 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 flutter, but with a sternly steady knife, had cut a heap 
 of waferlike bread shavings — one could call them 
 nothing else, but 'twas the fancy of the moment. Bina 
 would presently transform them into minute, three- 
 cornered, cocked-hat or diamond-shaped sandwiches, 
 as the spirit moved her. Then she would run upstairs, 
 to run down again presently in a little frock of mull, 
 deliciously yellowish in tone, that doesn't follow the 
 fashionable line simply because you realize that it is 
 much too elegantly fine for any mode but its own. 
 It was cut away to show her pretty, full throat, and to 
 give you the benefit of the enchanting way her hair 
 grows up from the back of her neck. Her skin has that 
 amberish, sun-warmed look that is much more beautiful 
 than the traditional, rather overdone milkiness. Wher- 
 ever buttons appear on the gown, they carry each a 
 deceptive little black velvet loop that pretends to be a 
 buttonhole, and isn't. With a rose in her breast she is 
 the freshest little hostess in London. 
 
 Quin tells her so, when he looks in for a moment on 
 the way to the Gymnasium, solemnly swearing to be 
 back on the tick of four-thirty. As he has rather a 
 developed time sense, she, contrary to all precedent, 
 believes him. 
 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 
 VARIAN, full of interest for the success of his 
 venture, took his women to Countess Street 
 in due season. Anie peered under the shop 
 awning, all eyes for the fragrant altar of the Bona 
 Dea of which she had heard so much. In a thin, 
 powder-blue gown, with a close little upstanding frill 
 of black net about her throat, with a shady tulle hat 
 drooping over her eyes, and with her long-handled 
 parasol, she looked a slim child, trying with engaging 
 solemnity to be a grown woman. 
 
 " Poor, dear, little thing ! " thought Bina involun- 
 tarily, as she went forward to meet them. " What a 
 baby to be paddling in London waters I No wonder 
 Ambry made one mouthful of her.'* 
 
 As she took the girl's hand, who knows what strong, 
 steady throb of the cloud-current passed from her into 
 those childish fingers, up that delicate arm, into that 
 tired, half-frightened, perplexed young brain, carrying 
 with it the bright flag of courage, the gayety born of 
 healthy nerves, the frank, free pulse of full-blooded 
 life? The girl dimly felt that something odd was 
 happening to her, and that she liked it. She smiled 
 into Bina's eyes and squeezed the kind hand. She was 
 suddenly aware that she was going to enjoy her tea 
 enormously, and she looked around for Varian, turning 
 to that young man, in imagination or in reality, at 
 
 243 
 
244 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 every wave of pleasure or pain that assaulted her 
 small, drifting soul. He was standing quietly back 
 of her, as it happened, and took her in tow while Bina, 
 all soft courtesy, charmed by Gita Edmonton's quiet 
 phrases, by the languid yet authoritative atmosphere 
 which enveloped her, led her guests into the familiar 
 brown room where Panta, very dignified and formal, 
 with an agreeable, old-fashioned precision, awaited 
 them, much more erect than usual, upon the hearthrug. 
 After the unavoidable naming of names, the customary 
 murmur of friendly imbecilities, the inevitable rustle 
 and small confusion of getting yourself seated where 
 you think your hostess would like you to be, everyone 
 was prepared to be gay, simple, and happy, to talk all 
 at once, to be argumentative, to be inconsequent, to 
 laugh a great deal at innocent jokes, and to display a 
 primitive appetite for tea. Such was the pleasing 
 influence of this quiet back room, rather brown and 
 worn and smoky and shabby, but rifted with the in- 
 visible gold of the cloud-currents ever subtly stirring 
 through it. 
 
 When the company were seated, Bina discovered 
 with an inward smile that Panta had secured his arm- 
 chair, fearing, perhaps, for a lady's peace of mind on 
 his treacherous cushions ; Varian had drawn up the 
 prie-dieu, of all things, within easy distance of his old 
 friend; Mrs. Edmonton, with the habitual instinct 
 of the true recliner, was gracefully bent into the curve 
 of the ancient sofa, and little Anie had appropriated 
 the lyre-backed chair close to the pretty tea-table where 
 she could watch Bina busy with the spirit-lamp, where 
 she could admire the darling china, and could hide her 
 
THE IMxAlQRTAL GYMNASTS 245 
 
 foolish little nose in a provokingly commodious Canter- 
 bury bell. 
 
 Bina glanced at the clock, swelling with virtuous 
 indignation. f No Quin ! " Ah, but it still lacked 
 one minute of the appointed half-hour. Bina appeared 
 to be accurately measuring tea, answering at the same 
 time a laughing question of Anie's; Panta's voice was 
 running on in a happy monologue on the arts and art- 
 fulness of the second-hand book people, followed with 
 amused interest by Varian and his mother, when the 
 old clock emitted one wheezy, petulant stroke, just as 
 Quin, with that light, firm, even step of his, appeared 
 in the doorway. Bina smiled and gave herself a re- 
 proachful shake. Gita Edmonton, from her sofa 
 nook, took in at a glance the dark face, with the deep 
 yet alert eyes, the well-set shoulders, the long arms, 
 the tall figure, intensely supple as the man moved. 
 He was extraordinarily magnetic. She was at least 
 aware of that as he crossed the room, presentations 
 being over, and took his seat on the end of her sofa. 
 Why didn't he start practice as one of those new-fangled 
 nerve-doctors, of whom you are always dimly sus- 
 picious, but to whom half your friends rush, and to 
 whom one fine morning you find yourself rushing, too, 
 to be supported, to be braced, to be bullied by a vivid 
 male personality, by the steady look in a deep, kind eye, 
 by the grasp of just such a fine, sensitive hand as this? 
 Gita had warmed to this odd friend of Varian's. She 
 liked the way her boy had greeted him — the little touch 
 of familiarity, the hand on the shoulder. With that 
 keen, dark face, with that figure, in that admirably cut 
 blue serge, he might very well be anything — an attache 
 
246 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 of one of the foreign embassies, say. A sandwichman, 
 indeed! The thing verged on the absurd. 
 
 She turned to him with her gentle, womanly smile 
 that to a certain extent belied her, and prepared to find 
 out, with guileless, Gitaesque guile, what he was made of. 
 
 Meanwhile, Anie was in a fine tumult. If Quin's 
 note, at second-hand, had fluttered her with a sense 
 of its mysterious antecedents, what could not be said 
 of the effect of the man's own presence? The little 
 soul that Quin had once held in the hollow of his hand, 
 the young body for one instant half in his arms, giving 
 up its pitiful secrets, unconsciously unfolding under the 
 soft breath of the cloud-current, — this soul and this 
 body, here in the room back of the shop, acknowledged 
 by vague, struggling symptoms that Anie herself was 
 unable to interpret the presence of their dominator. 
 But all this soon passed off, for the cloud-current was 
 rigidly excluded from this tea-party, and Anie's sub- 
 conscious disquiet ceasing to trouble her after Quin 
 had bent over her with her cup of tea, advising her to 
 omit cream if she cared for a real Indian flavour, she 
 was able to telegraph to Varian by an expressive glance 
 that she thought his Mr. Quin most awfully jolly. 
 
 Submerged in the suave, mellow odour of that 
 mysterious, golden brew, replete with marvellously 
 melting cocked-hat sandwiches, sustained by little 
 mounds of reddest strawberries dipped in smooth, thick 
 cream, our hosts and their guests had finally reached 
 that pleasant, stretching, purring stage of comrade- 
 ship, — the really perfect moment of human intercourse. 
 When Varian and Quin had lighted up their cigarettes, 
 the time was ripe for conversation. 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 247 
 
 Bina, who seemed to have fascinated Anie, a fact 
 that did not escape Quin's amused, indulgent observa- 
 tion, had drawn that young lady nearer the china cup- 
 board, and they were presently fingering cups and plat- 
 ters, quaint teapots, and a whole flock of little jugs, 
 with such gestures, with such pursing of the lips, 
 as are well known to be common to your deep-dyed 
 connoisseur. 
 
 Gita turned to Quin. 
 
 " Varian tells me you have had some talks in his 
 rooms. Has he confided to you the secret of Martini 
 ft? As a mother, let me tell you — " here Gita shot 
 a glance at her boy, — " I am simply swollen with pride 
 and joy, but, as a weak, feminine imitation of a critic, 
 I have my misgivings." 
 
 Quin laughed. " I know so well what you mean — 
 this straining of the attention after the hypercritical, 
 after the supersubtle. The old gods are grown too 
 familiar for the restless mind of youth. Their names 
 and their works are too overlaid with commentary, the 
 great ones being now no more than a palimpsest, — 
 Johann the German, Jacques the Frenchman, Giuseppe 
 the Italian, having scratched and rewritten, scratched 
 and rewritten, all over the poor great dead, so that one 
 wonders whither has flown their once so deeply-felt 
 charm. Then the young ones come down the oft- 
 travelled road, gay and debonair. ' Who was the real 
 genius ? Ah, we shall show you ! ' So they dig and 
 delve and unearth some poor worthy soul of a Primitive, 
 a good enough journeyman in his day, perhaps, but no 
 great thing, you may be sure. Because he's fresh, 
 because no one has ever heard of him before, the 
 
248 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 monographs fly like a shower of confetti, amid the 
 tranced ecstasies of the coteries. But your son, Mrs. 
 Edmonton, really seems to be on the trail of something 
 genuine. The scent is clear, and he will make a good 
 run to the finish. Whether many things he claims for 
 his Beta might not — might, you see we say — without 
 too much stretching, belong to stout old Simone him- 
 self is, I confess, a distinct question, to my mind. But 
 there are others of which one cannot be so sure. That 
 odd mark of the square heel is certainly an acute enough 
 stroke. He tells me that Fortescue is pleased with 
 what he has done, and that the proofs will soon be 
 coming in. It is amazingly interesting work — this 
 artistic excavation of a personality — and no wonder 
 one feels a godlike exhilaration at times." 
 
 Gita had been watching Quin's expressive face and 
 hands as he talked, and his line of thought marching 
 with her own, she began to think him extremely in- 
 telligent, as is an amiable failing of most of us. So 
 she followed this lead with as much animation as she 
 ever showed. Varian, looking over at his mother, 
 smiled to see her so interested. Whenever she spoke, 
 as she was doing now, deliberately but without her bored 
 drawl, whenever she fixed her companion with those 
 languid dark eyes instead of promenading them vaguely 
 over the ceiling and the cornice, her acute son knew 
 that her attention had been caught and rejoiced 
 accordingly. 
 
 " You mentioned Fortescue," continued Gita. " Do 
 you know him or his things ? " 
 
 Quin disavowed any but the most fleeting knowledge 
 of either. " Your son had a new book of his on his 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 249 
 
 table," he said. " I confess to turning it over for a 
 look at the pictures like any schoolboy." 
 
 " That is his much-heralded work on Greco. Varian 
 brought it down to me. According to him, in their 
 little critical world, everyone has been quite overcome 
 by it. It is doubtless very penetrating and subtle, with 
 a great deal of cleverly-managed insistence on a certain 
 peculiar subjective bent of Greco's that perhaps did, 
 but more likely did not, exist. Surely you have noticed, 
 Mr. Quin, how increasingly difficult it is to be simple, 
 to be satisfied with the good, clear light of common 
 day ? I dare say, having set people waggling with this 
 little squib of his, Rossiter Fortescue fancies he sees 
 long cracks commencing to invade that splendid high 
 finish of Velasquez's fame." 
 
 " To be the sponsor of a new little god has, no doubt, 
 its intoxicating side," mused Quin. " But weren't we 
 always taught that Greco was a madman? In that 
 case, there's his morbid psychology ready to your hand. 
 Do we need a Mr. Fortescue to put us in our places ? " 
 
 Gita nodded approval. " This young school is noth- 
 ing if not dogmatic. They convince, with the formi- 
 dable end of a bludgeon sticking out of their pocket. 
 We are such sheep, we follow into their enticing pen 
 for fear of falling among the goats if we stay outside. 
 But I do want Varian to be sane. To a partial mother, 
 he seems to have command of a small vein of critical 
 insight, restricted, perhaps, but true. This he must 
 keep objective; clear, not muddy — no personal parti- 
 pris, no subjective hobby to ride, like this coruscating 
 Rossiter." 
 
 Varian caught the name. 
 
250 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " Still harping on my Greco ? " he laughingly in- 
 quired. " Mothers have their blind side. She refuses 
 Rossiter his meed of praise. I tremble when I think 
 of the reception she is preparing for my poor Beta, 
 shivering, as he will be, in the nakedness of the fire-new 
 Primitive." 
 
 " I'll give him a winding-sheet," said Gita trans- 
 parently ferocious. 
 
 " Rather ! " put in her son with immense conviction. 
 
 Varian turned to Panta, who had been admiring Mrs. 
 Edmonton's slight, frail figure, her pale, clear skin 
 and tender eyes. How many such delicate, high-bred 
 faces of just that type had he not seen in Italy in the 
 old days — those fair, patrician women, their soft necks 
 and brows glowing golden in the light of the knots of 
 candles set under each painted wooden box? In the 
 theatre at Padua he remembered that there were sliding 
 shutters. You pulled them, and so cut off the view 
 of the stage. You wore a mask then, you pretty lady, 
 with powder in your hair, and silver-laced brocade. 
 
 Panta, much to his confusion, was forced to ask 
 Varian to repeat his question. He was ashamed, but 
 Gita's Italian eyes were the cause of this inattention. 
 He rarely slipped back now into the past. It made him 
 too sad and dreamy, Bina said. 
 
 It appeared that Varian had asked him to show his 
 mother the famous " Immortal Gymnast," merely as a 
 delightful piece of old binding, ladies not being sup- 
 posed to be interested in metaphysics. Panta hastened 
 to obey, amusing Gita by the way he plunged a long, 
 nervous hand into the hidden intricacies of his wonderful 
 chair that combined the advantages of an inn for a 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 251 
 
 tird body and a refuge for an harassed tome. He 
 fished it out, dusted its sides with a large, neat hand- 
 kerchief, and blew gently along its edges before handing 
 it to the lady. Gita duly admired its venerable person, 
 sniffed daintily its bookish aroma, that scent, potent 
 in charm to the elect, that is exuded like some precious 
 gum by yellow, century-old paper, by worn, worked 
 leather from which the gilding has fallen in flakes and 
 blotches. 
 
 " I once read Winckelmann," murmured Gita, in 
 order to give herself a countenance before this severe 
 gymnast, lying quiet for once and grimly potential in 
 her lap. " He was really much more alarming at 
 first sight than he became on a more intimate ac- 
 quaintance." 
 
 " Yes, yes," nodded Panta. " The gymnast speaks 
 of that German fellow in some reference or other to 
 the fine arts at the very back of the book. I've read him 
 quite through now, and am beginning all over again." 
 
 He gazed mildly at Gita, who said : " Philosophizing 
 about art seems to me to be an exercise of small benefit 
 either to philosopher or to artist, for the former, as a 
 rule, never even touches the hem of the nethermost 
 garment of the great goddess, and the latter, cradled in 
 her lap, with his head on her bosom, is blissfully un- 
 conscious that there is anything wonderful in this good, 
 kind, familiar, nursing-mother to chatter about at all. 
 Both, perhaps, may misunderstand art, but both, most 
 assuredly, misunderstood each other." 
 
 " I never thought of it in just that way," remarked 
 Panta quite aghast. Gita's eyes and voice were 
 hypnotic. 
 
252 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 Varian laughed. " She's trying to draw us, Mr. 
 Panta. Don't be taken in. My mother is a delicious 
 and — forgive me, dearest, if I give you away — trans- 
 cendental humbug. When you come to Wimbledon, 
 I'll show you her drawings, and then perhaps you'll 
 understand." 
 
 Here Bina at the cupboard looked over her shoulder, 
 amused at the eagerness of their discussion, a platter 
 aloft in her hands, her upraised arms emphasizing the 
 graces of her pretty shape. Varian, taking the gymnast 
 out of his mother's lap, joined Bina and Anie. The 
 latter turned, to find the strangely disquieting but very 
 good-looking Mr. Quin on his feet behind her chair. 
 She twisted her little neck, caught like a tender white 
 bird in a frill of net, looked up at him with her large 
 eyes, but could think of nothing to say. 
 
 " Poor child, she's afraid of me, without knowing 
 why," thought Quin, remembering vividly the helpless 
 feelings of her small hands on his breast, as she had 
 clutched at him to save herself. 
 
 He drew up the despised stool near the lyre-backed 
 chair, and presently had the little lady at her ease, 
 with some diverting tales of his youthful dancing co- 
 horts, the infant products of a Soho slum, toeing it 
 energetically, with a certain desperate lightness, their 
 precociously worldly eyes already fixed upon " the 
 halls." 
 
 " Are some of them pretty ? " asked Anie, the in- 
 evitable question of her sex. 
 
 " Perhaps not now, but a few have what you might 
 call prospects, when decent food and light and air shall 
 have cleaned up their smug little faces. Their wits are 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 353 
 
 sharp enough now, and here and there you catch a 
 look through a mop of red hair, a turn of the head, 
 a still angular undulation that distinctly hints at a per- 
 sonality of the kind the opulent manager, that swollen 
 Czar of their curious world, is ever on the look out for. 
 Poor little monkeys 1 The question is : what would they 
 do if they didn't do this?" 
 
 " But I think it is a charming profession," put in 
 Anie eagerly. " It has always fascinated me, so that 
 I sit on the edge of my chair, much to mamma's disgust, 
 whenever there is a ballet at the opera. To see a 
 swarm of them in their tulle skirts float down on 
 their toes, trembling like white leaves that the music 
 is shaking, always sends a delicious shiver up my 
 spine." 
 
 " Ah, you see it from   the front,' " replied Quin. 
 " You see them through the aesthetic veil we are always 
 pulling and pinning around them. But they drop the 
 grand manner in the wings more often than not, and 
 become the hard-bitten little cockneys with highly- 
 developed muscles, and no artistic intelligence to 
 speak of. The vogue for eccentric dancing that is now 
 coming in will perhaps be their salvation. It will spur 
 them on to use what brains they have, to work, to in- 
 vent, to originate, not merely to execute mechanically 
 what we hammer into them. Some bizarre idea of that 
 little red-head I spoke of, a few outrageous steps, the 
 mad Polish music to match, and you will have the sen- 
 sation of the hour. That is the Dream in their Business, 
 that is what they are all striving for. It may not be 
 art, but it keeps them at it. It makes possible that 
 heart-breaking toe-exercise, the long hours on scanty 
 
354 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 food, the dirt, the crowding, the jealousy, and the back- 
 ache." 
 
