1111 ' r . r tur~ } THE BEAUTIFUL MISS BROOKE SOME PRESS OPINIONS Of "Z. Z.'s" Previous Work. Daily Chronicle (London). In all modern fiction there is no novel which contains a more able and finished analysis of character. It is a serious contribution to literature. Echo (London). His work reveals a grand dramatic in stinct. There are indeed possibilities of fine work in " Z. Z.," and we may anticipate valuable studies of life in the immediate future. Mr. Louis Zangwill should cut a pretty figure in latter-day fiction. Academy (London). A few masterful novelists like " Z. Z." have it in their power to attain to a complete achieve ment Daily Telegraph (London). One of the ablest works of recent fiction. Illustrated London News. One of the cleverest novels of the day. Graphic (London). The new novel by "Z. Z." is a tragedy of which the power can not possibly be de nied. Never for one moment does the author lose his grip- Weekly Sun (London). He is one of the forces to be counted with in contemporary literature. Great quali ties have gone to the making of his book, and with these qualities Mr. Louis Zangwill is bound to travel far. Che Beautiful miss Brooke By "Z. Z." Huthor of H Drama in Dutch, Che World and a man, Etc. . new Vork Hpplcton and Company 1597 35-4? COPYRIGHT, 1897, D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. THE BEAUTIFUL MISS BROOKE. CHAPTER I. THE opening bars of a waltz sounded through the house above the irregular murmur of conversation, bearing their promise and summons along festal corridors and into gar landed nooks and alcoves. Paul Middleton drew a breath of relief as the girl to whom he had been talking was carried off to dance, for she had bored him intolerably. The refresh ment room, crowded a moment ago, was thinning down, and, glad of the respite, he took another sandwich and slowly sipped the remainder of his coffee. His humour was of the worst. If his hostess had not been his mother's oldest friend, he would never have i 2 iftlje Beautiful ittiss Brooke. allowed himself to be persuaded to accept her invitation after he had once decided to decline it. Why had his mother so persisted, when she knew very well he was looking forward to playing in an important chess match ? Certainly the evening so far had not compen sated him for the pleasure he had thus missed. He had been chafing the whole time, and intermittently he had played with the idea of slipping out and taking a hansom down to the 4hess club. But he had ticked off five dances on Celia's programme Celia was of course Celia and he was to take her to sup per. Moreover, on his arrival at the small- and-early, Mrs. Saxon had led him round he feeling that his amiable expression made him a hypocrite and, mechanically repeating his request for the pleasure of a dance, he had scrawled his name on several programmes with scarcely a glance at their owners." It was, however, more particularly his engage- Beautiful Jttiss Brooke. merits with Celia, and one or two other girls he knew well, that had made him stay on. Once more he glanced at his watch. It was getting well on towards midnight now, and the issue of the chess match must already have been decided. After some speculation as to the winning side, he resigned himself to finishing the evening where he was. At the best of times Paul Middleton's inter est in the ballroom was only lukewarm. He frankly professed not to care about it at all, and, though he was in the habit of dancing every dance, he looked upon himself more as a spectator than a participator on such rare occasions as he accepted cards for. He had no favourite partners. Into the inner and in timate life of that circle of light made for hu man pleasure he could never enter; he had always shrunk from exploring its labyrinth of flirtation, coquetry, and petty manoeuvring, the very thought of the intricacies of which 4 be Beautiful fttiss Drookc. affrighted his plain-sailing temperament. To him one girl in a ballroom was much the same as another a green, white, or pink gown with sometimes an eye-glass attached. He knew very well, though if only from his mother having instilled it into him that no such indifference attached to him, a young man of twenty-three, who was absolute mas ter of at least eleven thousand pounds a year, and not without claim to other merits. Becoming aware that the music was in full swing upstairs, he began to think it was high time to look for his partner. But the name "Brooke" on his programme, which he made out with some difficulty, called up no picture, no living personality. He could not even recollect the moment when he had writ ten it, and it did not appear he had made any note to help him identify the girl. His last partner had had to be pointed out to him by Mrs. Saxon, and he did not care to trouble her beautiful lUiss Urookc. again. "Besides," he reflected, "this Miss Brooke, whoever she is, will most likely be hidden away in some nook or other and will be only too glad not to be hunted up." He had almost made up his mind to skip the dance when there came into the room an old schoolfellow, more or less a friend of his. The two interchanged a word. Thorn, it appeared, wanted a whisky and soda before going home. He had to turn in early to be in good form for the morrow's cricket. It was the first match of the season, and he was anx ious to do brilliantly. Paul took the opportu nity of asking him if, by any chance, he knew or had danced with a Miss Brooke. "The beautiful Miss Brooke you mean, don't you?" asked Thorn. Paul explained he didn't know which Miss Brooke he meant, but that he ought to be dancing with a Miss Brooke. Any girl who answered to that name would satisfy him. 6 ljc Beautiful ittiss Crookc. "Well, if the one you mean, or don't mean, is the one I mean, she's just outside the door talking to a big Yankee chap. I never heard of her before to-night, but she's a stun ning girl. She's the daughter of some Ameri can millionaire, a railway king, or something of that sort at least everybody says so. I tried to get a dance with her, but I wasn't in luck. I envy you. Good-night, old boy ! " "I suppose, then, / must consider myself in luck," thought Paul, staying yet a moment as he caught sight of his full reflection in a glass. It was a medium, slightly built figure that met his gaze, easy and graceful of car riage. The face was fair with a tiny light beard the silken hair cut short, the features intelligent, the eyes grey, the teeth beautiful. A suspicion of a freckle here and there did not seem unsuited ta the type of complexion. The survey seemed to please him, and he l)c Beautiful IttiGG Brooke. 7 stepped forward with the intention of taking possession of "the beautiful Miss Brooke." Thorn's indication proved correct. To his surprise Miss Brooke seemed to recognise him as he approached, for she welcomed him with a smile, from which he deduced, moreover, that she must have been waiting for him. He had a general sense of enchantment and di- aphanousness, of a delicate harmony of colour- tones ; an impression as of an idealised figure that had stepped out of a decorative painting. He wondered how he had escaped the im pression at the time of his introduction to her, and, despite her smile, he was chilled by a doubt that it might, after all, be some other Miss Brooke on whose programme he had written. Of the man she had been talking to he scarcely took any note at all, beyond veri fying he was a "big Yankee." He took her up to the dancing-room, and they began waltzing. Paul considered himself a pretty 8 (The Beautiful Miss Brooke. good dancer, and there were even moments when he could conscientiously say he was enjoying himself. But somehow he found himself going badly with Miss Brooke. Things seemed to be wrong at the very start. There was an uncomfortable drag. Paul was compelled to take enormous steps to counter act it, and after a dozen turns both agreed to give it up. "You dance the English step, of course, Mr. Middleton," she observed as they saun tered round. Her American accent was of the slightest, and few as were the words she had so far spoken, they seemed to Paul subtly to vibrate with a pleasant friendliness. Her voice was sweet and clear, with an under- quality of softness and caress. The sugges tion that there were waltz steps other than the one he was wont to dance was new to him. "I suppose mine is the English step," he (El)e Beautiful iftiss Srooke. 9 replied, "though I never heard of any other. Is yours very different ? " "Oh, yes. We Americans really waltz, whilst you English just go round and round and round, with your stiff legs for all the world like a pair of compasses." Paul could not agree with her, and patriot ically proceeded to defend the English waltz, surprised to find himself expending oratory on so trivial a subject. He asserted it was not the mere monotonous turning to which Miss Brooke would reduce it, but that a spirit went with it ; whereupon Miss Brooke shook her head, declaring she had shown the American step to a good many English people, and, no matter how sceptical before, they had vowed, one and all, never to dance the English step again. They had wandered away from the mass of rotating figures and taken possession of a couple of seats in a corner outside the dancing- io aije Seantifnl Uliss Srcoke. room. Paul had now an opportunity of ob serving Miss Brooke more narrowly. Other partners he had already forgotten. He could hardly have identified them again. So far as he was concerned, they had got completely lost in the crowd from which they had tem porarily emerged. But of Miss Brooke he felt sure a perfectly definite picture would remain in his mind. What struck him most at once was a certain spirit of frank good humour that seemed to exhale from her, that made him feel, even with her first few words, as if she were merely resuming an interrupted conver sation with him. Her manner suggested the natural falling-into-step by the side of an es tablished friend, overtaken en route, and it was hard for him to realise this was really their first talk together. Paul had never danced with an American girl before, else he would have been aware of the incompatibility of their steps. His no- l)e