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 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
 
 <TlK Ucauliful ittiGG Drookc. 97 
 
 from the beginning, he did not find her at 
 home. So the next morning he sent her a 
 great heterogeneous mass of flowers with the 
 half-jesting, half-reproachful hope they might 
 meet with better fortune than he. Where 
 upon he immediately received a letter explain 
 ing she had passed the previous evening with 
 some very nice people in the Avenue Kleber, 
 and announcing her intention of taking him 
 there on the morrow. Would he dine early 
 and call for her? She thanked him for the 
 flowers in a postscript, saying they had trans 
 formed her room into a veritable bower. 
 
 At the time appointed he climbed the well- 
 known two flights of stairs and the bonne 
 showed him into the little room, saying made 
 moiselle would join him "in a little minute." 
 Several big minutes passed, and then the 
 door-hanging was pushed aside and Miss 
 Brooke stood smiling at him. She had always 
 appealed to his aesthetic side, giving him the
 
 98 |) Beautiful 411100 Brooke. 
 
 sense of contemplating an exquisite piece of 
 art-work; but the particular impression he 
 had to-night differed from all previous ones. 
 Her figure seemed slenderer in its black net 
 evening dress, covered with bead-work that 
 glistened with a wonderful shading of green 
 into blue and blue into green. Above the tur 
 quoise-blue velvet trimming of the bodice, her 
 long neck made a dazzling whiteness, and her 
 face looked pink and babyish, whilst her curls 
 lay about with just a shade more severity than 
 usual. She wore a necklace of turquoises set 
 in antique gold, and in her hair was a big gold 
 comb inset with the same stones, irregularly 
 cut. The note of colour thus given made her 
 blue eyes appear like two large jewels amid 
 the constellation. Paul told himself he had 
 never realised before how beautiful those eyes 
 were. The lightly-parted lips intensified the 
 babyishness, so that she ceased to be the in 
 dependent, self-willed girl, fitting in rather
 
 l)e Beantifai Iitti00 Brook*. 99 
 
 with that other conception he had lingered on 
 as the ideal she might develop into as his wife 
 a woman clinging to her husband and glad 
 of his strength. 
 
 He was sure he saw her now as she really 
 was. The conditions of her life were alone to 
 blame for forcing on her the necessity of a 
 career. Woman's true sphere was the home. 
 An outside existence subjected to hardening 
 influences a delicate soul whose very nature 
 was to thirst for tender nurture and love. 
 Such had always been his mother's convic 
 tion; such was his fervent belief. The asso 
 ciation of Miss Brooke with money-earning 
 seemed an ugly blot on the universe. 
 
 There seemed, too, a tenderer, more inti 
 mate quality in her voice, and a sort of cling 
 ing in her touch as she went down the 
 stairway with her hand on his arm. That for 
 bidding barrier of which he had always been 
 conscious had vanished!
 
 ioo (Elje Bscmiifal ittifis Braoke. 
 
 "It's the McCook'slast 'At-Home,'" she 
 explained, as the voiture began to move. 
 "They are such nice people I'm sure you'll 
 like them. Dora's an old college chum of 
 mine, and she's asked me to stay with her to 
 night. Dora and I chat such a deal when we 
 get together, and we always enjoy sitting up 
 nice and quiet by ourselves after every 
 body else has gone. I told her you would 
 escort me home, but she seemed quite 
 shocked at the idea. As if you haven't es 
 corted me back from the theatre! Dora has 
 become quite conventional since her marriage. 
 She used to argue with her mother and do 
 pretty well as she liked not so very long ago, 
 Now I believe her mother shocks her some 
 times. She's leaving with her husband in a 
 few days for Perros-Guirec, and they're going 
 to take me with them." 
 
 Her words rang with a childlike joy. He 
 asked where Perros-Guirec was in a voice that
 
 t)e Beautiful iHies Brooke. 101 
 
 was somewhat desolate at the prospect of los 
 ing her* 
 
 "It's in Brittany a whole day's journey 
 from Paris. I was there two years ago, and 
 sketched most of the time. Everybody is 
 thinking of leaving now, the heat will soon be 
 getting unbearable. The Grand Prix has been 
 run, the Battle of Flowers has been fought, 
 and the Alice de Longchamps is deserted. All 
 the smart people are in villegiature. How 
 nice is the evening after the sultry day!" 
 
 They were passing through the Boulevard 
 St. Germain. Miss Brooke was sitting just 
 close enough to Paul for them to touch with 
 the swaying of the carriage. He felt singu 
 larly happy. The hushed sounds of the city 
 over which the dusk hung mystic came to 
 him like a soft sustained tone of music; its 
 lights gleamed in upon them with magic rays. 
 He was conscious of the great dark masses of 
 palaces, of shadowy pedestrians moving noise-
 
 102 l)c Beautiful Miss Brooke. 
 
 lessly on the side-paths. No fever in the air 
 now, only a far-reaching calm. 
 
 "The night makes one almost sorry to 
 leave Paris," resumed Miss Brooke. Her voice 
 made the harmonies sweeter, blending them 
 all into one perfect harmony. 
 
 "But the breezes, and the woods, and the 
 rye-fields, and the farm-houses with their de 
 licious old oak presses, and the kind-hearted 
 people, and the quaint children who love to 
 watch you sketch and see you squeeze the 
 paint out of the tubes the memory of all 
 these things draws you back to them. I long 
 for Brittany almost as much as I once longed 
 to leave everything and everybody and be just 
 myself and by myself. It seems so long ago 
 now." 
 
 She had almost unconsciously moved 
 closer to him now. 
 
 "Won't you tell me when that was 
 Lisa?"
 
 (Efye Beautiful illiss Brooke. 103 
 
 It was the first time he had dared to call 
 her by this name. In his longing to utter it in 
 articulate speech it had rushed to the tip of his 
 tongue. 
 
 "It was three years ago before I came 
 here. Every place had associations that hurt 
 me. I wanted to get away to work, work, 
 work. I seemed to hate everybody. So I 
 came here, and for months I thought I was as 
 hard as a stone. Then one day I found myself 
 angry with a girl a fellow-student and I 
 was quite surprised to find I could feel at all. 
 And then I was suddenly glad I was a human 
 being again." 
 
