THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 . W CALIF. UBRABY. tO9 ANGBLB9
 
 THE 
 
 JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 A Novel 
 
 BY 
 
 F. T. WAWN 
 
 "The joyful years are those when you are 
 finding yourselves, children." 
 
 SHAUN JAMES 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 E. P. DUTTON tf CO. 
 
 681 FIFTH AVENUE
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1917, 
 BT E. P. DUTTON & CO. 
 
 Printed fa the dtrfted State s of Hmerica
 
 TO 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
 2133374
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PART ONE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 3 
 
 PART TWO 
 TRANSFORMATION 233 
 
 vii
 
 PART ONE 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH
 
 PART ONE 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 
 
 ' Love is the wings of youth, on which it mounts skywards . . . ' 
 
 SHAUN JAMES. 
 
 AT four o'clock on a windy May afternoon of the year 
 1912 Shaun James and Cynthia Rosemary Bremner 
 were departing from the National Portrait Gallery with- 
 out regret in search of tea. Shaun was jaunty and 
 shabby, and walked in front; Cynthia, bright-eyed, fol- 
 lowed respectfully behind. She was young, she was 
 beautiful, with a pretty look of dignity; also she had 
 the unmistakable air of a girl accustomed to be waited 
 upon, so one of the attendants nudged the other, and 
 pointing to Shaun said, " 'E must be somebody!" to 
 which his more experienced comrade replied, ' ' 'E may. ' ' 
 Shaun was depressed, because he had intended to talk to 
 his chum of friendship and how easily it may change 
 into a warmer affection, and the sight of such a num- 
 ber of bad pictures had deprived him of power and 
 eloquence. He was repeating mentally : " I 'm forty, and 
 I look it. I get good reviews and bad sales. I had 
 an unhappy childhood, oh lor' men who've been un- 
 happy as children never become cheerful companions. 
 And she's only twenty-one after all! In spite of the 
 fact that I've taught her to think and to begin to 
 appreciate beauty, it still isn't impossible that she 
 should marry into her own class. You don't want to 
 spoil her happiness, Shaun! She's your own pal, 
 Shaun ! She doesn 't love you that way, however much 
 you may hope and pretend. . . . Although there may 
 
 3
 
 4 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 come a chance at dinner to-night. . . . But she's such 
 a perfect little chum ! ' ' 
 
 The radiant pal, joyous at having still an hour of 
 holiday to look forward to before the usual appoint- 
 ment at Liberty's with her mother, which although 
 pleasant enough in itself had become heavily monotonous 
 from force of repetition, stood by the side of Mr. James 
 upon the outer step (overtopping him by an inch), 
 turned starry grey eyes to his and said gracefully, 
 ' ' Thank you for a lovely afternoon. Please let me pay 
 for tea this time, Shaun." Several taxi-drivers pulled 
 up at the sight of her : Shaun, noticing them, moved off 
 the step to the pavement and started down the slope 
 towards Trafalgar Square. 
 
 He was able to remind himself once more of his age, 
 and of greater reasons for self-restraint, to say aloud, 
 "Yes, thank you, dear," and to invent a fairy-story of 
 old St. Martin's to tell her during tea, all as the last 
 stroke of four chimed from the slender steeple. 
 
 Peter Middleton was to dine with the Bremners that 
 night, and his work, which consisted just then of 
 slipping forms into envelopes, comparing the names 
 upon them as he did so, was suffering greatly in con- 
 sequence. Peter was distracted. The prospect of din- 
 ing in Portman Square with strangers filled him with 
 excitement and nervousness ; months afterwards he had 
 a painful interview with that high official, Laurence 
 Man, because of mistakes made before the Bremners' 
 dinner. Laurence himself never made mistakes, other- 
 wise he would not have reached at the juvenile age of 
 thirty-nine the exalted position that he occupied. And 
 he had an excuse for them which Peter did not possess, 
 for he was head over ears in love with the daughter 
 of Sir Everard and Lady Bremner; in spite of which 
 he was signing documents with a steady hand, undis- 
 turbed by the prospect of seeing Rosemary in a few 
 hours. Lady Bremner was Laurence's ally, so he called 
 the young lady by the name that Lady Bremner pre-
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 5 
 
 ferred it was characteristic of him. He was unmoved, 
 moreover, by the thought of the obnoxious scribbler 
 James, who was also to be present. Dangerous indi- 
 vidual though the man was, as was to be seen by Rose- 
 mary 's holding to his friendship against her people's 
 expressed wishes, Laurence could not concern himself 
 greatly about a novelist, poor as a church (or any 
 other kind of) mouse and therefore unlikely to attract 
 a girl in the way of marriage. Besides the fellow was 
 a widower girls don't care for widowers. 
 
 Laurence was furiously jealous when in the presence 
 of his beloved, but in her absence intellect ruled su- 
 preme; he was not emotionally imaginative. Four 
 o'clock struck, and he was able to dip his fine-pointed 
 pen into the inkpot with an easy mind, ignorant of the 
 identity of Peter except as a junior clerk in the service 
 of the Great Company, a potential maker of mistakes, 
 and happily unaware that he was to see such an in- 
 significant person at the Bremners'. 
 
 By four o'clock Peter had satisfied himself that he 
 remembered meeting a little girl much younger than 
 himself on the solitary occasion when his father had 
 taken him to visit Sir Everard Bremner. The child had 
 had fair hair and was dressed in white with short socks ; 
 she was called "Polly," a nice kid, who wanted to play 
 cricket when she grew up. She must be grown up now, 
 as he himself had reached the advanced age of twenty- 
 four. Peter wondered whether he would fall in love 
 with her, and expected that he should, if she were pretty 
 and not too "rough on a man." He might even get to 
 know her well supposing the parents weren't altogether 
 bored with him, which was what he expected must 
 happen, seeing that he had never been to a dinner-party 
 before. It was awfully decent of them to ask him. . . . 
 
 How lonely he had been since his father died ! Aunt 
 May had pitchforked him into this awful hole to earn 
 his living well, he supposed she couldn't do better, as 
 his father's pension had died with him. . . . Major Mid- 
 dleton's son, intended for the army . . . And now he 
 was a clerk, the companion of fellows he hated. Why,
 
 6 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 look at that animal, Blotter, over there, shirking his 
 work and pretending to be ever so busy no, he wasn't 
 Gad, he was putting it away! 
 
 With untactful promptitude Peter, who in his dreams 
 had been unaware of the progress of the minute-hand, 
 hurled his envelopes into a drawer, rushed for his hat 
 and coat and fled from the building.
 
 II 
 
 LADY BREMNER was accustomed to consider her husband 
 before her children, to regard them through his eyes, 
 and to treat them as she thought he would do in her 
 place. Sir Everard was ignorant of this, and Cynthia 
 suffered thereby. Her father's heart belonged to his 
 wife, his intellect was devoted to the affairs of the 
 Colonial Office, which he had served for thirty years. 
 He believed that Cynthia's confidence was given to her 
 mother and that the two women were leading a satis- 
 fying feminine life together in the region of teas, shop- 
 ping, and dances. It pleased him to keep her a child 
 and to behave to her as though she were seventeen in- 
 stead of being, as she was, at the restless and thought- 
 ful age of twenty-one. And Lady Bremner, imitating 
 him, had lost the girl's confidence already. 
 
 The trio appeared to form a devoted and united 
 family, while, as is the case in so many homes to-day, 
 they were moving towards an inevitable clash of tem- 
 peraments. Cynthia's fate pressed the more hardly 
 upon her because her only brother Alan had always 
 by his father's wish enjoyed the fullest liberty of 
 thought and action; he was now in chambers, inde- 
 pendent of Portman Square, with an allowance to sup- 
 plement the income which he drew as a clerk in the 
 Foreign Office, while Cynthia herself had to ask her 
 mother for change every time she went out, as she had 
 neither pocket-money nor dress allowance from which 
 to pay her cab-fares. 
 
 Amongst other preferences, Sir Everard liked to see 
 the hair of his womenfolk smartly arranged, and their 
 clothes what he would have called "neat," in other 
 words expensively simple, which was the reason why 
 Cynthia, who shared a maid with her mother, was 
 
 7
 
 8 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 dressed and finished and sitting alone in her room three- 
 quarters of an hour before the time for dinner. He 
 praised that appearance of finish, that almost varnished 
 air of smartness, which a good maid, and only a good 
 maid, can give to the attire of a young girl. This was 
 illogical and conflicted with his general desire to keep 
 his 'Polly' the little child he loved to remember her; 
 still, he like it, and Lady Bremner insisted upon regard- 
 ing his wish as 'Polly's' law. She. would loyally have 
 called the girl by the pet name she disliked, had she 
 not felt that Sir Everard preferred to keep it for his 
 own use, liking to hear his tall and beautiful daughter 
 addressed as 'Rosemary' by his wife and son, while 
 not objecting to the occasional 'Cynthia' that the 
 picturesque Shaun James let drop in public. 
 
 ' ' Why do you call him ' picturesque, ' Daddy ? ' ' asked 
 Cynthia once, rather rebelliously. 
 
 "Because he is," replied Daddy. "I do not say he 
 is not also clever!" It had not occurred to the girl 
 hitherto to observe her friend from the point of view 
 of decorativeness. 
 
 Now she was considering him again, seated in a room 
 which was coloured white and blue relieved by the palest 
 gold, a nest of flowered chintzes and delicate gold case- 
 ment hangings; where Cherries and My First Sermon 
 (early Cynthia), Burne- Jones reproductions and Alpine 
 photographs (middle or school period), and, greatly 
 daring, Eve and A Wounded Amazon of the present 
 Shaun James era, hung side by side upon the walls. 
 Shaun would have made ruthless eliminations and ob- 
 tained clearer space for the pictures that remained, 
 but Cynthia had not yet risen to this height of artistic 
 perfection. She added to her favourites and was never 
 unfaithful to an old friend. 
 
 A bright fire crackled on the hearth, the electric light 
 was white and searching also trying to the eyes and 
 complexion, a matter for which Cynthia's youth cared 
 little. She adorned a comfortable chair; and the maid, 
 busied with Lady Bremner, was certain not to return. 
 Cynthia was alone with her thoughts.
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 9 
 
 Yes, Shaun was really nice-looking, in spite of his 
 irregular features, because he looked what he was. One 
 could see he had been a journalist and had given it up 
 to write beautiful prose. His face was very clever, and 
 there was something more than clever about it, some- 
 thing that had developed. He was obviously an artist, 
 but also not a poet. His eyes looked into one, and not 
 upon one, so he could not be a painter or a sculptor, 
 and they were kind eyes. He so clearly 'understood' 
 that it was very sure he couldn't be a musician. . . . 
 
 These impressions followed instantaneously upon each 
 other in Cynthia's mind, without clothing themselves 
 in words. They would in all probability have evaded 
 her, had she tried to speak them aloud. She was quick 
 of understanding, but not very fluent in expressing 
 ideas in language, although she talked easily of facts 
 and opinions ; and this kept her free from conceit, mak- 
 ing her a sympathetic listener to a clever man. Sir 
 Everard had formed high hopes of her as a child, es- 
 pecially in the direction of mathematics, his favourite 
 study, but an illness having interrupted her education 
 at a critical age she had lost ground which had never 
 been picked up. The greater part of her intellectual 
 development she owed to Shaun. 
 
 Being a girl of striking good looks, who had already 
 received a number of proposals, much to her distress 
 and embarrassment, Cynthia of course was conscious 
 that Shaun was beginning to be in love with her. 
 Laurence Man she did not like and dismissed him there- 
 fore from her thoughts. Peter she remembered only as 
 a shy little boy who had failed to respond when a shy 
 little girl tried to make friends with him. His sad, 
 elderly, shabby father was dead now, and Daddy had 
 cried out at the breakfast table, ' ' My God ! Emmeline, 
 poor Middleton's gone at last," when he read the an- 
 nouncement in The Morning Post. That was years ago, 
 but she still had the clearest recollection of her mother 's 
 face of horror, which was not for Major Middleton. She 
 wondered, with some bitterness, why Daddy had not 
 looked up his old friend 's son before ; being accustomed
 
 10 THE JOYFUL YEAES 
 
 to set friendship on a higher plane than love, which 
 she considered a somewhat selfish emotion. She sup- 
 posed Daddy thought he had not time, as Major Mid- 
 dleton's death had happened just before he was given 
 his C.M.G., when he was so frightfully busy. Why, 
 that boy must be twenty-four, only two years younger 
 than Alan. She hoped he would not still be shy, for 
 she would probably have to go in with him if Mummy 
 did not give her Mr. Man. She was quite sure that if 
 Mr. Man were an author which he was neither clever 
 nor nice enough to be he would not value her opinion 
 of his work as Shaun did, although the dear had such 
 a fearful lot of trouble to extract it from her stupid 
 head ! 
 
 Francis Thompson's Poems, The Crock of Gold, and 
 Emma lay on the dressing-table, equally beloved. Cyn- 
 thia reached out a hand to take one, but they made 
 her think of Shaun whom she wished to forget, and she 
 selected the box of chocolates instead. There were three 
 coffee creams left; and she disposed of them in the 
 twink of a dimple, as Shaun would say. Bother Shaun ! 
 There he was again. But she could not help liking him 
 to think her beautiful, she honestly couldn't. She 
 simply loved it! Was it because of his cultured mind, 
 his artistry, his knowing about books? Acting on an 
 impulse she sprang to her feet and ran to the cheval- 
 glass with a quick young grace that seemed to fill the 
 room with sudden beauty of movement; and there, tak- 
 ing an end of her scarf in either hand, letting it fall 
 from her shoulders, she looked hard at her reflection, her 
 cheeks pink, her eyes a woman's. 
 
 She saw a dignified, slender girl in a dress of filmy 
 green ; a girl with heaps of chestnut fair hair, grey eyes, 
 and a very direct inquiring gaze. She was willowy and 
 strong, her neck was milk-white, her cheeks daintily 
 flushed, and Cynthia could not help liking her! The 
 dress she recognised as a compromise between ancient 
 Greece and modern Paris: at the time of choice she 
 would have liked it more Greek, carried away intel- 
 lectually as she was by the classical Shaun, but now she 
 
 ^^
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 11 
 
 could not help being glad that her mother had inter- 
 posed. Lady Bremner's ladylike taste was conspicuous 
 in the result. Cynthia gave it its full due, admitting 
 frankly to herself that neither she nor the dressmaker 
 could have decided so well alone. She was feminine 
 enough to settle that the colour of the material suited 
 her complexion before regarding the general effect, but 
 it was characteristic of Shaun's influence that she did 
 not confine herself, as most women do, to the criticism 
 of details. 
 