Secmtifal 4!fli0e Brooke. n tions of the American girl or at least the Amer ican girl that comes to Europe were of the vaguest. He had in the course of his exist ence met perhaps two or three of the class, but he had never really talked to them. He had heard the American girl spoken of praised, damned, or tolerated; he had read about her push and businesslike qualities; and a short time since he had seen the type portrayed on the stage a dashing, masterful creature, a piece of egotism incarnate, with a twang as pronounced as her self-assertiveness, a terri ble determination, and an equally terrible assurance of carrying it through. But he had never thought about her coherently; never consciously crystallized these more or less contradictory notions of her that had come to him in so scattered and chaotic a fashion. It was quite certain, however, that Miss Brooke had nothing in common with the monstrosity that had given so much delight to that English 12 lje Bamiful miss Brooke. audience, and raised in it a due consciousness of its own virtue of modest moderation. Nor could he associate her with the dreadfully im proper and unabashable person he had heard more than one British matron declare the American girl to be. Miss Brooke did not address her words to the floor, but sitting with her chair at an angle to his, looking straight at him as she spoke. Paul found the ordeal a fascinating but sufficiently trying one. He had no chance against this wonderful girlish face, with its sparkling blue eyes and its subtle quality of sincerity and spirituality ; tantalising by the charm of its smile, which suggested moments of wickedness and kissing, and provoking by its air of unawareness of its calm-destroying powers. He was conscious, too, of a long, white neck rising above a pair of well-knit shoulders, out of a mass of white fluffy trim mings, in which were set with careless art a JUeaotifal Mies Brooke. 13 few deep-red velvet flowers. On her fore head lay two roguish curls that moved freely, and each temple was covered by a bewitching lock, whose end curled inwards toward the ear. At the back her hair was drawn right up into curls, leaving the whole neck free, and showing the contour of the gracefully- poised head. Her white gown seemed woven of some fairy substance, embroidered with myri ad gold spots, and encircled round the waist with three golden bands. The pink, round flesh of the upper arm showed firm and cool through the web of the sleeve that met the long white glove at the elbow. The bodice followed closely the modelling of the bust, and the skirt swept downwards, ending in a mass of foam-like fluff amid which nestled the tips of two neat shoes. Altogether a superb girl, dainty and supple, without any suggestion of fragility. The comparative merits of the English and 2 i4 l) Seantifal ifliss Brooke. American waltzes were still occupying their attention. "Now, tell me, Mr. Middleton," she asked, after enthusiastically descanting on the pleas ure and grace of the " long glide," " haven't I really converted you ? " "I want very much to be converted, but your waltz seems formidable. I am afraid of it." " I'm sure it would not take you long to learn. Cannot I really coax you into a prom ise to try it ? I enjoy making converts I have missionary tendencies in the blood." "That's interesting. Because there are tendencies in my blood, too. Anti-mission ary ones, however. To be true to the family tradition, I'm not sure whether I ought not resist your coaxings." "Which I'm sure you're not going to do." Her face took on an expression of mock imploration. "But, tell me, how far back (Elje Beautiful ifliss Sraoke. 15 does your tradition go, and how did it arise ? " "It began with my grandfather, whose pet idea was that the energy and money spent on missions should be employed at home for the raising of the lower classes. My father went a step further by deciding the particular form in which the lower classes should reap the benefit, and he died with the hope that the dream of two generations should be realised by me." "There is quite a touch of poetry in what you tell me," said Miss Brooke. " My family history is more prosaic, but it has a dash of adventure in it. The missionary hobby began with my great-grandfather, who was devoted, body and soul, to it certainly body, for he was eaten by cannibals. Poor savages ! " "Poor savages!" echoed Paul, for the moment supposing Miss Brooke meant to throw doubts on her ancestor's digestibility. 1 6 |)e JJecmtifal ittiss Brooke. " Yes, for grandfather went out to preach to them ! A very mean revenge, I call that." " How do you reconcile that statement with your own missionary leanings?" asked Paul, thinking it strange a railway king should be the son of an earnest missionary, and vaguely speculating whether the millionaire was in the habit of giving large sums to ' ' re venge" his grandfather. " Oh, as a woman I have the right to make contradictory statements. Tis a valuable right, and I find it very convenient not to yield it up, though I did learn logic at college." " But surely it must be ever so much nicer to triumph by logic." "If one were only sure of triumphing! But I am really in no difficulty, so you will not get an exhibition of logic to-night. My missionary tendencies are purely a matter of instinct, my anti-missionary ones a matter of iTlK Uciuitifnl -ftlisG Urookc. 17 sentiment. Do not instinct and sentiment pull different ways in human beings? Con fess, Mr. Middleton, don't you often want to do things you feel you ought not ? " "More often I don't want to do things I feel I ought to. " " That is a piece of new humour." " I meant the inversion seriously. But I'm glad to find that we are agreed at least in sentiment." "And I do try and turn the instinct into useful channels. Americans, you know, never let force run to waste. Now, you -will learn that waltz, won't you, Mr. Middleton ? Promise me quickly, as some one is coming to take me to dance. There comes the top of his head." "Dear me, has the next dance come round already !" ejaculated Paul. "You may con sider me a sincere convert," he added quickly, "if if you will spare me another dance." 1 8 (ftlje Jteantifal Ittisc Srooke. " If you can find one,'' she replied ; and, slipping her programme into his hand, she rose in response to the smile of the new comer. To Paul's surprise, the man was the same from whom he had carried off Miss Brooke only a minute or two ago, as it ap peared to him. Which fact caused him now to take keen notice of him. " The fellow " was quite six feet high, and of slim, supple build. His face was dark, and, to Paul, dis tinctively American. He wore a short pointed beard and a carefully-trimmed moustache. His black hair somewhat eccentrically hung down in lines cut to the same length. His eyes gleamed with an almost unnatural bright ness, and his teeth showed themselves pol ished and white. "Write thick over somebody else's name." Paul was conscious of Miss Brooke speaking to him in almost a whisper ; then in a mo ment she had bowed and moved off. He JJeantifal itties Stock*. 19 could not help feeling angry with the man for taking her away, and his displeasure showed itself in his face. There seemed, too, something proprietorial in the way "the confounded fellow" walked off with her, and a thousand foolish conjectures hustled in his brain. However, he remembered he had Miss Brooke's programme, which, to gether with her last injunction, formed a comforting assurance she had taken him into special favour. It had been decidedly nice to talk to this girl, who seemed just the sort of person simple and straightforward despite her wonderful charm he felt he could get on with, and it gave him pleasure to picture her again sitting by his side, fresh, cool, sweet, and surpassingly beautiful. After lingering a little he went into the ballroom again. Miss Brooke's figure alone drew his eye the rest of the world was a mere dancing medley. She was obviously 20 (Elje tStetmtifal Uliss Brooke. enjoying her dance, and Paul found himself envying her partner his easy mastery of the American waltz step. He could not help ob serving now what a superb note she struck in that crowd. He could see, too, she was be ing noticed, and divined talk about her by many moving lips. He found an opportunity of returning her programme, which she received with a marked look of surprise that changed into a smile of thanks. Paul was much puzzled. Her manner seemed to make it appear that she had dropped the programme and he had picked it up. He rather resented this, till it occurred to him she had slipped it into his hand so as not to be seen by her present cavalier, and probably she had played this little comedy because she did not want to rouse his suspicion. Paul's fears that the man might be something to her were re awakened, but they were palliated by a lK L'Ciititiful iUioo ttrooke. 21 sense of triumph over him. Had not Miss Brooke played a part for his sake ? Mrs. Saxon passed near him and stopped to talk to him a moment. He made absent- minded replies indeed, five minutes later he recalled that he had said something particu larly foolish and hated himself. In this mood he sought cousin Celia and took her to supper. He examined her more critically now, finding her handsome, solid, and only passably interesting. He noted, too, that her manner lacked sprightliness and enthu siasm, and that the things she talked about didn't interest him in the least. He found himself apologising again and again for not having heard what she said. That was whenever there were questions for him to answer. He had, however, enough wit left to feel it was fortunate she did not ask questions more frequently. Meanwhile his eye wandered constantly towards a little 22 |)e BeatUifal .ffliss Brooke. table some distance off, which Miss Brooke and her American friend had all to them selves, the other two covers being as yet unappropriated. Once or twice he became aware that Celia's eye was following his. He saw a gleam of understanding flash across her face, followed by a flush whose meaning was obvious. But somehow he felt reckless. An hour later he was with Miss Brooke again. At her laughing suggestion they had found a hiding-place, more "towards the upper regions," in order to keep out of the way of the man whose name had been writ ten over, and who, indeed, never appeared. Miss Brooke was admiring an exquisite little painting of a picturesque boy looking over a rude wooden bridge on to a small stream. The work, which hung just opposite them, bore a well-known French signature, and had attracted her attention at once. The enthusi- !)e Beautiful ittiss Srooke. 