 Her voice melted away into the vast 
 murmur of the soft-twinkling city. Beyond 
 the fact that he was selfishly glad she had 
 had trouble it afforded him the exquisite 
 pleasure of sympathy there was no active 
 thought in him now, no estimation of the 
 position. His soul alone dominated ; it had
 
 104 l)e Betwtifal Jttiss Srooke. 
 
 been moved to responsiveness and it now 
 wrought out its mood, subtly surrounding 
 her, he felt, with its comfort. 
 
 They crossed the mysterious, glistening 
 river, and came upon the myriad flame- 
 points of the Place de la Concorde. They 
 turned into the Champs Elysees betwixt 
 woods enchanted by the sorcerer Night ; 
 catching glimpses of palaces of light amid 
 the trees whence melody came floating, 
 mingled with the incense of the summer. 
 
 "Won't you tell me, Lisa that is, if 
 you think you can trust me." 
 
 It was sweet to exercise the privilege of 
 calling her "Lisa." He felt it was his for 
 always now. 
 
 "I know I can trust you, Paul. Would 
 you really care to hear? Of course you 
 would," she continued quickly, giving him 
 no time to reply. "What a silly question 
 for me to ask ! Still there is little to tell !
 
 l)e Seautifal iflies Srookc. 105 
 
 I loved a man. We were to be married. 
 His mind was poisoned against me by an 
 enemy. He was harsh and unjust. A few 
 words sum all up. He is married to an 
 other. A commonplace chapter, is it not? 
 But to have lived through it to have lived 
 through it!" 
 
 He grew dazed and white. "To have 
 lived through it ! " Those simple words 
 seemed to his comprehending mood athrob 
 with the sobbing of great grief. 
 
 "But you do not love him now?" he 
 breathed. 
 
 "No, no! All is over now. But I 
 brooded and brooded and thought the ex 
 perience made me a woman. Life is a seri 
 ous thing to me now. I feel better and 
 stronger for what I have suffered. But the 
 memory remains." 
 
 "You have nothing to reproach yourself 
 with, Lisa. Surely there are happier memo-
 
 106 f]e Beautiful <ttiss Ijrookc. 
 
 ries in store for you. It is for you but to 
 shape the future." 
 
 He longed for her impulsive "How?" 
 and had his answer ready. It seemed a 
 strange thing, but this confession of a past 
 love, this telling of a great sorrow in her 
 life, had wrought a spell upon him. His 
 eyes were full of tears. In that moment 
 his love for her seemed to have increased 
 a thousandfold. The surprise with which 
 the revelation had overwhelmed him was 
 lost in the rush of pity. She had suffered, 
 and by his love he would make everything 
 up to her. 
 
 But now there came a sudden change, 
 slight in its outward manifestation, but felt 
 by him like a chill blast, for his soul vi 
 brated to hers, registering every subtle 
 shade of her mood. She did not speak 
 immediately, and he knew that moment of 
 silence was fatal.
 
 l)e Beautiful .JUiss Brooke. 107 
 
 They had passed the round point of the 
 Champs Elysees, and the woods and gar 
 dens had ended. Only the giant hdtels 
 rose on either hand. There seemed more 
 carriages darting about now, a greater 
 movement of life, a general sense of dis 
 enchantment in the air, of an awakening 
 from a dream to the clattering reality of 
 things. Paul realised that the spell was 
 broken. 
 
 Miss Brooke had turned her head for a 
 moment to look through the window. 
 
 "We shall be there in two or three 
 minutes now," she said, as a sort of nat 
 ural outcome of her ascertaining their ex 
 act whereabouts. "I am afraid I must 
 rather have depressed you. It is scarcely 
 courteous to our hostess for us to arrive 
 in so gloomy a mood." 
 
 She gave a little laugh which set his 
 every nerve a-tingle, so certainly did its
 
 io8 l)e Beamifnl Miss Brooke. 
 
 ring lack the appealing quality that had 
 brought him so close to her. It seemed 
 to thrust him back abruptly and brutally. 
 
 "Tell me, Paul, haven't you ever had 
 any love affairs?" she went on to ask, and 
 there was a suspicion of banter in her tone. 
 "I've told you all about my tragedy, now 
 tell me about yours or all yours. I know 
 we've told each other all our lives before, 
 but of course we both bowdlerized. The 
 most interesting parts have yet to be 
 told." 
 
 As she had asked him a direct question 
 he felt constrained to answer it. He found 
 himself considering whether his relation to 
 Celia need count as a love affair, but he 
 was so convinced he had never been in 
 love with her at all that he decided he 
 could leave her out without doing violence 
 to his conscience. Altogether there had been 
 in his life two very minor and foolish amour-
 
 lje Seoutifnl ittiss Brook*. 109 
 
 ettes that might have became entangle 
 ments ; one with a barmaid when he was 
 in the lawyer's office, some of the clerks 
 having persuaded him the girl "was gone 
 on him," the other with a simple maiden of 
 sixteen, the daughter of a market gardener, 
 which idyll had proceeded at his father's 
 country seat. Paul told the latter it was 
 a boyish passion that had come .te nothing 
 and stood for nothing in his life ; -the former 
 he was ashamed of. "I proposed -to her 
 and gave her a mortal fright. She was so 
 scared she ran away. We were both shame 
 faced when we met again, and my spurt of 
 pluck was at an end. I dared not say an 
 other word to her, and somehow we drifted 
 out of being sweethearts. I was barely nine 
 teen at the time." 
 
 Miss Brooke laughed again heartily, but 
 Paul only felt the gloomier. 
 
 "Tell me some more, please. You put 
 
 8
 
 no lje Jtecmtifal ittiss Brooke. 
 
 me into quite a cheerful humour. What 
 was your next love affair ? " 
 
 She had resumed her old militant badinage. 
 
 "There is nothing more in my biography 
 that is likely to entertain you," he answered 
 evasively. 
 
 "Is it so bad as that, Paul? I think you 
 might tell me all the same. I'm not easily 
 shocked." 
 