 Here Quin realized that he might be drawing a 
 picture somewhat too realistic for these sweet, sheltered 
 eyes, but before he could drag up another topic more 
 suited to the spirit of the hour, Anie herself had com- 
 menced to tell him of the Bois in the garden at Wimble- 
 don, the green semicircle of turf, the great clusters 
 of hollyhocks on either side where lamps might be hung. 
 
 " I have seen just such garden theatres in Italy," 
 said Quin, taking up the tale, " but there you have the 
 tragic, daggerlike cypress for accent instead of our 
 own mild, pink and yellow posies. At a villa near 
 Sienna there is such a one where nobody has danced 
 or sung or laughed since the eighteenth century flickered 
 in its ashes; but what an incomparable setting, when 
 the moon and the nightingales are tearing your heart 
 out between them ! " 
 
 Bina, behind with Varian, caught this dramatic, 
 rather highly-coloured statement, and wondered, with 
 an internal smile, whatever Quin could be at. He him- 
 self, somewhat amused at the vigour his conversation 
 seemed to draw from a jeune fille atmosphere that has 
 been known to paralyse far better men than he, threw 
 himself on Bina's mercy, and she did not fail him. 
 Under her gentle guidance, the talk became general, and 
 instantly gained in banality what it lost in piquancy. 
 
 Bina's few moments with Varian had sufficed for 
 the turning inside out of that young man in the interests 
 of feminine curiosity, a process of which, it need not 
 be said, he remained profoundly ignorant. But it put 
 naughty Bina in a fine flutter of pleasing sentiment. 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 255 
 
 " He is simply mad about the little Anie. Now that he 
 is in the same room with her, I can feel the vibrations 
 so plainly. He will never get over it, and when he has 
 her, he'll hold her very tight indeed — little, slippery, 
 wheedling thing that she is ! And Quin talking to her 
 about nightingales and the moon ! It's in the very air." 
 
 " Isn't it growing quite late, Varian? " asked Gita, 
 when another half-hour had passed, pausing in the 
 midst of a question to Panta as to what he thought of 
 the relative charm of Goldoni and Gozzi. " These long 
 twilights are as deceptive as they are delicious." 
 
 " H'm," murmured Varian, quite happy between 
 Anie and Bina. " It is perhaps time that we relieve 
 these kind people of our somewhat limpetlike society, 
 but I confess I hate to move. I am charmingly gorged 
 in more senses than one. I am so intoxicatingly inert 
 that a child could kidnap me and bear me away in 
 his own little pram." 
 
 " Now you see my grave baby in his true colours, 
 Mr. Quin," cried Gita. " Pretending to write books 
 indeed ! " Then, turning to Bina, " I am afraid we 
 must be going, dear Miss Panta. You and your father 
 and Mr. Quin have given us a very happy hour." 
 
 " Two would be considerably nearer the mark," 
 whispered Varian to Anie's neck in the direction of 
 her right ear. 
 
 " Will you come down to us for a long evening 
 soon?" went on Gita. "Varian will bring you. 
 Presently there will be a moon. We have a garden that 
 boasts of its roses. Anie will sing to us, and we may 
 all feel inspired to dance. It will give us great pleasure. 
 Will you?" 
 
256 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 Gita was not accustomed to be resisted, and her 
 companions fell before her as usual, saying in their 
 prettiest manner that they would be charmed. Every- 
 one felt quite pleasantly warmed and smoothly stroked. 
 Their personalities had met without jarring, their 
 minds had struck out the proper mutual sparks. 
 
 Mrs. Edmonton stayed for a moment before the 
 mirror to pat her hair and to wind her motor-scarf, 
 while Anie and Bina and Quin dawdled into the shop 
 where a confused Rug-Pug curtseyed behind the minia- 
 ture counter. Varian and Panta at the back window 
 were busy over some book or other. 
 
 " Varian dear," presently called Gita's voice from 
 the shop, where she had joined the others. 
 
 " One moment, darling," mumbled her son with his 
 forehead against the window-pane 
 
 Bina was telling Mrs. Edmonton where the Wimbledon 
 milk was sent. 
 
 " A shelter has been started for poor women and 
 their babies, and the back garden is full of haggard 
 pussies who wail and moan most oppressively. Would 
 it interest you to see it some time? It is under the eye 
 of a Miss Johnstone-Ford whose brother is the Secretary 
 of the Neighbourhood House. They are from Ox- 
 ford » 
 
 " Why, of course," cried Gita. " He was Varian's 
 tutor. A very clever person with singular ideas that, 
 as a rule, find no roots in the ordinary professional 
 pasture. So that blessed milk has brought us into 
 touch again." 
 
 Meanwhile Anie, very slim and straight, is standing 
 betweeen the door and the low, pot-bellied window, ad- 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 257 
 
 miring, under Quin's guidance, the colour-scheme made 
 up of yellows and whites and creams, of green and blue 
 and brown. It is the palette of the simple life when 
 you come to think of it — of all cool, innocent, growing 
 things, of the blue sky, bending over the green woodland, 
 of primroses, of crusty bread, of the wooden bowl of 
 warm milk, of the eggs broken for the smoking omelette. 
 Ah, well, you have had your day in the country, tramp- 
 ing between the hedgerows, but how many of you must 
 come back at nightfall to that tired, livid old witch-wife, 
 London, waking up only when twilight lets down her 
 sooty veil, rubbing her hollow eyes that will presently 
 sparkle with reddish gleams as darkness comes on, as 
 the light springs from lamp to lamp along Piccadilly, 
 as the life in food and wine begins to stir through worn- 
 out arteries? 
 
 Poor Quin returned from this little, silent, imagina- 
 tive excursion with a sudden, sharp, inexplicable con- 
 sciousness that he must get Anie away from the door. 
 Was his dreamy Delia Robbia fantasy to be confronted 
 with the hot unrest of Post-Impressionism? To put 
 the thing plainly, Ambry was coming down Countess 
 Street, that conquering step of his bearing him nearer 
 and nearer to the shop, the which Quin had instantly 
 perceived out of the tail of his eye. But the whole 
 thing developed so quickly that before he could change 
 his position, before he could get between his young 
 companion and the door, the light was darkened by 
 that tall, well-known figure, by that high head, and 
 Ambry, more dashed than the little lady (for such is 
 the queer nature of womankind when it comes to the 
 scratch), found himself, to his panic horror, to be gaz- 
 
£58 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 ing straight into the large, frightened eyes of the elder 
 Miss Cassock. The little thing, half choked at the 
 heart, stood her ground bravely enough, although the 
 knob of her wandlike parasol shook in her hand. Quin, 
 without a word, stepped deliberately in front of her. 
 Bina, grasping the situation with one startled glance, 
 came forward with an engaging smile to take Ambry off 
 Quin's hands. She had sufficient intuition to realize that 
 these two would be better apart. She had not forgot- 
 ten how Quin's arm had felt when she had laid her fin- 
 gers on it after their little evening encounter with 
 Ambry then so insolently on his own heath in Wilton 
 Place. 
 
 Ambry's eyes were blazing, but he smiled at her as 
 she came toward him in her pretty, pale mull frock. 
 Anie had disappeared, he noticed. Good Lord, what a 
 mess ! How was he to know they would be so thick here, 
 of all places? He supposed the slim, veiled woman in 
 the background was Varian's mother. The dark chap 
 had better talk to her, and let him alone. He didn't 
 like his manner. When he had idled in here, it was 
 with the half -acknowledged hope of finding the Watteau 
 dairymaid alone and perhaps not disinclined for con- 
 versation. She was a fascinating little piece, and what 
 was a fellow to do with not a word out of that devil 
 Estelle? Gertrude was a dear, but old enough to be 
 your mother, and so implacably good. This little thing 
 in the shop looked so soft and kind, with a spark in 
 her, too, by Jove. It was a damnable business to be 
 caught in, and the thing now was to get himself out as 
 easily and as quickly as possible. 
 
 All this flashed through his mind as he took Bina in 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 259 
 
 deliberately from head to foot. He'd have that much, 
 at least. 
 
 " I'm most awfully sorry I've disturbed you, Miss 
 Panta. I had no idea I was interrupting " 
 
 " One can never interrupt in a shop," put in Bina 
 sweetly. " Did you come in to buy something? " 
 
 Ambry was recklessly on the point of telling her what 
 he had come in for, but a certain cool self-possession 
 in her whole dainty person restrained him. She was 
 maddeningly waiting for him to go on. 
 
 He thought desperately of the babies and the cats, 
 but he knew that they had their daily supply which it 
 would be asinine to augment. He swore to himself 
 that he wouldn't go out of that shop carrying anything 
 in a paper bag, so the only refuge was that of mild 
 insanity. 
 
 " No, I didn't come in to buy anything," he said with 
 decision. 
 
 " He looks as if he'd like to shake me," thought Bina, 
 " and when his eyes have that odd glare in them he is 
 certainly very striking, but just the least bit alarming." 
 Before she had finished saying this to herself, the mag- 
 nificent subject of her commentary had bowed to her, 
 abruptly clapped his hat upon his head, and left the 
 shop. 
 
 She wheeled around on Mrs. Edmonton and Quin, 
 with the gesture of one saying, " There you have your 
 Ambry. Take him or leave him ! " 
 
 " Who is he? " inquired Gita — " that very beautiful 
 but angry young man." 
 
 " He was at Oxford with your son. He is Sir Ambry 
 Nunholme, who, for reasons best known to himself, 
 
260 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 seems to be on a mysterious visit to our humble neigh- 
 bourhood, incog, as Mr. Holmes." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " cried Gita. " Not Ambry Nun- 
 holme! Did Anie see him? She was here with us, 
 wasn't she? " 
 
 " We were at the window together," answered Quin. 
 " She was behind me. Fancied it was a customer, I 
 imagine, and vanished delicately into the background. 
 Will you go to her, Bina, while I help Mrs. Edmonton 
 into her cloak? " 
 
 Quin swept up the billowy garment from an adjacent 
 chair, while outside the motor scuffled and screamed 
 like a beaten child under the skilful ministrations of 
 the invaluable Peters. 
 
 Two minutes before Varian had ascended into heaven, 
 and the manner of it was this. 
 
 It seems that Panta had bustled upstairs to dig out 
 his copy of Goldoni's " Memoirs " to show Varian an 
 amusing passage that his talk with Mrs. Edmonton 
 had recalled. The boy was alone in the twilight room, 
 his forehead still against the window-pane, but his mind 
 was elsewhere. Before his imaginative, inner sight, the 
 Italian landscape lay swimming in the burning sun, the 
 ivy stirred in the hot, dry breeze, the heavy, delicious 
 odour of orange flowers and jasmine assaulted his 
 somnolent sense. London and the room-back-of-the- 
 shop had lost him for the moment, held only his agree- 
 able, well-groomed exterior, while the better part of him 
 was swinging to an eighteenth-century air, a trifle thin 
 and faded, but with a cracked sweetness all its own. 
 
 He was, however, hurled back to Middlesex, exquisitely 
 dizzy, to feel Anie's body under his hands, her fingers 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 261 
 
 trying to clutch him about the waist, so that she might 
 press herself against him, crushing her proud little ruff, 
 her white cheek on his breast. Was he quite mad? What 
 had happened? But why ask? He had his life in his 
 arms at last, and he held her head to him and kissed Tier 
 as he had always meant to some day. It was a delirious 
 finish to their simple tea-party. What wild impulse had 
 pitched her shaking into his arms was something to 
 inquire into later — oh, much later. It was enough, at 
 present, to hold her there where she belonged, trembling 
 himself, to be sure, almost as much as she did. Good 
 heavens, what sweetness ! Those big, wet eyes, those 
 pale, soft cheeks. . . . 
 
 " O Varian," the poor child almost whimpered. " Do 
 keep me if you want me. Do you?" 
 
 Why ask? Why answer? Only a tightening of those 
 safe arms. 
 
 " When I saw Ambry in front of me, I thought of 
 nothing but to run to you. I have a horror of him. He 
 is hateful to me. How he glared at me ! " 
 
 " Good Lord, Anie, have we both gone off our heads ? " 
 cried Varian, holding her away from him in order to 
 think. " What on earth is this about Ambry? " 
 
 " My dear, he is in the shop now," whispered Anie, 
 looked darkly in that direction, " or he was a moment 
 ago. He pounced in suddenly and we glared at each 
 other like two cats. That kind Mr. Quin stepped in 
 front of me, and I fled in here. I suppose Gita would 
 have helped me, but I forgot her. I forgot that there 
 was anyone else in the world but you. O Varian ! " 
 
 " Well, we've settled things now, my child," said 
 that radiant young man. " You belong to me for ever, 
 
262 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 as of course you have from the beginning, only you 
 didn't know it as I did. The moment I met these de- 
 lightful souls, the moment I stepped into this good 
 brown room, I had the extraordinary feeling that some- 
 thing rather tremendous would come of it, and — you 
 see!" 
 
 He took her hand to kiss it. This was the moment 
 ordained for the re-entrance of Panta from the stair- 
 way, with his ancient Maestro Goldoni, and of Bina, 
 wide-eyed and a bit nervous, from the shop. The latter 
 took in the situation with the machinelike intuition of 
 her sex. So the little thing had found her proper mate 
 at last. No more bruising of the wings in the cruel 
 clutch of predatory hawks ; no more dipping, and 
 sidling, and sulking. 
 
 Anie flew to Bina, one pink blush. 
 
 "Is Gita waiting for me? Has that horrid person 
 gone ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," replied Bina, patting the girl's hand, 
 smiling her affectionate woman's knowledge into the 
 wide, happy eyes. " The car is crying for you, weeping 
 blue fumes into the gutter, more's the pity." 
 
 " Anie dear, bring Varian. It is desperately late," 
 fluted Gita's voice from the doorway. 
 
 Varian, dizzy with joy, Was pretending to read 
 Goldoni, but the old, thick type danced drunkenly under 
 his hot eyes. He never knew how he made his adieux 
 and got himself and his nearest and dearest into the 
 car. What a rattling good chap Quin was ! There was 
 congratulatory knowledge in that fine, final grip of 
 his. Ah, how the song of the earth, the power and the 
 beauty of it, sang in his ears all the way to Wimbledon ! 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 263 
 
 And his little love sat so still, never a word out of her, 
 holding fast to Gita's kind hand. 
 
 " What on earth do you suppose Ambry came for, 
 Quin ? " asked Bina, an hour later, her face lifted to 
 his, as they sat together on the sofa in the last flicker 
 of the twilight amidst the happy ruins of their success- 
 ful little fete. Panta was dozing quietly with Goldoni 
 sitting on his waistcoat; Rug-Pug had flitted away, 
 carrying the remains of the cocked-hat sandwiches in a 
 paper bag, and these two were alone, alone and together 
 as if they had been holding hands on the white, deserted 
 strand of some palm-set coral isle, lost in the far 
 Pacific. 
 
 " You," replied Quin unemotionally. 
 
 " You? " echoed Bina foolishly. 
 
 " You, you, you," cried Quin, mocking her. " You 
 asked what Ambry came for. That young man is lonely. 
 Gertrude Johnstone-Ford is too strenuous a tonic for 
 him not to crave a ' let-down,' and the pretty little 
 thing in Countess Street struck him as too good to be 
 resisted. Behold him, my child, in all his glory, sav- 
 agely furious at finding you otherwise and so stagger- 
 ingly (for him) engaged. He did us all a neat turn, 
 however, for, by a healthy reaction, he throws our little 
 Anie straight at the good Varian who will know how 
 to hold her gently but firmly, and so cooks Ambry's 
 goose in that direction. Not that he cares in the least. 
 Estelle, a shrewd young piece, I gather, has been clever 
 enough to irritate his every sense, so that at this mo- 
 ment he really doesn't know whether he most desires to 
 kiss her or to wring her neck. I received a broken, con- 
 fused, hurrying impression of anger, of impatience, al- 
 
364 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 most of pain. He has his good points, this triumphing 
 youth, and they show clearest in his least triumphant 
 moments. He is a spoiled boy who may surprise us all 
 some day, if the right woman manages him. I rather 
 think Estelle may take on that billet. She is as proud 
 and as obstinate as he, but with an incomparably 
 sturdier will. She will pay him off to the last drop for 
 this Ridges Street escapade, and then she'll open those 
 long, strong, white arms of hers and take him in. I 
 must stroll down to Ridges Street some day, and regis- 
 ter its particular gamut. How the pampered Ambry 
 stands it after Wilton Place is a mystery. Of course 
 he sucks the sustaining juices of his pigheadedness, and 
 Estelle's prematurely proprietary airs evidently fright- 
 ened him not a little." 
 
 So they sat on in the silvery, mysterious dark, the 
 evening air in the shadowy curtains, the distant torrent 
 of the encompassing streets breaking, far away, on their 
 island shore. The humming in their ears, the quick, 
 full throb of healthy pulses, the languor that holds them 
 to their seat one moment, the flashes of vigour that, the 
 next, would send the old walls spinning, would carry 
 them out into the wind and the darkness, are but signs 
 of that withdrawal of the cloud-current before the earth- 
 bound waves that are mounting ever higher and higher. 
 Gently and softly though they mount, they will pres- 
 ently sweep across the lips, will drown the eyes, and 
 wash over the forehead and hair, only to retreat, their 
 work being done, leaving behind them a new heaven and 
 a new earth, and the man and the woman alone in the 
 midst, gazing at one another, their cloud-crown gone 
 for ever. 
 