 "The dear thing is nice," she thought. "It's sweet! 
 And it is right artistically, for I'm not in the least the 
 classic type, I'm too English-looking!" She was ex- 
 amining her face, and not the lines of her graceful 
 figure. "I'm glad my eyelashes are long. I like my 
 mouth, and my cheeks are prettily curved, and I hold 
 myself well. I think the nose would be almost better 
 snub instead of straight, as my eyes are so wide apart, 
 but that's a matter of taste, and anyway my upper lip 
 is short. I certainly look bright and wide-awake; no 
 one would call me a sleepy person. All the same if 
 I am beautiful, which Shaun said outright on Tuesday, 
 and he does know, which the rest who've said it don't 
 besides, they've been more prejudiced still it must be 
 because of my complexion or my eyes ! Cynthia, you 're 
 all eyes, and they're dancing. Don't be a vain 
 idiot! . . . 
 
 "Those sleeves are pretty, just caught above the el- 
 bow and open above to the shoulders, and I like the 
 chiffon bow on one shoulder. My hips are slender 
 enough to be classical, I think, as my shoulders are fairly 
 broad. Oh, arms, you really are beautiful, and one 
 can't help seeing you through those very open sleeves 
 that aren't sleeves at all I almost wish I'd had the 
 fuller ones! Neck and shoulders are nice too, but I 
 can't be as sure they're right as I am of the arms and 
 hands. That's a dimple of vanity, Cynthia. Come away 
 from the glass." 
 
 But the mirror had given her a thrill of delicate 
 excitement that pulsed through mind and body alike,
 
 12 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 and after that she could not compose herself. So she 
 went down early to the drawing-room, where she found 
 a nice-looking, brown-haired boy standing awkwardly 
 in front of the fire. At the sight of her he seemed 
 half unhappy, half elated, she mistook the admiration 
 in his eyes for pleasure at having somebody to talk to. 
 As she advanced with her charmingly youthful air of 
 self-possession she noticed how sensitive was his face. 
 Peter and Cynthia took frank stock of each other in 
 this instant of recognition. If the girl was pleased with 
 the man's appearance, Peter was equally impressed by 
 hers. Indeed, he forgot in one moment his agonies of 
 indecision as to the precise way in which various dif- 
 ficult dishes should be attacked ; his terror lest he should 
 confuse the wine-glasses, whose pictures he had care- 
 fully learnt by heart beforehand; his wild chase across 
 London in pursuit of a man who could decide with 
 authority the horrible, suddenly recollected problem of 
 gloves; and all his anxiously prepared speeches into the 
 bargain. This vision must be Polly Bremner, and he 
 could only stare and goggle! 
 
 ' ' I 'm I 'm afraid I 'm awfully early, ' ' he stammered. 
 "My n-name is Middleton." At which point he stuck. 
 He was desperately anxious to make proper conversa- 
 tion, only the words had all fled into crannies of his 
 mind, from which they peeped and mocked him. 
 
 Cynthia's naturalness saved the situation. "I knew 
 you were Mr. Middleton," she said cheerfully. "I'm 
 glad I'm early too. Please sit down. Come closer to 
 the fire; it's chilly in the evenings, isn't it?" 
 
 Peter fell over a Persian cat, and, by an acrobatic 
 effort, gained a chair. 
 
 "I'm most fearfully sorry!" he apologised to the 
 indignant tail of the animal as it disappeared from the 
 room. The corners of Cynthia's mouth curved bewitch- 
 ingly, and she smiled. He had found his way to her 
 heart by the correct aim of an apology: it would have 
 been quite wrong had he made it to her. As things were 
 she felt irresistibly disposed to be friendly to Peter, but 
 remembering the duties of decorum she merely said,
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 13 
 
 "Don't bother about the cat. She isn't a bit hurt, 
 really," and proceeded to develop the conversation 
 through cats to tigers, and from tigers to Swan's ani- 
 mal paintings, and thence to the Tate Gallery, where 
 they were both at home, each eager to act as host to the 
 other. In fact something like a quarrel arose over Good- 
 win's Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, to which they 
 laid such particular claim that it sounded as though 
 one of them must at the least have presented the picture 
 to the nation, if neither had painted it. 
 
 "That one's mine!" cried Peter. "That one at least 
 is mine." 
 
 "No, it isn't," resisted Cynthia, childishly. "I want 
 it. But I'll give it to you," she added sweetly, recol- 
 lecting that she had not known Mr. Middleton very long 
 and that her mother might not approve of a sudden 
 intimacy, indeed might not authorise one at all. There 
 is something barrier-breaking about even a pretended 
 quarrel. So she went on to tell him how she had been 
 first taken to the Tate by Mr. James. 
 
 "Not Shaun James?" asked Peter, enlightened by 
 the pride in her voice. His own was admiring enough 
 to satisfy Cynthia ; she counted him a Friend from that 
 moment. It was clever of him not to guess Henry 
 James, who had not written novels half as good as 
 Shaun 's in her opinion with which Shaun disagreed. 
 She nodded, dimpling. 
 
 "Why, he wrote about the Tate!" murmured Peter, 
 round-eyed with awe of this wonderful girl who knew 
 a celebrated author. Why, she would be telling him 
 next that she was a member of the Savage Club, which 
 he was ignorant enough to believe a possibility. 
 Cynthia, who was a trifle amused at the impression she 
 had made, was on the point of informing him that 
 Shaun might arrive at any second, when the door, which 
 Peter had closed behind the cat, opened again to the 
 rustling of silken skirts. 
 
 ' ' Oh, here you are, Rosemary ! ' ' said Lady Bremner 
 as they turned to receive her. The phrase was mean- 
 ingless. She used it always on greeting her daughter
 
 14 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 after an absence, whether this had lasted a few minutes 
 or several days. Peter saw advancing a thin lady in 
 black, with what are commonly called aristocratic 
 features, which wore a kind expression. Cynthia intro- 
 duced him. He spoke, but hardly knew what he said. 
 "We are very glad indeed that you could come!" re- 
 plied the lady with apparent sincerity. She had made 
 him feel at ease by her courteous, accomplished use of 
 a few simple words, and he immediately began to find 
 in her a likeness to Cynthia. But her voice was not so 
 clear and pretty as Cynthia's, and it was older and less 
 gay. 
 
 He had scarcely time to form an impression before 
 other guests began to arrive. The short, plain young 
 woman in red was called Miss Taliesin. She spoke in 
 orderly sentences like a book, and there was vigorous 
 common sense in what she said. Alan, the son of the 
 house, a model of smooth correctness, nice-looking in an 
 unemotional way, took possession of her as soon as he 
 came. Next arrived Laurence Man, whom Peter recog- 
 nised with dismay, for it was the custom of the Great 
 Company to watch jealously the expenditure of their 
 junior clerks, especially of those who were not living at 
 home, and the possession of wealthy friends meant being 
 unfavourably remarked upon unless those friends were 
 connected with the Directorate. Peter saw no oppor- 
 tunity of explaining to his chief that this was the first 
 time he had dined out in his life ; besides, he was certain 
 that ''Lordly Laurence" would resent having been 
 invited to meet him and would not want to speak to 
 him at all. 
 
 Regarding him with a critical eye, Peter realised that 
 whereas in the City he had admired Laurence's distinc- 
 tion, here in Portman Square he was doubting his breed- 
 ing a return to an older and truer standard of judg- 
 ment. Laurence Man had been to a good public school, 
 he had refined features, his voice was pleasant, his de- 
 sire to please assiduous; yet seen at the side of Alan 
 Bremner something was lacking. Peter hastily decided 
 that he was a snob, which received confirmation a mo-
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 15 
 
 ment later when Laurence ignored him. However, he 
 only half understood the reason why Laurence was de- 
 voting himself to Lady Bremner, hanging upon her 
 most ordinary remarks with an air that Cynthia con- 
 demned as 'dying duck.' It was in reality part of his 
 policy, while his ignoring of Peter was the consequence 
 of jealousy. 
 
 Whilst the two young people were engaged in under- 
 rating Laurence Man's intelligence, Sir Everard came 
 in. He apologised politely for being late, and welcomed 
 his guests with formal kindness. Peter's mental picture 
 of a ruddy, jovial giant a memory of childhood bore 
 no resemblance to real life. On the contrary, he found 
 himself shaking hands with a grey spare man, who had 
 heavy eyebrows, insignificant clean-shaven features, 
 steady eyes without expression, and a polished unyield- 
 ing manner of address; only the sunburned skin was 
 true to recollection, and that was bronzed instead of 
 florid. Who's Who had revealed Sir Everard as a fine 
 mathematician, educated at Harrow and St. John's, 
 Cambridge, fond of yachting and fishing, and a mem- 
 ber of the Travellers' Club; and his letter had sug- 
 gested to Peter that he was accustomed to be authorita- 
 tive behind a veil of diplomacy. Now Peter discovered 
 he had charm. 
 
 No sooner had Sir Everard left him than a very 
 spick-and-span maid approached Lady Bremner, who was 
 close by, and announced in a low voice, ' ' If you please, 
 a telephone message has just come from Mr. James, 
 requesting you not to wait dinner for him, my lady. 
 He says he has been arrested!" 
 
 "Good gracious, Rosemary!" apostrophised the 
 mother, though the daughter responsible for the erring 
 guest was some distance away and out of earshot. 
 ' ' Didn 't he say any more than that, Simmins ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Only ' Goodbye, ' my lady. ' ' 
 
 "How vexatious! Very good, Simmins; that will 
 do." 
 
 Lady Bremner departed on a cutting-out expedition, 
 and presently withdrew her husband from Laurence
 
 16 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Man. Peter watched, fascinated, and Miss Taliesin, who 
 had joined Peter and to set him at ease was monopolis- 
 ing the conversation, formed a poor opinion of him as a 
 listener. In fact she decided that he was disappoint- 
 ingly ill-mannered, and deserted the subject of politics, 
 on which she could talk ably and sensibly, for motor- 
 ing, of which she knew herself to be grotesquely 
 ignorant. Peter, after noting with admiration his host's 
 calm reception of the news, and learning from the brief 
 lift of his eyebrows that he cared little for Mr. James 
 and was only slightly surprised at his fate, returned to 
 the topic of motoring, sustaining it with difficulty, since 
 he had never been in a motor-car. Then two ladies ar- 
 rived together, one of them of uncertain age, like a lily 
 of the hothouse on the point of fading, robed in a 
 sheath and jewelled marvellously, who discoursed of the 
 illness of a husband; and the other absurdly young, 
 enchantingly pretty, and impulsive and outspoken 
 enough to be a terror to any hostess. She was Cyn- 
 thia's cousin Phyllis, much in awe of Lady Bremner 
 fortunately, and she fell to Peter's lot to take in, dinner 
 being now no longer delayed. 
 
 "Do you like black eyes and hair?" she inquired of 
 him in an eager voice as soon as they were fairly set- 
 tled. "I do. I suppose it is because my own are dark. 
 Rosie looks heavenly though, doesn't she?" 
 
 "Yes, she does, but I thought she was called Polly," 
 said Peter, who was not meant to interrupt. 
 
 "My uncle calls her that. Mr. James calls her Cyn- 
 thia. Auntie calls her Rosemary. What was I say- 
 ing ? Oh yes, looks I don 't care for that woman I came 
 with a bit. She's passee, you know. I wonder why 
 we sat down with an empty place?" 
 
 Lady Bremner disengaged herself from her mild con- 
 versation with Laurence Man, glanced across Peter, and 
 said gently but meaningly, "Because we were so very 
 late, Phyllis darling." At which the darling blushed, 
 tossed her head, and attacked her soup. Peter admired 
 the trophy of Zulu shields and assegais on the wall 
 opposite. Then he wondered who had arranged the
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 17 
 
 orchids in the centrepiece, and why dining-rooms are 
 usually papered in a shade of red, and was summoning 
 courage to inspect his other neighbour when a diversion 
 was effected by a voice behind his back announcing ner- 
 vously, "Mr. Shaun James!" 
 
 The distinguished author had an entrance to make 
 that would have daunted most people, and he made it 
 very quietly. He was not tall, and his straw-coloured 
 hair needed cutting, but to Peter's admiring eyes he 
 looked clever enough for anything, and his evening 
 clothes were as correct as Alan's and less obtrusively 
 foppish. "The police arrested me in mistake for a 
 pickpocket who they say resembles me," he explained 
 to Lady Bremner, ' ' and were kind enough to let me 
 telephone from the station when I was waiting to be 
 identified and released. Luckily the nearest man I knew 
 was at home, and he came round at once." 
 
 "Where were you, then, Mr. James, when this dread- 
 ful thing happened ? ' ' 
 
 "Marble Arch, Lady Bremner; admiring the evening 
 sky. They told me it was just what a pickpocket and 
 only a pickpocket would do. A pretty comment on the 
 state of aesthetics in this country! I'm desolated at 
 the trouble I've caused you." He went to his seat be- 
 tween Cynthia and Phyllis ; Alan and Sir Everard spoke 
 to him across the table. Peter was concentrating all 
 his wits upon the fish, wherein lurked unsuspected 
 bones, calculated to raise the blush of shame to the 
 cheek of innocence. 
 
 "Are you a suffragist?" asked a little buzzing voice 
 in his ear. "I am. I'm sure I deserve a vote. Miss 
 Taliesin is one, too. She doesn't go to prison, because 
 she works. She inspects sweated trades and that sort 
 of thing. Rather dull, but most fearfully useful, you 
 know. I daresay I may go to Holloway one day, I 
 haven't quite made up my mind yet. They say Alan 
 Bremner is in love with her, but he couldn't possibly 
 marry her." The voice grew more piercing as the 
 speaker became interested, and Peter began to tremble, 
 but Lady Bremner this time gave no sign.
 
 18 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "Indeed!" he answered feebly. "No, I'm not a suf- 
 fragist." 
 