 "You mistake me. I have told you all," 
 he replied, driven to the lie direct. 
 
 "Come, come, Mr. Paul. In a woman 
 one might expect such a want of candour. 
 But suppose I tell you my other affairs will 
 that encourage you to tell me yours? Is it 
 a bargain ? '' 
 
 "Your other affairs?" he repeated. 
 
 "Did you imagine I've had only one in 
 my life ? That's paying me a very poor 
 compliment. This is our destination." 
 
 "Why do you tease me, Lisa?" he
 
 JJeamifal iHios Srooke. 
 
 asked, as they descended. He was relieved 
 that the drive had come to an end. It 
 had been a trying time for him. He won 
 dered what it was all coming to ? Just 
 when the critical moment had come she 
 had practically inhibited him from speaking. 
 She was a strange, baffling girl, and he was 
 helpless in her hands. 
 
 "I'm not teasing you, I simply want to 
 finish my confessions. You must dance 
 three dances with me, and talk to me a 
 lot after. Perhaps I shall succeed in soften 
 ing you and then you'll be more tractable. 
 We dance till midnight. After that we sup 
 and converse till dawn. It seems there are 
 special complications and permissions for 
 dancing and music in the small hours, as one's 
 neighbours above and below are apt to want 
 to sleep just then. Dora shirked the bother, 
 especially as her French is so weak and 
 her husband's worse."
 
 ii2 |)e Beautiful illies Brooke. 
 
 They went up the stairway and were 
 warmly welcomed by Mrs. McCook. It 
 was a pleasant gathering of nice-looking 
 men and pretty girls, but Paul was only 
 half alive to it. To him it was scarcely 
 more than a mere background for the fur 
 ther development of his drama. So far he 
 took these further love-affairs of Miss Brooke 
 as the purest make-believe, but all the same 
 he was curiously uneasy and anxious to 
 hear what she had in mind to tell him. 
 
 When he could talk to her again, he 
 could discover no trace in her manner of 
 her having lived through with him a su 
 preme emotional moment. The softness 
 that had given him a glimpse of infinite 
 love, and which he had perhaps hoped 
 might reveal itself again, was absent ; in its 
 place the old niceness and the frank friend 
 liness of comradeship, and with them the 
 old warning to him to stand back. She
 
 <!)? Beautiful flliss Drookc. 113 
 
 proceeded to give him the promised account 
 of her various lovers in a light, mocking 
 mood. 
 
 "I began very early, much earlier than 
 your simple country maiden. My memories 
 of childhood are rather hazy, but I should 
 say I must have had a lover before I was 
 out of my cradle. But I was thirteen be 
 fore my heart was really moved. Since 
 then I have been in love with so many 
 men that I really can't remember half of 
 them. However, I'll try and pick out those 
 that affected me most seriously at the time. 
 The first one was really a very nice school 
 boy. His idea of love-making was to feed me 
 incessantly with candy, which he did for a 
 whole year till I fell a victim to the charms 
 of another boy. The two fought. Both 
 emerged from the combat with black eyes, 
 which rather spoilt their beauty, and there 
 fore killed my interest in them. It required
 
 H4 lje JJeemlifal Mies Brooke. 
 
 quite an heroic effort, though, to refuse 
 their offerings." 
 
 "And was this method of love-making 
 as satisfying to them as it was to you ? " 
 asked Paul, beginning to be confirmed in 
 his supposition that Miss Brooke was jok 
 ing. 
 
 "Oh, we used to have clandestine meet 
 ings and we used to kiss, of course. That 
 made me rather tired of them. They wanted 
 to be kissing the whole time." 
 
 Paul had a momentary vertigo, though he 
 professed by his manner to be listening in the 
 same spirit as Miss Brooke narrated. 
 
 " The first one was always a nice boy even 
 when he grew up and was always ready to 
 fall in love with me again. But one fine day 
 he got engaged, wrote to tell me about it, and 
 asked me to congratulate him. He married. 
 That finishes with him. 
 
 "The next interesting one was a college
 
 4tti0s Brooke. 115 
 
 man. I was about sixteen then and at the 
 height of my musical ambition. He was 
 musical, too, in fact quite an enthusiast. He 
 used to pilot me about to concerts and send 
 me tickets for the opera. Besides I was strug 
 gling then with Latin, Greek, and Conic Sec 
 tions, and he used to help me polish off things 
 for selfish reasons, of course." 
 
 "And used you to kiss this time as well?" 
 he asked, no longer questioning that he was 
 hearing her personal history. 
 
 "Only at very sentimental moments," she 
 replied, apparently overlooking the mockery 
 in his voice. " I was older and a greater ex 
 pert in emotions. One's first experiments are 
 necessarily crude. But, to proceed, my cava 
 lier lost his head one day and wanted me to 
 marry him at once, which was rather absurd. 
 So I had to give him his cong6 and accept the 
 attentions of a less violent lover. I had always 
 a reserve to draw upon, but so long as a man
 
 n6 |)e Beautiful Uliss Brooke. 
 
 behaved nicely and didn't get altogether un 
 reasonable, I let it accumulate. My musical 
 friend, however, gave me some trouble. We 
 had several stormy interviews, and at last I had 
 positively to refuse to see him. One fine day 
 he, too, got engaged and wrote to me asking 
 me to congratulate him. I know he was di 
 vorced some time since, but I've completely 
 lost sight of him." 
 
 At this moment Miss Brooke was led away 
 to dance, but was able to join him again be 
 fore very long. 
 
 "The next " were her first words, in 
 
 a mock-solemn, long-drawn-out tone, as she 
 took his arm and then she broke into laughter. 
 "The next was a tall Southerner with nice 
 manners, a soft voice, and a pretty way of 
 calling me 'ma'am.' He, too, was musical 
 naturally, I preferred musical lovers then. The 
 Colonel, as everybody called him, literally 
 worshipped me, but he was as poor as a
 
 bc Ocantiful ittiss Brooke. 117 
 
 church mouse, and I used to think myself very 
 noble to be satisfied to get stuck with him in 
 back seats at concert-halls. He went back 
 South after graduating, swearing he'd never 
 forget me; but, as soon as he'd made his for 
 tune, he was coming back to marry me. I 
 thought that if the illusion would help him to 
 make his fortune, he might as well keep it. 
 In any case I should have given him cause to 
 be grateful to me. He wrote to me half-a- 
 dozen times, then there was a break of some 
 months; and, when I had almost forgotten 
 him, one fine day I got a letter from him." 
 