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 
 
 A MBRY stalked down Countess Street in a fury 
 /■A with himself and the world. What an abject 
 ass he had been to try to dangle about that 
 pretty little woman ! She was a cool one, and wouldn't 
 have minced matters with Gertrude when next she saw 
 her. How the deuce the Edmontons were so thick there 
 was too much for him. It seemed a thousand years 
 since he had seen Anie. He'd never forget as long as 
 he lived that queer little foreign sachet that used to 
 hang around the sitting-room in Gordon Square. He 
 supposed it might be awkward marrying Estelle — yes, 
 it had come to that. He bit the word between his teeth. 
 He'd marry her, confound her, and then perhaps he'd 
 have a little peace of mind. Just the same, as he said 
 before, it would be awkward having Anie for a sister- 
 in-law. Good Lord ! but it couldn't be helped. He would 
 jolly well not see much of the family. Estelle would 
 have to live at Appleton, whether she liked it or not. 
 There'd be no more nonsense once she was his wife. 
 She'd shake down he supposed, especially as there was 
 rattling good hunting. She never looked better than 
 on a horse. But not a word out of the girl, and it 
 would be three weeks to-morrow that he had sent her 
 that telegram. Dodgson was for ever forwarding rotten 
 drivel from half the people he had ever known, but 
 nothing, not a word, not a line, from Belgrave Square. 
 He knew from the Morning Post that they were still 
 
 265 
 
2.66 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 in town and that they were going about to all the late 
 dances and scratch dinners of the expiring season. He 
 must manage to hear from her before Goodwood, even 
 if he had to put his pride in his pocket and trust to his 
 natural swagger to carry him through. His mother 
 thought him at Aix — why, heaven and she alone knew — 
 so perhaps that was the tale that was going around. 
 He didn't remember whether Lady Cassock took a cure 
 or not. She certainly ought to, she was getting so 
 beastly fat. If she did, he'd go along and have it out 
 with Estelle. He would insist upon marrying in Sep- 
 tember, without a lot of silly fuss about clothes. No 
 one would be in town then, and they could get it over 
 decently. If Lady Cassock kicked, he rather imagined 
 Estelle could manage her. By Jove, Estelle had cer- 
 tainly played him rather well. Ambry moved those 
 splendid shoulders of his, irritatingly conscious of the 
 yoke. Well, she was worth it. No one had ever got 
 him so far before. He dispassionately admired her 
 skill, itching, meanwhile, to break every bone in her 
 fascinating young body. 
 
 " I'll go to the office and pitch in a letter now," he 
 decided. " If I crawl, it will touch her. If she can 
 manage Aix, I'll cross with them. I wonder how it will 
 seem to have Dodgson again. If I wasn't so con- 
 foundedly sorry for Gertrude I'd cut Ridges Street to- 
 night." 
 
 The tall, resplendent figure in the grey flannels con- 
 tinued to make its triumphant progress through the 
 nauseatingly familiar streets and alleys of the sordid 
 neighbourhood, gazed upon idly, admiringly, or viciously 
 by its female population. 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 267 
 
 The three weeks of his voluntary exile had brought 
 him a number of novel impressions, several of which 
 were destined to linger with him to his permanent im- 
 provement. Some had been received in the dreary, chilly, 
 non-committal, utilitarian office of Neighbourhood House 
 where he worked each morning, at an unearthly early 
 hour, over a pile of mixed communications, fabricating 
 such engaging answers to certain correspondents that 
 they were surprised into sending unexpectedly large 
 cheques for the support of the cause, a regrettable im- 
 pulse that they not infrequently deplored. If Ambry 
 could thus wing his words, what was not the effect of 
 his person? The pretty young librarian lured him into 
 one of her story-telling evenings, and, under the spur 
 of the villainous youngsters, sharp as knives, who 
 swamped the desks and platform and clamoured for 
 something more exciting than Maeterlinck, he presently 
 found himself, a hand in the filthy rag that served the 
 ringleader for collar, launched into a big game story, 
 a perilous hippopotamus drive in the Congo that a chap 
 he knew had died in, to such good purpose that before 
 the last monster had fallen he had beaten his grimy 
 audience to their knees. Thereafter, they shouted for 
 more, seduced as much by the unanalyzed charm of his 
 appearance as by his corking yarns. The simple Ambry 
 was more flattered than he had ever been before 
 in his life. Gertrude teased him, and the librarian 
 smiled. 
 
 John's Greek classes, on the contrary, made him un- 
 easy. The scheme was so patently extravagant. What 
 could those loafers ever do on Parnassus? Why the 
 deuce they pretended to learn at all was a puzzle to 
 
268 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 him, until he found out by accident that they succeeded, 
 from time to time, in worming small sums out of John- 
 stone-Ford. To sit in a coolish room for an hour of 
 an evening, to pretend to follow the crazy signs the 
 man with the bulging forehead made upon the black- 
 board, with the prospect of a shilling or two to jingle 
 together in your pocket, was sufficient bait for the half- 
 dozen semi-criminal vagrants who formed the beginner's 
 class in poor Ford's fantastic Academia. That John 
 couldn't see how he was being duped, that he could 
 continue, night after night, to deploy all his science of 
 Oxford tutor in the service of his ragged, half-insolent 
 legion, distressed Ambry greatly. After his first ex- 
 perience as an auditor, he had yearned to pitch every 
 man jack of them out into the road, but Ford at his 
 blackboard, eagerly working out his painstaking theories 
 on the philosophy of language, was quite unconscious 
 of the pitiful figure he was cutting. 
 
 Ambry had got Gertrude's ear in secret, but, while 
 she agreed with him, she admitted that she was afraid 
 to say anything to John. Fixing Ambry with her large, 
 troubled, near-sighted eyes, her restless hands busy with 
 a beaded bag she was in the habit of carrying, poor 
 Gertrude had confessed that anything, no matter how 
 foolish, that occupied her brother's mind was just so 
 much to the good. 
 
 " Even if the poor dear does make himself ridiculous 
 with his Greek — how in heaven's name could it be 
 otherwise in this abandoned neighbourhood? — why, that 
 means just so many hours when his brain works quietly, 
 almost mechanically, in the old, well-loved Oxford 
 groove. It rests him, I am sure. In reality, he is hardly 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 269 
 
 conscious of those wretches sitting there in front of 
 him. He is far off in some pleasant dream, by the banks 
 of the Ilyssus, perhaps, teaching their beloved tongue 
 to quick-glancing young Greeks — Plato's disciples, no 
 more and no less. So we must leave it alone, Ambry. 
 I feel that it will be best. You are a dear boy to confide 
 in me. I don't know how I should have got through 
 these weeks without you. Thank you." Gertrude had 
 put out her hand frankly, not caring that she showed 
 how much she was moved. 
 
 All this floated through his mind this afternoon, as, 
 long after teatime, he let himself into their rooms. 
 There he found Gertrude rambling about. 
 
 " Where on earth have you been? " she cried, " and 
 where did you have your tea ? " 
 
 There was certainly more of the mother in her maiden 
 look than Ambry had ever surprised on the face of 
 the good lady who actually stood to him in that re- 
 lation. 
 
 " Oh, I had a beastly cup in a forsaken little bun- 
 shop in Pimlico. By the way, on my homeward route I 
 passed the castle of the enchanted dairymaid. Do you 
 remember the day you took me there, and we bore away 
 a pot of cream to gorge ourselves withal? " 
 
 " Of course I do. Why didn't you stop and have a 
 chat with the little lady? " 
 
 Innocent Gertrude, did she but know ! Ambry could 
 see himself sufficiently in perspective to smile when he 
 recalled to mind the acid-sweetness of his reception, his 
 panic at encountering Anie, his rage at his own fatuity 
 in going into the place at all. It was, of course, Es- 
 telle's fault for cutting him loose. It naturally escaped 
 
270 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 his august mind that his had been the hand to slip those 
 silken moorings. 
 
 Ford presently came in and he and Ambry smoked, 
 talking perfunctorily of neighbourhood affairs until din- 
 ner was served. The meal over, Jenny removed the 
 cloth and placed on the ancient round table the 
 cigarettes and the modest liqueur. All three were now 
 pleasantly conscious in their different ways of that 
 laisser-faire that blessedly takes possession of us at the 
 end of a strenuous day. They dawdled over their smoke ; 
 Gertrude permitted herself two elbows on the table, and 
 from John's face the veil of nervous exhaustion had 
 been brushed away or had become more transparently 
 impalpable. The wandering air of the warm July 
 night puffed its vagrant invitation to the road into the 
 unlighted room. Ambry, that representative of youth, 
 was naturally the first to catch the message. 
 
 " Why don't we stretch our legs a bit to-night ? " he 
 suggested, after John had finished a rather dreary anec- 
 dote of a certain busybodyish Vice-Chancellor of none 
 too fragrant memory. 
 
 " Let us go for a walk," repeated Ambry, looking 
 from one to the other of his companions. " It is our 
 duty to celebrate the fact that we are not stewing at 
 Neighbourhood House. Come out and breathe. Why 
 not a taxi? " 
 
 " Oh, no," said Gertrude, " they jiggle one so. To 
 walk will do all of us good. We can cut up into some 
 quiet streets and squares. I'll fetch my hat." 
 
 They bore away from Ridges Street, cutting up 
 obliquely toward Eaton Place. They walked abreast, 
 Gertrude between the two men. Their slum behind them, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS £71 
 
 they sniffed with avidity the fresher air blown across 
 the tall elms and planes of the squares. The large, 
 tremulous leaves threw their shadowy reproductions, as 
 intensely black as Japanese ink, across the pavement 
 under the lamps by the railings. You seemingly en- 
 tangled your feet in these bizarre, moving patterns, but* 
 as though you trod upon the waters, you passed on, 
 leaving no mark behind. 
 
 " By the way, my dear boy," said Johnstone-Ford, 
 " do you ever see young Varian Edmonton these days ? 
 They tell me he is by way of being an art critic — re- 
 markable thing to go in for in cold blood — but I recol- 
 lect that he had a very pretty style." 
 
 " How odd that you should speak of him, John, just 
 at this moment," interrupted Gertrude. " His mother, 
 don't you remember, sends in milk from Wimbledon to 
 my cats and babies, and " 
 
 " I caught a glimpse of her this afternoon in the 
 dairy," put in Ambry, feeling it safer to make a clean 
 breast of it. " She didn't see me. I suppose Varian 
 was there somewhere, too. There was a girl I happen 
 to know with them. Rather odd my running in on a 
 party, wasn't it? Do the Edmontons know these 
 Pantas? It seemed a very social affair. The girl is 
 a cousin of Varian's." 
 
 Gertrude was conscious of a small spasm of surprise 
 that Ambry had not mentioned all this before, when he 
 first spoke of having dropped in on the dairymaid. 
 Who was the girl? she wondered. Someone he cared 
 for, and was vexed at? Ah, why couldn't life run 
 smoothly? Not even for him, this magnificent youth, 
 were the bumps and the pin-pricks spared. Poor 
 
272 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 Gertrude felt so raw herself that she yearned after the 
 certitude of blissful, fireside pictures, of happy hemes 
 and roly-poly children. Surely they existed somewhere 
 in spite of slums and philanthropy. 
 
 " I'm awfully afraid, don't you know," began Ambry, 
 fishing for words, " that I shall have to be cutting it 
 soon. Didn't I understand from Gertrude that you'll 
 be getting off yourselves for a holiday in a week or so ? 
 I shall hate to leave you in the lurch, but, as a matter 
 of fact, I've had a letter " (our youth was disingenu- 
 ous; he meant he had sent one), " that makes it rather 
 necessary for me to go to the Continent, to Aix. 
 I've cut everything rather recklessly, but I can't cut 
 this." 
 
 Gertrude squeezed his arm sympathetically, while 
 Ford took his speech in excellent part. John was so 
 nervously jerky these days, you never knew what you 
 were in for. 
 
 " My dear fellow," he began, " neither Gertrude nor 
 I can ever be sufficiently grateful for what you have 
 pulled us through these last few weeks. Of course, you 
 must go back and pick up your life after this little 
 plunge. August would be quite too impossible for you 
 in town. Someone who brings along his own assistant 
 will relieve me next week, and Gertrude and I will get 
 rest and air in a little forsaken cove we know of on the 
 Cornish coast. I only wish we could keep you with us 
 indefinitely. Your presence has meant more than I can 
 say. I am less nervous when I know that you are about. 
 We mustn't lose sight of each other again. You old 
 boys of mine bring back Oxford days when, for me, this 
 ridiculous 'brain fag,' as I have heard it called, was 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 273 
 
 unknown and unsuspected. When we meet again in the 
 autumn, we must look Edmonton up." 
 
 Gertrude perceived clairvoyantly that this suggestion 
 left Ambry cold. What was there behind it ? The girl- 
 cousin stopping at Wimbledon whom Ambry had known ? 
 
 " When do you think of going? " she heard John 
 say. f 
 
 " Oh, in two or three days. Would that inconvenience 
 you? I think I can make a clean sweep of my desk in 
 that time. When does the locum tenens appear? " 
 
 " Let me see. Do you recollect the exact date, 
 Gertrude?" 
 
 " This is the 29th," she counted on her fingers. 
 " They are due August 3, and I plan to rush off our- 
 selves the afternoon of the very day. We go into 
 lodgings, and put Jenny on board wages. Oh, to think 
 of breathing the salt air once more, clean of petrol! 
 With sand in our eyes and hair, the skin peeled off 
 our noses, and with the appetites of Trojans, we shall 
 give ourselves up to every wandering breeze that blows 
 and become happy tramps, with not a thought in our 
 heads for a month on end that is not concerned with 
 our tummies. Heaven help our landlady, poor, mis- 
 guided woman, to take such wastrels in ! " 
 
 Ambry laughed. He loved Gertrude because she was 
 so game. 
 
 " Then I shall arrange to flee when you do, not an 
 hour before," he said, smiling down at what he could 
 see of her eyes under that grey, reckless, tossed-about 
 fringe. 
 
 They had turned aside into Eccleston Square because 
 it looked broad and deserted. 
 
274 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 "Where are we?" suddenly asked John, speaking 
 abruptly after some quarter of an hour's silence. They 
 knew at once by his face and his tone that the good 
 time was over and that he had dropped back into the 
 shadows. 
 
 " Come on, straight down Belgrave Road till we reach 
 St. George's Square," put in Gertrude, taking her 
 brother's arm. " There we can walk along the river 
 toward Chelsea before we ptfck up a bus." 
 
 As they came abreast of the dark, leafy pool that is 
 Warwick Square, they stepped for an instant into the 
 long, black shadow of a man who had crossed the road 
 from the direction of Denbigh Street. That was all — 
 a simple incident of no importance — and they continued 
 on their way. But the man, turning his head, took in 
 the three with a swift look of recognition as little sus- 
 pected by them as the fact that he held lightly, in that 
 fine hand of his, the key to their subtlest mental proc- 
 esses, to tick them off, if so he chose, with all the assur- 
 ance of an expert telegrapher. But Quin was fatigued 
 to-night, and he received from their vibrations little 
 beyond a vague sensation of fret and worry and pain 
 from Gertrude ; of ardour and triumph and gratification, 
 still reined in but straining at the leash, from Ambry, 
 his thoughts busy with Estelle ; of hurrying irritation, 
 of intense nervous exasperation, all very much blurred, 
 from Johnstone-Ford. 
 
 Quin smiled as he noted the chastened mien of the 
 Beautiful Youth, wandering about an unfashionable 
 quarter of London, at night, in worn but still serviceable 
 morning togs, far from the cherishing care of the more 
 than maternal Dodgson. How much longer could he keep 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 275 
 
 it up? Judging from the happy insolence of his mind 
 at this moment he had delivered an ultimatum, thinly 
 disguised as a surrender, to the tantalizing Estelle, and 
 the beginning of the week would doubtless see them 
 together at Cowes or on the Continent, devouring one 
 another, their only too natural recriminations swallowed 
 up in the intoxicating joy of recovery and possession. 
 Little Anie, too, had set sail once more on the heady, 
 foamy current, but this time the shallop of her tender 
 soul was to be manned by one who would never drop 
 the rudder till they rode at anchor in the sunrise, both 
 beyond the bar. 
 
 Ah, the hot, breathless London night was sweet, as 
 sweet to Quin as a hawthorn thicket by the cool, tranquil 
 Thames where Arnold's nightingale still sings to his 
 lovers — sweet and fair because Bina was hidden away 
 in it, in this tired London, turning its creaking bones, 
 its dull, heavy, drowsy, aching old body in the stifling 
 summer night ; because Bina would be waiting for him 
 in the back room with only a pair of candles lighted. 
 And he would go in, and she would smile and he 
 kind. When would she be kinder? Quin asked himself 
 with a spasm of longing. When he dared to demand it 
 of her, perhaps. Pshaw, he mustn't forget that it was 
 that wretched white Pierrot who was the unhappy, the 
 deserted one — never Harlequin, who, with a final splen- 
 did pirouette, always carried off the little lady in those 
 long, strong, muscular arms of his. Quin slid his hands 
 in his pockets, philosophically amused at the turn of 
 his thoughts. It was the weather; it was Ambry and 
 his Estelle; it was Varian and his Anie. This was the 
 season for the elemental longing of Jack for his Jill, 
 
276 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 and he, cloud-capped as he had believed himself to be, 
 felt his airy empire dissolving beneath his feet, his ten 
 toes clinging, like those of any primeval ape, to the 
 good, fat, solid, brown earth. 
 
CHAPTER NINETEEN 
 
 MEANWHILE the three had mounted a bus that 
 was to carry them along the King's Road, 
 Ambry pleading for a taxi, but being over- 
 borne by an economical Gertrude. Besides, it wouldn't 
 be suitable to wake the echoes of Ridges Street thus 
 opulently. 
 
 " Leave the confounded brute at the corner, then," 
 suggested Ambry, but even poor John was too inert to 
 back him up. They found places on top, but not to- 
 gether, and, with his grey-flannelled knees almost in his 
 mouth, the sausagelike arm of a worthy matron along 
 his ribs, her weedy feather tickling his ear, her rapier 
 of a hatpin menacing his right eye, our young gentle- 
 man, by a prodigious effort of will, forgot the human 
 wedge he was squeezed against, forgot the animated 
 mechanism he was atop of, forgot even his cherished 
 self in the interests of his thought of Estelle. She 
 would have his letter the first thing in the morning. 
 They would send it up with her tea. Where was she 
 singing or dancing to-night? Good heavens! What if 
 he had lost her by his rotten philandering? What if 
 they had met someone Lady Cassock would be backing? 
 Oh, certainly not now at the tail end of the season. 
 Good catches were never made in such shallow water. 
 No, Estelle was as hard as nails. He'd set her up 
 against her mother. She was hard, but he had hit her 
 hard. He knew that. She'd forgive him. She must. He 
 
 277 
 
378 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 had been abject enough in his letter, he whose role was 
 never to crawl. That would surprise her; would carry 
 her off her feet a bit. That was all he wanted — that 
 and the chance to show her how steady he would hold 
 her, how steady and how close for evermore. The mem- 
 ory of her was in his blood. He had jibbed ; he had been 
 afraid of her, afraid for his threatened liberty. Good 
 Lord, what a fool ! It had taken Ridges Street to teach 
 him that he wanted her more than anything else in the 
 world, and that he'd go on wanting her till he died. 
 He had come thus far along the painful, narrow road. 
 The path was rough, but salutary ; you breathed good 
 air on these heath-covered, wind-swept hills. As you 
 walked there, feeling your way, you sniffed the purify- 
 ing salt, you knew that the sea lay below, shimmering 
 behind the last thrust shoulder of the downs. All the 
 strange little lifeboats would be tugging at their moor- 
 ings, and you, with your own captured girl under your 
 arm, would presently be lifting her into the craft that 
 was yours — that had been waiting for you here from 
 the beginning, only somehow you had missed the way to 
 it before. Estelle was almost as tall as he. He liked her 
 so, her big eyes gazing or blazing into his with their 
 level beam. 
 