23 asm with which she spoke of the artist led Paul to inquire if she herself painted. "I try to," she answered self-depreca- tingly. "I am appallingly interested in my work. I always lose myself when talking about it." She was evidently serious, and Paul was glad to have struck such a mood, which promised possibilities of intimate conversa tion. "You have taken up art seriously?" he asked. " One must do something to fill one's life," she replied, with unmistakable earnest ness ; and set Paul musing about the inability of fortune to compensate for a want of pur pose in life, as he had, indeed, felt long ago. That a woman, however, should give expres sion to the sentiment surprised him. Her next words astonished him still more. "I have always been ambitious, and I 24 I)e SeatHiful fttiss Brooke. might have achieved something in art if I hadn't wasted so many years trying other things." "But, surely you must find the knowl edge you have acquired worth having." "I would willingly exchange it all for two years' progress in my work. The mistakes began by poppa discovering I was a musical genius, and as I was just mad to do some thing big in the world, I believed him. The next discovery was mine that I was a great writer, and when, two years after that, an art ist friend declared some sketches of mine were full of inspiration, my enthusiasm for writing fizzed out immediately, and I rushed into painting, and over to Paris to study. Of course, I'm only in the student stage, but my professor has given me distinct encourage ment. In my heart I really believe I should succeed if only " She broke off with a curious laugh, but went on almost immedi- ljc Ucnntifttl lilies Brooke. 25 ately: "If only I don't transfer my enthusi asm to sculpture before long. You see I know my little ways. Besides, the tempta tion to change is as strong as it possibly can be. It would be such a distinction to have completed the round of the arts." " Poetry would still be left untouched." "Oh, I've written poetry as well. That was part and parcel of my literary ma nia." " And naturally expired with it." "No. Let me confess. Poetry is the one thing I keep up in order to be able to feel I am made of fine stuff. It's the one unsaleable thing I devote my time to, and without it I should feel utterly ignoble. With all my am bition to achieve greatness, I am quite unable to say how much of my enthusiasm is due to the hope of accompanying dollars." Paul was startled for a moment, then laughed in high amusement at the idea of a 26 l)e Seaotifol ittiss Brooke. railway king's daughter eking out her income by Art. "I mean it. I'm not as noble as I look, but thank you for the compliment all the same. If I have allowed myself any illusions on the point, they were all dissipated when I heard of the price a Salon picture sold for last year. My feeling of envy was too naked to be mistaken naked and unashamed. I don't know if you've ever experienced the sort of thing whether you've ever written poetry to keep your self-respect." " I fear writing poetry would be no test for me. I don't mean to imply that the result would not be unsaleable," he added, smiling, "but that I am not so avaricious as you pro fess to be. I am quite satisfied that my work in life shall bring me no return." "I wish I were as fine as that," said Miss Brooke. "I am afraid I am far from being fine," Beautiful ifliss Brooke. 27 said Paul, modestly. " I am simply content with my fortune. As you said before, one must do something to fill one's life. I am only too grateful for the prospect of being able to employ my energies. So you see I am really selfish at bottom." "We each appear to have a due sense of the clay in us, so let us agree we are neither of us precisely the saints we appear. But you've not yet told me in what particular way you purpose satisfying that selfishness of yours." "Thereby hangs a long tale," said Paul, laughing again. "It is connected with the family tradition I mentioned to you before." "I remember. Your father laid some in junction on you about converting missionary energies and subscriptions for home use." "That is a quaint way of putting it. It is true his injunction first set me thinking, and it led to my developing certain Utopian ideas of 28 |)e Seontifal ittiss Brooke. my own. As the result, I am now studying architecture. No doubt you will think it a strange choice. There begins another dance, and we've both partners." "How vexatious!" said Miss Brooke. "Just when I am so interested. I am really longing to hear all about your Utopia." "I should so much have liked to tell you," murmured Paul, thinking he might even have sat out another dance if it were not for his foolish exclamation. "Oh, but you're going to call, Mr. Mid- dleton." " I shall be very happy," said Paul, repres sing a start. She wrote her address for him on the back of his programme, adding, "I shall be in on Wednesday afternoon." He thanked her and took her down to the dancing-room where she was pounced upon immediately, and he then- discovered, to his ffcantifnl itties Brooke. 29 surprise, that he and Miss Brooke had sat out two dances! Moreover, the frown which Celia gave him over her partner's shoulder as she waltzed by made him refer to his pro gramme, when he found he had overlooked the little tick at the side of dance number four teen. CHAPTER II. "A DAY and a half to wait before seeing Miss Brooke again," was Paul's first reflection the next morning. "All I should have laughed at as absurd a month ago, proves to be true. I am fast in the toils." And all through the day Miss Brooke filled his thoughts. He was, somehow, a different person from before, as if he had awakened from some sluggish torpor. All his life Paul had suffered from an ex cess of parental love, which had considerably curtailed his freedom; and even when the death of his father a year before had left him his own master, he had no thought of living away from his mother, much to her secret 30 l]f Deantifnl Bliss Orooke. 31 gratification. Her fondness for him had been such that she had had him educated at home for several years, and was only persuaded to let him go to school under great pressure from her husband. She had established her influ ence over her boy from the beginning, and his pliable and obedient disposition had enabled her to maintain it now that he was grown up. His father, who had divided his time between collecting beautiful beetles, representing a rural constituency, enacting the good Samari tan, and, as Paul had told Miss Brooke, thun dering and writing letters to the press against foreign missions, had cherished an ambitious career for his son. He himself, he felt, was a mere pawn on the parliamentary chessboard, and he dreamt of a really great political future for Paul, who, moreover, he hoped, would leave his mark on the social life of the genera tion by promoting the increase of public fine- art collections. Beautiful centres of art beau- 32 l)e Beautiful JHis0 Brooke. tiful buildings with beautiful contents could be established, he argued, if the money sub scribed for foreign missions could be used for the purpose; and he had the necessary statis tics ready to hurl at the head of the sceptic. Acting on the advice of a friend who con sidered the Bar afforded the best training in oratory, he began by placing the boy in a so licitor's office immediately after he had left college. Some eighteen months later the father was carried off in an epidemic of influ enza. Paul, who had long since discovered that oratory md the law was not adapted to one of his temperament, had decision enough to desist from it. His attitude towards his sire's dream had never been a very reverent one, for he knew well he was not of the stuff of which Parliamentary leaders are made. But, as the affection between the two had been really strong, the son wished to respect the father's ideas so far as possible, if only for sen- lje Beotitifal iJliss Srooke. 33 timental reasons; and, finding in himself a natural taste for making beautiful designs as well as an innocent love for illuminated books, old carvings and mouldings, and such curious antiques as had a real art value, it oc curred to him he might make a thorough study of architecture from the art as well as the practical side. Later on he would design art galleries for the people, and set a move ment on foot to promote their construction. Without taking himself too solemnly, he liked to think that what he purposed would have given his father pleasure ; and he was always able to take good-humouredly such jesting re marks as had reference to his schemes. Meanwhile mother and son had settled down in a small house in Elm Park Road. The country house was let on a long lease, as Mrs. Middleton did not wish to have the trouble of keeping it up, preferring to travel for three months in the year. The household 34 lK Beautiful 'Hiss Brooke. consumed but a small part of their revenues, and consequently the amount of money in the family threatened to increase from year to year, despite that Mr. Middleton's good works were continued, and that Paul, going a-slumming, started additional good works on his own account. Mrs. Middleton was only too pleased at Paul's leaving "that nasty dark, close office," asserting it must have injured his health. Be sides, her faith in his talents was so absolute that she was certain he would one day be a very great man indeed, whatever the profes sion he espoused. So she ceded to him for his study perhaps the pleasantest room in the house. It was at the back and opened on to a narrow garden, so that he could saunter out occasionally and pace up and down. As he was here quite isolated, he never felt the need of having rooms elsewhere. Despite the vigilance under which Paul l)c Beautiful 4Jti00 Srooke. 