 "Announcing his engagement and asking 
 you to congratulate him," said Paul, with bit 
 terness. 
 
 "Yes. I think you may take that for 
 granted. It is what they all do. Is it any use 
 my telling you more ? I'm beginning to think 
 the recital is getting monotonous. And then 
 there are some coming along and I can't re-
 
 n8 |)e Jteontiftti Mies Srookc. 
 
 member the exact order, which came before 
 which." 
 
 She seemed to hurry over her last words as 
 though impatient to be done, and wearied and 
 bored by the memory of all these dallyings 
 with sentiment. The mocking merriment ap 
 peared also to have died out of her face and 
 voice. She gazed idly at the dancers who, in 
 the restricted space, almost constantly brushed 
 up against them as they stood pressed close to 
 the wall Paul wondered if he were looking 
 haggard. The air of careless merriment he 
 had at first forced himself to assume had given 
 way, as he listened, to a sort of nervous 
 apathy. The one great passion of hers she 
 had confided to him had drawn him closer to 
 her by its intrinsic dignity. It had appealed 
 to his finer nature, stirring it to its very 
 depths. But these later revelations of hers re 
 volted him by their very pettiness. What had 
 her parents been at that such a girl had been
 
 Seantifttl ittiss JBrooke. 119 
 
 allowed to run wild in that fashion ? It was 
 monstrous she had not been supervised and 
 prevented from stooping to these foolish and 
 frivolous relations with foolish and frivolous 
 men men she had allowed to kiss her lips! 
 
 The pang that tore him at the image re 
 vealed to him how powerless he was. He 
 glanced at her again as she stood at his side. 
 There was a half-sad expression now on her 
 face, which had resumed all its babyishness 
 again. The lock of hair near her ear lay about 
 in a dainty twist. Her lips showed innocent 
 and red. To kiss them he would lay down 
 his life! 
 
 He was shaken ; he wanted to sob aloud. 
 But he was at a festive gathering. Round, 
 round, up and down the room went the 
 dancers, shuffling forward with their rapid 
 glide, the men bending their long, supple 
 bodies, the flowing curves of the women's 
 dresses imparting a greater grace to the move-
 
 120 (Tlic Dcantifnl IVliso Brooke. 
 
 ment. The whole scene was dreamy to him. 
 His inner thought was the only reality. 
 
 Why had she told him, why had she told 
 him ? he moaned within himself. Then as he 
 saw a new softness appear in her face, a 
 gleam of comfort came to him. Perhaps it 
 had been from motives of conscience and she 
 really repented all; perhaps, too, she had 
 thought it right to tell him everything before 
 allowing him to ask her to be his. 
 
 He would overlook all those episodes if 
 only she would be his. If even they had been 
 more serious, if even she had been a dishon 
 oured woman, he knew now he would have 
 had no strength not to condone. If any one 
 had told him a year ago that he Paul would 
 one day be both willing and eager to make 
 such concessions as regards the past of a 
 woman he contemplated making his wife, he 
 would have denied the statement indignantly 
 as a libel on himself.
 
 l)e Beautiful itliss Brooke. 121 
 
 She turned suddenly, and their looks met. 
 Her face lighted up with a smile. "Come, 
 Paul, it's your turn now?" 
 
 "My turn!" he echoed, her words for 
 the moment startlingly sounding like an in 
 vitation to take his place in the procession of 
 her lovers. 
 
 "Yes," she said. "Who was your 
 sweetheart after the gardener's daughter?" 
 
 He denied any further love, though hating 
 to tell the lie. But Miss Brooke persisted, 
 entreating, provoking, urging, coaxing, pout 
 ing; subtly transforming herself into the 
 child with its lovable moods and move 
 ments; enslaving him, rendering him pow 
 erless at her will, with this one strange 
 exception he could be strong enough to 
 withhold from her the episode he was 
 ashamed of. 
 
 "Paul, Paul," she said sternly. "Tell 
 the truth. Are you not in love now?"
 
 122 l]e ijeantifnl -ftliss Brooke. 
 
 He scarcely dared look at her. He was 
 conscious of that lock again and of another 
 on her forehead. 
 
 "Silence betrays. Did you come to Paris 
 for the sake of your architecture or to be 
 near me?" 
 
 "To be near you, Lisa," he breathed.
 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ALTHOUGH the thought of Lisa's old flirta 
 tions obtruded and pricked occasionally, Paul 
 went about the next morning in a state of 
 subdued happiness. A wonderful calm had 
 come over him, disturbed only at the mo 
 ments when he had to thrust from him those 
 images of other men kissing Lisa's lips. 
 Those meaningless loves had been long dead, 
 he argued, and, since she had made the con 
 fession voluntarily at the risk of estranging 
 his love, it would be unfair to her for him 
 to dwell upon them now. 
 
 At the same time he could never have 
 conceived the possibility of such a line of 
 argument on his part in the days before he 
 
 123
 
 124 fje Secmtifal /Hiss Brooke. 
 
 had met Miss Brooke. Love had, indeed, 
 set at naught all the principles he had thought 
 to abide by had made him yield his demand 
 for that absolute soul-virginity he had deemed 
 the very basis of his choice. 
 
 But away with all that now! Her love 
 for him was, of a surety, the first that had 
 come into her life since her great sorrow. 
 As for Pemberton, there had never been the 
 slightest sentiment between her and him. 
 No doubt the fellow would now take a suit 
 able place in the background of their life, and 
 they would welcome him as an acquaintance. 
 Why should he bear the man animosity ? 
 
 He could not do any work that morning, 
 but strolled hither and thither, getting joyous 
 impressions from the sun-lit city. Lisa had 
 not only promised to dine in the evening at 
 the Cafe Pousset and afterwards to go with 
 him to see a melodrama at the Ambigu, 
 most of the other theatres having closed their
 
 Ueautifal ilti00 Brooke. 125 
 
 doors, but she had given him permission to 
 take his holiday at Perros-Guirec during the 
 whole two months of her stay there, so that he 
 would be virtually one of the party. The 
 immediate outlook was, therefore, very agree 
 able. 
 