 The catalogue of all the other charming things he 
 liked about Estelle was rudely broken in upon by the 
 suffocating movements, the desperate manoeuvres of the 
 worthy lady by his side. Arching one arm into some- 
 thing that might approximate a flying buttress, she 
 rested her not inconsiderable weight upon Ambry's ribs, 
 while with the other she churned at the void, vainly seek- 
 ing a disgusting little newspaper packet that had seen 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 279 
 
 fit to evade her stout, incompetent grasp. Here Ger- 
 trude caught his desperate eye and was moved to 
 compassion. " Poor little roi en exile" she thought, 
 mothering the six feet or so of him, as was natural. 
 She clutched John and they made a speedy and spectac- 
 ular descent, the bus being well into its stride and the 
 conductor rather vexed. 
 
 Estelle, after her first hot rage at Ambry, when she 
 had so nearly flown to Wilton Place to squeeze his ad- 
 dress out of Dodgson, had set her teeth and tried not 
 to think of him. Oh, she could have pounded him with 
 her fists, if his physique had been such as to make an 
 exercise of that kind worth while. He was a cad, and 
 she had been a fool. Having thus pigeon-holed what 
 their respective temperaments made of them, she de- 
 voted herself to raising such personal little eddies in the 
 rather muddy stream of the dying season as her beauty 
 and her vigour rendered only too easy. At such a game 
 you never play alone, and her chosen partner being an 
 exceedingly good-looking under-secretary, or something 
 of the kind, with a weak-lunged wife poked away in 
 Africa for her health, there was a not inconsiderable 
 swell of the sort of gossip that doesn't help on a girl's 
 chances. Careful mothers, if there are really any such 
 left, lingering on in the shaded corners, would have 
 asked themselves what Lady Cassock could be thinking 
 of. But the latter, having noted with satisfaction that 
 Ambry had seen fit to withdraw, without having his 
 departure accelerated by her biting negative to the 
 question that she supposed to be hanging on his tongue, 
 was, for the moment, the season well on the wane, occu- 
 pied with nothing so much as her own increasing bulk. 
 
280 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 To have had such a figure as hers and to be threatened 
 with its extinction was to approach to your lips the 
 bitterest cup the advancing years can brew for a woman. 
 Etta Cassock, after that last desperate interview with 
 her corsetiere, knew the worst. It meant Germany ; it 
 meant the simple life; it meant exercise; it meant diet 
 and nasty waters. She would have defied any doctor 
 living, but she bowed that high head, with its coiffure 
 of a decadent Roman Empress, before the stern, black 
 bead eyes of Madame Gontet. The blow had fallen. 
 
 That night they were dining in Lowndes Square, and 
 for the first time Lady Cassock became chillingly aware 
 that her younger daughter was somewhat too conspicu- 
 ously engaged with John Capel, who had the weak- 
 lunged wife in Africa. He had monopolized her at 
 dinner, and was now proceeding to do the same with the 
 aid of a damask screen and a foolish potted fern in a 
 remote corner of the drawing-room. Girls were geese. 
 Anie certainly was one, but she had supposed Estelle 
 to be not devoid of the kind of intelligence London 
 demands for success, and here she was, sneaking behind 
 a palm with a perfectly negligible Capel, as though she 
 were a housemaid flirting with the second footman. 
 Good heavens, what were well-bred girls coming to! 
 If worry made one thin she would be perfectly safe in 
 cutting Germany. 
 
 Meditating thus, she rustled down upon her daughter, 
 fixing Capel, whose mother she had known as a girl, 
 with a freezing stare through her lorgnon. 
 
 " Really, Jack, you are not quite nice, you know. 
 No, don't get angry. We understand each other per- 
 fectly. By the way, what news do you have from 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 281 
 
 Milly? You are joining her at the recess, I suppose? 
 Why the poor child doesn't stew down there at this 
 season, I can't imagine. Doctors are such arbitrary 
 brutes. Mine is packing me off to Germany at once. 
 We are going on now. Give my love to Milly when 
 you see the dear girl. Are you coming, Estelle? We 
 have to pick up Mrs. Portarlington," — and, feeling 
 quite proud of herself, Etta Cassock turned her back on 
 her quenched companions. Not so quenched, however, 
 that the fire in John Capel's eyes did not try to draw an 
 answering gleam from those proud, tired ones of Estelle. 
 His lips on her hand, his voice in her ear. What was he 
 begging so for ? She pulled herself fretfully away, sud- 
 denly sick of the whole business. 
 
 So they were going to Germany. She had always 
 believed Ambry to be on the Continent. Ambry ! How 
 the memory of the whole look of him came over her, 
 overwhelmingly! John Capel dwindled to an infini- 
 tesimal black smudge on the surface of a London din- 
 ner-party. Poor man, he never quite understood that 
 episode. His Milly is getting better and she hopes to 
 come back this spring. 
 
 In the carriage, in the soft, warm, hazy summer 
 darkness, Estelle learned that they were off to Germany 
 to take a cure. 
 
 " Why not Aix? " she drawled. 
 
 " No," replied the Spartan mother, " not even 
 Marienbad. Oh, no, no place where you might possibly 
 meet a friendly face. That is the latest thing — unre- 
 lieved boredom, plus food so simple that you cease to 
 think of it with anything but horror, sticky baths, and 
 nasty water. There you are! I confess I feel a bit 
 
282 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 sorry for you, Estelle, but after to-night I can't enter- 
 tain the thought of leaving you behind." 
 
 " I don't want to be left behind, mamma," said a 
 strangely subdued Estelle. " I am dog-tired. I'll try 
 the sticky baths and the nasty waters." 
 
 Her mother shot a sharp look at her, but saw nothing 
 unusual in the beautiful pure profile under the dusky 
 web of hair, outlined against the dim, grey, lamp-lit 
 atmosphere. 
 
 At this moment Ambry, with whom the girl's thoughts 
 were passionately busy, was soundlessly calling to her in 
 his heart across the feverish London night, while his 
 body suffered the displeasing promiscuity peculiar to 
 the top of a motor-bus. Over his throbbing eagerness 
 swept the certainty that his letter, now the plaything of 
 an unrivalled postal system, would be upon that cool, 
 white bed of hers in the room in Belgrave Square to- 
 morrow morning for her sleepy fingers to tear apart, 
 the very first thing, before she even looked at her tea. 
 
 He spent a beastly night full-length on his long, slim 
 bed in his narrow, stifling room. Every cat in London, 
 it seemed to him, had chosen Ridges Street for an 
 amorous rendezvous, led, he suspected, by Gertrude's 
 pampered ruffians, escaped for the time from their 
 doleful garden to chant their plaint beneath their 
 mistress' window. He raged with the impotent desire 
 to tear their skinny limbs asunder, but a leaden, night- 
 mare weight on his head and chest flattened him out 
 on his back to pass from one hot, restless, confused, 
 half -waking dream to another. The result was as might 
 have been expected. When the chilly, damp dawn 
 brought its brief refreshment, he slept straight across 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 283 
 
 the breakfast-hour, and Gertrude wouldn't have him 
 called. Therefore, when he finally made his appear- 
 ance, exceedingly contrite, but resplendently fresh and 
 scrubbed, it was to find his hostess alone behind the 
 teapot, keeping his toast hot for him under a foolish 
 little blue flame. John had eaten and flown, certain 
 people of no importance having to be interviewed. 
 
 " You are frightfully good to me, you know, Ger- 
 trude," he remarked, having thanked her for his second 
 cup of tea. " Being down here with you and John, and 
 seeing what you do for these awful bounders, has made 
 me pull up a bit. I assure you I am a much more 
 serious person than when you saw me first. I'm going 
 to settle down and try not to be more of a fool than I 
 can conveniently help." 
 
 Gertrude was all sympathy at once. 
 
 " Oh, do ! " she cried. " It is so useless racketing 
 about town night and day. Tell me your plans ? " 
 
 Being totally devoid of any save the magnificent 
 synthesis of them all represented by the capture of 
 Estelle, Ambry contented himself with a description of 
 Apple ton. 
 
 " It's mine, of course, and mother and Goodrich-Dow 
 never care to go there. There isn't enough to keep it 
 up very well, but if I really showed that I meant to stay, 
 mother wouldn't let me starve. The hunting is ripping, 
 and — " He was going on to say that Estelle never 
 looked better than on a horse, but was afraid, with a 
 gambler's superstition because he didn't yet know how 
 she would take his letter. Jove ! She had it now. He 
 turned cold and stopped eating bacon. 
 
 " What is the house like ? Wouldn't you be lonely 
 
284 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 down there alone ? Do you care for your neighbours ? " 
 asked Gertrude, not noticing his pause. 
 
 " Oh, it's a rather good house. Father did a lot to 
 it when he married, and some of the stuff is rather 
 decent, I believe. I mean chaps who know say so. It is 
 comfortable, too, and the gardens used to be pretty. It 
 takes such a pot to keep them up." 
 
 " Oh, well, if you are off hunting all day, living there 
 alone, why bother? Flowers need more than gardeners, 
 you know, Ambry. They need a woman." 
 
 Those kind, quizzical eyes under the grey fringe ! He 
 fell at once; in fact he had been dying to ever since 
 they began to talk. 
 
 " I only hope to heaven there will be a woman there, 
 Gertrude — at least a girl. She's made me mad about 
 her, and now it remains to be seen what she'll do with 
 me. The whole thing is hanging. She has my letter 
 this very moment. I must kick my heels till I hear from 
 her, but she is the one Appleton and I must have. She 
 rides like a fiend, but — she'll make the flowers grow, 
 too." 
 
 Ambry's face had never been so expressive. 
 
 Gertrude got up and put a hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " I can see her walking in that very garden now, 
 finger on lip," she whispered smiling. 
 
 He picked up her other hand, kissed it gratefully, 
 and then she rang for Jenny, and the multitudinous 
 tasks of the day pressed into the foreground of their 
 consciousness demanding to be grappled with. 
 
 It was warm and airless, with a thin summer fog that 
 aggravated the humidity. A busy morning at his lit- 
 tered desk showed Ambry that he would have to devote 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 285 
 
 his afternoon to the same tedious billet if he wished to 
 leave matters decently in order for his successor. So, 
 after a snatched luncheon with John, Gertrude being 
 delayed at her Shelter, Ambry sped back, hot and bored, 
 not daring to think of a long chair at his club with a 
 longer glass against which the ice clinked. He was 
 rather glad, nevertheless, that he had something to oc- 
 cupy him other than those torturing conjectures as to 
 what Estelle might, or might not, be going to do. He 
 actually skipped tea, and when he finally let himself into 
 the house, hot and tired and jumpy, the twilight, a poor, 
 wan, dusty gold, was already dying away in the greyish 
 shadows of the unlighted hall. 
 
 He found Gertrude, dead beat, flat on the sofa, and 
 they had a tranquil, soothing little chat before the lamp 
 was brought in. She, with the deftest touch, drew him 
 out about Estelle, and she was presently in possession 
 of all necessary and unnecessary information in regard 
 to that young lady's mental and physical charms, with 
 the lyrical stress on the latter as is natural to the young 
 and ardent. Gertrude, like a good woman, revelled 
 intensely in the romantic, and it was with very tender 
 eyes and an inclination to see the world couleur de rose, 
 that she took her place at their simple dinner-table, 
 smiling across at John's sallow, haunted face, with 
 Ambry at her right hand. That young man was in a 
 badly suppressed fidget because Estelle had not tele- 
 graphed, as he had implored her to do — she might have, 
 don't you know, confound her! She jolly well knew 
 he was grilling. She had a deuced hard streak in her. 
 Telegraph? Not she! Then he accepted fish that he 
 didn't want, afraid of Gertrude's all-too-knowing eye. 
 
286 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 Coming back from Neighbourhood House some hours 
 later, he found the sitting-room deserted. Gertrude and 
 John were evidently abed. He threw himself heavily 
 into a chair. Not a word from Estelle, not a sign of 
 life or love ! Good Lord ! he couldn't stand much more 
 of that. If crawling in the purlieus of Ridges Street 
 wouldn't do, then crawl he must to-morrow in the more 
 spacious expanses of Belgrave Square, but hear from 
 her or see her within twelve hours he most assuredly 
 would. 
 
 How long he sat on in the dark, having put out the 
 lamp for fear of Gertrude, he never knew. Strange 
 shadows filtered in through the slowly-moving curtains, 
 wavering in the pale, diffused light from the street. 
 Star-bright visions of Estelle arose within him — Estelle 
 as she danced, or walked, or rode; Estelle with that 
 proud high head of hers, with those deep eyes that found 
 and held and sank into yours, as though they would 
 never let you go. 
 
 Feeling that he and sleep could have nothing to 
 say to one another, Ambry nevertheless forced himself 
 into his narrow cell, more from habit than anything 
 else. Viciously striking one damp match after another, 
 he eventually got a light, receiving at the same time 
 what he was thereafter to count as one of the exquisite 
 impressions of his life. Rain on the dust-choked plants 
 of summer, the thin, icy trail of a drug in tortured 
 veins, sleep after insomnia — the infinite refreshment of 
 such healing balms fell at once upon Ambry's soul as 
 the telegram leaped brazenly to meet his eye from the 
 middle of his bed, where Jenny had disposed it fori 
 lack of a table or card-rack. 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 287 
 
 He madly tore the blessed thing open, before his in- 
 genuous mind had a chance to be wrung with the cruel 
 doubts a less impetuous mortal would have felt as to 
 whether the magic paper might not be from, say, a 
 fellow's mother. But no, Ambry had more inspired 
 faith than that, and he was rewarded accordingly. Only 
 to the darlings of the gods can the simple word " Come," 
 especially if followed by the modest initial " E," be 
 fraught with such shattering ecstasy. Away with 
 crawling! Our young man resumed the proud ascend- 
 ency of the successful male before you realized that 
 he had ever been on the point of dropping it. Crawl, 
 indeed, in those spacious expanses of Belgrave Square ! 
 To-morrow would see, instead, all the processional trap- 
 pings of a happy and therefore beneficent conqueror. 
 The plaster portico, at least, should echo with the 
 splendour of his triumph, now that Roman forums roar 
 no longer, fallen every purple Caesar's dome ! If Ambry 
 behaved as foolishly as any schoolboy with his ridiculous 
 telegram, why, whose business should it be but his own? 
 The flimsy thing certainly had curative properties, for 
 our young man slept as profoundly with it under his 
 pillow as if he had had all an opiate's dreamy depths 
 to draw on. 
 
 Next morning, after hearty farewells to Gertrude and 
 to Johnstone-Ford, Ambry dashed off to Wilton Place 
 to start Dodgson once more into pleasurable activity 
 about his person. Arrayed again in the proper plumage 
 of his kind, he lunched luxuriously, smoked half a dozen 
 cigarettes, and then made his way around to Belgrave 
 Square at the earliest moment he dared to present him- 
 self, experiencing on the way some of those first, fresh, 
 
288 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 palpitating sensations of the happy lover at which his 
 youthful cynicism had acquired the habit of sneering. 
 Ah, it was good, intensely so, to be back in your own 
 world again, to be clad in fine linen, to be filled with 
 delicate food, to be waking the echo of Belgravian 
 pavements once more. He wondered if Estelle could 
 manage to see him alone for one divine moment before 
 Lady Cassock would proceed to envelop him in her 
 hostile regard. He made up his mind that he'd see 
 precious little of that good lady once he had Estelle 
 legally under his arm. 
 
 These fugitive thoughts accompanied him into the 
 stucco portico, but after that his mental processes 
 became arrested, until, from the end of the long, high, 
 dusky drawing-room he saw his beautiful girl, more 
 beautiful and desirable than ever in her nervousness 
 and her pallor, come openly, boldly, radiantly straight 
 into his arms. Then, to be sure, he was less engaged in 
 thinking than in feeling. So they had their moment, 
 but, like high altitude, it took it out of them. Estelle, 
 womanlike, was the first to return to a more respirable 
 level. She drew away, and gave voice to what had been 
 her inner parrot-cry all these weeks — " You've acted 
 rather like a cad, you know, Ambry." But he was 
 ready, nay anxious, to wallow in verbal abasements. 
 He let her have them, and she sucked them in as eagerly 
 as a small, thirsty child holding up its pouted lips to 
 the brim of a tantalizing bowl. Ambry was profuse in 
 explanations for the first time in his life, but, after a 
 surprisingly short interval, Estelle showed that she 
 cared for them not at all. She let him see, intoxicat- 
 ingly, that he really was what she was after. This, in 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 289 
 
 itself, is enough to unbalance any normal youth, espe- 
 cially when the girl in question happens to be an Estelle, 
 so perhaps it was just as well that Lady Cassock 
 dawdled in at this moment, announced by the short, 
 fretful bark of her particular Pomeranian. 
 
 " How do you do, Sir Ambry ? " she remarked. 
 " Where did you take cover? " 
 
 Lady Cassock had a maddening way of asking ques- 
 tions, as though she defied you to answer them, so in- 
 solently indifferent was she to you and your concerns. 
 
 Ambry muttered something about Appleton which 
 was a patent lie. He cared not a rap. He was walking 
 on air, and it would take more than Etta Cassock to 
 prick his bubble now. 
 
 " We are off to a cure," went on that lady, amiably 
 for her. " It is some new hole in Germany." 
 
 " Where ? " asked Ambry eagerly. 
 
 " Oh, Kronenschlacht, or some such impossible name." 
 