35 had grown up, he had yet managed to have one or two boyish love-affairs without his parents suspecting anything ; and he had at times dreamt of an ideal love and an ideal happiness. But of late he had developed dif ferent notions, and had come to pride himself on his freedom from all mawkish sentiment. Notwithstanding this, he was chivalrous enough to believe that women were angels ; which belief, curiously enough, was unim paired by the fact that, in practice, he was a little bit afraid and suspicious of them. Nor did he always find them interesting ; he would sooner play a game of chess any day than talk to one of them. Cousin Celia was often at the house to join him and his mother at their quiet tea, and one day the idea entered his head that Mrs. Mid- dleton had a certain pet scheme. But mod esty prevented it from taking root in him, and he preferred to believe that the notion of a 36 &|)e Beautiful ittisa !3r0oke. marriage between him and Celia had oc curred only to himself, and would greatly surprise everybody else if he broached it. Celia was an orphan, and he had heard her pitied all his life. She was considered to possess an extraordinary share of good looks and an uncommon degree of affability. Good judges assured one another she would make an excellent wife, and Mrs. Middleton had taken good care that the said judges should discuss the girl in the presence of her boy, who could scarcely contend against so subtle an undermining. Despite his vague knowledge of the wiles of match-making, he began to persuade himself that he really liked Celia, and he played more and more with the idea of marrying her. The leading-strings were handled so lightly and skilfully, he would have been much astonished to hear that his inclinations were not absolutely uninfluenced. In Celia was all that straight- J3eamifal ittiss JJrook*. 37 forwardness by which he set such store ; from her was absent all that caprice and flirtatiousness he was so afraid of. It was easy to know her wishes, easy to please her ; and she had never made him the victim of moods. And the more he thought of marrying her, the more he began to decry romantic love to himself. Whether it really existed or not he would not pretend to say, though, in the light of his own experience, he could just imagine its existence. Those old boyish ideas of his were all a mistake. And thereupon he fell back eagerly on the theory of sensible com panionship as the only sound basis for marriage which theory had now abruptly to be rejected. Already Paul, promenading his garden whilst beautiful coloured plates of Egyptian decoration lay neglected on his table, was bothering himself as to whether he could 38 l) Jteomifai Miss Srooke. leave Celia out of the account with a clear conscience. The question he kept asking himself was whether such attention as he had paid her could reasonably be inter preted as bearing any real significance. He was certain he had never actively made love to her, as he had always hesitated to begin, but he had seen a great deal of her of late and their intimacy had made great strides. Moreover, she had allowed him his five dances the evening before without a word of demur. He knew, too, he had often felt himself flushing on hearing her praised, feeling a sort of proprietary pride in the subject of discussion ; and he won dered now if his demeanour on such oc casions had been observed. All these considerations caused him con siderable uneasiness in view of the fact that he was perfectly sure now he did not want to marry her. Miss Brooke had come Scantifni .fttise Crooke. 39 into his horizon, and lo ! the whole world was changed. Oh, to be free to woo and win such a girl ! Suddenly he had a flash of shrewder in sight, and he was able to find comfort in that first suspicion, which now returned to him, that his mother was really responsible for this Celia affair. Why and his awakened mind now ran over a score of memories he had scarcely ever met Celia out without his mother having supplied the impulse for his going to the particular place ! He had been a fool not to see how she had worked matters from the beginning. And now there arose in him a shade of resentment against her, and his man's independence revolted for the first time against this subtle subordination of his will to hers. He had a definite perception attended with a dis tinct sense of shame of the fact that he had never really ceased to be, so far as 40 Stye Beautiful Jfli0s Brooke. she was concerned, the good little boy who had learnt his letters at her knee. He had an individuality of his own, he told himself, and it behoved him to play the part of a man. He should begin his emancipation at once by putting a prompt stop to "this Celia business.'' CHAPTER III. As Paul rang at the address Miss Brooke had scribbled down on his programme, his dominating thought was that American millionaire's daughters chose rather shabby houses to stay in. Though the name of the street had surprised him when he had first read it, he had yet conceived it possible she might be staying at some kind of private hotel ; but he had not anticipated a dusty card with the word "apartments." He took it for granted her mother was with her, and, though he had not formed any clear concep tion of Mrs. Brooke, she looming mistily in his mind as a handsome, stately personage that had decidedly to be taken into the 41 42 l)e beautiful Miss JBrooke. reckoning, he had wondered how she would receive him. A maid-servant ushered him up two flights of stairs into a front room and announced his name. As he entered he was conscious of three persons sitting at the far end where a bright fire burned, and was somewhat startled to recognise the long lithe figure, the dark face and hair, and the piercing black eyes of the American Miss Brooke had danced with. A peculiar shade of expression flitted across the man's face, telling Paul the recog nition was mutual. At the same time Paul was assuming that the bonneted and cloaked mature-looking lady was no other than Mrs. Brooke herself, and he wondered why she should receive callers when so obviously dressed for going out. Miss Brooke rose to greet him with a pleasant smile of wel come. In a simple dress with wide sleeves that fitted tight round the wrists, her short (Ehe Ceantifal ittiso Srooke. 43 front hair, evenly divided, falling over her temples in rippling masses, she seemed less phantasmal and fairylike, less remote from this world a being more humanly sweet and that one might dare to woo. But unfortunately in that moment he be came aware of the huge bulk of a high bed against the wall on his right, and a tall screen that cut off a corner of the room struck him as having the air of con cealing something. Though he kept con trol over himself physically, his mind grew perfectly vacant. He did not dare to think it seemed vain to make any surmise but bowed to the bonneted lady as he heard Miss Brooke say : " Katharine, let me introduce my friend, Mr. Middleton Mrs. Potter." Paul had seldom felt so many emotions at one time. Added to his surprise at the expected Mrs. Brooke changing at the last 44 l)e Bsontifal Mi00 Srooke. moment into a Mrs. Potter, and to his bewilderment at being received in a bed room, was a thrill of pleasure at Miss Brooke's reference to him as "my friend." He had, too, a sense of gratified curiosity at learning the next moment that the man's name was Pemberton ; it was convenient, moreover, to have a definite symbol by which to refer to him in thought. "I think the water's boiling, dear," said Mrs. Potter. "Doesn't it mean 'boiling' when steam comes out of the spout like that ? " "Not yet, Katharine. Haifa minute more. You are just in nice time, Mr. Middleton, to get your cup of tea at its best." And Miss Brooke busied herself cutting up a big lemon into thin slices at a little table that was laid with a pretty Japanese tea-set. "Lisa's tea is quite wonderful," chimed in Mrs. Potter. " I always spoil mine I can l)e Beautiful iHiss Brooke. 45 never quite tell when the water boils. That's my pet stupidity." For a moment Paul watched the artistic copper kettle as it sang its pleasant song. Mrs. Potter already struck him as an obviously cheerful personality, and he felt absurdly grate ful to her for mentioning Miss Brooke's first name. He had not yet given up Mrs. Brooke, expecting her to enter the room very soon now ; and he found it hard not to fix his gaze noticeably on the bed, half-surprised that everybody else ignored it, seeming totally un conscious that any such piece of furniture was there at all. Mr. Pemberton took little part in the some what banal but good-humoured conversation that now sprang up, but drummed idly with his fingers on the settee on which he was lounging. Now and again a monosyllabic drawl fell languidly from him, and Paul read into this demeanour annoyance at his presence. 4 46 |)c Ucnntifnl IlUss Brooke. Mrs. Potter, he soon learnt for the lady was loquacious was a widow and a journal ist on a three months' stay in Europe, of which she was passing a month in London, endeavouring to make as much copy out of it as possible. She related with glee, and with out any apparent qualms of conscience, how she had "fixed up " accounts of various great society functions, writing her copy in the first person. " Lisa is so good and helpful to me. I im pose on her dreadfully. I should never have been able to get them fixed up without her. And then her spelling is so perfect she runs over my copy and puts it right in a jiffy." " Lemon or cream, Mr. Middleton, please ?" asked Miss Brooke. "Two lumps of sugar or one? What, none at all! Oh, yes, everybody thinks these cups sweetly pretty. I'm taking them home with me as a souvenir." l)e Beantifnl .fttiss Brooke. 