 He returned to the maison meubtte where 
 his quarters were, immediately after his mid 
 day meal, and passed the afternoon packing 
 away his luggage, which occupation gave 
 him the pleasurable feeling that his prepara 
 tions for the happy time to come were in 
 full swing. He sang and whistled as he 
 worked, his overflowing vigour manifesting 
 itself in the bold ornamental letters with 
 which he made out the labels for his trunks : 
 " Middleton, Paris a Perros-Guirec." At 
 half-past five he began to think of taking 
 a stroll before dinner, and was on the 
 point of doing so when the concierge 
 brought him up a letter with the charac-
 
 i26 (Elje Jteautifal 41U0S Brooke. 
 
 teristic explanation that it had come in the 
 morning, shortly after monsieur had gone out, 
 and that he had forgotten about it as mon 
 sieur passed by before. 
 
 Paul recognised his mother's writing, and 
 stayed to read it. At first it did not seem 
 to contain anything of special importance, 
 covering much the same ground as many of 
 its predecessors, and dealing with one or 
 two business matters. On the third page 
 came a reproach that he had allowed three 
 weeks go by without writing. 
 
 "I can understand," continued his mother, 
 "that all those hours of engrossing work 
 every day must leave you quite fatigued, my 
 poor child. But surely I am very reasonable 
 in my demands, and one letter a week is 
 not such a very heavy tax on you. Are you 
 sure you are not overworking yourself, dear 
 Paul ? You were always a delicate child. 
 and you are certainly not strong enough to
 
 l)e Beautiful ,#1100 Brooke. 127 
 
 go on living in a French hotel, with only 
 strangers to look after you. Don't you think 
 you ought to take a long holiday now? I 
 am going to take Celia to Dieppe it has 
 all been decided and arranged to-day. The 
 poor child has been worried and fretting 
 and poorly for a long time past, and sadly 
 needs this entire change of scene. Now 
 suppose, dear Paul, you come and join us at 
 Dieppe. You will be near to me, and I 
 can look after you again, if only for a 
 couple of months. We shall be starting 
 the day after to-morrow, and we shall be 
 staying at the Hotel de Paris. Write to 
 me, dear Paul, direct there, or, better still, 
 come down and surprise us. Celia, I am 
 sure, will be delighted to see you. I never 
 understood what happened between you 
 two exactly. You said 'good-bye' so stiffly 
 that I made sure you had quarrelled, though 
 Celia assures me that was not so. She is a
 
 1 28 |)e Beautiful JJliss Brook*. 
 
 dear, good girl, and I love her as if she 
 were my own daughter." 
 
 Of course he couldn't go. What a bother 
 to have to refuse ! Why had they just fixed 
 on Dieppe when they might have gone to 
 Norway or taken a jaunt up to Scotland ! 
 And then, too, confound it! they might even 
 make a descent upon him at Perros-Guirec, 
 for he would have to tell his mother that 
 was the place where he had already ar 
 ranged to spend his holiday with friends. 
 He must discuss the matter with Lisa be 
 fore replying to her or telling her of his 
 intended marriage. 
 
 But he had scarcely time to digest the 
 letter before the man brought him up an 
 other which the postman had just left. This 
 time the writing was Lisa's. What could 
 she have to write to him about if it were 
 not to postpone the evening's engagement? 
 His nervous fingers tore at the envelope.
 
 Scautifnl Miss Brooke. 129 
 
 "DEAR PAUL. Please don't come for me 
 this evening, and, indeed, you must never 
 come for me again. In writing this I am 
 acting the part of a very good friend to 
 you, and it is as a very good friend I 
 should like you to remember me, as I shall 
 always remember you. Yours sincerely, 
 "ELIZABETH BROOKE." 
 
 So all was over ! Behind the simplicity 
 of the words he perceived a terrible inex- 
 orableness. If only she had signed "Lisa," 
 it would not have crushed him so much ; 
 but the "Elizabeth Brooke" was paraly 
 zing. 
 
 When his hand was steady enough, he 
 wrote : 
 
 "DEAR LISA: Need I say your note has 
 quite stunned me? Won't you give me a 
 word of explanation ? PAUL."
 
 130 Stye Beautiful ifliss Srooke. 
 
 The concierge's boy delivered this at Miss 
 Brooke's pension. 
 
 He scarcely knew how he got through 
 the night. Every now and again he woke 
 up and tossed about ; and when he did 
 lose consciousness, he had a sense of a 
 grey infinity in which there was a great 
 chasm. He wanted to rush to it to close it up, 
 but was held back by some strange power. 
 
 The morning's post brought him Miss 
 Brooke's reply. 
 
 "DEAR PAUL. I am glad your letter is 
 so sensible and to the point. Of course I 
 owe you an explanation, but I want you 
 not to insist on it, because I fear it will 
 hurt you too much. The pain it would 
 give me I deserve. Yours, LISA." 
 
 He found this note infinitely softer than 
 the first and was encouraged to write again.
 
 l)e Beautiful iUioo Brooke. 131 
 
 "DEAR LISA. I am not strong enough to 
 face the punishment unless I know my sin. 
 The pain of listening to you can be nothing 
 to the pain of this horrible gap in my 
 mind. Won't you let me see you for the 
 last time ? Remember it is only a day 
 since you told me you loved me. Don't 
 refuse. PAUL." 
 
 To which came the reply by his own 
 messenger. 
 
 " DEAR PAUL. Come this evening at eight 
 and you will find me alone. Yours, 
 
 "LISA." 
 
 All day long he nerved himself for the 
 interview. He would rehearse nothing, an 
 ticipate nothing. When the time came, he 
 would speak straight from his heart. Per 
 haps he might yet move her.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Miss BROOKE received him with the same 
 cheery frankness as of yore, gave him a 
 quick hand-shake, and installed him in his 
 old place on the knobby-springed ottoman 
 beneath the hanging book-shelves. The 
 little table was laid, as usual, for after- 
 dinner coffee, and the small copper kettle 
 was boiling over a spirit-lamp. She was 
 the first to speak. 
 