 "Aren't you?" She turned a pair of saucer-shaped 
 black eyes upon him. ' ' Then I don 't like you at all ! " 
 
 ' ' Thank God ! ' ' thought Peter, as she showed him the 
 back of a very pretty and very bare shoulder and gave 
 her attention to James, who was talking and laughing 
 away at a tremendous rate with Cynthia. At the same 
 moment Lady Bremner turned to him. "Do you like 
 your work in the Great Company?" she asked, hitting 
 upon the most unfortunate question that could have 
 been devised. Cynthia and Shaun both had quiet 
 voices and were making very little noise that might 
 cover his answer, while Miss Taliesin had not yet cut 
 short her interesting talk with Alan to turn to Laurence 
 Man, although she was on the point of doing so. Be- 
 ing isolated, Laurence could hardly have avoided hear- 
 ing Lady Bremner 's question. He began to crumble 
 his bread, leaning thoughtfully forward, and thereby 
 convinced Peter that he was listening. In the office 
 a lie would have sprung naturally to Peter's lips, but 
 in this unpretentiously luxurious dining-room, amongst 
 people whose sense of honour was the same as that which 
 he had received by inheritance, he found it impossible 
 to reply otherwise than truthfully. His youthful and 
 excited imagination over-estimated the importance of 
 the incident, he thought he must prove himself worthy 
 of the gentlepeople who were entertaining him, he re- 
 membered Cynthia's eyes 
 
 "I hate it," he answered in a low voice. 
 
 Lady Bremner noticed the tremor with which he 
 spoke, and failed to observe the swift uneasy glance 
 he cast at his chief across the table. She was accus- 
 tomed to people who were loyal to their Services and 
 thought them the finest in the world, or she would not 
 have dreamt of asking the question. A plate had ar- 
 rived before Laurence, but he continued to form his 
 bread pills without regarding it or even looking up, lean- 
 ing over the table with a dull face. "Why?" he asked, 
 addressing Peter for the first time, and then, languidly
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 19 
 
 drawing himself up, added, "But Lady Bremner will 
 not be interested in the affairs of our Company," and 
 engaged her on another topic. Peter cursed himself 
 wildly for a fool. He had hoped that Laurence would 
 not overhear, but now the mischief was done, and effec- 
 tively done. He saw himself marked down as a ring- 
 leader of the malcontents in the office wherein he exag- 
 gerated, for Laurence had chiefly noticed the boldness of 
 the reply. Peter was right, however, when he thought 
 that Laurence would not forget. He never forgot any- 
 thing, least of all what happened at the Bremners'. 
 
 Finding two wineglasses full by his side, Peter emptied 
 them one after another with the courage of despair. 
 
 "Rosemary and Mr. James are very devoted to each 
 other," sighed Phyllis, returning. "It sounds fright- 
 fully rude of me to complain of that to you, and I 
 hope you don't mind. He says she's a girl one can 
 be young with. She told me so, before she found out 
 how untrustworthy I am. We were most fearfully inti- 
 mate at one time, though you'd hardly believe it now. 
 She told me Mr. James said he had never been young. 
 You know Rosie's the most heavenly girl. ..." She 
 did not cease to chatter during the remainder of the meal, 
 and Peter sank into deeper and deeper despondency. 
 
 At last the ladies departed. Peter, holding open the 
 door, received a serene smile of the eyes from Cynthia 
 as she passed, which seemed to tell him, "I'm your 
 friend. Don't forget it, please!" On the instant he 
 felt more cheerful. Alan came across to him and talked 
 for some time about aviation with a kind of stiff courtesy 
 the stiffness being due to preoccupation, not to lack 
 of cordiality as Peter imagined. The conversation was 
 not a success, and having done his duty Alan joined 
 in the political discussion at the other end of the table, 
 from which Sir Everard immediately detached himself 
 in order to chat with his youngest guest. His manner 
 to Peter was dry but cordial, and he won his confi- 
 dence in the first five minutes. Sir Everard was in- 
 deed genuinely remorseful at his prolonged neglect of 
 his old school-friend's son, of whose existence he had
 
 20 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 been reminded accidentally on turning out the contents 
 of a drawer of his writing-desk. He intended to be- 
 friend Peter if possible, that is to say if Peter himself 
 let it be possible. There was nothing to be complained 
 of in the boy's appearance and manners; he was shy, 
 but that would alter with a little more experience of 
 the kind of society which his birth gave him the right 
 to enter; he seemed quick-witted, and his disposition 
 could be judged gradually by observation it appeared 
 to be affectionate and simple; he spoke properly of the 
 mother he did not remember, warmly and respectfully 
 of his father, who had been his constant companion 
 to the age of seventeen years . . . and a first-rate fel- 
 low Middleton had always been. But, hullo, what was 
 this? "I'm afraid I can't honestly say that I was 
 always as decent to him as I ought to have been. He 
 
 used to snort" Snort. Poor old Middleton, so he 
 
 did! What was the young cub saying? "and I 
 
 know I was beastly to him about it sometimes. It's 
 too late to be sorry now." Well, he looked sorry 
 enough. 
 
 To Peter it was as though the mind of his interlocutor 
 had opened halfway in comprehension and then closed 
 like an oyster. He did not say any more, and Sir Ever- 
 ard offered him the cigarettes. 
 
 "Man speaks well of your work," said Sir Everard, 
 changing the subject ; not with complete ingenuousness, 
 for Laurence had been notably cautious in his praise. 
 Had Sir Everard asked him before the affair in the 
 course of the first entree his answer might have been 
 different; as matters stood Laurence did not propose 
 to commit himself in regard to the young gentleman. 
 Perhaps he had noticed Cynthia's smiling eyes as she 
 swept out of the room. 
 
 Peter declined another cigarette, and "Shall we go 
 to the drawing-room?" asked Sir Everard. There was 
 a general movement of assent, after which the black- 
 and-white figures filed through a doorway hung with 
 rich Persian curtains into the hall, where Peter had the 
 honour of having his arm taken by the wonderful Shaun
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 21 
 
 James. "You've got a kind of experience that's never 
 been properly written," said the novelist amicably, as 
 though they had known each other for years. "I used 
 to thank heaven for my ignorance of it, but now I'm 
 not so sure. I wish I had been a clerk for a time." 
 He added thoughtfully with what seemed to Peter ir- 
 relevance, "Miss Bremner has just told me," and then 
 they entered together the large drawing-room, with 
 its clear green wall-spaces and silver tinted dado and 
 conventional elegant chairs and tables. 
 
 Mrs. Gwiney, the sheathed lily, was playing Liszt with 
 appropriate vehemence, and the other ladies were oc- 
 cupied with their thoughts. Phyllis, who could toe- 
 dance better than the average amateur, was wonder- 
 ing whether she would get an opportunity of perform- 
 ing. She need not have agitated herself; Lady Brem- 
 ner disapproved of her frock so heartily that she had 
 not the smallest thought of drawing attention to it. 
 Cynthia was meditating her mother's singular speech, 
 "Rosemary dearest, Mr. Man says he's determined to 
 marry soon." Was it intended as a hint? Or could it 
 mean that she was to be left in peace after all? Miss 
 Taliesin was too tired after her day's work to do more 
 than sit and dream, while Lady Bremner was mentally 
 designing a new tea-gown for her daughter, the dress- 
 ing of whom was her great joy in life. The arrival of 
 the men broke up the group, and Shaun, leaving Peter's 
 side, crossed immediately to Cynthia, by whom he sat 
 for a moment before joining Miss Taliesin, whose drowsi- 
 ness he covered by a steady flow of conversation which 
 needed neither comment nor reply. Alan, misled by 
 Shaun 's first movement, was not quick enough to fore- 
 stall him, and moving too close to the piano was called 
 upon to sing. Man fell a victim to Phyllis, and was 
 rescued by his hostess. Sir Everard, who was really 
 fond of music, seated himself near the piano, prepared 
 to listen. And there was left an opportunity for Peter, 
 who had taken a modest place by the door, to take 
 his courage in both hands and cross to the corner where 
 Cynthia sat, somewhat removed from the others.
 
 22 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 This time she did not welcome him. In the whirl and 
 confusion of her thoughts she ascribed his consequent 
 silence to tactful sympathy, and liked him all the more. 
 It was not till she was in her room again that she real- 
 ised how unkind she must have appeared; and then 
 compunction made her cheeks burn red, for she knew 
 she had behaved abominably and spoilt the rest of Mr. 
 Middleton's evening, which must have been dull in- 
 deed. She had told Shaun what her mother had said 
 about Laurence from no motive of coquetry, their 
 friendship being above that. But what could Shaun 
 have meant by replying in that queer agitated way of 
 his, which usually was a sign that he was wholly 
 serious, "Make me tell you to-morrow why / can't 
 marry." Whatever could have been in his mind? 
 
 She could not decide whether she were glad or sorry 
 to hear that he could not marry. She was certainly 
 shaken by the news, so upset that she slipped into bed 
 without remembering to say her prayers; but notwith- 
 standing her worries sleep came quickly to her healthy 
 youth, and after that first meeting of theirs it was 
 Peter Middleton who lay awake. Until the morning 
 broke he tossed and turned, watching the persons of 
 his dinner-party march to and fro across his mental 
 vision. Cynthia was amongst them, no longer ethereal 
 or a nymph with starry eyes, but just a sad, displeased 
 girl with averted face and glorious hair, and a turn of 
 the head and neck that compelled forgiveness. 
 
 Shaun wrote till the morning; Laurence Man slept 
 the sleep of an inheritor of the earth.
 
 Ill 
 
 CYNTHIA awoke next morning with a sense of quiet 
 happiness that was delightful; she was to see Shaun 
 again, to have another holiday. Then as she pushed her 
 hair back from her drowsy eyes, sitting up in bed, she 
 remembered that their talk was to be a disturbing one 
 introductory perhaps of change in their jolly relations > 
 whereupon the big grey eyes opened wide, her hands 
 dropped upon the quilt, and she became broad awake. 
 With a deft toss of her pretty head she shook her wealth 
 of hair behind her, and half turning took the cup of tea 
 from the rosewood table by her side. As she sipped she 
 made up her mind. Her decision was to defend the 
 existing situation resolutely. 
 
 Shaun must not flatter her in that particular way ; if 
 he talked of love to her love for her she should call it 
 flattery, for so it would be from a clever man in his 
 position she did not say, of his age to a stupid, un- 
 formed girl like herself: he was sweet enough to treat 
 her as an equal, and that was sufficient. What moved 
 men to fall in love she did not understand ; from the way 
 Shaun spoke sometimes one would imagine the shape 
 of an arm were able to make them ! They did not seem 
 to wait to find out whether the girl were nice. Of 
 course she herself had been attracted by people whom 
 she did not know personally, but then she had always 
 known she was being silly, and men were quite serious 
 about their love-affairs. One hurt them dreadfully by 
 having to refuse them though she supposed that did 
 not last long, as a man who had proposed to her had 
 married some one else only three months afterwards. 
 
 Shaun would declare that he did know her if he 
 proposed, which really she hadn't any right to expect 
 
 23
 
 24 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 after his saying distinctly that he could not marry! 
 But then did he know her? Could he? If he did he 
 would not want to marry her. And he wanted that, 
 she was sure. ... It was a vicious circle. . . . And 
 besides he always did the talking ! After all, she scarcely 
 said a word when she was with him, because she liked 
 to listen. How could you know anyone who always 
 listened? Of course he was wonderfully clever and 
 often guessed what she was thinking about, but then 
 he was sometimes quite wrong. Men did not under- 
 stand what trivial kinds of things a girl could be in- 
 terested in, though Shaun was certainly better at un- 
 derstanding than other men. And there it was again! 
 If he understood why did he fall in love? Surely 
 it could not be her arms! It wasn't possible he should 
 love such a kid as she was in the proper way, the way 
 he had loved his wife it simply wasn't to be done. 
 Mr. Middleton might, because he was so young and he 
 was like her in some ways, but Shaun with his clever- 
 ness and experience, no! 
 
 At this point Marie announced Cynthia's bath, and 
 the conclusion of the argument was postponed in favour 
 of practical things. 
 
 Behold her, in a pale blue coat and skirt and a dainty 
 hat with a curling feather, entering in the wake of a 
 couple of ragamuffins the left-hand door that opens into 
 the entrance hall of the British Museum. Shaun was in 
 attendance within, having just decided himself to be 
 not in love, because of the strength of mind he had ex- 
 hibited in not awaiting her upon the steps, which would 
 have enabled him to watch her approach from a dis- 
 tance. The sight of Cynthia dispelled the illusion. They 
 shook hands in silence. 
 
 And now from sheer interest and without trace of 
 jealousy, he asked in his eager voice, "Isn't young 
 Middleton a nice boy? Do you still like him as much 
 this morning, Cynthia?" 
 
 He saw the girl's face brighten, and a faint suspicion 
 whispered in his heart and died away again. Cynthia 
 had felt relief; she answered gladly, "I like him ever
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 25 
 
 so much. Perhaps Mother will let him be friends with 
 me." 
 
 ' ' She may. Sir Everard took to him, I think. Which 
 way? To the Elgin room? He's immature by which 
 I mean Middleton, not your father, Cynthia ; but Time, 
 which has caused the Discobolus to need something more 
 than a feather duster to keep him clean it will be 
 washing-day soon, I trust may expand Peter's brain- 
 cells. That is to say, if brain-cells do expand! He 
 isn't like Peter Pan, but the name Peter suits him 
 well enough. I shall call him that." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," said Cynthia. "He seemed to 
 me rather like Peter Pan." 
 
 "Not so selfish, dear. Isn't Clytie modern? Best 
 middle Victorian, I think. It's not often we get two 
 days running, is it, chum?" Shaun was in his tri- 
 umphal vein, prancing with joy at the mere being with 
 a beautiful girl, glancing pityingly at unaccompanied 
 males, childishly happy; but although in appearance 
 forgetful of his speech of yesterday he could not be 
 trusted yet. So Cynthia decided, answering cautiously. 
 
 "No, it isn't. Often it's months before I see you. I 
 wonder Mother let me come, after your being arrested 
 last night. Still, seeing you is the only thing I ever do 
 fight for, and I suppose I fight hard. Oh, Shaun, you 
 don't know what it is to have so little liberty that you 
 can't even go out alone without saying why!" 
 