47 "What shall I do without you in Paris?" broke in Mrs. Potter again. "I shall be lost there. Can't I coax you to come back with me, Lisa dear?" "Can't disappoint poppa," said Miss Brooke laconically. "You'll have me to come to," drawled Mr. Pemberton. "You'll be handy for some things, but your spelling's worse than mine," said Mrs. Potter; and somewhat irrelevantly went on to suppose that Paul must know Paris well. Paul, alas ! had only two visits to boast of, one of a week's, the other of two weeks' du ration, both in the company of his mother. Whereupon a sound, as of a suppressed snig ger, came from the direction of Pemberton. Something like the truth had begun to dawn on Paul's mind, and he knew better now than to continue to expect Mrs. Brooke to appear. He had sufficiently gathered from 48 Jin: Ucamiful IftiGG Brooke. the conversation that Miss Brooke was on her way home from Paris to America, and that she was going to travel alone, and had taken London en route, probably armed with letters of introduction. Most likely, he argued, she must have considered the one room sufficient for her needs, and had not anticipated callers. Or perhaps Americans, for all he knew, did not mind receiving callers in a bedroom. This, he concluded, was probably the case, as no one seemed in the least gene", despite that the bed was such a palpable fact, and stood there in massive unblushingness. Otherwise an atmosphere of feminine daintiness seemed to surround Miss Brooke, transforming even this lodging-house bedroom. However, he did not grasp the facts with out an almost overwhelming sense of pain. His romance had been rudely shattered at one blast, and he felt his breath draw heavily when he first comprehended Miss Brooke was l)c Ccautifnl itties Brooke. 49 on the point of leaving London. A sense of helplessness came upon him as he realised he could do nothing but just get through with his call. There seemed not the slightest chance now of his telling her about the career he purposed for himself. He had dreamed, too, of her showing him her verses, perhaps some of her sketches. But the presence of the others stood in the way. He would have liked to hate them both, but being forced to like Mrs. Potter, he had to bestow a double amount of dislike on Mr. Pemberton, which he was very glad to do. And then he wanted to know the exact relation between Mr. Pem berton and Miss Brooke. From a hint the "fellow" had dropped, it was clear he lived in Paris where Miss Brooke had been living. Was he a relative ? Who was he ? Why was he in London ? How came he to be at Mrs. Saxon's dance ? For a moment Paul thought of asking Mrs. Saxon about him, and 50 l)e Beautiful ittiss Srooke. also about Miss Brooke, but he put the idea from him as underhand and unworthy. Meanwhile the conversation went on, pleasant and banal. Mrs. Potter deluged Paul with questions about the London season and English painters and the Academy. She nar rated the comicalities of her shopping expedi tions, various little misadventures that had arisen from the different usage of everyday words by the two nations. By imperceptible stages along a tortuous and varied route they drifted on to the subject of love, and Mrs. Potter, still keeping the talk almost all to her self, related several touching romances of her friends' lives. Once or twice Paul's gloom was lightened by the smile of Miss Brooke that met his look each time he turned his face towards her. A lien, invisible to the others, seemed to be established between them. At length Mrs. Potter, drawing Mr. Pem- berton's attention to the hour, rose to go, and Beautiful ifliss Brooke. 5 1 the two left together. Despite some mad idea of declaring himself to Miss Brooke there and then, which had occurred to him, Paul had also risen, but to his astonishment Miss Brooke drew her chair closer to the fire, and motioned him to take a seat in the opposite chimney corner. He obeyed as if hypnotised. "What would my mother think of this?" he asked himself, and awaited developments. As for Miss Brooke, at no moment did she seem aware of the slightest unconventionality in the situation. "Katharine is so sweet," she began thoughtfully. "You can't imagine how pleased I was when she wrote she was coming. Charlie is piloting her about a lit tle. He is so good-natured." "Charlie is, I presume, Mr. Pemberton." "Why, of course. And he'll be of so much use to her in Paris. He has a studio there. But I hope she won't fall in love 52 (tlje Beautiful fttiss Brooke. with him," she added laughingly. "Katha rine is so romantic; she is always in love with some man or other." Though he knew as a general biological fact that women fall in love with men, Paul, despite all the love-stories he had read, had never yet been able to grasp it and admit it to himself as a fact of actual life. Somehow, he had always felt that the onus of falling in love and of courtship rested on men, and that it was very good and condescending of women to allow themselves to be loved at all. But Miss Brooke's way of talking seemed to take it for granted that it was a perfectly natural and proper thing for a woman to be in love, that romance was a thing a woman might own to without any shame; making him realise more distinctly than ever before that women were not so entirely passive and passionless. But all this he rather felt than thought, and it did not interfere with the l]c Ucuntiful JUios Brooke. 53 sentence that was on the tip of his tongue; the outcome of his sense of disappointment and desolation at her threatened departure out of his life, which was only mitigated by the reflection that Pemberton was being left behind. "And now you are going home!" The words were obviously equivalent to a sigh of regret. "But not for good, I hope," said Miss Brooke; and Paul's universe changed at once into a wonderful enchanted garden. "Of course, it will be very nice to be at home with poppa and mamma again, but I should not be leaving Paris from choice. I was mak ing such progress at school that my professor was quite angry I couldn't stay. But per haps I shall be back in a year's time. I cer tainly shall if everything goes well." "I do hope it's nothing serious that calls you away, and that keeps you from your 54 ffil)* Seontifal ittiss Srooke. studies so long a time," exclaimed Paul fer vently. ' ' From my point of view it's certainly serious," smiled Miss Brooke, good-humour- edly. "As I've already tried to make you believe, I am a very greedy person, with a fondness for dollars, and the whole trouble is that they keep out of reach. Poor hard- worked poppa can't send me any more money just now, but he'll be getting a bigger salary next year, and I shall be able to go back and paint a masterpiece for the Salon. In the meanwhile I shall have to amuse my self as best I can sketching about the place, and watching poppa getting through big batches of couples. He's a minister you know the cloth's hereditary in our family and marries off people wholesale." Till that moment Miss Brooke had been the railway king's daughter. For Paul to find now that she was a comparatively poor lje Scantifnl ifliss JBrookc. 55 girl, whose anxiety to earn money by mak ing her mark in art was no mere jesting pretence, involved a complete readjustment of his mental focus. But its instantaneity made the operation a violent one, especially as he strove hard not to exhibit any external signs of discomposure. At the same time a good deal that had bewildered him was ex plained, though there were points yet on which he needed enlightenment. And with all his astonishment went an unbounded ad miration for the cheerful way in which she accepted her position, the lover's keen look out for every scrap of virtue in the beloved seizing on this greedily for commendation. What a splendid, plucky girl she was! The glamour of his romance was heightened. Mere millionaires and all that appertained to them seemed suddenly prosaic. Into what a bizarre misconception had he fallen ! She herself was not to blame. If his 56 l)e Beautiful ittiss Brooke. mind had not been clogged up by what Thorn had told him beforehand he would not so persistently have misunderstood her refer ences to money; but how should he have thought of challenging what he knew only now to have been a mere speculative rumour ? There had been nothing in her appearance and personality to belie that rumour, and, as obvi ously she was not called upon to contradict statements about herself she had never heard, such manifestations of the truth as had since become visible to him had only served to mystify him. The way, too, she had taken certain things for granted as perfectly natural and proper, somewhat astonished him, to wit, her inviting him to call here, her reception of him in a bed room, and his presence alone with her now. These facts contravened the ideas in which he had been brought up, and he could only sup pose that American ideas probably differed l)e Beautiful ittiss Brooke. 57 from English. This surmise seemed, on the whole, corroborated by the glimpse he had had that day into the spirit of the American independent woman a type entirely new to him as exemplified both by Mrs. Potter and Miss Brooke. He asked how soon she was leaving, and learnt she was sailing on the Saturday, so that barely two days of London remained to her. He did not like the idea at all, as he had formed the hope he might somehow see her again before her departure. "My berth is taken," explained Miss Brooke, perhaps amused by his evident dis content. "Some boxes have gone on. Be sides, I could not stay here any longer. Dollars are getting scarce. I'm going to have some more tea won't you join me?" "Willingly." He wanted to stay longer, and tea, by filling the time plausibly, would 58 tje Ucautiful ill is s Urookc. help to lessen his constraint at the original position in which he found himself. "I am so pleased you were able to call! " went on Miss Brooke, as she poured out the beverage. "You haven't forgotten your promise to tell me all about your work and your Utopia as well," she added, smiling, and handing him his cup. Her sweetness as she spoke enchanted him. When he himself had been hesitating on the brink of the chasm, with what ease had she taken him across it at one leap ! Soon he found himself telling her how he had come to abandon his father's ideas and plan out his life his own way, with as much emotion as if he were relating his inmost secrets to an affi anced wife. And certainly no affianced wife could have listened with a graver attention, or more sympathetic demeanour. "Has it ever occurred to you to study architecture at Paris?" she asked. "The Deantifai ittiss I3rooke. 