 "You were right, Paul. I have been 
 thinking a good deal, and I have come to 
 agree with you that we ought to have a 
 last talk together. I am sensible that I am 
 a thoroughly unscrupulous person please 
 don't contradict me, I mean it in sober 
 
 138
 
 t)e Dcantifnl fflies Drookt. 133 
 
 earnest but I am not without my redeem 
 ing moments, and so it happens I feel I 
 ought to make my apology to you before 
 we part. Apology ! That is a very weak 
 word to use after my immoral behaviour 
 towards you. I mean to talk to you very 
 openly, in fact, I am going to confess the 
 whole extent of my misconduct. Only I 
 want you to believe that to do so will 
 hurt me if possible even more than you. 
 I really do want your sympathy very 
 badly, Paul, although I know I don't de 
 serve it." 
 
 Her beautiful face was grave, and her 
 voice a shade anxious. In her eyes was 
 an expression of sincerity that compelled 
 acceptance. 
 
 "1 know you will make me understand 
 everything, Lisa," he said. 
 
 "You must withhold your judgment till 
 I have finished. I am going to be absolutely
 
 134 l)e Beautiful iJliss Brooke. 
 
 candid, though I am not sure whether I 
 have ever succeeded in telling the truth 
 about things, the whole truth, and nothing 
 but the truth, even to myself. One shrinks 
 from laying bare the causes and motives 
 of one's thoughts and conduct, even when 
 no other eye is looking. But I should feel 
 myself quite vile now if I concealed the least 
 thing from you." 
 
 " One can over-accentuate the baseness 
 of one's motives as well as cover it up," 
 he suggested. 
 
 "It is very kind of you, Paul, to try and 
 spare me. But please save up your mercy ; 
 I warn you I shall be sadly in need of it 
 later on. To come to facts now, Paul, I 
 have tried to victimise you from the be 
 ginning. I have dissembled and told you 
 lies throughout. I have systematically acted 
 a part. I have never loved you." 
 
 He tried to make some articulation, but
 
 I) Seautifol ifliae Srooke. 135 
 
 not a muscle moved. He sat as if turned 
 to stone. 
 
 " That first evening we met I knew I 
 had turned your head, and I could see at 
 once you were inexperienced with women 
 as surely as if the fact had been branded 
 upon you. I had heard somebody point 
 you out and say you were worth fifteen 
 thousand pounds a year, and, as afterwards 
 you yourself told me you were rich, any 
 doubt I might have had on the point was 
 removed. My own poverty had just been 
 painfully brought home to me, for I had 
 been forced to leave Paris for want of 
 money at the very moment my ambition 
 began to look reasonable. I was feeling 
 particularly bitter about it as there was no 
 certainty at all of my being able to come 
 back here. Poppa's savings had all gone 
 in starting me with a good stock of dresses 
 and keeping me here two years. He had
 
 136 ffilje Beautiful UU0s Srooke. 
 
 hoped to be able to do more for me, but 
 he could only send me my passage-money. 
 Fifteen or even ten thousand pounds a year 
 is a great temptation to a poor girl. Chance 
 had never yet thrown in my way a really 
 rich suitor, and there was I, at the moment 
 of meeting him, almost on the eve of de 
 parture, with very little money in my pocket 
 and indebted to the kindness of a lady for 
 her invitation to stay the month in London. 
 She had taken my room for me as she could 
 not accommodate me at her own house. 
 You see how poor I was ! I set myself 
 puzzling in the coolest possible way as to 
 how I could get you. Instinct as well as 
 the ease with which I had bewitched you 
 told me there were romantic possibilities in 
 /you, of which you had scarcely any sus 
 picion and which might easily be played 
 upon. And a plan formed at once in my 
 mind in the ultimate success of which I
 
 l) Jkantifal iflies Brooke. 137 
 
 had the fullest confidence. To put the idea 
 into your head that we meet again here in 
 a year's time was to appeal to your romantic 
 side. That is why I mentioned the Beaux 
 Arts to you your love for architecture made 
 my game easy. I was now determined that 
 nothing should stand in the way of my re 
 turning to Paris, that poppa somehow must 
 raise the necessary money even if he ran 
 into debt. Happily he was able to send me 
 back and to see his way clear to keep me 
 going as long as I chose to stay." 
 
 Miss Brooke paused a moment and poured 
 out Paul's coffee, which, however, he let stand 
 untouched. 
 
 "Everything turned out just as I had cal 
 culated," she continued, after taking a sip at 
 her own. " You had carried me in your mind 
 the whole time, and you had been waiting for 
 me and counting on my coming. So far I 
 was delighted. For a time all went smoothly.
 
 138 STIje Seamifal ittiss Crooke. 
 
 You were mine completely. But then an un 
 foreseen force began suddenly to act on the posi 
 tion. My old enthusiasm for my work came 
 back, and with it my old mad ambitions. Do 
 you know what first gave me those mad ambi 
 tions ? You shall hear in a moment. Any 
 way, my old intolerance against anything like 
 dependence rose up in me. I wanted to make 
 a great name and a great deal of money, all by 
 myself. A picture by a great master we ad 
 mired it together at the salon had just sold 
 for thirty thousand dollars, and that inflamed 
 me. No woman painter has yet existed of 
 absolutely the first rank; one and all have 
 been influenced, more or less, by a man. I 
 wanted to be the first woman whose work 
 should be absolutely great, absolutely original. 
 I wanted the honour for America, for I am 
 proud of being an American woman. But you 
 were on the spot, and I had only to moVe my 
 little finger to get you. You were an eternal
 
 l)e Beautiful ifliss Brooke. 139 
 
 temptation. Don't you think I knew you 
 were jealous of Charlie ? He has been in love 
 with me ever since I first came here; but, 
 poor devil, he only just manages to get along, 
 and is only too glad if he's not behindhand 
 with his studio rent. The reason 1 allowed 
 him to hang round so much was partly be 
 cause he had become a habit of mine, and 
 partly to help me not to be tempted to give 
 you too much of my company. 
 