 No author likes to be told that there is anything in 
 human nature he does not understand. "I can guess," 
 said Shaun sympathetically. "Why don't you marry, 
 Cynthia?" 
 
 She stopped and looked at him with reproachful eyes. 
 "Don't laugh at me, please," she said. An attendant 
 moved nearer to listen. 
 
 Shaun swept on, compelling her to follow him. "I'm 
 not laughing ! " he cried, but still in a moderate voice, for 
 the rooms were not altogether empty. "And I'm not 
 thinking of Laurence Man. I love you, you dear little 
 idiot, you sweet Cythia. Beautiful, wise girl, how can 
 I help it? But I'm doing my best not to, which is
 
 26 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 why I'm proposing with every possible disadvantage in 
 a building where no one can ever be alone, and in a 
 room that contains not only a procession of appropriate 
 Amazons they are earless, eyeless masterpieces but 
 a suspicious attendant and an early British, pre-Raphael- 
 ite spinster. Oh, come away, dear, for goodness' sake, 
 and let's try the Assyrian bulls, there's a seat close 
 to them that's quiet. Yes, I love you, love you, love 
 you, ass I mean knave that I am, and I mustn't, and 
 I'm going to tell you why. Now let's be rational 
 and calm." 
 
 "I don't love you," said Cynthia, steadily, as she had 
 often said it in her thoughts. 
 
 "We will argue that point later," said Shaun, hurry- 
 ing her towards the seat, which they secured in time 
 to forestall a pair of happier lovers. "Let us be calm, 
 Cynthia, and don't mind my playing the fool, because 
 if I didn't let off the steam that way I might hold your 
 hand, or no, you needn't shrink away." 
 
 "I wasn't shrinking," said poor Cynthia, defiantly, 
 "and I wouldn't mind your kissing me, if we weren't 
 here. Think what you like. I'm not ashamed. But I 
 don't love you, Shaun. You know I don't." 
 
 "You never will after what I'm going to tell you," 
 cried Shaun excitedly, "My good angel has won a dam- 
 nable triumph, and you never will ! ' ' His voice changed 
 and tears came into his eyes. "I daresay you never 
 would have ! . . . I 'm going to tell you a story and make 
 a speech, and I'll try to be natural, chum darling, al- 
 though it's the hardest thing to ask of me. Your eyes 
 are too close to mine, . . . and your soft brilliant cheeks 
 and that mouth which is sorry for me, and I can guess 
 the fragrance of your hair . . . Cynthia! No, I 
 mustn't! Stop! Now, listen, dear. Hang that Assyrian 
 bull, it's laughing at me. You remember Doris, my wife ; 
 you were fond of her, and your mother did not mind. 
 She came to the house as your mother's friend. You did 
 not know what she was to me, and I 've never spoken to 
 you about her. I'm going to now, and for a reason. 
 You must just listen. Will you do that for me?"
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 27 
 
 "Of course I will," replied Cynthia, staring in front 
 of her, heyond the exquisite drapery of the stone Nere- 
 ides, up the long Egyptian Gallery. 
 
 "And don't think me a fool, dear, don't do that! 
 I 'm telling you this now for a purpose, not from simple 
 clumsiness. ' ' 
 
 Cynthia turned her head and looked at him between 
 smiles and tears. He met the glance of her eyes and 
 sighed, for they were very beautiful. She waited a 
 moment, considering; then she said with firmness, "If 
 you can think that of me, can imagine I would mis- 
 understand, doesn't it tell you, Shaun, that you don't 
 really" she lowered her voice, as one speaks of God 
 "love me?" 
 
 "I don't! Not as I did her. But it's not passion 
 in me, Cynthia, only. I'm unconscious of passion. 
 You're beautiful and the artist in me sees your beauty 
 as the image of a divine thing. Passion is behind, no 
 doubt, but a greater element is there. Beauty is one 
 of the Trinity with Truth and Love, and may be wor- 
 shipped rightly as an aspect of the Absolute, which is 
 God. Do you see? I'm cutting it all too short, but 
 you'll understand. You always do. There are three 
 kinds of true priests, the artist who interprets Beauty, 
 the philosopher who follows Truth, the religious who 
 practises Love. They should not exclude each other, 
 that's all. They should be one individual, not three, 
 a Trinity of priesthood. . . . Chum, I'm more than a 
 worshipper of you, though. I'm a lonely man, who loves 
 his friend, who's a commonplace man, and likes being 
 understood, made much of ... caressed when he's 
 down, likes having the child in him comforted, then 
 . . . flattered when he struts, too, perhaps . . . who 
 wants to have a home where there's always love, a home 
 in someone's heart. The human in me calls you, but 
 it must not. / know it's weakness as you do, and I'm 
 poor no, let me go on ; you 'd give up many important 
 things if you married me, lose them altogether ; I ought 
 not to ask it, I don't. . . . My dear, I loved Doris be- 
 cause she was Love and Truth, and the greatest of the
 
 28 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 three is Love, and the second Truth. She and I were 
 One, not two. You and I couldn't be One, that was 
 a dream of mine that dissolves on waking and leaves 
 me lonely . . . lonely. ..." His voice died away, mur- 
 muring, into saddest silence. She almost loved him, then ; 
 her heart was melting with pitiful tears. She 
 
 He divined and spoke : ' ' She was not pretty, but her 
 face was dear to me ; looking on it I remembered God. 
 She was not clever, but she understood men and women, 
 and, understanding, loved them. She was entirely un- 
 selfish. Two days before she died so unexpectedly, so 
 tragically early, at the best time of our love, when sun- 
 kissed Joy, visible as a bright spirit in the twilight of 
 youth, in the dawning of life, was melting, growing 
 visible in a steadier light which shone upon a world of 
 ordered beauty all around us, two days before, she 
 said to me : ' Boy, dear, if I were to die, you must marry 
 again.' 'Don't think of such things,' I answered, for 
 I knew her heart was strained, but did not know how 
 much, or I should have wept, not spoken. 'You'd be 
 so lonely,' she went on, 'you need a Mother, Boy, dear. 
 No one will ever love you quite as I do and I'm horrid 
 enough to be glad of that, but many girls must love you. 
 They could not help themselves. One of them might be 
 a little Mother and sweet Wife, as I have tried to be.' 
 Tears sprang to my eyes ; why, I did not know. ' Would 
 you wish that?' I asked, thinking it a light question 
 'yourself, I mean.' She looked at me, and answered 
 'Yes.' . . . Cynthia, it was the first time she had ever 
 lied! . . . 
 
 ' ' The interruption of a servant showing in a visitor, 
 one of those apparently trifling bits of 'business' in the 
 play of life, that may turn out to be so dramatic, that 
 may affect the action even to the fall of the curtain, 
 closed the scene. It was our habit to talk out mis- 
 understandings and obscurities lest they should grow 
 into obstacles so high as to shut us from the sight of each 
 other's eyes. Here, to my mind, there was nothing but 
 clearness : yet what a difference a few more words might 
 have made to us both, to her, waiting, perhaps watching
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 29 
 
 me now with love and tears; to myself, unworthy. The 
 occasion did not come. Two gentle nights, two flying 
 days passed by. I was good to her that was not always 
 the case, but in those two short days God in His kindness 
 made me tender and then an evening of firelight peace, 
 and talk of books and animals we had been to the Zoo 
 that day and Doris had coaxed the squirrels to her. I 
 could not remember what it was I'd wanted to ask. I 
 kissed her good-night. Her lips clung to mine, loth to 
 depart. She turned upon her pillow, nestled, slept, and 
 then I, listening to the softness of her breathing in the 
 peaceful silent darkness, heard a little gasp and felt her 
 shudder, and started up. God! . . . God! . . . God!" 
 
 Cynthia leaned forward to shield him from the curious 
 gaze of the two ragamuffins who had entered the Museum 
 before her; they were gaping in round-eyed derision of 
 the funny gentleman. Shaun rose to his feet. ' ' A beau- 
 tifully protective gesture!" he commented unsteadily. 
 "Come upstairs and look at mummies. There's some- 
 thing very dignified and consoling about a mummy. One 
 can 't doubt immortality in that room. ' ' She walked close 
 beside him, feeling grown up and near to tears; her 
 heart glowed and melted ; he could have won her, through 
 pity and because he had told a story well. Her youth 
 was moved to a passion of tenderness. The longing to 
 comfort leaped up in her like a bright flame. Perhaps 
 he knew it, for he halted on the staircase and leant over, 
 watching the huge Face of Rameses, and said, "Yet I do 
 love you in my way, Cynthia. Don't let me marry you. 
 You don't love me. And that's the only thing that 
 would justify it. Don't let me, please." 
 
 She trembled, and said, "No, Shaun," obediently, 
 choking back tears. She must have been very near to 
 loving him, though whether the magic would have lasted 
 one may doubt. She was young in mind as well as body, 
 and though the spirit of the artist was immortally child- 
 like, his mind had never been that of a boy and could 
 not have met hers equally. The two were akin, but his 
 mind was so much the elder; she would have been ever 
 straining on tiptoe to reach up to his experience. She
 
 30 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 was too beautiful for him to be conscious of this; and 
 he was masculine, a jealous artist, and would have re- 
 sented an intellectual parity in so young a girl. Never- 
 theless it prevented a deep and living love. In Love 
 there is equality. Doris had been wise, not clever, equal 
 to him upon another plane. 
 
 So they looked at mummies. Shaun wished now to 
 jeer at himself, but the girl 's truer instinct forbade. She 
 shrank from his mocking self-analysis, seeing this un- 
 justified even by reaction from a selfish emotion. Not 
 that she admitted his selfishness Cynthia was too loyal- 
 natured but she understood the point of view which 
 made him long to retrace his steps. The deeper motive of 
 his present cynicism, the cunning one, result of his pe- 
 culiar quality of self-control, she did not divine. She did 
 not know it was his means of guarding her from the im- 
 pulses of her pity, partly through shock of disillusion- 
 ment, partly by stimulating her intelligence, which was 
 forced to arouse itself fully in order to combat him. He 
 exaggerated, and she argued. He was bitterly self-dep- 
 recatory, she ingeniously sympathetic: and when they 
 stood in the Indian Room before the festival car at which 
 two tiny comic horses continually strain in mid-air, and 
 Shaun 's harsh laugh rang out again, as it did on every 
 visit at the sight, a sudden leap of relief set the stars 
 dancing in the girl 's eyes. ' ' Let 's be chums, then, ' ' cried 
 Shaun, holding out both hands, for the room was empty. 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' she said from her heart, offering gloved hands 
 in reply, to which he stooped his lips. Both were de- 
 ceived. Both imagined themselves freed by a single 
 gesture from the consequence of what had gone before. 
 They became feverishly merry; and Cynthia arrived 
 home five minutes late for lunch. 
 
 "You are a little after time, darling, but it does not 
 matter, ' ' said Lady Bremner in affectionate dismissal of 
 the culprit's voluble explanations. "And how flushed 
 you are! Those public buildings are always kept so 
 over-heated ! ' ' 
 
 "I have had my hands kissed," thought Cynthia, 
 smiling to herself. "And I've got a real, true chum!"
 
 IV 
 
 CYNTHIA had plenty of opportunity during the weeks 
 that followed to consider the events of that emotional 
 morning, as Lady Bremner detained her close by her 
 side and, thus supported, worked off a number of duty 
 calls and luncheons which had been long in accumula- 
 tion. Then Sir Everard fell ill, and both the ladies 
 were required to nurse him; Lady Bremner keeping 
 tidy the sickroom and arranging flowers, while Cynthia 
 read aloud, wrote letters to dictation, and opened or 
 shut the windows. The latter also attended to the fire, 
 which had to be kept bright and clear without being al- 
 lowed to throw out much heart ; since it was there only 
 to be 'cheerful.' Sir Everard liked fires, and unfor- 
 tunately hated the presence of a housemaid in his bed- 
 room. To do him justice, it must be admitted he was an 
 unconscious tyrant : Lady Bremner enjoyed waiting upon 
 him, it never occurred to him to doubt that Cynthia did 
 the same ; had he done so he would not have suffered her 
 to spend her time in that way, as he would have preferred 
 to see her studying mathematics. And if she could have 
 felt herself necessary to him, Cynthia would have made 
 her sacrifice with gladness ; as it was she grew more and 
 more irritated at her confinement to the house, and man- 
 aged to find leisure for a good many rebellious thoughts 
 while relaxing not at all her outward cheerfulness and 
 devotion. ' ' Rosemary is the most wonderful child, ' ' said 
 Lady Bremner to herself. "Never does she fail me!" 
 Peter paid his call on a Sunday and found mother and 
 daughter alone; Alan, who often spent that day at 
 Portman Square, had gone into the country, and Sir 
 Everard, who was beginning to be indisposed, remained 
 uavisible. Peter was inspirited by the absence of any 
 
 31
 
 32 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 sign of wrath from Laurence Man, and when he found 
 Cynthia lovelier and kinder than even his recollection of 
 her he became completely at ease, forgot rows of figures 
 and the taskmaster, and appeared at his attractive best, 
 succeeding so well with Lady Bremner that she left him 
 with Cynthia. ' ' Here is a friend for you of whom I can 
 approve," said the rustle of her retreating skirts, "a 
 charming-mannered boy, who is not dangerous, for he 
 cannot possibly marry. He will give you young com- 
 panionship and, see how reasonable a mother I am, I 
 leave you alone with him, relying on your good sense, 
 Rosemary. ' ' And Cynthia joyfully made the most of her 
 opportunity. This time Peter went away fairly dazzled, 
 and spent the rest of the week weaving romances in 
 which he became suddenly rich. Then he too fell a vic- 
 tim to the prevalent scourge of influenza, and was nursed 
 by his landlady with groans. 
 