 " By Jove, really ? " cried our young man, feeling 
 that the gods were indeed playing up better than usual. 
 
 " What about it ? " put in Estelle, her eyes saying 
 something much more bewildering than that. 
 
 " Mother and Mr. Goodrich-Dow are there. I've 
 just heard. It is the very latest place where they say 
 the waters are unimaginably nasty. How jolly ! I shall 
 see you there then." 
 
 Lady Cassock preserved her composure admirably 
 under this announcement, but did unbend sufficiently 
 to be civil about Lady Nunholme. 
 
 " Heavens, what luck ! " mused Ambry. " Mother 
 and G. D. will do the decent thing for me, and they can 
 talk the old cat round. In any event, I can always 
 
290 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 count on Appleton. If she still keeps her back up, we 
 can cut together." 
 
 His reckless eye held Estelle with a hundred ques- 
 tions burning in it. She saw and understood, being 
 clairvoyante, a sensitive for his every mood to prick 
 almost to aching. 
 
 " Come, come, come," said her wide, deep eyes, said 
 her hot hand lying in his, as they appeared to be ex- 
 changing a perfunctory farewell in the disenchanting 
 atmosphere habitually diffused by Lady Cassock. 
 
 So he took himself off, blissfully volcanic, to meet 
 Estelle the following week, both as straight and tall 
 and fine as the young Bavarian pines they stood among, 
 beside the kursaal of the insignificant German village, 
 just bursting into feverish life as the last new, fashion- 
 able spa. 
 
 So Ambry carried his successful head, his whole con- 
 quering personality, about the little German spa where 
 he was landlocked with his willing Estelle. The first 
 barriers had crashed down. His mother was wrestling, 
 for his sake, with a hungry, thwarted, tooth-bared, 
 savage parent in the shape of Lady Cassock, who had 
 marked down more spectacular, if less young and juicy, 
 game for her beautiful girl-cub. 
 
 However, the fruits of victory would ultimately crown 
 stout, easy Mr. Goodrich-Dow's inexhaustible cheque- 
 book. He was proud of his stepson, and was not un- 
 willing to be his acknowledged benefactor. So matters 
 were more or less scramblingly arranged. Ambry, with 
 a sufficient dot, was to live soberly at Appleton with his 
 Estelle, and Etta Cassock, remembering John Capel and 
 concentrating her mind on Ambry's physical charms, on 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 291 
 
 his not wholly to be despised stub of a title, and on the 
 undeniable advantages of Appleton, in the heart of the 
 best hunting country, with money enough to keep it 
 going, decided to capitulate gracefully. This she suc- 
 ceeded in doing fairly well so far as Lady Nunholme 
 was concerned, for the latter was a distinguished if 
 stupid woman, and Etta Cassock thought it wise to be 
 friends. In private, however, Estelle and Ambry were 
 treated to the querulous, subacid digs that had incensed 
 them to fury in the beginning of their infatuation. 
 Now, however, they floated together in a serene, golden 
 ether, too subtle to be penetrated by any such earthy 
 darts as Lady Cassock's armoury concealed. 
 
 The cure was working, too, and the delicious con- 
 sciousness of vanishing flesh, the hope growing to cer- 
 tainty before the end of the season that, if not the first, 
 fine, careless rapture of perfect line, at least a pre- 
 sentable imitation of it, was about to be recaptured, 
 lent Etta Cassock peace of mind, and a willingness to 
 show herself as amiable as her tried nature would 
 permit. 
 
 So Ambry, the slave of his tall, deep-eyed girl, al- 
 though he tried desperately to hide his abasement, was 
 on the fair, fine road to decent manhood, with the way 
 open to develop those aptitudes that Johnstone-Ford 
 had divined at Oxford, with healthy leisure to love and 
 to be loved. While it was not his habit to analyze his 
 sensations, it being sufficient for him to register them 
 with the magnificent force and precision of his youth 
 and vigour, some such thoughts as these drifted through 
 his mind, as he stood one day with Estelle on a sharp, 
 rocky spur at the top of a straggling mountain path, 
 
29% THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 just at sunset, the sumptuous purple and gold of the 
 flooded sky in their eyes, the sighing, aromatic air of 
 the thick-set pines in their nostrils. 
 
 It showed the progress they had made in inner har- 
 mony that neither spoke, but the girl leaned toward 
 him, her hair and little ear against his cheek. Then 
 it was that he had a vision of Appleton, and what their 
 life might come to mean to both of them. All the man 
 in him leaped to meet it ; humble enough one moment to 
 lie at her feet, superb enough the next to imagine her 
 at his. The two natures met and mingled as he put his 
 arm around her shoulders : 
 
 " Ueber alien Gipfeln ist Ruh'i " 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY 
 
 EVER since the scene in the shop at the end of 
 their successful tea-party, Anie's feet had had 
 wings upon their heels. No more languid 
 dawdling about the cool passages of the house, no more 
 aimless trailing about the moist, fresh garden paths. 
 Happy love set her dancing, blew her along like a dove's 
 feather in that spicy gale you will ever find to puff the 
 sails of galleys bound and freighted for Cythere. She 
 never knew until she had lost it how the burden of the 
 Ambry episode had cut into her thin young shoulders. 
 Now she had straightened them up divinely, as the 
 branch of a slim, white birch springs back, quivering 
 through all its supple maiden length, released on a 
 sudden from deforming pressure. 
 
 The electric atmosphere of the drive down from 
 Countess Street to Wimbledon that afternoon had been 
 enough for Gita, and in her bedroom that night she 
 held her rapturous boy in her arms and told him how 
 happy he had made her. Later, in another midnight 
 conference, she said to him : " I'll manage Etta. To 
 my fond mind, of course, no girl could do better, but a 
 coronet or untold gold, one or the other, is for ever 
 obscuring Etta's outlook. Our Anie is in disgrace, so 
 we may be regarded in the light of salvage scooped up 
 from the general wreck. The child seems the softest 
 little clinging piece imaginable, but with you, my dear, 
 she will soon show the more solid stuff of which she is 
 
 293 
 
294 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 really made. The sound, firm pith Is there for you to 
 carve into what you will. She'll be your living master- 
 piece without a doubt. I feel almost excited these days. 
 That my baby should be so definitely grown up as to 
 wish to tuck a little wife under his arm ! O Varian, how 
 will you ever know what to do with her? " 
 
 They laughed, and he kissed her, his head on her 
 shoulder, his arms locked around her waist, as they had 
 been used to sit, years ago, during their infrequent 
 meetings in holiday times. They decided that the 
 engagement should remain a family affair for the 
 moment, nothing to be officially announced until the 
 autumn. 
 
 " Anie is still a little bruised and sensitive, poor 
 child," went on Varian. — " It would be rather deuced 
 awkward, wouldn't it? — if Ambry should pull it off 
 with Estelle." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," replied his mother. " It might, 
 on the contrary, bring you all together again on a 
 good, healthy, commonplace footing. No sentiment, 
 no woman's vanity or pride, can long survive the rough- 
 and-tumble give-and-take of intercourse between in- 
 laws. You'll all be slanging each other in a fortnight, 
 like a pack of children. Ambry and Anie will be only 
 too glad to slide into such a simple relationship. It 
 will help them both to forget that they have anything 
 to be fidgety about. Get them so far, and — click! 
 You'll find yourselves gathered safe and warm into the 
 refuge of a durable, unexciting friendship." 
 
 " Anie has written to Aunt Etta," said Varian, after 
 a pause. " That will probably bring her down on you, 
 dearest mother. But surely they must be on the point 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 295 
 
 of leaving town? Belgrave Square is as empty as a 
 church on a holiday." 
 
 " They are going. I had a scratch from Etta before 
 all this happened. Her doctor is benevolently packing 
 them off to the last new German cure. She is alarmed 
 about her figure. Good heavens, Varian, what a life 
 some women lead ! Etta, quite unconsciously, often fills 
 me with pity and terror. I dare say I inspire her with 
 pure contempt, when I chance to float at all across her 
 inner vision. But our Anie is such a sweet witch, I must 
 some day become acquainted with Estelle." 
 
 "Oh, Estelle!" ejaculated Varian, poking out his 
 long legs and musingly regarding his neat feet. " She 
 is too overpowering for such simple folk as we. She 
 and her baronet will be a magnificent pair. I hope 
 she'll manage to keep Ambry straight. He's splendid 
 to look upon and a good chap, too, except when he's 
 making a cad of himself. But when he owns up, you 
 find yourself weakening, and you don't try to punch 
 his eye after all. Confound him! What on earth do 
 you suppose he was really doing in the Pantas' neigh- 
 bourhood? I wonder whether it was something he 
 cooked up with Estelle? Not that it matters in the 
 least, except that if he hadn't pounced in on Anie that 
 day, your Varian wouldn't be the man he is this night. 
 Mother darling, you haven't the faintest idea how un- 
 imaginably sweet she is. It melts my heart straight 
 into water — or wine, wine of a sacrament — the greatest 
 in all the world." 
 
 Gita, who had happened to love his father in this 
 same fashion, became conscious of a faint, reminiscent 
 shudder of ecstasy and of pain. They had both had 
 
296 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 enough for to-night. With her hands on his shoulders, 
 they looked and kissed, exquisitely, understandingly, as 
 is given to but few mothers and sons. 
 
 The ripe August days continued to curtain Varian 
 and his Anie, hanging silken pavilions about them in 
 the Wimbledon garden, made up of the pale blue of the 
 early morning sky, of the long, fluttering, gauzy, apri- 
 cot-coloured scarves of twilight. Bee was swimming in 
 romantic joy, Gita tenderer to them than ever, so work 
 went by the board, the rooms in Cambridge Street grew 
 dustier and dustier, and Varian practised no art save 
 that curious, broken, birdlike, calling, recalling, inter- 
 rupting, resuming, fluting, caressing, passionate one, 
 caught by playing the sedulous imitator to the dove and 
 the nightingale, those two living manuals of a true 
 lover's conversation. 
 
 The suggestion that the charming and original house- 
 hold in Countess Street should pass a long, late summer 
 evening with them, to disport themselves beneath the 
 full, luscious August moon, to sing, to dance, to talk 
 in the green, hollyhock-guarded wings, or on the clipped 
 tapis vert of their sylvan stage, was not forgotten, and 
 Gita presently dispatched an urgent invitation, giving 
 certain open dates, to be more or less governed by the 
 state of the moon. 
 
 It had been a fair, dry, golden season, one of those 
 that every fifty years or so alight upon this long-suffer- 
 ing Isle of England, and there was every prospect for a 
 happy fete, Pomona trailing her wreathed and laden 
 car across the yellow fields, ripe apples dropping as she 
 passed. In the garden, nimble magic pencils, dripping 
 with purple, with crimson, with every suave and subtle 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 297 
 
 mixture of autumnal tones, had drawn an illuminated 
 wreath of flowers down every path, around every 
 bosquet, so that they blazed and sang in the sun- 
 light, as gay, as daring, as inspired as those in 
 any painted Persian manuscript. In the square, lobby- 
 like hall of the house it pleased Gita for the mo- 
 ment to fill the pots and bowls and osier baskets 
 with fruit instead of flowers, and your delighted 
 eye was played upon with such harmonies of violet 
 grapes, of apricots, bursting their plump, freckled sides, 
 of golden plums, of pears, elegant, tapering, inviting 
 your teeth in their luxurious russet contours, that you 
 instinctively saluted once more the genial, opulently- 
 minded Venetian whose name has always been illogically 
 associated in our cooler northern imagination with just 
 this species of pagan decoration. 
 
 Facing these trophies of the living time, low on the 
 staircase wall hung a large, drowsy Poussin, exactly 
 in character, in whose mysterious bronze-green depths 
 Actaeon or Apollo, Endymion or Meleager, might fitly 
 pursue goddess, nymph, or simple maid. Gita had had 
 a couch and a few basket chairs and thin-legged tables 
 placed in this hallway, near the wide entrance to the 
 terrace, and here they sometimes had tea when the wind 
 or the sun was too insistent for her tired eyes out of 
 doors. 
 
 Rather liking this cool nest she had made for her- 
 self, for all footsteps were hushed in the quiet house of 
 an afternoon, Gita had taken to lounging here by her- 
 self, with her drawing-pad and her books, while Varian 
 and Anie roamed the garden through, or took the car 
 for breathless, cross-country flights. The sketches she 
 
298 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 produced were frequently bizarre, and Varian thought 
 them awfully jolly when he caught a glimpse of them, 
 but one could see that the dear boy's eye really observed 
 and noted when but one solitary object was presented 
 to his retina, i.e., this sidling young thing, this Anie, 
 with the flat, childish figure, and the soft, scented, wine- 
 dark cloud of hair, a rather pathetic bud still, but hid- 
 ing for him, so he passionately continued to feel, all the 
 promise of the ripest, the most golden autumn. 
 
 They were sitting very near together on a small green 
 bench beside the Bois at the close of a warm, airless 
 day toward the end of the month. Streaked, livid 
 clouds piled themselves thunderously in the West, out 
 of which began to creep a thin, damp breeze. 
 
 " Rather gloomy prospect for to-morrow," remarks 
 Varian, knowingly squinting up one eye. 
 
 " Don't try to look like the Ancient Mariner, you 
 adorable humbug," replies his companion, her hand fast 
 in his. " Why disturb yourself? I simply know that 
 it will not rain to-morrow, but that the sun will shine 
 on all the late roses, making them smell, smell, smell, 
 that the moon will pop up, really almost too ridiculously 
 full, that the grass will be as dry and as soft as cotton- 
 wool, and that we shall sit here — or rather I, especially, 
 shall sit here with that delightfully mysterious Mr. Quin, 
 and I shall sing to him, strumming on my little guitar, 
 and then perhaps he'll dance " 
 
 " And what of me, by Jove, I should like to know? * 
 demands a justly incensed Varian. " What am I sup- 
 posed to be doing while you are shamelessly flirting with 
 Quin?" 
 
 Anie gurgled like a fatigued thrush. " Oh, you — 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 299 
 
 you are to play the demure antiquary with old Mr. 
 Panta, who simply worships you — anyone can see that." 
 
 " Humph," rejoins Varian, succeeding in producing 
 that purely theatrical sound quite successfully. " I 
 rather fancy myself, on the contrary, with that rosy 
 Mistress Bina, just far enough behind this hollyhock 
 clump to escape your eagle eye — for you'll be watching 
 me, you little haughty body ! You know you simply 
 can't bear me out of your sight." 
 
 He challenged her, his whole face softening under 
 the rush of feeling behind the teasing words. She met 
 him gallantly, answering what the eyes, not the lips 
 demanded. 
 
 " You are the dearest little person for a chap to 
 have for his very own," said Varian after a pause. " I 
 never knew before that I had it in me to be as jealous 
 as a Turk. I'd like, with one part of my will, to swathe 
 you in veils up to those aggravating eyelashes, and to 
 lock you in my Tower of Ivory, but, with the other, 
 better part of me, I'd bring you the key on a silken 
 string, and you could walk out into the open bazaar, 
 over my heart with your little feet, if so it pleased 
 you." 
 
 She rubbed her cheek against his arm. " What do 
 you take me for? " she asked naturally enough. 
 
 " I'll tell you another time. It would make too long- 
 winded a tale now. Come, let us decide what you are to 
 sing to-morrow, in order to ravish our guests. You 
 tune your tiny pipe very well to ancient things. Old Mr. 
 Panta will like that. Mother said you had found some- 
 thing in the library. What is it? One of Master 
 Lawes' innocuous ripplings ? " 
 
300 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " No ; someone not quite so well known, but of course 
 you will have heard of him — a Philip Rossiter, who 
 describes himself as a Lutenist." 
 
 " Oh, is that his name — the fellow who wrote the 
 music for Campion's ' Booke of Aires '? Is that what 
 you found ? " 
 
 " It is, with some of the most charming, quaint, 
 tinkling things. As they were written for the lute, 
 I can manage them very well on my guitar — at least 
 well enough for out of doors, in moonlight, when the 
 severest hasn't the heart to be critical. Shall we go 
 up to the house and practise them now? The first one 
 I have chosen begins : 
 
 Follow pour saint, follow with accents sweet! 
 Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet! 
 
 And then, should the applause become — tumultuous, I 
 shall sing that dear, 
 
 Rose-cheeked Laura, come, 
 
 " Remain tranquil," said Varian solemnly. " With 
 Bee and myself as claque, night will be made sufficiently 
 hideous, and your rose-cheeked Laura will be in danger 
 of turning purple, so eager will she be to burst forth 
 to stay our frantic clamour. Count on us, my dear. 
 Hadn't you better have two up your sleeve?" 
 
 He pulled her gently to her feet, tucked her arm well 
 up under his, and turned toward the terrace from which 
 the house, its solid Georgian block spiritualized by the 
 pale, broken, afternoon light, fronted them with ample 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS SOI 
 
 dignity above the mauve and lemon, bronze and crimson 
 and gold of the waning garden. 
 
 The windy night that followed, tearing at the ivy- 
 ropes, and scattering seed-pods and coloured petals like 
 confetti all along the wet, shining paths, did not bring 
 that rainy morrow once so melodiously dreaded by our 
 ever-living poet. Instead, the mild, warm, faint, mist- 
 thickened, golden-powdered, August sun came in Anie's 
 windows, pointing taper fingers across the thin silk 
 coverlet of her bed, waking her out of her early morning 
 drowse to pleased, childish contemplation of the cheer- 
 ful, broadening light. It stole equally through the 
 darker London air, finding entrance with as inquisitive 
 an insistence to the little house in Countess Street, 
 arousing Bina in her warm, white nest, so that she 
 stirred and smiled, lifting herself on one rounded elbow, 
 shaking back her brown hair to make sure that no surly 
 raindrops were dripping from the laburnum. Quin it 
 found broad awake, watching its approach with deep, 
 quiet, unsurprised eyes. He lay as Ambry did, straight 
 as an arrow, the spent arms folded, the whole admirable 
 body lax. Through what dark hours had he not been 
 thinking! until now, in the full dawn, he moved to meet 
 the day and Bina, determined, as the fruit of medita- 
 tion, as the result of the havoc wrought in mind and 
 body, to tell that charming young woman that she must 
 love him or let him go. The torture inflicted on his 
 senses by this daily, friendly, homely intercourse was 
 becoming rather too much of a St. Lawrence grill. 
 