59 Beaux Art School is, I think, one of the finest in the world, and you could scarcely get a more artistic atmosphere." The effect of her remark was as that of an electric spark that fuses many elements into one new whole. He was conscious of a struggling chaotic mass of thought, followed by a clear perception of the conditions of his existence in all its bearings. And in a flash he had made up his mind to plunge into the deli cious indefiniteness of what offered itself. A soft purple haze floated before him as in a dream, and an odour of incense and a har mony of sweet sounds seemed to steal upon him. And the haze, parting a moment, allowed him a glimpse of a magic city in its depths. And in that city, he knew, were "Lisa" and himself. That was to be the future ! The awaken ing of the man in him was complete. By an abrupt mastercoup he would wrench himself 60 (El) Iteanlifal Miss Srooke. away from the influences that had well-nigh reduced him to a puppet. His reply to Miss Brooke now would be the beginning of the necessary forward impulse. " The idea has not come to me, though, of course, I should have had to consider the question of a formal course before very long. But I like the suggestion very much." " Lots of the boys take the course there," added Miss Brooke. "There are, of course, many more American than English boys, but you'll find them all a sociable set." He asked for details about the student life, and Miss Brooke tried to give him some notion of it. In this way quite half an hour slipped by, during which Paul became worked up to a high pitch of enthusiasm and took care to leave no doubt in Miss Brooke's mind that his decision was finally taken. "Charlie, too, might be useful to you," said Miss Brooke, as Paul rose to take his fI)e Jteautiful ittiss Brooke. 61 leave. "I'm sure he'd be delighted to be of service to you. And how nice, too, if we were to meet there again ! Perhaps we shall." Her face gleamed as with the pleasure of anticipation. "I shall always bear the hope with me," said Paul gravely ; and, wishing her a pleas ant crossing, he bade her "good-bye." "Let us say ' Au revoir' rather," and once again she pressed his hand, which was more than he had dared hope for. But what had "Charlie" to do with Miss Brooke ? he asked himself a thousand times that evening. CHAPTER IV. A MONTH later about the beginning of June Paul had entered the Ecole des Beaux Arts as a student of architecture. Not to have succeeded in tearing himself away would have been to lose all self-respect. He had determined to justify himself to himself, to prove he had a will he need not be ashamed of. Thus it was that his astonished mother and a favourite uncle Celia's guardian who both had a good deal to say about Paris and its temptations, ex pended their speech to no purpose. Paul entered into his student life with zest, working hard and conscientiously in a very methodical fashion. He allowed himself, 62 Beautiful ittiss Brooke. 63 however, plenty of time for enjoying the city ; going to the theatres, and peeping into all the show places, and hunting up curios at old shops, and lounging and play ing billiards at the cafes, and drinking beer al fresco on the boulevards. Occasionally he rode in the Bois, or made excursions up and down the Seine, and into the neigh bouring country mostly, of course, in com pany, for he soon struck acquaintance with some of the men, many of whom he found had to manage on very little money. So he said nothing about his own easy cir cumstances, rather enjoying the two-franc seat at the theatre and the fifteen-centime ride on the tops of tramcars. When he wanted expensive amusement he went alone. No one he knew had so far mentioned Miss Brooke's name, and though he was often on the point of asking one or other Jtecwtifal fttiss Brooke. of his new friends about her, some instinct invariably restrained him. He had nurtured his love for her, all his solitary thought turning to her, and it seemed a sort of sacrilege to make even the most innocent inquiry about her in her absence. This waiting for her in silence was part of the romance. He understood the American girl a little better now, fellow-students having introduced him to girl friends that is to say, he was better acquainted with her and her ways. And he was satisfied that whatever ap peared right to Miss Brooke, no matter how much it violated his own notions, must be right absolutely. With her the fact of riches or poverty was reduced to a mere indifferent background, against which her personality stood out in all its charm and dignity. A girl like her could make her home in one room, and yet make you lje Beautiful ittios Brooke. 65 welcome in it with as much ease and grace as any lady in a fine drawing-room. Time passed, and still nobody, by any chance, referred to Miss Brooke. This was not surprising, for Paris was large, and American girl students were plentiful and scattered all over it. Moreover, a girl who had gone home months before was likely to be soon forgotten. Pemberton he had never met, but he had seen him just once from the top of a tramcar. The hot weather came on and Paul passed a deli cious month at Montmorency in company with one of the men. After his return he settled to work again, and the months went by almost without his keeping count of them for, Miss Brooke having mentioned a year as the time she was likely to remain in America, he would not look for her till the spring came on again. In the mean while he inflicted much misery on himself 66 (Efye Seautifnl ittiss Srook*. by speculating as to whether home and home ties might not have absorbed for good so ideal and affectionate a girl as he conceived her to be, especially after so long a residence abroad. But deep down was implanted in him an unswerving faith in her coming, and, though the manner of their meeting had been left so undefined, he was certain there would be no difficulty when the time came, and that his life after that would be one long fairy tale. The spring came at last, and with it ver- nissage at the Salon. Paul knew one or two men who were exhibiting, so he de cided to pass his afternoon at the Palais de 1'Industrie. The tens of thousands that thronged the galleries made picture-inspec tion difficult and tedious ; but the crowd itself presented many compensating features of interest. Paul was hoping, too, he might see Miss Brooke there, as it was ffilje Beautiful iJUss Brooke. 67 not impossible she might by now be back in Paris. Occasionally he fancied a girl resembled Miss Brooke, but when, after infinite striving, he had got close to his quarry, he found the points of likeness were but few. Once or twice the fair one eluded his pursuit, and got irretriev ably swallowed up. On his going to dtjeuner the next day, at a little restaurant close by the school, where he was in the habit of dropping in at mid-day he dined in the evening in state at a more pretentious establishment there sat Miss Brooke herself at a table at the end of the room, her face towards the door. None of the usual clients had yet arrived, as it was a trifle early, and made moiselle was distributing the newly-written menus among the various tables. In any case he must have caught sight of her at once, as the cluster of sharp red and black 68 |)e Beautiful itties Crooke. wings that shot up from one side of the little toque, which just seemed to rest on her hair, drew the eye at once. Her face showed glowing and bright, set above the dark mass of her stuff dress. As the door swung to she looked up from the menu she had been studying. " How do you do, Mr. Middleton ? You seem real scared to see me." Her greeting seemed as calm and laugh ing as if they had but parted the day be fore, and Paul felt some vague dissatisfaction with it he did not quite know why. It seemed, somehow, as if there were no ro mance between them at all, as if they were the merest acquaintances. Perhaps it was that the pent-up emotion of months of waiting needed more dramatic expres sion than this commonplace situation af forded. He asked permission, and sat down op- vi IK Ucuntiful lUiss JBrooke. 69 posite her, scarcely knowing what to say to her first. "Can you tell me whether cervelle de "veau is anything good to eat ? It's the only unfamiliar thing on the menu, and my only hope." He took the sheet of paper as she held it to him, but found the dish was equally unknown to him. They appealed to made moiselle, who informed them, " C'est dans la tete." "I wonder if she means 'brains.' I was hoping not to have to translate cervelle literally." "I am not afraid of experimenting," sug gested Paul. "For my benefit. That is real kind of you. Whenever I've been curious about things with strange names, I've always had to order them, which is rather an expensive way of increasing one's French vocabulary." 70 |)e Secrotifal ittias Srooke. When the dish came, neither Paul nor Miss Brooke liked the curly look of it, so they fell back on bifteck, salad, cheese, and fruit. "And so you are here after all," said Miss Brooke, musingly. "Why? Did you think I was not seri ous about coming ? " "I didn't mean that. My expression was a sort of acknowledgment to myself that I had found you or rather, to be proper, that you had found me." His heart fairly leaped with pleasure. She had certainly then thought of him dur ing the past months ! "I must thank the happy chance that led you in here," he murmured, feeling his emo tion at length control him. "Happy chance!" She charmed his ear with a ripple of laughter. "Why, I've ex hausted almost every restaurant near the lje Beautiful Jfliss Srooke. 