 Peter remained for some time the chief person in 
 Cynthia's meditations. His brown hair and tall figure 
 and, yes, decidedly nice-looking countenance in a plain 
 way were more pleasing to dwell upon than Shaun 's 
 face of agony beneath the stone Nereides, or his dra- 
 matic behaviour in the Indian Gallery. Somehow the 
 compact to be real chums had proved difficult of fulfil- 
 ment at least so far as could be tested by correspond- 
 ence. Shaun wrote either curtly or with frank and un- 
 disguised applause of the 'shell of her' as Cynthia some- 
 times, in esoteric moods, contemptuously called her sweet 
 exterior self. No doubt he now felt himself safe, relying 
 on their compact, but the things he said were inspired by 
 the very genius of lovemaking, and Cynthia felt that she 
 ought not to enjoy them as much as she did. Sometimes 
 they thrilled her, always they flattered. He misread her 
 youth in assuming compliments could not touch her 
 heart, but the error conveyed the subtlest praise of all, 
 and because of that she mistrusted its existence. Was 
 he not trying to make her really love him ? That would 
 be to write him down treacherous, for the cleverness of 
 it could not be unconscious. Nothing was ever wholly 
 unconscious in Shaun. He had the literary gift of
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 33 
 
 knowing what was suggested by his words and the effect 
 they would create on different temperaments. But then 
 it was certain he could not be dishonest; he hadn't the 
 capacity ! So he must be bewildered and drifting, which 
 was the saddest thought of all to Cynthia. 
 
 Since she could do nothing for poor Shaun, Mr. Mid- 
 dleton was the pleasanter person to think of. He had a 
 way of considering before he gave an opinion, which she 
 admired, and he liked the same books as she and knew 
 just enough more about them to help her, which would 
 be very convenient when Shaun was not there. His 
 refusal to talk about the Office to her showed how he 
 must loathe the place, and it was loyal of him not to 
 discuss Laurence Man, which bad Cynthia had been pre- 
 pared to do in a spirit of mockery. It must be horrid to 
 work in an office,, very likely amongst men who had not 
 been to good schools and were not gentlemen's sons. 
 They might be awfully nice, but one would not care to 
 be with them always, was Cynthia's sensible conclusion. 
 Nor would one enjoy being constantly under the eye of 
 Laurence Man, who had the knack of making his ex- 
 istence remembered in every circumstance. Indeed, 
 Laurence's discovery that Lady Bremner would listen 
 willingly to praise, however flattering, of her daughter 's 
 looks and dresses and of her husband's career in the 
 service of his country, had given him a strong footing 
 in Portman Square in spite of the indifference, amount- 
 ing almost to dislike, of the two men. Alan, it is true, 
 could not object openly to a well-spoken individual who 
 possessed a perfect taste in cigars which he gratified 
 from his own case belonged to the right clubs, and had 
 played cricket for Rugby, while Sir Everard did not 
 think about Man at all except to say vaguely to himself 
 that if Polly were keen on marrying him he supposed 
 he would have to permit it. Sir Everard prided him- 
 self on not interfering in the affairs of the womenfolk. 
 From a Service point of view he would have preferred 
 working against Man to working with him, but that did 
 not enter into the question and was not because he un- 
 derrated Laurence's abilities.
 
 34 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 On the whole Laurence must be making steady progress 
 with her mother, Cynthia thought, otherwise he would 
 not have sent books, which their degree of intimacy did 
 not warrant without encouragement from some one. If 
 Mummy imagined that Laurence could ever replace 
 Shaun, she was making a mistake ; no one could ever do 
 that. The very idea made her glow with indignation. 
 She supposed her mother must genuinely like the man 
 and want him to marry her, for he was not such a very 
 wonderful catch if you regarded him in a horrid, worldly 
 way. He held what they called a good position such a 
 one as poor Peter Middleton could never expect to reach, 
 for example and had some private means as well, and 
 would probably arrive at the Board of the Great Company 
 in time and become a financial power. But goodness, 
 what was that ? Mummy never favoured Lord Kempston 
 half as much and he was really rich ! No, Mummy must 
 like him. Let her. She, Cynthia, jolly well didn't; 
 that was all! And she only disliked him the more for 
 having betrayed her into slang and general horridness! 
 
 The interview she had with him when her father was 
 convalescent taught Cynthia that a young girl 's distaste 
 for a man of the world who is her lover, even though she 
 permit him to see it, will not necessarily cause him to 
 sink into the earth. Sleek and slippery as Laurence was 
 Cynthia's adjectives, employed to hit off a manner that 
 had charm without much genuineness he had the knack 
 of holding her attention by deft personal flatteries and 
 cajoleries, which she would have known how to cut short 
 from another but was strangely unable to deal with in 
 the case of Laurence. He aroused the worst in her with 
 skill, forced her to flirt without understanding she was 
 flirting, and occasionally to behave in a manner that 
 would have horrified Lady Bremner. In fact, to declare 
 the truth with bluntness, he was employing the tricks of 
 a seducer; by no means an uncommon occurrence in a 
 world where not a few men acquire a very subtle knowl- 
 edge of the inexperience of girls. Cynthia was inno- 
 cent; she guessed rightly that the man loved her with 
 the best in him as well as the worst ; and she was thor-
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 35 
 
 oughly feminine and youthful. It was not surprising 
 that a man of considerable ability, tremendously in 
 earnest, should exercise a certain control over their re- 
 lations when alone. Laurence was aiming all the time 
 at the development of precisely that kind of influence 
 over her which Shaun was anxious to avoid. He was 
 attacking her physical unconsciousness, playing with her 
 ignorance, seeking to arouse passion which should mas- 
 querade as love, and he was doing it not for a black- 
 guardly purpose, but because he knew nothing better, 
 being like most of his type a materialist, and therefore 
 blind. He believed that real love would come after 
 marriage, ignorant of how Cynthia would have grown to 
 hate him. 
 
 On the occasion referred to above he had been angling 
 in vain for an invitation to join the family holiday at 
 Tintagel, where Sir Everard was to recuperate for a few 
 weeks in July. It was the Bremner custom to go away 
 together, and amiably inclined as Lady Bremner might 
 be towards Laurence she did not intend to compromise 
 herself to the extent of inviting him on her own re- 
 sponsibility alone. If Rosemary asked for him that would 
 be a different matter. And Laurence, who guessed this, 
 went too far. 
 
 "I've always wanted to see Tintagel," he remarked 
 casually, fixing his eyes on Cynthia. ' ' I might take the 
 opportunity of your being there to run down for a few 
 days." 
 
 Cynthia looked away. ' ' It 's a long journey, ' ' she said 
 doubtfully, but added from politeness, "I'm told there 
 are awfully good hotels." She was saying to herself, 
 "Cynthia, my child, you won't bathe if Laurence Man 
 is there: he would look at you." 
 
 Laurence, in his folly, chose that moment to utter his 
 thoughts aloud. "I'd like to bathe," he observed. 
 "You swim, of course, Miss Bremner?" 
 
 "Yes." Very unwillingly. 
 
 "Would you mind if I came down for a few days?" 
 
 The connection of ideas was a trifle too obvious, and 
 Cynthia became exasperated. Glances, and the 'silent
 
 36 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 strong man' manner, and conventional flirting she could 
 hot prevent, and was conscious that she did not try to as 
 much as she ought. But the unconventional was mad- 
 ness on Laurence 's part, for it gave her the opportunity 
 to see what lay beneath. 
 
 "I should not care either way," she said, with in- 
 difference. 
 
 Laurence did not permit himself to be disconcerted. 
 
 ' ' That 's a step in the right direction, ' ' he commented 
 gaily. 
 
 "I'm afraid I was rude," apologised Cynthia, now 
 overcome by compunction. "Do forgive me. Of course 
 it would be very pleasant if you came." 
 
 "You were," he answered masterfully. "But in any 
 case I should have come. ' ' 
 
 Cynthia was child enough to be surprised at this. 
 
 Peter, who arrived just after Laurence had taken his 
 departure, could not have chosen a happier opportunity. 
 He looked pale and ill, a fit subject for sympathetic 
 fussing. Cynthia 's heart went out to him at once, partly 
 because he was not Laurence and partly because he was 
 what she called 'understandable,' that is to say, youth- 
 ful like herself ; and Lady Bremner, who had returned to 
 the drawing-room when she heard the front door close 
 behind the favoured suitor, placed him in the most com- 
 fortable armchair and overflowed with motherly atten- 
 tions. She felt genuine compassion for a male being 
 who did not possess a wife and a grown-up daughter to 
 take care of him ; so seizing a moment when she and 
 Cynthia were alone together at the extreme end of the 
 room engaged in search for an illustrated paper which 
 Mr. Middleton must see because it contained a descrip- 
 tion of the work of the Great Company, she smilingly 
 whispered, "Shall I ask him to Tintagel, darling?" 
 ' ' Why, yes ! " said Cynthia, ' ' Mummy, do ! " 
 
 "I'm afraid it is gone," apologised Lady Bremner, 
 returning. "It had no business to be left in that pile 
 of music, and I daresay one of the maids has tidied it 
 away. Rosemary, Rosemary! I warned you to put it 
 aside. ' '
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 37 
 
 Peter protested gratitude and begged them not to 
 bother themselves any more. 
 
 "I expect Mr. Middleton knows more than the writer 
 of the article," smiled Cynthia. "He's there all day, 
 Mummy ! ' ' 
 
 "And every day," sighed Peter. 
 
 "Do you get a good long leave in the summer to set 
 you up for the winter's work?" Lady Bremner inquired, 
 settling her elegant upright figure into a low armchair. 
 Cynthia, with a movement curiously resembling her 
 mother's, sank gracefully down upon a footstool. 
 
 ' ' Rather not ! ' ' replied Peter, watching the girl as far 
 as he could with politeness. "Half of us don't get a 
 summer holiday at all, Lady Bremner. I happen this 
 year to be one of the lucky ones, but two years running 
 I had to go away in April. We 're supposed to get three 
 weeks and we are only allowed to take a fortnight at a 
 time, so it doesn 't work out to anything very wonderful, 
 does it ? Of course what we call the ' Highos, ' the High 
 Officials, get more than that. ' ' 
 
 Then came the invitation which caused Peter posi- 
 tively to leap in his chair for joy. He. imagined himself 
 one broad grin from ear to ear. ' ' It '11 be the rippingest 
 time I've ever had. Thank you, Lady Bremner, most 
 awfully. ' ' He might have added that it would be almost 
 his first 'ripping time,' for Major Middleton had been 
 too poor for holiday-making while he was educating his 
 son, and the few men whom Peter cared about in the 
 Great Company had never managed to get leave at the 
 same time as himself. 
 
 "My niece, whom you met when you dined with us, 
 and another little cousin of Rosemary's, will be with us. 
 Joyce is younger. Her parents are in India. Joyce is 
 thirteen, is it, Rosemary? Or is she fourteen yet? I 
 think we may call it fourteen, and be on the safe side. 
 So it will be a family affair, Mr. Middleton, and we shall 
 be doing very ordinary holiday things. If you are will- 
 ing to join us I know my husband for one will be de- 
 lighted." 
 
 Peter could not help showing in his countenance a
 
 38 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 certain quizzical humour at this statement, which his 
 modesty did not permit him to accept without several 
 large grains of salt. By so doing he ran into danger. 
 "I'm glad Peter Middleton has a sense of comedy," 
 thought Cynthia severely, "but he must not employ it 
 upon Mother! I shall not like him if he does that." 
 However, Peter composed his features and thanked his 
 hostess with perfect propriety. Soon after he got up to 
 go, and found Cynthia grave-lipped with but a smile in 
 her eyes. Her handclasp was warm. 
 
 No difficulty was made at the Office about Peter's 
 leave, and his application passed through without com- 
 ment, Laurence signing it amongst a batch of others 
 without glancing at the name at the head of the paper. 
 Thenceforth Peter was safe. The 'society man' who 
 arbitrated in regard to gloves before the Bremner's din- 
 ner was again consulted night after night, and it was by 
 his experienced directions that Peter enlarged his ward- 
 robe. "Swells change their clothes pretty well when- 
 ever they enter the house. My boy, you've no idea 
 how many shirts you '11 want. And as for clean flannels ! 
 Well, they'll have to be clean, that's all! If you can't 
 stand the racket you '11 have to tell your hostess you can 
 only stay for one week. The people I go to are a jolly 
 sight smarter than your lot, and I 've had to accept half 
 an invitation many a time. It's all the fault of being a 
 
 clerk, Middleton! There's no chance of rising 
 
 at our beastly shop, I've always said it! Look at our 
 salaries, just look at them! You can't do much visiting 
 in the West End on 120 a year, my boy," and so on 
 interminably. Peter put up with a good deal for the 
 sake of the information he obtained. Needless to say, 
 being a boy of spirit, he drew his savings from the bank 
 and bought clothes enough for the whole fortnight; 
 and also needless to say, he made a great many errors 
 in the course of his work. It was settled he was to 
 join the Bremners a few days after their arrival ; until 
 then he walked on air. 
 
 Cynthia met Shaun once before they started and 
 then only for a few moments. His manner was con-
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 39 
 
 strained, she noticed it at once, and later when alone 
 she was suddenly struck by an intuitive impression that 
 he was feeding himself insufficiently! This was not the 
 case, but her idea deserves to be noted if only because 
 it proves the insight of women to be fallible. Her brother 
 Alan, who was worrying over an apparently insoluble 
 dilemma and starving himself in the process, obtained 
 neither sympathy nor attention from Cynthia, whose 
 perceptions often failed her where he was concerned. 
 She was, however, not surprised to hear that Helen 
 Taliesin was to stay with them for a few days at 
 Tintagel.
 
 To a clerk of the Great Company who is an old public 
 schoolboy the first day of holiday is more than a release 
 from the unpleasant, it means the recovery of his true 
 self. During months he has been trying to please his 
 superiors not only by his work but by his attitude to- 
 wards it, striving hard to appear what they wish him to 
 be, honest and fond of figures, rather simple, with a 
 wholesome admiration for those in authority and their 
 sense of humour. He has never forgotten that he could 
 not obtain so high a salary elsewhere (small though it- 
 appears in his eyes), because he knows neither a trade 
 nor a profession. And he has not doubted that the 
 Company is mindful of this, since the Directors have 
 evidently expected him to feel gratitude, and taking up 
 the position that they are paying for his character as 
 well as for his pen have claimed the right to command 
 both equally. He has been allowed some respectable in- 
 terest, such as football or religion, to occupy his spare 
 moments spent out of the Office, but individuality is 
 dangerous in their view. If he possesses it he will have 
 done wisely to keep the fact concealed. 
 