 Panta, for his part, was as happy as a child to see the 
 sun. The anticipated fete at the home of his cherished 
 young friend Varian, the opportunity to study once 
 
302 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 more that graceful woman, his mother, whose Italianate 
 silhouette recalled forgotten episodes of the old dim 
 days in town or villa, set Panta chirping about the 
 back room, brushing the well-worn suit of sober black 
 that was to robe him, the broad, old-fashioned hat that 
 was to shade his ancient brow so benignantly. 
 
 As a matter of fact, he was dressed and ready hours 
 before Varian was to pick them up, sitting a little stiffly 
 in his leather chair, not reading, but turning gently, 
 with the knowing fingers of a bibliophile, the thick yellow 
 leaves of those " Memoirs " Goldoni wrote to ease his 
 later, worn, uneasy hours, he " good, gay, sunniest of 
 souls," as that sympathetic Mr. Browning so cleverly 
 puts it, fallen on evil days far from his sprightly 
 Venice. Panta knew it all so well, had, in fact, been 
 one of that merry party on the Brent a, but Cubical life 
 demands exacting tolls, and the cloud-capped memory 
 grows shorter and shorter, as the tale of Cube-lived 
 years lengthens out into the twilight of what is said 
 to be old age. So Panta could recall his past only in 
 vague, blurred snatches, not as an actual experience, 
 but rather as an animated description of something 
 that might once have occurred to any eighteenth- 
 century worthy. Occasionally a winged shaft, such as 
 Gita shot from her soft Italian eyes with their bistre 
 shadows, would set some intense inner chord vibrating, 
 and, for an instant, he would be back again in a slip 
 of a street as dark as a velvet pocket, or bright with 
 Southern moonlight, the air carrying to eager ear and 
 nostril the dying fall of the violins, the scent of the 
 orange in flower. 
 
 Bina busied herself in her small, commercial domain, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 303 
 
 as was her habit of a morning, whisking her fresh print 
 gown from counter to window, serving all and sundry 
 with a smiling willingness that was as soothing as a 
 benediction to the weary, bored, querulous, harassed 
 mortals who constituted her ordinary clientele. On the 
 trail of a smart young buttons who gamboled by about 
 eleven o'clock for three impeccably fresh eggs, pretty 
 Nurse Elsie dropped in, free for a moment from her 
 babies and her cats, to chat with Bina who fascinated 
 women of her own age as easily as she did more in- 
 flammable material. 
 
 After Elsie had discharged her small change of 
 neighbourhood gossip, she asked mysteriously : " Did 
 you ever happen to see a very handsome young man 
 who lived with the Johnstone-Fords ? Really stunning, 
 you know, with such eyes ! He came once to the Shelter 
 with Miss Johnstone-Ford, and I don't mind telling 
 you that I dreamed of him. Now do you know what 
 I have just found out from that close-mouthed Jenny? " 
 
 Nurse Elsie lowered her pretty, bebonneted head, 
 her blue eyes shining, her red lips caressing their little 
 secret. Bina forbore to show by the faintest sign that 
 she knew what was coming. Why not humour this en- 
 gaging female creature whom Ambry's unfailing magic 
 had beguiled as easily as it had so many of the wiser 
 and more subtle? 
 
 " He's a baronet, my dear, no less," pursued Elsie 
 triumphantly. "Not Mr. Holmes at all, as we were 
 given to understand, but Sir Ambry Nunholme. What 
 do you think of that? I must say he looks it, every 
 inch. Jenny let it out, but, of course, it's a secret. 
 Why shouldn't he be a duke? I'm sure it would be more 
 
304 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 in keeping to call him Your Grace than some of those 
 shabby old men they tell me have the right to it. Did 
 he ever come here?" Elsie asked, feeling instinctively 
 that this pretty Miss Bina, who seemed so superior in 
 some ways, would be just the sort to catch the roving 
 eye of a beautiful, disguised baronet. 
 
 " Oh, once, with Miss Johnstone-Ford," replied Bina 
 carelessly. " It was about the Wimbledon milk, I re- 
 member. He was so tall he shut all the light out of 
 the doorway, so that I could scarcely see him. You will 
 want the same quantity of milk every day? " went on 
 Bina, willing to carry the conversation back to its 
 proper channel. She succeeded, and there it became 
 anchored for a moment or two longer in a soft, creamy, 
 eggy stream till Nurse Elsie took herself off, pleased 
 with her shared confidence. At the corner of Countess 
 Street she ran across Quin, whom she knew by sight. 
 
 " He's almost as good-looking in his way as Sir 
 Ambry," she said to herself. " I wonder if Miss 
 
 Bina " but here we must stop our prying in the 
 
 small, close backwater of that youthful, middle-class 
 mind, lest we choke and splutter and say harsher things 
 than we really mean. Pass, Nurse Elsie. 
 
 Quin found Bina in the back room, setting out a 
 luncheon-tray. 
 
 " Do sit down for a moment," he said. 
 
 She looked up at him, threw up her hands in mock 
 acquiescence, and sat down in her little chair. 
 
 " Forgive me," said Quin, " for bullying you, but I 
 slept badly last night, and it rests me to see you, just 
 you, gentle, quiet, unoccupied, sitting near me for five 
 minutes. Do you think me slightly mad to be talking 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 305 
 
 in this way at half -past eleven of a clear, warm, sum- 
 mer's morning? Mad, if you will, but almost happy 
 looking at you in front of me." 
 
 Bina down in her prophetic heart did feel a bit dis- 
 turbed, for she responded like a clairvoyante to that 
 impetuous, passionate undercurrent that she knew to 
 be flowing deep and dark and strong behind Quin's 
 slightly fantastic address. She must manage to keep 
 him quiet for — oh, a day longer. She must have time 
 to catch her breath, to set her little feet firmly on the 
 brink, to squeeze her heels into the yielding soil, before, 
 with eyes wide open, with hair blown back, with her 
 whole body straining and kindling to his touch, she 
 forces herself to the ultimate plunge into what she 
 knows will be life and light and joy unspeakable. But, 
 being a woman, she must have her foolish little shiver- 
 ing moment first. 
 
 So they both shared mutely for an instant their con- 
 sciousness of that rock in midstream, dim, unknown, 
 but not forbidding; enticing, rather, hung as it was in 
 vapourish, sun-flushed clouds, miraculously selected to 
 be the scene of their ultimate shipwreck, its dark, wet 
 mass ordained to transform itself, at their first des- 
 perate impact, into a soft, warm, illimitable Ark of 
 Salvation. 
 
 But the hour was manifestly not yet. Therefore 
 Bina went on with her luncheon-tray, while Quin lit 
 his pipe and made conversation. Bina resketched for 
 him Nurse Elsie's communication in regard to Ambry. 
 
 " He has, I suppose," remarked Quin when she had 
 finished, " rebounded into his native element once more. 
 He and the tall maid we saw him sulking with that eve- 
 
306 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 ning will make a proper pair. The little lady at Wim- 
 bledon has chosen the better part in Master Varian, a 
 charming lad with a distinct zest to him. We shall 
 have our moon and our music to-night, and young love 
 sucking in the bliss of it almost as unconsciously as the 
 roses." 
 
 Alas, Quin, can't you keep the temperature of your 
 voice down any better than that? 
 
 " Yes, how jolly," returned Bina, little wretch, as 
 matter-of-fact as you please. 
 
 Here Panta drifted in, questing for luncheon, as 
 noiselessly as a piece of hungry thistledown. 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 
 
 VARIAN came for them in the early twilight, 
 accompanied by his shy young lady who had 
 motored up from Wimbledon to protect him, so 
 she said, from the Metropolitan Police. With her be- 
 side him, and Peters bobbing about like a split pea in 
 the tonneau, he was apt to become so oblivious of time 
 and space that a Herbert Spencer would have regarded 
 him with a mixture of horror and contempt, and a 
 framer of speed limits could scarcely have suffered his 
 presence. In deference to Mr. Panta, however, the 
 sorely-tried, proper Peters took command of the wheel, 
 and Varian fitted himself in very agreeably with Bina 
 and Anie and Anie's delightfully mysterious Mr. Quin. 
 The latter devoted himself to drawing Anie out, having 
 a clever hand with the opening minds of the young of 
 all species, with kittens, puppies, or tender maids, espe- 
 cially when the latter are head over heels in love and 
 as pellucidly transparent, in that delicious state, as the 
 very particular pool of Narcissus. 
 
 Gita, in a white gown, with long, slender, quivering, 
 sparkling ear-rings that became her well, welcomed them, 
 standing on the flight of shallow steps at the head of 
 the dusky entrance avenue. Bee hovered behind her 
 like a purple shadow. The evening light warmed the 
 ancient yellowish facade, intensifying ivory tones in pil- 
 lar and portico, rounding and deepening the mysterious 
 mass of the ivy, striking a last, fugitive spark from a 
 
 307 
 
308 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 gilded weather-vane in the shape of a gallant steed, cob 
 built, with his cloaked and dapper rider. 
 
 After a delicate, leisurely meal they lingered for a 
 moment in the hall. 
 
 " Children — Varian, Anie," began Gita, standing tall 
 and slim and white and fragile, with the tips of her 
 pretty fingers on the delighted Panta's arm. " Take 
 Miss Panta and Mr. Quin into the garden. Go down 
 to the Bois. The fruit and coffee have been carried 
 there. You will find cigarettes. The air and light are 
 so divine you must not lose a breath or a gleam. Mr. 
 Panta and Bee and I will join you presently. We want 
 to rest here for a moment to talk of Italy and Poussin." 
 
 " I see Italy in your face, ma'am," said Panta, after 
 the young things had gone on. " It's not so much a 
 given line or feature, it's a look you've caught. I've 
 noticed the same thing many times in their portraits. 
 It grows out of a certain habit of thinking. There 
 used to be a country house near Sienna, and the lord 
 of it had his lady painted half a hundred times. There 
 they hang, the fifty of 'em, in a long gallery open to 
 the garden, and after some years, as you may imagine, 
 they became very mouldish and spotty with the damp. 
 But the look of all of them, ma'am; you never could 
 mistake it. It sang out the blood of the country, with 
 the wine and the olive in the cheek, and the sunshine 
 in her eyes. He had her painted, decked out in old 
 dresses from his wardrobes, and her neck and head 
 sprang out of the ancient stuffs like lilies from a bunch 
 of weeds." 
 
 " How extraordinary ! " breathed Bee, quite overcome 
 by the style of the old gentleman's conversation. " Do 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 309 
 
 you suppose one could see the pictures now, if one knew 
 the villa? " 
 
 " Gone, gone," replied Panta, coming back to him- 
 self with difficulty. It would never do to let the ladies 
 suspect to quite how vanishing a length his memory 
 went sometimes. That lady of his, for example, had 
 smiled her golden smile before ever this house in which 
 they stood had risen a course high. So he retreated 
 gently. u Gone, gone, broken up, sold, like so many of 
 them. You know, ma'am," turning to Gita, " how the 
 hills and valleys roundabout there are all full of lonely, 
 decaying dwellings, with creepers choking the gardens, 
 and no water in the fountains any more. It's years 
 since I was there, but I know what it was in my time." 
 
 " I have lived there, too," said Gita, " with nry 
 Italian father's people, principally in Rome, but I know 
 the hills and the enchanted loggias, high on their ter- 
 races, dreaming over the olives and the ilexes. Varian 
 and I must buy one some fine day. Life goes easily 
 there, and you smile at the slightest thing, at a lizard 
 on the broken wall, or a bough of cherries, exactly like 
 the Last Duchess." 
 
 She looked down gently and kindly on her guest. 
 Panta did not catch the allusion, although he had heard 
 of Mr. Browning, Quin having shown him the sonnet 
 on Goldoni. 
 
 " That bronze-dark picture," she went on, turning 
 toward it with a movement of her graceful head, " might 
 be any wood, along any height, in the Apennines. Alas, 
 for people like you and me, Mr. Panta, no more for us 
 shall such green glades show a hero or a goddess. We 
 were born too late. I lie here of an afternoon and dream 
 
310 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 myself back to an eternally vanished Golden Age that 
 might, perhaps, after all, have been quite as boring as 
 this iron and steam one. We are so apt to magnify 
 the charms of a given epoch or environment, quite for- 
 getting that we have our personalities immovably 
 around our necks, clutching us like so many Old Men of 
 the Sea." 
 
 Here Panta saw a splendid opening for a neat ex- 
 cerpt or two from his immortal friend, the " Gymnast," 
 but he forbore, recollecting vaguely some admonition to 
 the effect that pure philosophy is disturbing, if not 
 actually harmful, to ladies. So he contented himself 
 with saying : " True, true," very wisely, observing at 
 the same time that nobody has yet painted an olive tree 
 as it should be done. 
 
 " Catch the light just so on a slope of them, and, in 
 a wink, you seem to hear and understand all the poetry 
 that has ever been sung or written." 
 
 " Why, you are a poet yourself, Mr. Panta," ex- 
 claimed Bee, quite taken with this curious little man 
 who appeared, so oddly, to draw upon an amazingly 
 extended experience. 
 
 This frank and flattering estimate turned Panta shy 
 and silent for a moment, so Gita seized the opportunity 
 to suggest that they join the others in the Bois. 
 
 "Did you see Varian take Anie's guitar, Bee? " she 
 asked, as they walked through the dim hall toward the 
 open square of the great door, framing in perspective 
 a pale, tree-darkened, hedge-set, mist-softened segment 
 of the brooding twilight garden. 
 
 " Mr. Quin was carrying it, I think," replied Bee. 
 " Does your daughter sing, Mr. Panta? " 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 311 
 
 " She has a tender little note or two, that is all," re- 
 turned Panta, always slightly confused when these good 
 people dotted the i's and crossed the t's of his paternity. 
 That he should be considered the father of his beautiful 
 Columbine smote his heart with tenderness. They were 
 kind, they were wonderfully kind, this sweet woman and 
 her son, and he would have liked to be quite frank with 
 them, but, oh Lord ! how announce yourself as the only 
 and original Pantaloon, the veritable incarnation of the 
 spirit of Comedy? It would never do in the world. 
 Such an announcement would be considered shocking 
 bad taste, to say the least, and he would doubtless stand 
 a fair chance of finding himself in the English equivalent 
 for a maison de sante, cheap and quiet. 
 
 " She dances, you know," he added. " Light on her 
 feet she is, marvellously." 
 
 " What a charming art that is," mused Gita, stop- 
 ping a moment to pinch gently between finger and thumb 
 a particularly full and enticing rosebud, its tiny petals 
 lapping one upon another like a series of small, downy 
 pink tongues. " To me there is something hypnotic in 
 the delicious posturing, the trembling on the delicate 
 toes, the dazzling patterns of the white, weaving arms. 
 Your good dancer is a poet " 
 
 " Or, what is better, he or she makes one of you, 
 ma'am," interrupted Panta. " Let me tell you," he 
 continued, the glorious secret trembling on his lips. 
 What if he should inform her that she had the honour 
 of entertaining the immortal Harlequin, that spoiled 
 darling of gods and men, that incarnate spirit of youth, 
 of folly, of laughter, and of tears? In a particoloured 
 rush of vagrant memories, he stood once more in the im- 
 
312 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 provised wings of who can say what Italian stage, 
 jostled by men in satin coats, with orders or diamond 
 stars on their laced and befrilled breasts, with powdered 
 perruques or with their own hair brushed back and tied 
 in a black ribbon, as young Herr Wolfgang v. Goethe 
 was used to wear his. They surrounded him, these 
 merry personages, as he waited his turn, laughing, jest- 
 ing, watching their darling Columbine as, after that 
 last, inimitable, birdlike rush of hers — alas, a fair, 
 wounded bird, trailing a broken wing — she is caught up 
 triumphantly in the strong arms of the enamoured Har- 
 lequin and borne off amid a shower of roses. The very 
 smell of the dust assaulted his nostrils, beaten out of 
 the old wooden parquet. He felt once more the silken 
 elbows in his ribs. The gibes at poor old deceived 
 Pantaloon rang once more in his ears. Where was he? 
 What was he? 
 
 "You were saying, Mr. Panta — ?" broke in Gita's 
 cool, sweet voice, seeming to come to him through space, 
 across all the dry, burning, summer plain of Lombardy. 
 He looked around him, on the fair tranquil English 
 garden, on the quiet woman at his side. He caught 
 Bina's soft, gurgling laugh ; heard Varian's deeper note 
 as he replied. Good heavens ! he had quite lost himself 
 this time. He really must be more careful. 
 
 " I was about to say," he recommenced, " that Quin 
 has taught Bina all she knows of dancing. He is quite 
 extraordinary, they tell me. He trains young ones for 
 the opera — an exacting business." 
 
 " Oh, do you think — ? " began Bee breathlessly. 
 And then stopped. 
 
 Gita smiled. "You see before you, Mr. Panta, our 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 313 
 
 sylvan stage. Do you think your young people might 
 be tempted by that excellent green turf? Upon what 
 a pleasure it would be for us, I need not insist. My 
 niece can produce a little accompaniment for them, if 
 they wish it, after she has sung to us. Do you happen 
 to know any of good Doctor Campion's Masques? Anie 
 ran across his quaint ' Booke of Aires ' in the library, 
 and will restrum something of his for us to-night. We 
 must imagine her guitar to be a lute, and may tickle 
 ourselves with the thought, if we please, that Will 
 Shakespeare may have hummed any one of these songs 
 to himself, as he walked about that fine new house of 
 his at Stratford, a little bored and strange, perhaps, 
 so far from London and his mates. But if Mr. Quin 
 and Miss Panta consent to dance, we shall have a fete 
 indeed.'' 
 
 " Who is to dance, mother — your boy ? " inquired 
 Varian, coming to meet them, his fair, bare head that 
 of any stainless cavalier in the clear, primrose-coloured 
 evening light. 
 
 Gita squeezed his arm. 
 
 " We are to look for something exquisite, if our 
 guests consent, my dear," she said, " not any of your 
 innocent prancings." 
 
 "What, oh, what?" chirped Anie from her place 
 by the little table, on which coffee and fruit had been 
 spread. 
 
 Gita smiled at Bina and then turned her eyes on 
 Quin, the supple perfection of his long, admirably pro- 
 portioned members being now explained to her. 
 
 " Dare I? " she asked, with her charming smile, look- 
 ing from one to the other. " Doesn't our greenwood 
 
314 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 stage tempt you ? Will you beguile us with your beauti- 
 ful art ? The cat is out of the bag. I know you dance, 
 and, to be perfectly frank, I am mad to see you do it." 
 