71 Beaux Arts, that being the most feminine way of pursuing you. The mathematical theory of probability college learning does prove useful at times told me the happening of the event, that is, of the event I wanted to happen, was a certainty. For some particular restaurant or other is a habit which everybody contracts; it is, indeed, the first vice one picks up in Paris. And it's a habit that can't be broken. Day after day you revolt if you're a man, you swear against the cuisine. Things are becoming in tolerable. Time was when everything was perfect, when the menu was varied, and always included your favourite dishes ; when one could eat the salad without too close an inspection of the under-side of the leaves, and when the wine at eighty centimes a litre didn't turn blue or taste like ink. To-day is, most certainly, the last time you will ever set foot in the place. But the morrow comes, and at dtjeuner time your feet bear you there 72 l)e Beautiful lifties Brooke. again, and you are so meek about it that you scarcely protest." "That is just my experience," he con fessed. "I was sure it would be. That is what enabled me to calculate so infallibly. You see I speak my thoughts quite unashamed. Paris makes one so frightfully immodest." "I'm glad, then, I didn't take it into my head to apply the same method in my search for you. Not only would it have upset your mathematics, but, having no particular land mark, I might have wandered on forever. All the same, I have kept my eyes open. In fact, I was hoping to see you yesterday at ver- nissage." "Were you there?" she exclaimed. " What a silly question! " she added immedi ately, laughing. "What I meant to say was / was there. But, of course, it was quite im possible to find any one in such a crowd." lje Jteantifal ifliss Brooke. 73 Paul noticed with pleasure that the conversa tion on both sides assumed the fact of a posi tive rendezvous between them. Miss Brooke went on to chatter about the vermssage. "I see this morning's Herald puts us down as a low lot. Its reporter must be very exigeant. In spite of our presence he insists the models gave the ton to the assembly." "Were there many models present?" asked Paul. " I don't remember seeing any." "There were quite enough of them to be noticeable. Perhaps you thought they were all countesses." "I did have some such idea," he admitted. "I didn't know models dressed like count esses." "They do when their artists take them to vernissage. Which affords food for reflec tion." Paul felt slightly embarrassed and did not answer. 74 b* Seontifttl iflieo Srooke. "And now," resumed Miss Brooke, con templating her CCBUT d la creme, "if I may venture to intrude on your reflections, will you please pass me the sugar ? " "Is it long since you returned?" he in quired soon. "I was going to ask you be fore, only the cervelle puzzle arose and some how I forgot." "Just three weeks," she replied. " Poppa had his bigger salary, and as it was getting tedious seeing couples married I made haste to come over again. You can't imagine how impatient I was to get back in time for verms- sage. It gives such a fillip to your ambitions to see crowds round your friends' pictures, and to read about them in the papers; it makes you realise your own powers, and sets you wondering why you hadn't dared to send something in. When you are tired of lamenting your folly you begin to admire your modesty, and of course you remem- Beautiful itliss Brooke. 75 ber that modesty is the mark of true genius." "And you had all those thoughts?" " Oh, no! They are the thoughts I should have had if I hadn't been busy admiring the dresses. The pictures must wait I shall be going again to see those, perhaps two or three times. Most students do. One is sup posed to learn from them, but in practice one only criticises. The boys say everything is rotten. We girls pretend to agree with them, only, of course, it wouldn't be proper to ex press our opinion as violently as that. Do you dine here as well ? " " I dine as the whim takes me. You see I haven't yet acquired a habit for evening wear. Not every Bohemian can make that boast." Miss Brooke laughed. "Bohemians mostly acquire bad habits for evening wear. But I'm going to cut Bohemianism altogether so far as my meals are concerned, and settle 76 l)e Beantifnl IVliss Brooke. down in a pension. Two or three of the girls live there, and they report well of it. I also made friends while crossing with a girl who was being consigned there." He asked whether she had had a good crossing, and whether she were a good sailor. Miss Brooke replied that the weather had been perfect the whole way and she had enjoyed herself, and she proceeded to entertain him by relating incidents of the passage. Meanwhile the little restaurant had filled, and was nearly empty again. They rose at last and settled their additions. Paul then noticed that Miss Brooke had her painting materials with her, and insisted on carrying them so far as her school. They stepped out into the sunshine, and became aware how fine a day it was. "The afternoon almost tempts me to cut the Beaux Arts," said Paul. "By the way, how are you getting on there?" asked Miss Brooke. fElje JBeantiful ifli0s Srooke. 77 He was only too eager to tell her of his progress, and to discuss his chances of a medal. He also gave her an account of the new friends he had made he liked the Amer ican "boys" very much, was indebted to them for endless kindnesses. " Why didn't you look up Charlie?" she asked suddenly. " How could I ?" he asked, annoyed at the mention of the man's name, reminding him, as it did, of the apparent and inexplicable intimacy between the two, and also tell ing him they must already have seen each other. "You could easily have found him if you had inquired among the boys. He lives in his studio and he has scarcely left it the whole time I've been away. By the way, you re member Katharine, don't you ? "She's married again. To her editor this time. This is my school." 78 fftfye Beautiful Miss Srooke. They came to a standstill and faced each other to say "good-bye." "I scarcely feel like working this after noon," observed Miss Brooke. "My laziness really overpowers my ambition. Did you not say something before, Mr. Middleton, about your being tempted to cut the Beaux Arts? Do be nice and yield to that temptation. I want to give way to mine so badly, but being a woman I daren't do anything unless somebody else is doing it at the same time." Paul's fibres of resistance did not relax gradually ; they collapsed all at once. " Well," he laughed. " I've been so good all along, I think I've earned the right to play truant for once." " Mr. Middleton! That's bringing morality into it again, and I wanted to indulge in undi luted wickedness. You have to carry my box as I'm sufficiently occupied in holding up (The Beautiful ittiss Brooke. 79 my skirts. I'll give you some tea afterwards as a reward." They strolled slowly in the sunshine, mak ing for the river and crossing by the Pont des Arts; and passed through the Jardins des Tuileries, where the freshness of the greens, and the playing fountains, and the leafy trees, and the pretty children, and the odour of lilac proclaimed the spring. They sauntered across the Place de la Concorde and into the shady avenues of the Champs Elysees, where huge spots of sunlight freckled the ground; talking the while of the life of the city, of the foreign elements, of the Old and New Salons. Miss Brooke explained how her own day was spent. Seven o'clock in the morning found her punctually at school, and she worked two hours before taking her caft au lait, after wards continuing till midday. In the after noon she usually copied and studied at the Louvre or Luxembourg. Such had been the 8o Qtlje JJeatUifal Miss jtooke. routine of her work before, and she had had no difficulty in falling into it again. She could not hope to exhibit even next year, as she could neither afford a studio nor the ex pense of models. At the present she was liv ing with some friends at their appartement in the Avenue de Wagram. After their depart ure at the end of May she would enter into the pension, which was within a stone's throw of her school. Paul, eagerly listening to all these details, was only conscious in a far-off way of the eternal roll of smart carriages in the roadway, or of the multitude of children playing under the trees in charge of bonnes, whilst the mam mas sat about on chairs, chatting, or with books or needlework. Onward the pair strolled past the Arc de Triomphe and down the great Avenue into the Bois de Boulogne, only stopping to rest by the laughing lake. Here the appeal of the water and the moored Seantifal itliss Crooke. 81 boats soon became irresistible. They fleeted the remainder of the afternoon ideally, till Miss Brooke announced it was time to re pair to the Avenue de Wagram. Paul was afraid of her friends he was scarcely pre sentable. "Be calm, my friend," she reassured him. "We shall have a nice little tea all to ourselves. The others have gone to Versailles and are only coming back in time to dine. We dine che% nous, as we have a bonne who cooks. Of course I can't be in to dejeuner, as the distance is too great from my school. You must come one evening and I'll present you." He thanked her for the suggestion, glad to welcome every arrangement that promised in any way to throw their lives together, for he had been not a little afraid he might not after all have the opportunity of seeing very much of her. 82 (The Ucantiful ffliss Brooke. As Miss Brooke made the tea in the pretty drawing room of the cosy flat, Paul began to realise with surprise how much progress their friendship had made in that one day. His dream had turned out true ! He was so happy that the con sciousness of all but the moment faded from him. London, his mother, Celia, and even chess were for the time abso lutely non-existent. "Charlie," too, was forgotten, as the obnoxious name had not again dropped from Miss Brooke's lips. He took his leave at last, filled with joy by Miss Brooke's promise to run in on the morrow to dejeuner at the same little res taurant. But as he turned from the broad stairway into the hall, he almost collided in his pre-occupation with a tall well- dressed man. Both murmured "Pardon!" and pursued their ways. Paul had seen l)e Beautiful UU00 Brooke. 