 The Directors consider it advisable to pay men of 
 education to add up figures and copy documents; and 
 having got them it is necessary to break their pride in 
 order to fit them to be drudges. The victim cannot 
 complain of this policy, as he knows himself unfitted by 
 hereditary instinct and imaginative activity for the 
 duties he is called upon to perform. He is paid for 
 being a gentleman; but because he has to be broken in 
 to the severe discipline of the Company he cannot be 
 treated like one: and since an educated man rarely be- 
 comes effective in a monotonous employment he finds 
 
 40
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 41 
 
 himself blamed for the possession of those qualities on 
 account of which he was formerly selected. The vicious 
 circle is complete. 
 
 Peter snuggled back into his corner, watched the long, 
 ugly platform glide by, and triumphed at the idea of 
 being Peter Middleton again all day and every day for 
 a whole long fortnight. Unknowingly he was more than 
 recompensed for the drab discomfort of his method of 
 earning a living by his exquisite thrill of happiness now. 
 Salisbury passed without disturbing his dream, and its 
 slender spire added a soaring beauty that lifted him 
 upward and upward to ethereal heights of fancy whence 
 he surveyed a fairy-like, miniature, glittering world 
 within the swoop, as it seemed, of a hand and yet deli- 
 cately all-comprehending and universal. Travel was in 
 it, and Art Galleries, and hunting, and the society of his 
 fellows, and comfortable chambers, and the right kind of 
 Egyptian cigarettes; books of philosophy, and distin- 
 guished men in evening dress who let him listen, and 
 girls with friendly unconscious eyes, and motor-cars, and 
 The Studio and Blackwood's and Punch and The Hib- 
 ~bert Journal, and a 10-ton yawl, and a seat at the Opera. 
 Luncheon in the hot, shaking dining-car brought near 
 to him by no skill of cookery the splendours of the 
 Ritz and intimate dinners in old Soho; and then the 
 tranquillity of distant Exeter, in a clear sunlit frame of 
 ballooning white clouds on a sky of blue, shifted his vision 
 to scenes of peace and the fireside, of two armchairs close 
 and hands that seek each other, and a bright crown of 
 hair, and the curve of a dainty cheek, and perhaps the 
 bend of a graceful neck that he knew. Then came Oke- 
 hampton ; and the moor, the great unfamiliar, threaten- 
 ing, magic expanse, drew his thoughts out upon its waste 
 and his eyes to the carriage window, and thenceforward 
 Peter gazed at the harrying show and forgot to dream. 
 
 At last the train rumbled to a standstill in Camelford 
 Station ; Peter, getting out, saw Sir Everard in summer 
 clothes waiting by the barrier, with a young girl at his 
 side. Outside were a number of wagonettes which, now 
 that the train was in, commenced to fill with passengers
 
 42 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 and luggage. "Tintagel, Boseastle, or Camelford, sir?" 
 asked the porter who had Peter's trunk. "What hotel, 
 please?" 
 
 "Tintagel. I'm with this gentleman," explained 
 Peter, as they approached Sir Everard. 
 
 "Glad to see you!" said the latter with a sort of 
 curt goodwill. "Put that up in front, porter. You 
 haven't met my niece Joyce Ommanney before, have you, 
 Middleton? Here she is. Joyce, this is Mr. Middleton. " 
 A pair of oblique, wise, dark eyes looked into Peter's, 
 and he got an impression of a mane of nut-brown di- 
 shevelled hair, a cinnamon-coloured cotton dress, fine, 
 slender tan legs, and gym-shoes. Joyce might be only 
 fourteen, but her eyes had a glint in them that told of 
 mischief, and Peter with a flash of insight foresaw what 
 a critic she would be of him and Phyllis! There was 
 nothing unkind about the face. From the beginning 
 he liked Joyce and knew that she would be his friend 
 with Cynthia. 
 
 "How do you do?" she said, shyly but with the air 
 of well-mannered self-possession that a good school 
 teaches; and then they all climbed into the wagonette 
 and were driven off in the warm summer sunshine down 
 a long white road, with another vehicle clattering ahead 
 of them. At first they talked the usual travellers' talk, 
 which soon died away into a silence that was not oppres- 
 sive. ' ' Here 's Cornwall, ' ' said Sir Everard with a glance 
 at the boy's happy face. "Look at it, Middleton. We 
 won't interrupt." He seemed more human, less impos- 
 ing than in London, though his countenance was still 
 sternly set and its expression impenetrable. Joyce was 
 watching Peter openly with a schoolgirl's curiosity. 
 
 The upland air came to Peter fresh with the scent of 
 hay. It was cordial like wine, sweet to breathe after 
 London's soot and petrol, and very friendly. This 
 Cornish breeze spoke of the cool embrace of the salt, 
 green sea; the souls of many fragrant flowers flitted in 
 it; and it was blowing direct from white-piled clouds 
 on an azure sky. Soon it wafted the Great Company 
 from Peter's mind, cleaning out the chinks and crevices
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 43 
 
 and dropping the lumber far off in the land of memory. 
 He felt a sunny content. 
 
 Through the dust which rose behind the wagonette he 
 saw the ragged outline of distant Roughtor, a dark sum- 
 mit upon the horizon, which called to him with a mag- 
 ical voice that he vowed some day to answer. Then 
 to the left, in front, came a glimpse of a tender, sapphire 
 sea between two rounded bluffs; the sign-post pointing 
 thither said, "Trebarwith Strand." They swung on, 
 and turned inland down a long, black, winding gorge, 
 craggy with slaty rocks and great walls piled by the 
 quarrymen long ago; ferns grew upon its precipitous 
 sides and bushes of golden gorse. All the way a leaping 
 brook made haste to race them, wagtails dropped and 
 made little darting flights like black-and-white flashes of 
 joy, and in every thicket a thrush or a robin was sing- 
 ing. And now the quarry walls towered above the road ; 
 and beyond on the left-hand side was a puffing of steam 
 and the sound of machinery, which told that slate was 
 actually being worked there. Peter closed his eyes as 
 they rattled by. 
 
 Up a steep hill they reached an inn, which claims to 
 be in Tintagel. Peter, like all newcomers, was deceived 
 until Sir Everard called to tell him that this was Trewar- 
 mett. Riding on, they passed through a little hamlet 
 with a glorious view of cliff and sea, and across the open 
 down began to meet scattered houses, some common and 
 bare productions these of modern Cornish architecture, 
 than which there is none uglier some old, with twisted 
 chimneys and tiny gardens bright with hollyhocks and 
 fuchsias and Padstow's Pride. Away on the cliff was a 
 huge castellated building with battlements. "What's 
 that?" Peter exclaimed. "The great house over 
 there?" "An hotel," said Sir Everard drily. "They 
 call it the 'King Arthur's Castle.' Irving used to stay 
 there." In a few more minutes they stopped at the 
 head of a village street before a double-fronted house 
 with mullioned windows. Cynthia came out of the porch, 
 and Peter's heart leapt in greeting. 
 
 "Hullo, Daddy!" she cried, running down the path
 
 44 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 towards them. "How do you do, Mr. Middleton? 
 Daddy, Alan's come ! He's got a bedroom at the Wharn- 
 eliffe. His friends have gone on to Bude. They wouldn't 
 dine with us after all." 
 
 "My son motored here from Penzance, " Sir Everard 
 informed Peter. "Where's little Phyllis, Polly?" He 
 opened the wagonette door and descended. 
 
 ' ' She 's dressing for dinner already, ' ' returned Cynthia 
 with the slightest tilt upward of the corners of her 
 pretty mouth. Peter in the act of getting down heard 
 a chuckle behind him, but on turning he saw Joyce 
 perfectly demure. She jumped hurriedly to the ground 
 in order to avoid taking his hand. 
 
 "Is she indeed? You go in, Middleton. I'll look 
 after the luggage." 
 
 "Dinner is at seven," explained Cynthia, leading Peter 
 into the house. "Will you have tea or whisky or some- 
 thing, in the meantime?" 
 
 Lady Bremner, who encountered them in the hall, 
 overheard this comprehensive invitation. "You must 
 certainly have a cup of tea," she said, shaking hands. 
 ' ' Rosemary, tea is in the drawing-room, waiting for Mr. 
 Middleton. Will you pour it out for him, please ? I 've 
 undertaken to advise Phyllis my niece Phyllis Peto, 
 whom you took in when you dined with us as to an 
 alteration in an evening frock, so you must excuse me, 
 if you will. ' ' And, graciously smiling, she proceeded on 
 her way upstairs. 
 
 Cornish air and the society of Joyce appeared to have 
 demoralised quiet Cynthia. "Alan had whisky," she 
 remarked doubtfully, looking at Peter. 
 
 Lady Bremner glanced over her shoulder, mur- 
 mured, "Alan had been motoring, dear!" and disap- 
 peared. 
 
 ' ' Alan had two large whacks. ' ' This from Joyce in a 
 discreet aside. "And I know where the decanter is, 
 if you want it, Rosie. " 
 
 "Don't call me Rosie!" said Cynthia, almost with 
 crossness, for she was oddly discomposed by her rebuke 
 before the new guest. She led the way into the drawing-
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 45 
 
 room, adding, "It's bad enough for That One to call me 
 so. I won't let you as well, Joyce!" 
 
 " 'That One' is my name for Cousin Phyllis. Don't 
 you think it's a jolly name?" inquired Joyce, with a 
 twinkle at Peter. 
 
 "I had not even found out she was called Peto, al- 
 though I Ve taken her in to dinner. I don 't know much 
 about her yet," Peter replied cautiously. 
 
 "Phyllis doesn't need a surname," observed Joyce in 
 a negligent tone. 
 
 Cynthia's face had cleared. "Shut up, kid, " she said. 
 "And forgive me for being angry just now." 
 
 Joyce looked at her gravely. ' ' "When we 're alone you 
 are frightfully decent to me and treat me like a girl of 
 your own age, Cynthia. I'm rather shocked that you 
 should call me 'kid' just to show off before Mr. Middle- 
 ton." But seeing Cynthia turn scarlet she added a 
 contrite, "I'm sorry, Cyn!" and ran out of the room 
 with averted face. 
 
 "Now she'll weep!" compassionated Cynthia, rising, 
 and then she seated herself again. ' ' We 're awfully good 
 chums really, and now I've gone and made a beast of 
 myself. Won't you have another cup of tea? Do let 
 me give you another!" 
 
 "I wish you'd go to her," Peter jerked out, conscious 
 as he uttered it that the phrase had an unfortunate double 
 meaning. "I won't have any more tea, thank you." 
 
 Cynthia became radiant. "Oh, do you mind?" she 
 said. "I can put it right if I can only catch her at 
 once ! Give me your keys and I '11 set some one to work 
 unpacking. ' ' 
 
 Peter rose too. "I'd rather do it myself," he said 
 nervously, "if you don't mind pointing out my room." 
 
 Dinner added to the impression of a relaxed discipline 
 and a holiday merriment in the family atmosphere. 
 Cynthia, in a silvery gown, was laughing at very small 
 jokes; Phyllis, in a daring frock of yellow, rendered 
 innocuous by the discreet counsel of Lady Bremner, 
 chattered loudly; and Joyce, in pale blue with a hair- 
 ribbon of the same colour, was demure, nicely behaved,
 
 46 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 and natural. For the first time in his life Peter forgot 
 to be disconcerted by the proximity of ladies in evening 
 dress, he forgot to be shy, he forgot to imitate the choice 
 of dishes of his next-door neighbour, and took wine 
 boldly, and joined modestly and cheerfully in the general 
 conversation. Sir Everard glanced at him once or twice, 
 and sent along the salted almonds, causing Peter to 
 remember with a start of surprise that he had eaten 
 almonds in Portman Square did nothing then escape 
 his host? The little byplay was observed by Cynthia, 
 beaming upon the success of her new friend with soft 
 laughter and merry words; and it gladdened her heart, 
 for it meant that her father approved. 
 
 Everything was perfect that first evening of Peter's 
 holiday, perfect the beauty and gentleness of the girl he 
 was beginning to love, perfect the setting in which he 
 found her. The Bremners had an environment as suitable 
 to them as Portman Square, for the house they had taken 
 was artistic in design and furnished harmoniously. It 
 possessed a lawn of smooth green turf, and arched walks 
 with rambler roses, and red valerian on the walls of the 
 garden. An old figure-head, representing a helmed war- 
 rior, stood close by the porch. Not far away in the 
 corner was a rockery of white quartz, with branching 
 ferns, visible from Peter's seat at the dinner-table. 
 
 And the Bremners were serene and expectant of pleas- 
 ure, a united family, forgetful that Love, the sower of 
 discord, was in their midst. Alan, haggard from fasting 
 and sorrow, had for the moment driven Helen Taliesin 
 from his thoughts, Cynthia knew not the minds of dis- 
 tant Laurence and Shaun, and Peter she did not con- 
 sider a possible lover. She had settled his place in her 
 affections and intended to bind him there, a lifelong 
 friend. So she was at ease and her parents likewise, for 
 truth to say they understood not much that was passing 
 before their eyes. Alan had been ill; their daughter 
 was too young to marry. Alan had character and could 
 be relied upon; Rosemary had romantic ideas, but she 
 was a sensible girl as well as a pretty one, and after 
 all Mr. James was a gentleman. He would know they
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 47 
 
 intended a better match for her. As for the attractive 
 boy, let him replace Shaun James. He, most certainly, 
 could not think of marriage. 
 
 Peter's excitement increased as the evening flew by. 
 Rain drove him back when he went to the porch, but 
 inside came discovery after discovery. Cynthia could 
 sing and play ; she was fascinating as she did each. Her 
 voice was a light soprano, sweet and ringing; she sang 
 ballads that her mother asked for, indifferent as to the 
 choice. He decided she was not really musical; but 
 how lovely her arms looked as she played, and no girl 
 ever had so dear a face! Alan chaffed Phyllis out of 
 her avowed intention of dancing, at which Sir Everard 
 seemed relieved. Phyllis was inclined to hang round 
 the men ; she had a stern critic in Joyce, who kept watch 
 on every one and was silent. And Alan himself was a 
 good chap. What had made Peter misjudge the man in 
 London? Why, he was as friendly as could be. 
 