 "I really wanted to fight against the 
 temptation of your money, but more for my 
 own sake than yours. In the first place I did 
 not love you. And in the second, I could 
 read your nature like a book. Your ideas and 
 mine would never go together. I wanted a 
 husband who would be content with such 
 moments of love as I could spare him out of 
 my career ; to whom I could go for love when 
 I wanted love; who would be content to live 
 out his own life and leave me to work out
 
 140 lic Beautiful Bliss Brooke. 
 
 mine. I do not want to be kept by my hus 
 band rather than that I should prefer to keep 
 him. All my rooted independence had sprung 
 up as by magic the moment I took up my 
 brush and palette again and looked at the 
 model. Your notions were far too primitive 
 for me. You would have allowed me to go 
 on with my art as a concession to do credit 
 to your name, perhaps. You would have 
 looked upon my pictures as sacred, to be 
 hung in your house and worshipped by you 
 before your guests; I should have wanted to 
 sell them, to convert them into dollars. 
 
 "Do you wonder now I was strong 
 enough to hesitate ? I was only too glad 
 when Dora said she was going to carry me off 
 to Perros-Guirec. It would take me away 
 from you and temptation. Then you sent 
 me those flowers. I was touched. Not by 
 the flowers, but by the train of thought they 
 set going. The ghost of my conscience came
 
 fftlje Seanlifnl Ulies Brooke. 141 
 
 up, suggesting I should be treating you badly, 
 seeing 'you had 'em so bad.' And then you 
 had, say, ten thousand pounds a year! That, 
 I suppose, had something to do with the rising 
 of the phantom. So I determined to take you 
 to Dora's of course, she replied at once she 
 would be pleased to welcome you and I 
 made up my mind, half to amuse myself, that 
 I would make you propose in the cab on the 
 way to her. I could read you through and 
 through, and knew your every thought. So 
 far 1 had kept you at a perceptible distance, 
 now it pleased me to draw you close to me, 
 and to see you obey without my uttering a 
 single word of command. I told you about 
 my old engagement just then because it gave 
 me a sensation of daring. I calculated on stir 
 ring the romance and chivalry in you still 
 more deeply. The experiment was risky 
 but it succeeded. You responded like a good 
 
 ship to its helm. Then for the first time 
 10
 
 142 lK beautiful .fHiss Drookc. 
 
 since I had known you, Paul, I suffered re 
 morse real remorse. Why it came just 
 then I have never been able to make out, 
 but all of a sudden I was dreadfully sorry 
 for you. 
 
 "I saw clearly that even if I had loved 
 you, our lives could never harmonise; that 
 after the first honeymoon cooings, the conflict 
 of wills and ideas would inevitably set in, and 
 we should both be utterly and hopelessly mis 
 erable. But I did not love you, and I felt my 
 self in a terrible dilemma. You were on the 
 point of speaking, and the only thing I could 
 think of to stop you, and to stop you for 
 always, was to tell you my early flirtations. 
 I was hoping to play on your prejudices and 
 set you against me. I was true to myself then ; 
 I was throwing away how many thousands 
 a year? 
 
 " But I caused you suffering to no purpose, 
 and, as I realised nothing would make you
 
 !K ikantifnl ittiss jBrooke. 143 
 
 desist, the temptation of all those thousands 
 came upon me again. I argued I was 
 the stronger personality of the two, and I 
 should be able to manage you easily. Curi 
 ous how I accentuated the 'easily,' and 
 twisted my arguments to suit it. There was 
 little to do I just pulled the wire and the 
 puppet worked. You'll forgive me for calling 
 you a puppet, Paul, but you were one, you 
 know. 
 
 "Perhaps now you will begin to under 
 stand how I felt the next morning. I really 
 liked you, Paul, and I had done you so great a 
 wrong from the very moment of our first 
 meeting. I had not cried for more than three 
 years, Paul, but I cried then. The situation 
 was desperate, and there was nothing for it 
 but to apply a desperate remedy. 
 
 "I have not told you all. I have purposely 
 kept back something to the end. If I had 
 mingled it with the rest it would have been
 
 144 l)e Seontiful ittiss Brooke. 
 
 lost, and as it is my only claim on your sym 
 pathy, I have kept it for use by itself. It is 
 unfortunate that even here I have to begin 
 with the confession of another lie, but I have 
 already confessed to so many, I am hoping 
 that one more won't make me sink any lower 
 in your estimation. Besides, my motive in 
 telling it was good. I refer to my old engage 
 ment. The fact was true, but the details I 
 gave you were false. I had intended telling 
 you the truth, but somehow it stuck on my 
 lips. I felt I ought never to have used so 
 sacred an experience for such a purpose. I 
 had to invent a lie as I went on. But I cut it 
 as short as I could. 
 
 "I did love the man as, it seemed to me, 
 no woman could have loved a man before. 
 He was almost penniless, but I did not mind 
 that. I would have married him, and he 
 would not have interfered with my ambitions. 
 He would have been content to have me live
 
 QTI)e Beautiful ifliss Brooke. 145 
 
 away from him whilst I worked according to 
 my own spirit, and developed the gifts he was 
 the first to discover in me. For he was a 
 painter, too; had starved to get a training in 
 Europe, had starved while getting it. To help 
 us get a start I was content at first to absorb 
 myself in his work. That was a fatal mistake. 
 I can scarcely trace out how it came about 
 and to linger on it makes me suffer terribly 
 but with the lapse of time I ceased to exist for 
 him as a creature of flesh and blood. I sud 
 denly realised that I had become a mere in 
 spiration to him it was only the artist in me 
 he worshipped. All his heart and soul went 
 into his work he was no longer a man, but a 
 mere mind wielding a brush. I can see him 
 how absorbed before his canvas, tall and thin 
 with his scholar's stoop for Nesbit was a 
 scholar! But it had to end at last. I cried 
 bitterly for many a night after. I had a letter 
 from him one fine day "
 
 146 (Tljc Ucantiful HU0s Crookc. 
 
 "Announcing his engagement and asking 
 you to congratulate him ? " broke from Paul's 
 lips. His eyes were too dry for tears. 
 