 Who could resist Gita when she chose to take this 
 tone? Certainly not Quin, who was very much alive 
 to her rather veiled, exotic attraction. He flamed in- 
 wardly as he turned to look at Bina. Were the old 
 days to come back for one rapturous moment? Were 
 they to dance again together here in the moonlight, in 
 the soft, warm air, as they had done so often ages ago 
 under the stars of those maddening, perfumed, Italian 
 nights? If they did, and she let him carry her off in 
 his arms after her last, desperate, simulated flight, as 
 of a bird with a broken wing, he swore to himself that 
 he'd never let her go so long as they both should live. 
 But all he said was, in quite a level voice: 
 
 "Will you, Bina?" 
 
 And she, looking over her shoulder at him, provok- 
 ingly unmoved, replied: 
 
 " To be sure. I think it would be great fun." 
 
 Gita smiled to herself, seeing how the wind set. They 
 had both forgotten her so completely. 
 
 Anie and Bee hovered around Panta, seeing that he 
 had a peach peeled daintily for him, since he did not 
 care for coffee. This business being over, they found 
 themselves grouped on the edge of the green, hedge- 
 bordered semicircle. The moon had risen sufficiently high 
 to light them with that pallid radiance of which she is 
 past-mistress. Gita lay, a white, gracious shape out- 
 stretched on the couch, with Quin seated on one side of 
 her and Panta on the other. Varian engaged Bina and 
 Anie in a whispering dialogue, gay enough, judging by 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 315 
 
 the laughter it evoked. Then the guitar was tuned amid 
 flying volleys of unsolicited advice. 
 
 Presently across their murmuring talk the girl's pure, 
 soft, liquid, languid note uprose, floating like a silver 
 thread through moonlight and dew, carrying to their 
 ears the quaint words of Campion's song, set to a charm- 
 ing, unfamiliar measure. She was a pretty sight, her 
 little head that bore its crown of rippling hair as easily 
 as a flower bent over her guitar, the white fingers pick- 
 ing at the strings, the music swelling in that warm, 
 round throat. Varian, his hands clasped around his 
 knees, couldn't take his eyes off her. Quin was in no 
 better case. So she sang it through, ending on the 
 proper pitch of wounded pride: 
 
 Then let my notes pursue her scornful -flight! 
 It shall suffice that they were breathed and died for her 
 delight. 
 
 The plaint of this dawning seventeenth-century poet 
 lover sounded as poignantly in this moonlit garden as 
 it had three hundred years ago when you stopped that 
 morning at Philip Rossiter's own house in Fleet Street, 
 near to the Greyhound, to pick up these sheets, fresh 
 and fresh, to hurry home to try them in your study, 
 bending over your Orpharion as you sang, brooding 
 upon the fair woman who was exasperating your nerves 
 at that moment. . . . Three hundred years ago ! 
 
 Panta, exquisitely sensitive to such evocations, and 
 less able to control their effect than Quin, felt as though 
 his eyelids were being too insistently brushed by the 
 Wing of the Past, figured as a great spreading dark 
 bird of the night. 
 
316 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 The efforts of the amateur claque were quite sub- 
 merged in a general acclaim. Varian saw no reason 
 to refrain from kissing the singer's hand not once but 
 twice. Bina leaned over the little figure to tell the girl 
 how she loved her voice. 
 
 " Delightful, darling," murmured Gita, immensely 
 pleased. 
 
 Panta and Bee agreed that you heard nothing half 
 so taking at the opera (neither of them ever went), and 
 Quin said something quite too technical for me to re- 
 peat, as one musician speaking to another, and was 
 very pleasantly complimentary in regard to the way 
 she handled her voice and picked at her strings. Al- 
 together it was a most agreeable success for our young 
 lady, and a happy picture and text for those who saw 
 and heard her to store away for the contemplation of 
 their inward eye and ear when those exacting organs 
 should demand fair flesh and airy concords. 
 
 " Don't fancy you are going to stop, you know, my 
 child," began Varian, as Anie laid her guitar on the 
 table, pushing aside the coffee cups and inciting the 
 little silver spoons to emulous fairy tinklings. 
 
 " She privately confided to me," he went on, turning 
 to the others, " that, if properly pressed, she had an- 
 other song up her sleeve. Hence, it is my manifest 
 duty to — press." He rose with determination in his 
 eye. 
 
 " Must I, Gita ? " cried Anie, laughing and draw- 
 ing back behind Bina, who put her arm around her. 
 
 " Romney would have made something of that," re- 
 marked Gita to Quin, pointing the sticks of her fan 
 at the enlaced figures of the two girls, washed in moon- 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 317 
 
 light, in their misty, white, scant frocks, their brown, 
 luxurious hair, their soft, engaging curves of youth, of 
 grace, of beauty. 
 
 Every nerve in him leaping to acquiescence so far as 
 Bina was concerned, Quin was heard to reply, dryly 
 enough, that undoubtedly Romney would. Then they 
 reseated themselves, and prepared to be ravished anew. 
 
 So followed the evocation of Campion's Laura, that 
 fair, rose-cheeked one, in this faintly rustling, per- 
 fumed night garden, accomplished by Anie's simple art. 
 To her low, broken accompaniment, to her call to 
 
 Rose-cheeked Laura, come, 
 
 that delicate seventeenth-century phantom seemed to 
 float across the greenwood stage: 
 
 Rose-cheeked Laura, come; 
 Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty's 
 Silent music, either other 
 Sweetly gracing, 
 
 so the fanciful lines ran. 
 
 " ' Thy beauty's silent music,' " repeated Quin to 
 himself, watching the white, pure oval of Bina's face, 
 the long lashes shadowing the dreamy eyes, the warm, 
 tender mouth. 
 
 Lovely forms do flow 
 From concent divinely framed; 
 Heaven is music, and thy beauty's 
 Birth is heavenly. 
 
 So sang Anie, with a high, clear rush of crystal 
 dropping notes. 
 
318 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 Heaven is music, and thy beauty's 
 Birth is heavenly. 
 
 " How intensely the Elizabethans felt their life, and 
 how divinely they spoke their love," thought Gita, 
 moving her fan softly to and fro, brushing its feathers 
 musingly across her lips. 
 
 When the pretty performance had ended, amid a 
 renewal of applause and compliments, and Anie had 
 come shyly to seat herself on the edge of the couch, 
 squeezing her little body gently against Gita, displac- 
 ing her silky draperies, the latter, with her arm around 
 the girl, repeated to the company at large the plati- 
 tude that had crossed her mind in regard to that long- 
 suffering folk, the subjects of England's Diana, the 
 great Eliza. 
 
 " Without speaking of the sonnets — enter that En- 
 chanted Wood ye who dare ! " said she, " how amazing 
 it appears to us that secondary poetasters of the period 
 struck out, as quite a common thing, certain expres- 
 sions as fine, as spacious, as vivid, as new minted, as 
 you can find in the very highest himself. Think of 
 Donne — or rather don't," she added in laughing warn- 
 ing, " for if you do, you will do nothing else — how 
 passion in him leaped white-hot into the words he used 
 to paint it. Some of those little poems are like medals 
 of the great age, so finely cut, so deeply incised that 
 the impression you receive from them is as fresh as 
 though the poet himself had come to lay them in your 
 lap." 
 
 " I never read modern poetry either," put in Panta, 
 who had a perfect frenzy for agreeing slavishly with 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 319 
 
 anything Gita said. " Why should one, when what 
 you point out is so true? The fine things have all been 
 said " 
 
 Quin and Varian protested vehemently, as became 
 them in their different roles of secret and proclaimed 
 lovers. To your true lover nothing has ever been said 
 in love-language that exactly suits his case — there is 
 still to be sought the quintessential refinement, the 
 flaming, starry apex that shall crown his particular 
 thoughts of his own particular never-before-so-beloved 
 mistress. 
 
 Gita listened to their spirited defence of the twentieth 
 century's right-to-live-poetically, but shook her head 
 nevertheless, saying to Panta: 
 
 " We are content to wait, Mr. Panta. When they 
 bring us the shining golden spurs they have won in 
 open tilt with our great dead, why, then we shall buckle 
 them on with joyful fingers, and give the accolade with 
 a right good will. But that time is not yet." 
 
 " Wait till you hear my * To Anie, Singing,' " said 
 her son darkly, casting a killing look at the young lady 
 in question, sitting in the warm shelter of his mother's 
 arm. 
 
 " You'll have Mr. Fortescue in your hair," remarked 
 his little love, " if you neglect your proofs for me." 
 
 " Oh, I'm working up something to keep him quiet. 
 I ran across it the other day, — a most curious thing. 
 It should be set to music. In fact, it is to music, but 
 * frozen, dumb, till I come,' meaning, of course, the 
 musical chap." 
 
 " My dear child, you rave," interrupted his mother. 
 " The moonlight has done its worst with you. What is 
 
320 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 this about ' frozen music '? Didn't poor old Somebody- 
 or-Other apply the phrase to architecture? " 
 
 " He did, dear one," replied her son, as patient as 
 a headmaster with an incredibly dull child, " but that 
 isn't what I mean. It seems that in one of the smaller, 
 less frequented, less illustrious cathedrals of our Con- 
 tinental neighbours " 
 
 " Why this mystery ? " murmurs Bina. 
 
 " Because if I told you, you'd all be rushing there. 
 Well, an inquisitive traveller, storm-bound in the little 
 town, spending more time in the cathedral than he had 
 intended — in fact, wet day after wet day — discovered 
 to the best of his belief that the curious wood-carving 
 in the choir-stalls — irregular, bizarre, fantastic, gro- 
 tesque, better suited in subject, sometimes, for a cabaret 
 than a church, but the figures are so tiny many people 
 do not find this out — formed, in reality, nothing less 
 than a series of musical notes, in a gigantic scale, 
 meandering up and down, all over the backs and sides 
 of the stalls. Think how it would sound if someone, 
 more subtle or less easily baffled than our traveller, were 
 to discover the real notation and release the hidden mel- 
 ody to send it soaring up into the dusky vaulting ! Our 
 man, becoming more absorbed in his theory as the 
 weather grew wetter and wetter, even conceived this 
 dumb music to re-echo in the arrangement of the carved 
 figures of the capitals, escaping like a whiff of incense 
 through the north portal, to be carried up by the flying 
 buttresses, to float out into the frosty air, being 
 spewed at length, violently, in some shattering discord, 
 from the open, ferocious, carnivorous, stone mouths of 
 the gargoyles. But it always escaped him. He never 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 321 
 
 got it down on his sheets of accurately-ruled paper. He 
 has merely given us the tip. We must go and hear it 
 with our spiritual ear." 
 
 " If the little figures are so horrid," remarked Anie, 
 " perhaps the music would not be very nice." 
 
 They all laughed. 
 
 " There is a most curious idea in that story," said 
 Quin. " Did someone actually throw out the notion, 
 or did you make up both your traveller and your cathe- 
 dral gently to pull our leg? " 
 
 Varian protested his good faith. " I have used poetic 
 license, perhaps, to furnish forth the tale. Pass the 
 inquisitive traveller, but the thing has really been said 
 about the choir-stalls at Amiens. Do you remember 
 them?" 
 
 u Not well. England has swallowed us up. When 
 you go there again, and should Miss Cassock be of the 
 party, she must take her guitar, and in some dim 
 corner when the Sacristan isn't looking she must bend 
 her ear to the strings to hear, perhaps, that imprisoned 
 melody thrilling along them into life again." 
 
 " What a charming idea, Quin," broke out Bina. 
 She had not spoken to him since her agreement to 
 dance, but her eyes had nevertheless been full of him, 
 her hand eager to slip into his, her ear to hear those 
 powerful heart-beats pounding so tumultuously beneath 
 her flushed cheek, laid for an instant on his breast in a 
 movement of the dance. 
 
 The moon floated clear of any cloud in the mild 
 night sky; the soft turf seemed like a cool, smooth 
 carpet; the tall, motionless tops of the planes spread 
 themselves into a rifted canopy through which a star 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 or two faintly shone ; the branched hollyhocks, so crim- 
 son and rosy in the sunlight, had grown of a uniform, 
 opaque pallor; the clipped circle of the Bois through 
 which the sun was wont to fall in dappled blotches, now 
 presented a close, unbroken expanse of shade, like some 
 stretched, velvet curtain of the dark. In this garden 
 silence, beneath which ever runs a murmurous whisper of 
 minute life, who amongst them but did not lose himself 
 in half-formulated dreams, his senses played upon so 
 exquisitely by chosen instruments that stimulation was 
 never pressed beyond the stage of delicious languor? 
 No one spoke, each being willing to lend himself to the 
 benign influence of this natural magic that whispered 
 in your ear that you were as a god, and had merely 
 to stretch out your hand for all that was fair and 
 lovely in life and living. London with its roaring 
 reality lay farther off at this moment than most dis- 
 tant Ind. 
 
 " Do you recollect, Quin," said Panta at length 
 slowly, as though picking his way with care amid a 
 confusing multiplicity of ancient associations, each one 
 beginning to stir in its cold, dusty mantle, endeavour- 
 ing to send again some faint, forlorn message to the 
 outside world still vibrating with light and heat, " that 
 villa near Lucca where the Count used to give theatricals 
 in front of his garden-house? Does not this turf 
 stage remind you of the place, only there a pointed 
 cypress like a pencil stood guard in place of these 
 hollyhocks ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I remember perfectly," replied Quin, get- 
 ting on his feet. " It was early spring and the night- 
 ingales were splitting their little brown bodies with 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 323 
 
 song. We danced, do you remember? I was Harlequin 
 to Bina's Columbine. Shall we try it again now? Here 
 is the garden, the moonlight, the soft grass, and an 
 audience of indulgent friends. They must do their best 
 to imagine our costumes. The Count, Italians being 
 passionate amateurs of the old Commedia dell' Arte, 
 pranked us forth from his garderobe" 
 
 There was a rustle of pleasant anticipation. Gita 
 thanked Quin with one of her expressive smiles, accom- 
 panied by a shifting of her slight body, so that she 
 could rake the Bois from side to side. Bee and Panta 
 took their places nearer the couch, fearful of missing 
 the least movement, and Varian enticed Anie away 
 from his mother to seat her in a deep basket chair 
 while he coiled himself at her feet, his head touching 
 her knees. 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 
 
 BINA rose, quite serious now, for she loved her 
 beautiful art. Although she and Quin had not 
 danced together since they had started their 
 strange, new, bourgeois life in London, every nerve and 
 muscle told her that she had not lost her old-time 
 power. She trembled slightly like a spirited colt, 
 stretching her arms above her head in a charmingly 
 unpremeditated gesture — that of a rosy child trying to 
 wake itself up. Her little thin white frock had rows 
 of buttons cunningly arranged at each side above the 
 ankle. To loosen these was the work of an instant's 
 stooping, and the pretty legs in their white silk stock- 
 ings thus gained the desired freedom of movement. Her 
 narrow, low-heeled, black-strapped slippers, made on 
 the model of those in which she had ever been accus- 
 tomed to dance, now served her turn admirably. 
 
 There was Quin beside her, slender and easy and 
 proud and fine, holding out his hand. She took it, 
 almost in a dream, seeing nothing but his face, feeling 
 nothing but his touch, conscious of him, and of no one 
 else in all the world, from her head to her feet. In 
 that moment, by virtue of the cloud-current that he 
 could still control, though the power to do so was 
 slipping from him faster and faster as his love for the 
 fair woman at his side increased in Cubical ratio, Quin 
 was able to communicate to Bina the electric impetus 
 that had animated his life as Harlequin, hers as 
 Columbine, but that she, as more impressionable, had 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 325 
 
 well-nigh lost under the disintegrating yet humanizing 
 influences of the little shop in Countess Street. 
 
 As they stepped in front of the close, dark screen of 
 leaves, hand in hand, they had both ceased to be aware 
 of their surroundings. For them, Wimbledon and their 
 hosts were melted into a pale, misty sea. They were 
 back again on Italian soil, their beloved home of light 
 and life, of art and beauty. No cold Age of Machinery 
 had yet clipped the sparkling butterfly wings, no French 
 Revolution had yet shorn the gay butterfly heads by 
 that simple device of a triangle of steel in two uprights 
 of wood. The eighteenth century, radiant, irrespon- 
 sible, incredibly seductive, dying, yet with the fresh 
 airs of unpainted youth, still breathed its familiar fas- 
 cination as Harlequin and Columbine, those two darlings 
 of her old age, became incarnate once more on a night 
 of English moonshine. 
 
 Quickly stepping aside into the shadow, Quin left 
 Bina in the centre of the green semicircle, until his 
 moment should come to join her. 
 
 She was in her part now, head raised, lips smiling, 
 ear attuned to some delicate under-harmony heard by 
 her alone, played by the capricious swinging of the 
 flower bells, by the measured rustle of the leaves, by 
 the tide in the wash of moonlight, rising higher and 
 higher in a liquid, mellow flood. Who shall say what 
 innocent hypnotism came into play, but the fact is, 
 that as she rose tiptoe on her little black slippers, as 
 gently as a curl of foam upon the arching crest of a 
 wave, as she trembled there, white arms outspread, 
 brown head bent and pensive, her modern frock seemed 
 to waver and lose its typical outline, seemed to melt, 
 
326 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 to coalesce, to expand into the gauzy, frosted-silver, 
 diamond-powdered ballet-skirts of Columbine. 
 
 How she bent and swayed on those beautiful, slender 
 legs, how the complicated movements of that fairy 
 dance became each subtle ripple of her strong, graceful, 
 young body ! 
 
 After those first airy rushes, as of some caged bird 
 released of a sudden into the night and the woods, the 
 fragile figure drooped, as if weary, dragging one 
 rounded arm like a broken wing, trembling anew on 
 the tips of those marvellous toes — looking, watching, 
 waiting, making moan for its mate. In the deep mys- 
 terious light, deserted Columbine, alone, forsaken, bend- 
 ing, swaying, quivering, arching that long, supple 
 throat, shudders from one fantastic, swoonlike pose 
 to another until she lies relaxed upon the ground, her 
 draperies, the petals of some huge, soft, night flower 
 fallen in the moonlight, her body its slender broken 
 stem. Never was such delicate art married to such 
 poetic beauty. 
 
 The circle of enchanted watchers held their breath. 
 