 When it was time to light candles and go to bed, how 
 interesting to note the various handshakes, from the 
 firm grip of Alan and the steady clasp of his father to 
 Cynthia's warm pressure, and the hot hand of Phyllis 
 drooping from a curved wrist, and the dry fingers of 
 Lady Bremner, and Joyce's shy little paw. Had he 
 grasped Cynthia's hand too hard? Her eyes had been 
 fearlessly gazing into his and suddenly a shiver had 
 passed over their grey depths like a ruffle of wind on a 
 calm sea-pool. . . . Peter was dreaming in his room, and 
 now drew near to the window. Yes, her eyes were like 
 sparkling clear sea-water . . . what a pity his hands 
 were so strong! He did not mean to hurt her . . . but 
 she was not elusive like water, she was steadfast. 
 
 There was a balcony outside, accessible if the window 
 was flung wide-open. In a moment he had stepped into 
 a gorgeous night of stars whose queen, a slender slip of 
 a moon, rode naked across the deep blue firmament, 
 shining high and conqueringly. The odour of the moist 
 earth and of flowers ascended to his nostrils, the sea 
 murmured along the strand, the beating was the beating 
 of his heart. "Cynthia is my name," called the maiden
 
 48 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 moon, but the constellations leaned from their thrones 
 and whispered : ' ' She is one of us ! Your love is a Star 
 dwelling amongst men. In her eyes is our light, to 
 remind the forgetful of Space and of God." They swept 
 down on Peter in a great rush of flying splendour and 
 he woke from his reverie blinded, and the night breeze 
 was lifting his hair. 
 
 "I will think of her as Star, if I may not speak the 
 name," thought Peter, rubbing his eyes to bring back 
 his wits again. He discovered the Greater Bear and 
 traced the glimmering Pole Star, admired the sheen of 
 the Milky Way, flung like a soft veil over the dusk-blue 
 sky, and began in idleness to count the myriad sparks. 
 What if the soul should pass a lifetime in each of these 
 worlds in its pilgrim's course across eternity? Shaun 
 James believed this; he said so in his books. But was 
 it good? Did he glory in it when confronted by the 
 open, or in a lamplit study? The aspect of the high 
 dome of heaven seemed threatening to Peter, its spacious- 
 ness was empty, its fiery globes each an abode of lonely 
 woe. Reaction gripped and tore him. 
 
 Memory and faith in Shaun, better still knowledge of 
 his sweet, particular Star, supplied the true answer to 
 the terrible doubt. Finer work, more wisdom, greater 
 love ! From world to world a progress, from life to 
 life an ascent! Up the shining ladder of night leaped 
 the imagination of the boy to find God, where his ardent 
 soul would one day meet Him face to face.
 
 VI 
 
 THE village street of Trevena, now called Tintagel, is 
 wide and straight, and down it in the summer months go 
 boys with clattering milk-pails, American ladies, motor- 
 cars, flocks of sheep, sunburnt, long-stepping men visi- 
 tors, girls with bare heads and ankles and suburban ac- 
 cents, girls in motor veils and cloaks, old women in sun- 
 bonnets, the postman, dogs, cats, and occasional chickens, 
 attractive family parties like the Bremners, Cornish 
 'tackers' and '1'il maidens' on their way to school, and 
 also flocks of crows and jackdaws, with sometimes, rar- 
 est of all, a red-beaked, red-legged chough. Brakes and 
 wagonettes stop at the Wharncliffe Hotel at the top of 
 the street, except those bound for the great caravanserai 
 beloved of Irving, which is out of sight of the village 
 and does not disturb its country peace. 
 
 Between nine and ten is the time when the resident 
 visitors begin to make their appearance with towels and 
 bathing-costumes, walking-sticks and bags of saffron 
 buns; the luxurious carry novels and cushions, but few 
 spades or pails are to be seen, as the nearest sands are 
 over a mile away at Bossiney and there is only shingle at 
 Tintagel Cove. It was 9.30 exactly when Cynthia ran 
 in to the Wharncliffe to fetch Alan. Breakfast had been 
 eaten, and various minor points in regard to the girls' 
 attire dealt with by Lady Bremner in private, and Peter 
 was already impatient to be off, not having learnt that 
 ladies must not be hurried since there is usually a reason 
 for their delays. On this occasion it was the contumacy 
 of Phyllis that detained the party. She had twice been 
 sent upstairs to put on stockings and had returned each 
 time with a shorter skirt and a more open blouse ; this 
 perversity being displayed after she had obtained the 
 
 49
 
 50 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 concession of wearing no hat! The third time, when 
 she changed into a discreet blouse with transparent 
 sleeves but they are usual and quite a lengthy skirt 
 and pinned a smart white hat on her black ropes of hair, 
 and came down still with pretty ankles bare, she won a 
 victory. "You are nineteen, as you say, Phyllis," said 
 Lady Bremner, "but it is my consolation that you look 
 sixteen. You may do as you wish this once, and I'll 
 talk it over with you in your room to-night." Which 
 made the rebel somewhat ill at ease, filling her with 
 uncomfortable forebodings. 
 
 Cynthia and Joyce were hatless as a result of their 
 cousin's impudence, Lady Bremner having given general 
 permission for the abandonment of headgear. Other- 
 wise they were daintily seemly, like illustrations from 
 the summer number of a ladies' paper, only prettier 
 and in drawing. Alan was wearing white flannels, 
 Peter too had blossomed out into his best. They made 
 a handsome group of young people in front of the 
 Wharncliffe in the morning sunshine, and deserved the 
 admiration they won from good Mrs. Fry in the door- 
 way opposite. Then Sir Everard appeared with his 
 trout rod and creel and set off inland, after a rueful 
 glance round the clear horizon ; and finally Lady Brem- 
 ner in grey under a pearl-tinted sunshade joined the 
 others. ' ' I think 1 11 saunter in the direction of Daddy 's 
 stream," she said. "I hope you'll take Mr. Middleton 
 round the Island, Alan, when you go." Alan had a 
 guide-book under his arm, concerning which mischievous 
 signals had been exchanged between Joyce and Cynthia. 
 
 "We're not going there till this afternoon," Cynthia 
 said. 
 
 "We're going everywhere this morning and we'll show 
 him everything," Phyllis cried at the same moment. 
 
 "When you've done!" observed Alan. "Mother, 
 you may reply on our doing our duty by King Arthur. 
 Girls, if Mother is bound in the opposite direction, we'd 
 better be making a start. Have one of mine, Middle- 
 ton; Turkish on the left, Virginian on the right. Why 
 on earth we don't keep a dog I can't imagine. Five
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 51 
 
 people without a terrier look utterly lonesome! Joyce, 
 will you be our puppy? Frisk a little, dear, and wag 
 your pigtail!" 
 
 "I haven't got a pigtail," said Joyce good-naturedly, 
 "otherwise I would with pleasure. My locks are still 
 unconfined, but I've grown out of twisting them into a 
 tail, I can jolly well tell you!" 
 
 "Phyllis, my only love, you've forgotten your stock- 
 ings. Fie, in the public street ! Rosemary, you 're look- 
 ing very nice. You are a credit to your brother. Hullo, 
 what 's this ? It 's uncommonly fine ! ' ' 
 
 They were halfway down the street by this time, come 
 to a halt before an ancient house with pointed gables 
 and dormer windows, very quaint and beautiful, erected 
 in the days when craftsmen were artists and builders 
 were honoured by kings. It stood between the grey 
 slate cottages, its neighbours, like a knight between 
 peasants. 
 
 "Date, please, Joyce?" said Alan, consulting the 
 guidebook. "Out with it like a good girl. Get it right 
 first time." 
 
 "1912," returned Joyce promptly, amid laughter. 
 
 ' ' All right, young woman ! I '11 keep my information 
 to myself. You'll never know now when that splendid 
 house was built. It's the old Post Office, and opposite 
 is the new Post Office to prove that we are descended 
 from apes." 
 
 "It is lovely," said Cynthia, wistfully. 
 
 "True, oh Princess! And you're quite right not to 
 make a song about it. Phyllis, leave my Baedeker alone. 
 The red paint comes off when small girls touch it. It's 
 a misogynist." 
 
 They were walking on, and Phyllis had dropped be- 
 hind with Peter, who was by no means willing; but 
 Cynthia had kept close to Alan's side and Joyce was 
 avoiding "That One," so he had no chance of escape. 
 
 "I'm not a small girl," cried indignant Phyllis, ceas- 
 .ing her attempts to prise the Baedeker from under 
 Alan's arm and falling back a step to Peter. 
 
 "You behave like one and are clothed like one and
 
 52 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 look like one" as they turned to the left down a steep 
 lane. 
 
 "I'm sure my skirt is long enough. Isn't it, Rosie? 
 If Aunt Emmeline passed it I'm sure you needn't say 
 anything, Alan! And if you are going to be horrid 
 about my looking young, I shall let my hair down, so 
 there!" 
 
 The minx followed up her words with deeds. She 
 gave Peter her hat to hold and stood still, pretty elbows 
 upflung and swift, white hands busy in the black masses 
 of her hair detaching pins and preparing the coils for an 
 effective descent. Then, with a toss of the head, her 
 fingers leapt clear, and a long cataract rippled and rolled 
 to below her waist. With a glance at Peter as much as 
 to say, "Look at that, now," she pushed away some 
 loose strands that had fallen across her face, and, taking 
 the hat, pinned it soberly to her belt; and off they 
 started again. Peter set a good stiff pace. However 
 willing he might have been in other circumstances to flirt 
 with a maiden of a 'coming-on' disposition, he certainly 
 did not desire to do so when the alternative was walk- 
 ing with Cynthia. He agreed with the comment of 
 Joyce, overheard as they caught up the others at the foot 
 of the hill, ' ' That One is a regular kitten to-day. ' ' He 
 did not wish to play with kittens. Men who had fallen 
 in love needed to be left alone with their thoughts, if 
 they couldn 't be with the right girl. His thoughts moved 
 very swiftly as he strode down the slope. In six paces 
 he settled the exact moment at which he had begun to 
 be in love; it was when Cynthia appeared in the porch 
 on his arrival. Also he had had time to speculate on 
 the nature of his passion and to wonder why he had 
 selected this particular young woman, out of the millions 
 who crowd this earth, for an adoration that was different 
 from anything he had felt before. Looking up and 
 seeing her standing in front of him he ceased to wonder. 
 She was tall, and white and cool as a lily. Deep down 
 in his heart something said that he truly loved her. 
 His surface mind was aware of a vivid, sparkling happi- 
 ness induced by emotion, an ecstasy of joy, in which the
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 53 
 
 landscape danced and shimmered, the sky's fiery blue 
 was a benison, the song of birds an invocation to thanks- 
 giving, all on his behalf, all because this one girl existed 
 and he was privileged to be near her. But underneath 
 the roseate glow there was a true, small flame flickering 
 in the soul of Peter Middleton; and he was beginning 
 to be dimly conscious of his soul, and how the flame 
 would cause him to become a participator in life instead 
 of a spectator, as soon as it burnt high and clear. For 
 this was the Love that is knowledge of God. 
 
 ' ' The vicarage pigeon-cote is Norman, ' ' read out Alan. 
 "It's that round massive structure over the wall. The 
 Normans seem to have built fairly solidly." 
 
 "The roof is ingenious," said Peter. 
 
 "I like the holes all round so that each pigeon can 
 have its own front door," cried Cynthia. 
 
 "And a slate for each to sit upon, outside. The 
 Normans were evidently kind to animals. The Vicarage 
 is a decent house, eh, Rose? Shall I enter the Church 
 and have a try for it ? " 
 
 "Alan isn't kind to kittens," said Phyllis to no one 
 in particular, and under cover of the general applause 
 she tucked her arm into his and led him on in triumph. 
 "You know you can't resist me, old Alan!" she was 
 overheard to say coaxingly, and over her shoulder came, 
 "Not that I forgive you for calling me a kitten, Joyce 
 dear!" 
 
 "Can I not resist you?" demanded Alan, but he al- 
 lowed himself to be led away, nevertheless. 
 
 ' ' That One was not born to be drowned, ' ' was Joyce 's 
 sententious comment. "No wonder she has not learned 
 to swim." 
 
 ' ' She 's afraid to wet her hair. That 's the real reason, ' ' 
 said Cynthia, as they toiled together up the hill. Joyce 
 plucked a blade of grass and began to chew it, with a 
 side glance at her companion to see whether she might 
 venture. "You may eat leaves or anything you like, 
 so long as you don't tease me," Cynthia told her. "I 
 don 't feel like being teased to-day. I want a long, quiet 
 chat with Alan about something particular, and I can't
 
 54 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 get hold of him. Please, Mr. Middleton, will you help ? 
 If I tell my cousin she '11 only hang round all the rest of 
 the day and ask questions. ' ' 
 
 "Of course I will," consented Peter, sorely disap- 
 pointed all the same. 
 
 "Take him to the island this afternoon," suggested 
 Joyce. 
 
 "Can't. We're going to look for choughs' nests, the 
 whole lot of us." 
 
 They came out on a green down, and the sound of the 
 sea met them, ascending from three hundred feet below 
 beyond the weather-beaten old church of St. Materiana, 
 whose grey tower stands sentinel on the edge of Christen- 
 dom. Tossing, foam-flecked billows were hurling them- 
 selves unceasingly against the great cliff, falling back 
 again with a deep roar of disappointed wrath, and swirl- 
 ing and lashing themselves into a frenzy, and swooping 
 forward once more to a new assault. The churchyard 
 was not a quiet place. Alan and Phyllis had entered the 
 gate, so the rest followed, and passing between the bat- 
 tered tombstones they wondered at the might of the 
 winds that could force these heavy slabs of granite 
 from the perpendicular. Alan waited for them and said, 
 "If I had a grave here that I cared for, I'd come up 
 on stormy nights and sit on the stone." 
 
 "You'd be blown away too!" screamed Phyllis, which 
 caused Joyce to laugh unkindly. 
 
 "What has 'That One' done to you?" Peter had the 
 curiosity to inquire, surprised at the anger in her mirth. 
 
 "I'm only a kid, but I hate seeing a girl go on like 
 that," replied fierce young Joyce. 
 
 The interior of the church was dark and gloomy. 
 They examined an ancient font, which received but 
 cursory attention from the three girls, who were eager 
 for sunlight and fresh air. Alan and Peter lingered a 
 moment and then joined them, and in that second Peter 
 found time to murmur, "Your sister wants a talk with 
 you. " " Right ! Thanks ! ' ' said Alan. 
 