83 the other's face, but he had taken several steps forward before the features sank into his brain, and he realised with a great shock they were those of "Char lie." CHAPTER V. HOWEVER, Miss Brooke said nothing to him about Charlie in the days that followed, though he saw her often. Without it being specially mentioned again, it was somehow understood they were, for the present, to meet at mid-day at the little restaurant, and, moreover, she allowed him to take her sev eral times to the two Salons. He might easily have dragged in references to Pem- berton, but he felt it would not be right to do so for the mere purpose of discover ing what it would have been an imperti nence to demand outright. And the more his camaraderie with Miss Brooke became an established fact, the more 84 Becmtifnl ittiss Brooke. 85 did this question of Charlie disturb him. He had discovered by this time that a harmless friendship between a man and a girl was by no means unusual among the students and was not necessarily assumed to imply matrimonial intentions. He knew, moreover, that such friendships grew rapidly on this soil where the English-speaking stu dents gravitated together during the years of their voluntary exile. But, if this thought pacified him as to Miss Brooke and Charlie, the very pacification carried with it a sting. For it led to the further tormenting suspi cion that Miss Brooke did not take the relationship between her and himself as seriously as he would have liked her to. Her conduct and bearing towards him were all he could wish, yet he seemed to feel behind them a stern limit to the intimacy, a barrier, as it were, that might bear on its face : "I am put here by way of giv- 86 (Elje Seantifal #Uss i3rooke. ing you a reminder you are not to make any mistakes as to the extent of your rights over this property." Sometimes, indeed, in envisaging the position, he came to the conclusion that this was entirely due to his own imagina tion and that he might safely ask her to share his life. But at that point uncertainty would rise again, warning him that to make any such impulsive proposition just then might be to jeopardise the future of his romance. The remembrance of the dis tress caused him by his effort to determine the precise degree of Celia's claim on him by reason of his having engaged her for five dances in the same evening in truded in grotesque contrast now that he was endeavouring to determine the precise degree of his claim on Miss Brooke. Despite these prickings, and despite Charlie, sweetness predominated in his life. ffil)e Beantifnl 4JU0S Brooke. 87 He felt untrammelled and unwatched over, recalling with a shudder the old strands that had tethered him. Though he wrote regu larly to his mother, whom he had seen twice last autumn, on her way southward and on her return, all reference to Miss Brooke was excluded from his letters. He would not discuss his relation to her with anybody else, foreseeing that would only lead to a deal of useless and perhaps endless talk. After Miss Brooke had moved to the pen sion, where she had arranged to take all her meals, he no longer saw her every day. But it was understood he could take his chance of finding her at home when ever he chose to call in the evenings. She generally received him in her little oblong sitting-room on the second floor, that opened out on a pleasant balcony, overlooking the street. He soon grew to love this room, to the decorations of which 88 l)e Beautiful Jttiss Brooke. she had added a huge Japanese umbrella, which hung from the ceiling, and two Jap anese lights, and a piece of Oriental tapestry, besides her personal nicknacks. Paul's usual lounging-place, whilst Miss Brooke gave him his after-dinner coffee, was an old cretonne- covered ottoman, on which a broken spring made a curious hump, and over his head were suspended some book-shelves. Now and again he would find other callers, of both sexes, for Miss Brooke was "at home " once a week to all her friends. Of course, Paul did not abuse his privilege, but firmly restricted the number of his visits. Occasionally, too, he had the happiness of taking her to dine at some one or other of the great cafes on the Grands Boule vards, and they would stroll back together along the river bank, enchanted by the wonderful nocturnes. On Sunday some times, they would make an excursion be- l)c JJecmtifal 4JU00 Drooke. 89 yond the fortifications to some rural spot, she taking her paint-box and sketching lazily whilst they talked ; and if, on rare afternoons, he left his work, and looked in at the Luxembourg to find her deftly ply ing her brush in her big blue coarse linen apron, with its capacious pockets, she seemed by no means displeased. Every legitimate topic was talked over between them. He had long since ex hausted the theme of his own life, that is, he had told it so far as he cared to tell it. Celia, for one thing, did not appear in it, and there were one or two little mat ters he was especially careful to suppress. He felt vaguely saint-like, when, in the course of this judicious selection from his biography, he arrived at his slumming ex periences, and hinted at his charities, which were being continued during his absence. Miss Brooke repaid the confidence in kind, 90 l)e JJecintifal IHisG JJrooke. enabling him, by her various reminiscences, to reconstruct a fairly continuous account of her existence, which, it never struck him, might also be selected. They drifted, too, into the realm of ideas, exchanging their notions on among other things love and platonic friendship. They discussed the last-mentioned phenomenon in great detail, Paul, aflame with self-conscious ness, but quite unable to pierce beneath the sphinx-like demeanour with which Miss Brooke made her impartial and freezingly impersonal statements. From ideas they passed on to the consideration of conduct and how it should be determined under divers subtle conditions. "Yes, but don't you really think that one ought to listen to such an appeal if. . . . ," she would gravely interpose with her sweet voice as her brush made sensuous strokes on the canvas. And Paul QTlje Beantifal .ftties Brooke. 91 became more and more impressed with the nobility of her soul, and strove likewise as was but natural in the circumstances to impress her with the nobility of his. He usually felt ethically perfect after such con versations, and, had the occasion immedi ately arisen, it would have found him equal to acting along the lines of the "ought" laid down by Miss Brooke. He imagined that he certainly was receiving endless benefit from this threshing out of things with a quick and sympathetic personality. So ran by a couple of months, "Charlie" continuing to be the chief cause of disturb ance in Paul's existence. The two men had by now met several times at Miss Brooke's, had saluted civilly, but had little to say to each other. Paul felt sure his hatred was returned, and neither showed the least dispo sition to become better acquainted. Neither asked the other to dine or drink, or play 92 l)e Sucmtifal ittiss Crooke. billiards, or even to walk with him, and if rarely they passed in the street a nod was all they exchanged. The lines of their lives occasionally met in a point, but never ran together. The enmity between them only became irksome when no others were present, but never did Miss Brooke herself manifest the least suspicion of it. Whatever the relation between Miss Brooke and Pemberton, it never seemed to interfere in practice with the relation between Miss Brooke and him self. She alluded to "Charlie" in her talk much more freely than heretofore, but al ways apropos, always impersonally, just as she might casually mention Katharine, who was so happy now. Charlie had such and such a habit, such and such a way of look ing at things, such and such ideas of art. But Paul's jealousy grew till he became well-nigh intolerable to himself. It made him l]t tkiuitifnl ittioG ijrookc. 93 resort to underhand watchings, from the mere thought of which, in saner moments, he shrank with shame and remorse. But he had thus ascertained that Charlie was, if anything, a more frequent visitor than himself, and had less scruples in the matter of standing on cere mony. CHAPTER VI. ONE night Paul was at the Opera when he caught sight of Miss Brooke and Pemberton with her. His evening was spoilt and he left at once. He felt both angry and hurt, for he had seen her for a few minutes in the after noon, and she had said nothing about her plans for the evening beyond warning him it was highly probable she might not be at home. The climax had come. He was deter mined that things should not continue as they were. If Miss Brooke simply regarded their connection as a mere students' companionship, agreeable to both parties but strictly tempo rary, then he must end it immediately. Miss 94 Ueantifnl iUiQQ Brooke. 95 Brooke must at once be made aware of what this friendship meant to him. What he had so far deemed inexpedient seemed to him the only expediency to stake all on one coup. In the stress of the crisis the prejudices that were his by inheritance and teaching, and that his new life had caused to slum ber, asserted themselves again, crying aloud against these friendships. Miss Brooke ought never to have expected him to be proof against that sort of thing, of which he had never had experience. Pemberton might be able and content to flutter round without hurt, but he himself had been a lost man from the beginning. It soothed him to map out the future as he wished it to be, and all seemed so natural and reasonable that, if she cared for him in the least, she could not but admit his views on every point. He felt himself filled with an 96 |)e JJeantifal Jttiss Srcoke. infinite longing, an infinite tenderness. He would surround her with his love so that escape from it should be impossible. It should permeate every fibre of her being, and she should in the end come to him and give up everything to fulfil the duties of a wife, presid ing over his household, absorbing herself in his career, and giving all her thought to the unity their two lives would constitute. Of course, she could paint in such time as was left to her, and any glory she might achieve would redound to the credit of his name. Still when a woman had once become a wife, he argued, her ambition generally faded. Wifehood was absorbing. Greater glory than that of being a perfect wife there could not be. A few days later, when his emotion had somewhat calmed down, and he could trust himself sufficiently to see her, he called at the pension, but, as had happened occasionally