 " It is the only letter of his I haven't burnt. 
 He is famous now, but the first picture he 
 ever sold went to buy my turquoise necklace 
 to match the comb I had from my mother. 
 His example was a noble one the first pic 
 ture I am offered money for shall go to poppa 
 instead. But he would never take the gift 
 back, and now I value it as his. It has al 
 ways given me great joy to wear it in fact, 
 that is my one great joy apart from my 
 work." 
 
 " You still love him ! You have loved 
 him all through ! " cried Paul. 
 
 Her face softened. " You see I have quite 
 an extraordinary vein of sentiment in me. 
 I am not sure whether I am not ashamed 
 of it." 
 
 "Tell me, Lisa if I may still call you
 
 Secmtifnl ittiss Brooke. 147 
 
 Lisa all those flirtations you told me about 
 were true ? " 
 
 "What a quaint question ! You haven't 
 drunk your coffee." He gulped down the 
 cold contents of the tiny cup at one draught, 
 for his mouth was parched. 
 
 "They all happened just as I told you, 
 and I haven't told you a quarter." 
 
 "And do you mind my asking you an 
 other quaint question ? Have you and Charlie 
 ever kissed?" 
 
 " I have always liked to have nice men 
 kiss me. It is a mania with me, and I 
 shall go on doing so till the end of the 
 chapter." 
 
 "All the same, Lisa, I love you still. Is 
 there no hope for me? I have no preju 
 dices. I want you, Lisa, just as you are. 
 Your life shall be perfectly free your ca 
 reer your own." 
 
 "You are good, Paul, and I have played
 
 148 (El)* Ikcmtifttl ittiss Brooke. 
 
 with you precisely as a cat plays with a 
 mouse. You will have observed I have a 
 good deal of the cat in me. Believe me, 
 I am in earnest when I say I am quite 
 unworthy of your love " 
 
 "No, Lisa," he began. 
 
 "Listen, Paul. I want you to understand 
 how much I love my lost darling. If he 
 were to leave his wife and child, now and 
 come to me and say he loved me, I would 
 go with him to the end of the earth. No, 
 no, Paul. My hope is only in my work. 
 I know I shall realise my ambition. Some 
 day you will marry a better woman than 
 I am. And if," she continued, with a 
 smile, "you care to write and let me 
 know, be sure I shall congratulate you 
 right heartily. Now tell me I have your 
 sympathy, and then let us say good 
 bye." 
 
 "I love you, Lisa. Is that not sufficient
 
 Ucautiful ifliss Brooke. 149 
 
 proof of my sympathy ? I shall leave Paris 
 to-night." 
 
 "Come, Paul, kiss me! For the first 
 time and last ! " 
 
 He brushed her lips so lightly that he 
 scarce had the consciousness of doing so ; 
 then he staggered from the room.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HE wandered he knew not whither, pene 
 trating into strange, silent regions his foot 
 had never trod. At the end of an hour 
 he found he had taken a long circuit 
 round, and that he had arrived again at 
 the hotel where Lisa lived. He crossed the 
 narrow street, and, standing in the shadow, 
 looked up at the window he knew so well. 
 It stood wide open, and he could see the 
 white ceiling of the lighted room, with the 
 huge Japanese umbrella making a glare of 
 colour against it. In the balcony sat two 
 figures full in the light that flooded out. 
 One was Miss Brooke, the other a stalwart 
 young man in a Norfolk suit he could not 
 
 150
 
 QTI)e Seanlifnl ittiss Srooke. 151 
 
 recollect having seen before. A vague sound 
 of their cheerful talking came down to him. 
 
 He turned away with a sigh, and strode 
 rapidly to his lodging. He lighted his lamp, 
 and, sinking into a chair, sat looking at his 
 trunks. The labels with their bold orna 
 mental lettering " Middleton, Paris a Per- 
 ros-Guirec " stared him mockingly in the 
 face. He averted his eyes, instinctively 
 seeking in his pocket for his mother's let 
 ter, which he had till now forgotten, and 
 was surprised to find it rolled into a ball. 
 Smoothing it out, he read it through 
 again. 
 
 "Write to me, dear Paul, direct there, 
 or, better still, come down and surprise us. 
 Celia, I am sure, will be delighted to see 
 you. I never understood what happened 
 between you two exactly. You said ' good 
 bye ' so stiffly that I made sure you had 
 quarrelled, though Celia assures me that it
 
 i5 2 l)c Beantifal ittioG Brooke. 
 
 was not so. She is a dear, good girl, 
 and I love her as if she were my own 
 daughter." 
 
 And with these words he seemed to read 
 the inevitableness of his fate. His rebellion 
 against it was over. He had broken loose 
 from the maternal leading-strings, but had 
 made a miserable failure without them. 
 Now he would help to fix them on him 
 again. 
 
 The millionaire's daughter, the keynote of 
 whose character had struck him as a charm 
 ing, simple frankness, and in pursuit of 
 whom he had set out, had proved to be 
 a more complex specimen of womanhood 
 than he could have imagined to exist, the 
 very essence of that femininity of which 
 he had always had an instinctive distrust. 
 Celia was not brilliant, but she was safe 
 he knew her well enough to be sure of 
 that.
 
 l]e JJeatUifal ittiss Srooke. 153 
 
 He seized a small brush and inked over 
 the flamboyant " Perros-Guirec," writing 
 over the black strip the word "Dieppe" 
 in the plainest of lettering. Then, finishing 
 what little packing there remained to be 
 done, he went out to consult a time-table 
 at a neighbouring cafe, where he wrote 
 and posted a note to his professor, and 
 another to the massier of his class. He 
 next hailed a cab at the rank, and the 
 concierge carried down his trunks. "A la 
 gare St. La^are!" 
 
 The cocker cracked his whip, and Paul, 
 lost in thought, was only vaguely conscious 
 of the streets and boulevards that had be 
 come so dear to him. 
 
 THE END.
 
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 DATE DUE 
 
 REC'D MAR 
 
 GAYLORD 

 
 3 1970 00578 3102 
 
 ffiliiiil 
 
 AA 000199423 5