 As she crouched there, bruised, pathetic, a new motif 
 stole upon your senses — vigorous, masculine, breathing 
 of the heart of the wild wood, of the salt, strong breath 
 of the sea. With no warning rustle, with no pre- 
 monitory snapping of the screening twigs, the leafy 
 curtain seemed to open to the proper touch of a god, 
 and, with one magnificent bound, as of some lithe, parti- 
 coloured panther, Harlequin launched his beautiful body, 
 fine as tempered steel, straight across the sylvan stage, 
 to alight as soundlessly as a drifting leaf beside the 
 fair, swanlike shape that was Columbine, every admir- 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 327 
 
 able line of his person disclosed in his close, glittering, 
 diamond-barred disguise. 
 
 Ah, what a meeting was that! With what art and 
 grace the figures melted, only to spring apart, floating, 
 concealing, discovering themselves in the woven mazes 
 of the intricate dance. Then the love-chase began, the 
 airy, sparkling form of Columbine, retreating, re- 
 turning, tempting, mocking; Harlequin pursuing, 
 baffled, frustrated, maddened, the black velvet mask 
 hiding alike his sorrow, his pleading, and his fury. 
 With what superb vigour, with what exact technique 
 did the two protagonists work out their complicated 
 measures I 
 
 Their audience, fascinated into immobility, hung 
 upon their every movement. There was not a sound 
 save the night-song of the garden, that low, babbling, 
 monotonous undertone, or perhaps the soft padding of 
 the dancers' feet, the impact of hand to hand, of arm 
 to waist or shoulder. 
 
 But the end is drawing near, with Columbine on the 
 verge of that final surrender she alone knows how to 
 make so shudderingly sweet. The delicate arms relax, 
 the head hangs with its starry crown, the little feet can 
 no longer sustain those airy, tantalizing flights; the 
 bird is hovering over the snare. And Harlequin ? How 
 the fire of his approaching triumph leaps within him, 
 feeding the vigour of those dizzying bounds, intensify- 
 ing the grace of each onrush by which he seeks to 
 capture and to hold his elusive love ! 
 
 One more feverish burst of energy, and for the last 
 time Columbine escapes his hungry arms, dipping under 
 them, slipping through his fingers as lithe as quick- 
 
328 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 silver, laughing as she twinkles, swaying, bending, 
 recovering, relapsing, on those fair, arched feet that 
 are like fire flashes. 
 
 He stands, his breast heaving, every muscle magnifi- 
 cently tense, waiting for his final moment. 
 
 It comes. 
 
 " Good Lord, how fine ! " mutters Varian to himself. 
 
 She wavers, quivering, languishing, falling into the 
 swoonlike poses of the dying swan that beats its silver 
 wings, fainter and more faint. Slowly, lower and lower 
 sinks the lovely body, the knees are unstrung, the head 
 droops on the white breast, a shudder passes down the 
 beautiful slender back; she looks up at him; she is at 
 his feet; she is his. 
 
 Ah, what a rush of the night wind in the pines, what 
 a singing together of the stars in their courses ! With 
 a leap he is upon her. With an exultant mustering of 
 every force in that so finely-modelled frame, he lifts 
 her in his arms, holding her at their utmost stretch like 
 a white banner to shake in the face of gods and men.> 
 She hangs in his grasp, limp as a broken wand, pale, 
 transparent, immeasurably touching. Carrying her so, 
 this white rose of his, he disappears once more into 
 the shadows. The dance of Harlequin and Columbine 
 is over. 
 
 That silence that is the truest homage to the beauti- 
 ful in art or in life was not broken until Quin and Bina, 
 hand in hand as before, moved once more across the 
 semicircle of turf. You rubbed your eyes ; what had 
 happened? Gone the sparkling dress of Columbine, 
 the diamond-barred tights of Harlequin. Quin and 
 Bina, flushed, rather breathless, radiantly happy, are 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 329 
 
 dressed as befittingly for a London street as they had 
 been before their amazing performance. 
 
 Gita, even Gita, the languid, the self-contained, drew 
 a long-sighing breath ; Anie was white as her frock ; 
 Varian, more like his Van Dyck prototype than ever, 
 with tossed hair, a slight flush, and dilated pupils, was 
 moved to the very depths of the hedonist that was in 
 him; Bee had had all her little conventional notions 
 knocked about her ears; never had she dreamed that a 
 mere man could be so beautiful. Her point of view 
 would have amused Quin for a week could he have had 
 an inkling of it. 
 
 But Panta, poor Panta could have crawled off in 
 silence somewhere to weep those slow, difficult tears of 
 old age. It was too touchingly beautiful to be borne, 
 this recrudescence of the past — still youthful fair, still 
 captivatingly gallant, fine and free. Names rang in 
 his ears, friends and comrades with whom he had wan- 
 dered Italy — all dead, lost, gone, forgotten. Their knell 
 boomed now too dolefully across this moonset garden, 
 in this far, foreign land. 
 
 Bina, lovingly sympathetic, divined how it was with 
 him. Kneeling impulsively in front of his chair, she 
 laid her arms about his waist, and asked like a child : 
 
 "Did I do it well? Did you like me?" 
 
 It broke the spell. This was no longer the enchant- 
 ing Columbine who had wrung his heart with unap- 
 peasable longing, this was his own pretty Bina, the 
 goddess of the hearth, the mistress of the little shop, 
 the loving protectress of his safe, homely days. It was 
 a relief to feel her so. He straightened his white head 
 and produced a smile for her. 
 
330 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 " You were very beautiful, very fleet and graceful, 
 my dear. Quin has taught you well, and I must say 
 for you that you take in what he tells you." 
 
 " Rather ! " exclaimed a transfigured Quin, standing 
 over them. What a change in the dark, quiet face, 
 what fire in the ordinarily sombre eye! 
 
 Bina would not look at him. She was feeling too 
 acutely herself just at that moment. 
 
 Varian at this point drew her attention, and presently 
 they were all talking at once, even Gita, in a friendly 
 endeavour to express their delight in this exquisite 
 glimpse of a difficult art that had been so freely given 
 them. 
 
 " You, who dance as you do, must be surfeited with 
 well-meant but not inspired appreciation," said Gita 
 to Quin, willing to show him by her look and her manner 
 how genuinely moved she had been. 
 
 But Quin had no professional airs. 
 
 " Indeed, no ; I am as greedy of compliments as a 
 boy. I haven't danced as I have to-night for ages. 
 Most of my energy goes into teaching. But how deli- 
 cious is my Columbine! What man would she not 
 inspire ? " 
 
 " She is very beautiful ; very good and beautiful," 
 said Gita slowly. " You will be happy together." 
 
 Quin shot a look at her. 
 
 " You saw, then? " he breathed. 
 
 " Saw and felt, my dear man," laughed Gita in reply. 
 " One is not made of stone." 
 
 " What a night to live through," he went on, after 
 the silent drop of a pause, " here in your charming 
 garden, with this moon, and this perfume, and your 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 331 
 
 delicate sympathy. A man in love may be pardoned 
 for losing his head." 
 
 " Say, on the contrary," broke in Gita, " that if he 
 doesn't, he isn't." 
 
 " Hark to my mother," interrupted Varian, who had 
 been telling Bina, with all the resources of his vocabu- 
 lary, what a lovely Undine she would make. " I never 
 realized till I overheard this last speech of hers, the 
 immense subtlety and enormous range of our wonderful 
 English tongue — ' if he doesn't, he isn't ' — by Jove, 
 positively cryptic, and yet you could scarcely put it 
 (whatever it is!) more simply, and speak." 
 
 " Impertinent one ! " cried Anie. " Hereafter you 
 shall use nothing but Mammamouchi." 
 
 " If you use it with me, I shall not revolt." 
 
 Before that look and that touch of the hand, Anie 
 was happily dumb. 
 
 But Varian rattled on. 
 
 " Now that we have said everything we possibly can 
 think of to express to these wonderful people what 
 pure, unalloyed joy they have given us, let me ask you 
 this simple question, mother, here, before us all: Did 
 you in your whole life ever hope to see such dancing? 
 Dancing of this genre, you understand, my dear people, 
 is a godlike exercise; no mere mortal could possibly 
 do it. And now, again, since we, like — who the deuce 
 were they? — Philemon and Baucis, are the entertainers 
 of divinities, first of all, let us do the proper thing, to 
 wit : bring out the mixing-bowl and the wine cup and — 
 have a jolly good, long drink!" 
 
 They laughed, and thereby dropped down several de- 
 grees to a more normal plane. Emotion such as they 
 
33% THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 had all been experiencing, according to their various 
 capacities, is apt to give too abrupt a turn to the screw. 
 Also, since it is as well to ease off the reaction by a 
 counter-irritant, Varian's jolly long drink provides one 
 of the simplest and most pleasing. The boy was no 
 mean psychologist. 
 
 So they bestirred themselves, leaving to the moonlight 
 and the wandering breeze, to the insects and the small 
 creatures of the night, the deserted stage, that turf 
 semicircle that seemed to Quin's bedazzled eyes still 
 to guard the fragrant, intoxicating souvenir of a white, 
 melting shape of love and beauty. 
 
 They straggled in an uneven procession across the 
 lower terrace, skirting the lime tunnel, now inky black, 
 treading the narrow paths, a pale, chalkish white in 
 the moonlight, pulling a flower here and there, a droop- 
 ing rose, pallid and ghostly, too fair to be resisted. 
 Gita presently had her free hand full ; with the other she 
 leaned gently on old Mr. Panta, who seemed to like 
 the delicate attention. Such graceful dependence in a 
 pretty woman was eminently fitting. Bee was on his 
 other side. That, also, was as it should be, for it left 
 Bina to Quin and Anie to Varian, a disposition of per- 
 sons that certain tumultuous heart-beats imperiously 
 demanded, and that the will of man manoeuvred to 
 secure. 
 
 They sipped their amber wine that bubbled in tall, 
 fragile glasses, as they sat once more in the shadow of 
 the Poussin. No one minded long, intimate pauses, for 
 the sentimental agitation in which more than one of 
 them found himself disposed to silence — coloured 
 enough, hot enough, imageful enough, but internal, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 333 
 
 subterranean. Quin was dreaming of the dark, cool, 
 smoky back room in which Panta, poor tired Panta 
 having gone upstairs, he was so soon to hold out impa- 
 tient, so-long-defrauded, so-long-empty, eager, grasp- 
 ing arms to a Bina, miraculously softened, who would 
 come at last into them, their willing prisoner, demand- 
 ing nothing better than such incarceration. Heavens! 
 how life had it in it to pay, to pay you gloriously, 
 the measure heaped up, dripping, oozing gold and 
 myrrh, to pay you for all the darkness, the agony, the 
 deferred longing, the infinite ennui! Quin had no 
 quarrel with Universal Law to-night. Instead, he 
 hugged its majestic symbols to himself, as though they 
 were indeed the dark head and soft breast of his so- 
 coveted Columbine. So he dreamed; a pleasing study 
 in Gita's quizzical eye, for she was always tender to love 
 when it broke out its own true colours to the breeze, 
 and the flapping of the silken banner was distinctly 
 audible in Quin's vicinity. Bina heard it, too, and her 
 heart grew big within her. She could hold off no 
 longer. The dying swan had shown her plainly where 
 she stood. She, also, thought of the quiet back room, 
 so soon to become a sanctuary, a temple, a home. Al- 
 together, it was a most successful evening, although 
 the principal guests were thus reduced to quivering, 
 eloquent silence. 
 
 Varian insisted upon taking them up himself in the 
 car, for the rush through the night air, his hand on 
 the throat of the powerful metal beast who bore them, 
 appealed to his heated fancy. The moon, the shadowy 
 garden, the exquisite interlude of the dance, the antique 
 songs sobbing out of his Anie's warm young throat, 
 
334 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 had all moved him mightily, and he knew he would not 
 sleep did he not work off a certain amount of boyish 
 excitement. So it was arranged that Varian was to 
 drop his guests in Countess Street, returning himself at 
 once to Wimbledon. 
 
 They made their adieux, not wearily, perfunctorily, 
 as we so often do, standing on one foot from very 
 boredom, but with a close, warm pressure of friendly 
 hands, indicative of sympathy, of strong liking, of ex- 
 changed pledges of future comradeship. Gita kissed 
 Bina, holding the girl for a moment in her gentle clasp. 
 She knew how Quin's eye was kindling, although she 
 did not look. Panta and Bee had struck out sparks of 
 common interest, and one could see that the whole 
 Wimbledon household would presently consider the little 
 shop in Countess Street an indispensable house-of-call 
 whenever care or pleasure should draw them London- 
 ward. 
 
 Gliding back slowly, almost noiselessly, alone in the 
 deep, perfumed heart of the night, Varian was con- 
 scious of nothing in the whole pale, dim expanse of the 
 house save those white roses hanging, heavy and sweet, 
 around Anie's windows. 
 
 Quiet scenes of victorious love were being enacted 
 when the early autumnal dark closed in on the snug, 
 brown room in Countess Street. Here the threads of 
 life had been spinning a deeper, richer background for 
 this new flamy pattern than anything the combined ex- 
 perience of Ambry and Estelle, of Varian and Anie, 
 could present. Here the cloud-capped years sank away 
 in a full deposit of tears and laughter, of hope, of trust, 
 of unquenchable loyalty, and from this teeming soil 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 335 
 
 what fair crop might not be looked for, Cubical though 
 it be? 
 
 So thought Quin, with rapturous anticipation, as he 
 let himself in each afternoon, returning earlier and 
 earlier from his hurried lessons, drawn as irresistibly 
 as by a magnet. He mentally cursed the inoffensive 
 stray customer whom he sometimes ran over in the shop, 
 scarcely daring to look at Bina as he passed. With 
 what a deep, burning, heart-fed 1 glow would his eyes 
 meet hers an instant later, as she slipped through the 
 door with the minute glass pane, pushing it to behind 
 her, enclosing them thus, for their first inarticulate 
 meeting, within the precincts of this warm, dim, brown, 
 smoky shrine, the shrine where so many tranquil hours 
 had sped by, lapping! them in a delicious, drowsy 
 content. 
 
 The drawn curtains, disclosing the stately stalk of 
 coloured birds across their buff expanse, hid the trail 
 of early fog, or the slanting rush of sleety rain, the 
 October evening hemming them in, happy mariners, 
 marooned on some warm, glowing, sunset isle, conceal- 
 ing hidden caves of Aladdin. 
 
 Panta would creep down presently, if it were tea- 
 hour or supper-hour, some wise, ancient book under 
 his arm, to sink into his habitual yawning chair, to 
 toast his slippered feet at the cheerful blaze, to regard 
 with tired, happy, benignant eyes the two beings who 
 were all his world. 
 
 The outward aspect of things was unchanged. Quin 
 smoked his pipe at the fireside as of old ; Bina, at her 
 little table with the lamp, bent her brown head over her 
 web of knitting, or made up her housewifely accounts, 
 
336 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 but, inwardly, what a deep, rushing tumult in two hearts 
 as of a newly-released spring torrent, the ice-glen at 
 the source broken, melted, the waters leaping down the 
 mountainside under the hot sun, flecked and gleaming 
 with a thousand rainbow-dazzling spears t If you were 
 a sensitive like Panta, you would have felt the glow the 
 moment you entered the room; you would have heard 
 the song the water drops sang as they fell, one spar- 
 kling bead after another, wearing away in these two 
 lovers the last cloudy deposits of individualism, of 
 egotism, of pride. 
 
 Of course, they had furiously discussed the question 
 of keeping on the shop, Quin, in his fire-new role of 
 prospective husband — irresponsible Harlequin, " where 
 the bee sucks, there suck I," gone for ever — having 
 become intensely bourgeois, revolted at the idea of his 
 very own — well, we must make up our mind to come out 
 with the sacred word — of his very own wife, presenting 
 her ineffable person in the guise of a pretty little woman 
 who sold milk and cream, butter and eggs, and who 
 served you herself, observe, as gay and as fresh as the 
 dawn. What Harlequin had thought a pleasing mas- 
 querade, Mr. Quin was beginning to envisage as a 
 sacrilege. Also, spurred on by his new responsibilities, 
 he had brought the fat Heff endorf er to excellent terms ; 
 his private lessons were increasing, and thus, keeping his 
 toes to the grindstone, enough golden guineas would 
 roll in to pay for roof and food, warmth, shelter, a little 
 maid, and roses, roses all the way. 
 
 But obstinate Bina made absurd objections. He, 
 the light of her eyes, the lodestone of her life (teasing 
 baggage !), would be away till teatime every day. Then, 
 
THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 337 
 
 what, pray, was to amuse her? Panta would be off on 
 the trail of another " Immortal Gymnast," or stalking 
 shy birds of that feather in Shaftesbury Avenue, so why 
 should she not keep on the little shop in which they 
 all took a sneaking pride? In fact — clinching argu- 
 ment ! — who would attend to the Wimbledon milk if she 
 didn't? 
 
 Quin, unconvinced, but in his present weakened state 
 constitutionally incapable of denying her anything, 
 did what he knew and what she knew he'd do from the 
 beginning — gave in. This proof of her supremacy in 
 domestic councils having been accorded her, Bina fol- 
 lowed what her warm young heart bade her do, and 
 signed the death-warrant of the shop on the spot by 
 remarking, negligently, that they might as well be 
 keeping an eye open for a cottage in the country. 
 Panta then might realize the dream of a lifetime 
 by studying the strange bee-people, and she could 
 potter about a little dairy and garden of her very 
 own. 
 
 To hear her thus body forth the fair substance of 
 certain secret, airy constructions of his own, reconciled 
 Quin to a few intermediate months of the old life. 
 
 With the oncoming of spring, with the crocus and 
 the illusive cuckoo, whose taunting call someone was 
 sure to signal across the barren meadows, would well 
 up the overmastering desire for the path by the hedge- 
 rows, for the cottage nest, they, as sober married folk, 
 must be preparing. 
 
 How the lark-song of it beat in his throat as he 
 turned and fixed her, his Columbine! How their hands 
 met and clung, transmitting no cloud-current now sub- 
 
338 THE IMMORTAL GYMNASTS 
 
 tly to pass from palm to palm! That magic circuit 
 was broken for ever — overborne by the fuller pulse of 
 Cubical life that throbbed in both of them, deep-toned 
 as a cathedral bell, warm as the still core of subterranean 
 fire. 
 
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 MAR 8 1 
 
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