 Accordingly, outside they separated and Peter found 
 himself once more alone with Phyllis and Joyce, the
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 55 
 
 centre of a continual fire of chaff, which crossed and re- 
 crossed him without requiring intervention on his part 
 to keep it alive. On the whole Phyllis gave as good as 
 she got, for Joyce 's past did not appear to be unimpeach- 
 able. "Who slid down the bannisters?" demanded 
 Phyllis with triumphant iteration, causing Joyce, who 
 had replaced her blade of grass by a sprig of wild thyme, 
 to devour inches of the stalk in wrath and mortifica- 
 tion. What there was to be ashamed of in the athletic 
 feat Peter did not comprehend, until the chance word 
 'nightgown' and Joyce's blushes enlightened him. On 
 the other hand it did not appear to be disputed that 
 Phyllis had taken Joyce's silver-backed hair brush and 
 concealed it with intent to annoy, which seemed a far 
 worse crime to Peter. 
 
 Every now and then Phyllis raked him with an au- 
 dacious glance of her black eyes, which were filled with 
 fun as well as with provocation, appearing to ask, ' ' Isn 't 
 this all ripping ? " as well as, ' ' Am I not a pretty girl ? " ; 
 and so they went across the springy, green turf towards 
 the verge of the precipice over which Alan and Cynthia 
 apparently had walked, to judge from the suddenness of 
 their disappearance. Silhouetted against the sky was 
 the figure of an old man with a long white beard, show- 
 ing very clear and gem-like on the azure background. 
 He was trimming slates and talking to an enormous gull 
 which stood a yard or so away from him, listening in 
 respectful immobility. 
 
 ' ' Good marnin ', " he said, as the three approached and 
 the great gull flapped lazily to a safer distance. 
 
 "Good morning to you," Peter replied. "I'm sorry 
 we've frightened your gull." 
 
 ' ' That don 't matter. She '11 come again, I rackon, for 
 'tes a hungry bird. Your friends are down under 
 in the quarry, looking for Charlie Hamley, the bird- 
 watcher. ' ' 
 
 "What's a bird-watcher?" demanded Phyllis. 
 
 "Man as a Lunnon Society pays wages to protect the 
 nests of chaws and bluehawks agin strubbers, Miss!" 
 
 The old man was extraordinarily handsome, perched
 
 56 THE JOYFUL YEAES 
 
 there high above the sea, and his eyes were blue and 
 clear and steady. 
 
 "May I feed the gull when it comes back?" pleaded 
 Joyce. "Have you any more crumbs?" 
 
 The old man ceased work for the first time during the 
 conversation, and slowly turning, gazed at her. "Yes," 
 he said, after a moment, "yes, Missie. Come and sit 
 by me." 
 
 Peter and Phyllis withdrew a little way and admired 
 the tremendous sweep of coastline, wreathed in a sun- 
 haze, stretching to distant Pentire Head, and listened to 
 the thunder of the waves. Flights of rooks and jackdaws 
 circled overhead, but they looked in vain for the red legs 
 and red beak of the chough. A lark was singing behind 
 them, and the scent of the wild thyme was blown across 
 the down and the sun shone on their backs with summer 
 heat. Phyllis, stretching herself luxuriously, lay back 
 with her hands clasped behind her head and closed her 
 eyes; but Peter leaned forward and listened to the old 
 man,unwillingto lose an instant of his holiday in slumber. 
 
 ' ' 'Tes what they calls a herring-gull, ' ' he was saying, 
 "and that there stain on the side of her beak came to 
 the gulls a long time agone. It isn't there by chance, 
 like. They do say, when the saint as named the church 
 yonder was martyred, one of the gulls flapped around 
 the soldiers' heads, screechin' and complainin' agin the 
 wicked sin they was doin '. And a soldier caught 'un and 
 nailed 'un by the beak upon the cross up over the saint 's 
 head. From that day to this they herring-gulls have 
 had the red mark, but I can't speak as to the truth of 
 the tale, for I 'm a Methody mysel '. That 's right, Missie. 
 Throw the bread with your fingers, like. Don't stir 
 more nor you can help. That's it ! 'Tes a greedy fowl. " 
 
 Alan and Cynthia reappeared above the brow of the 
 precipice by the side of the old man, and the gull flew 
 away. "Oh!" cried Joyce, disappointed. 
 
 "Sorry, old girl," said Alan. "We've settled with 
 Hamley for three- thirty this afternoon. He says you 
 need a steady head to get in sight of a chough 's nest, and 
 that puts Phyllis out of the party. Joyce, I daren't trust
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 57 
 
 you for the climbing. Be a man, and 111 take you out 
 fishing one day instead. What about you, Middleton? 
 Will you come?" 
 
 ' ' I say, I 'm no good on heights ! ' ' confessed Peter. 
 
 "No more am I," added Cynthia in a hurry. 
 
 Alan stared at her and forgot the manners of the 
 Foreign Office so far as to whistle. "Since when?" he 
 inquired. "My good Rose, remember Switzerland!" 
 
 "Well, I'm not going this afternoon," said Cynthia, 
 obstinately, and she carried him on ahead, after a hasty 
 farewell to the patriarch. 
 
 ' ' If you see a bird containing the soul of King Arthur, 
 that 's a Cornish chough ! ' ' warned Alan over his shoul- 
 der; but to Cynthia he said rather coldly, "I don't un- 
 derstand you this morning, Sis. Middleton was not em- 
 barrassed, and the situation did not require saving." 
 
 "I was sorry for him. I did not want him to feel 
 lonely. Anyhow, you need not have given me away, 
 Alan!" 
 
 "Phyllis would have done that with an innuendo, the 
 moment your back was turned. Really, you might have 
 found a more plausible excuse ! And he '11 have Phyllis 
 and Joyce with him in any case, so he can't be lonely. 
 I should have liked you with me, Sis. In fact I was 
 relying on you. Are you cross because I won 't help you 
 to become a governess?" 
 
 "I don't want to become a governess!" burst out 
 Cynthia furiously. "You are hateful to me, Alan ! Nor 
 do I want to be a nurse; nor a shop-girl! I'm only 
 asking you to use your influence with Daddy to get me 
 a little independence, a chance to go my own way, and 
 occasionally see my own friends in the house. It isn't 
 much to ask. And you are a beast to me ! " 
 
 "My good girl " 
 
 " I 'm not your good girl ! I want to be my own good 
 girl ! I want to be good by myself, for a change. That's 
 about what I do want ! ' ' 
 
 Alan looked at his watch. "Home, I suppose! It's 
 getting on to lunch-time. What's wrong with your pres- 
 ent life, Rose?"
 
 58 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "I'm sick of it. Look at the liberty a girl like Miss 
 Taliesin has. She 's doing something useful in the world ; 
 and what am I doing?" 
 
 "Do you share Miss Taliesin 's views? Do you want 
 a vote ? Do you consider men unfit for such a position 
 as she holds ? ' ' 
 
 "Don't you?" 
 
 "I've got a vote, thank you," said Alan. "And, no, 
 I don't wish to see women in public life for a good 
 many years to come. I'm afraid I think even Miss 
 Taliesin 's work might be better done by men." 
 
 "But don't you admire herself, her personality, what 
 she 's become through being independent and doing that 
 work? I thought you did!" 
 
 Alan glanced at her, and his face hardened. "We're 
 not discussing Helen Taliesin," he said, and he sighed 
 after he had said it, which Cynthia was too agitated to 
 notice. 
 
 "I shall jolly well ask her when she comes down 
 whether she thinks I ought to be leading a life like this, ' ' 
 she said. "I'm only a doll that Mother dresses up to 
 wait on Daddy " 
 
 1 ' Stop ! ' ' commanded Alan. ' ' That isn 't the way to 
 talk of them, and you know it, Sis! ... It appears to 
 me you have as much liberty as is good for you, my 
 child. Dances without number, and that man, Shaun 
 James, always about the house " 
 
 "Oh, he isn't!" Cynthia contradicted in her turn. 
 "The other day was the first time he'd dined with us 
 for eight months!" 
 
 "Still, there he was. And here's this young chap 
 Middleton, whose feelings you are so anxious to spare 
 before they're hurt remember he's quite unmarriage- 
 able, Sis, whatever James may be! Very few girls of 
 your age are as well-dressed as you are, but you say 
 that doesn't appeal to you. It would if you had to 
 do without it! Miss Taliesin misses it, although you 
 might not think so. You're got books, and you go to 
 all the concerts you want and to the theatre pretty 
 often, and there's the Bath Club coming on. I'm both-
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 59 
 
 ered if I see what it is you've got to grumble about, ex- 
 cept that they don't give you an allowance. I've spoken 
 about that to Dad, as you know, and Mother is against 
 it. The money is spent on you all right, Sis. It's only 
 the name of the thing after all!" 
 
 Cynthia spoke quietly. " I 've no idea of the value of 
 money and I want to learn ; I 've no idea of responsibil- 
 ity. I want to grow up. But if you won't help me, it's 
 no good talking. I'd like you to know, though, Alan, 
 that Mr. James does not want to marry me." 
 
 ' ' Then he looks at you in an odd kind of a way some- 
 times!" retorted Alan. 
 
 "You must believe me! And Alan, you must admit 
 he 's a gentleman, even if you do dislike him so much. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I don 't dislike him particularly and I do admit he 's 
 a gentleman. My dear old Rose, let's cease to quarrel! 
 It never does any good." 
 
 "I will, if you will," cried Cynthia, holding out her 
 hand. "I suppose you never would see a girl's point of 
 view, if she talked to you for a twelvemonth!"
 
 VII 
 
 "I LIKE Peter Middleton," said Joyce to Cynthia, as 
 they were washing their hands in the bathroom before 
 lunch. "And as for That One she simply raves about 
 him." 
 
 Cynthia felt a sudden glow of anger. "What am I 
 irritated for?" she asked herself. "I must learn to 
 put up with Phyllis." "Why talk about her?" she 
 inquired aloud. 
 
 "I think he's just plain in a good-looking way, as a 
 man ought to be, but That One worships his eyes and 
 his nose and his tallness. Do you think his nose so 
 very wonderful, Cyn?" 
 
 "It's a nice nose," returned Cynthia evasively. In 
 secret she thought it most attractive, but she was not 
 disposed to compete with Phyllis. 
 
 ' ' That One is putting up her hair for lunch. She got 
 in without Auntie seeing her. I do like you so much 
 better than her, Cyn. She's a silly! Do you think I 
 shall look nice when my time comes to put my hair up ? " 
 
 "I like it down," said Cynthia, handing a towel. 
 
 ' ' Thank you. Oh, but I 'm looking forward and count- 
 ing the months, for when it's up I'll be able to go out 
 to Father and Mother in India, and there won't be any 
 German to learn. ' ' 
 
 At this point Phyllis burst in and interrupted; and 
 all three proceeded downstairs. "What were you shak- 
 ing hands with Alan for?" asked Phyllis on the stairs, 
 with one arm affectionately round Cynthia's waist and 
 the other round Joyce's, which compelled a crab-like 
 progress. Cynthia pretended not to hear. 
 
 Peter was feeling the effects of his self-sacrifice of the 
 morning and was a trifle sad during lunch, although 
 
 60
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 61 
 
 he sustained a creditable conversation with Lady Brem- 
 ner about the Church and the Vicarage. ' ' And did you 
 see the Island?" she concluded, Peter being overjoyed 
 to hear Cynthia answer for him, "We're going there 
 this afternoon, Mother. There was not time this 
 morning, without being late for lunch." 
 
 "Good child!" smiled Lady Bremner, on a note of 
 surprise. 
 
 "Did you have good sport, Sir?" Peter asked Sir 
 Everard, who was silently carving a cold duck. As a 
 rule Sir Everard liked this respectful form of address, 
 but the question was unfortunate. 
 
 "I did not expect sport on such a bright day," he 
 answered with indifference. "No, I got nothing. Only 
 one bite." 
 
 Phyllis, who was observing the fall of the sensitive 
 barometer of Peter's face, choked over a piece of bread, 
 and Cynthia looked at her angrily. 
 
 After lunch, Lady Bremner retired to her room, and 
 the three girls with Alan and Peter set forth again. 
 Sir Everard was invited, but preferred Blackwood's and 
 the shade. The sun was blazing down and the breeze 
 had departed, leaving a mackerel sky; into the village 
 street came the scent of new-mown hay as they strolled 
 along, and this time they did not turn sharply to the 
 left at the bend of the road, but took the narrow track 
 in front of them into the valley leading to the sea. 
 
 "Do you bathe?" asked Peter of Alan, at the swing 
 gate which both had advanced to open, with the conse- 
 quence that they found themselves alone. 
 
 "Before breakfast; if it's smooth enough we'll have 
 a boat. Rose, will you bathe to-morrow morning? Boat, 
 if possible." 
 
 She regretfully shook her head. She would have 
 bathed with Alan and Peter Middleton willingly, but 
 Lady Bremner had said that she hoped she would not, 
 and that was enough for obedient Cynthia. The other 
 two had gone on in front, in apparent amity and alli- 
 ance, which meant that Joyce was persuading Phyllis 
 to let Cynthia show Mr. Middleton the Island by her-
 
 62 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 self. ' ' You had him all the morning, ' ' said cunning and 
 good-natured Joyce. "And if she goes up and Alan 
 clears off with the bird-man you and I might paddle." 
 
 Phyllis was attracted by the proposal. "Let's hire 
 costumes from the old woman and bathe!" she ex- 
 claimed. ' ' Auntie need never know. ' ' 
 
 "Not with you alone, in that undertow. Not if I 
 know it," remarked Joyce, firmly. "I jolly well can't 
 swim well enough for that!" 
 
 "Say 'well' a bit oftener! All right then. We'll 
 paddle. Perhaps Alan will too, before he starts." 
 
 "He's got the guide-book and he'll rush round the 
 island you see ! Besides, he might make a fuss. Alan's 
 awfully particular, you know ; and it is a bad beach for 
 paddling, the waves pull the shingle over your feet so. 
 But that's what I like. It's more exciting." 
 
 They were going down a narrow, unhedged lane, along 
 a stream which ran sometimes on a level with it and 
 sometimes dropped much deeper into the valley. On 
 either hand rose a steep, grass-covered slope with here 
 and there an outcrop of slaty rock amongst heather and 
 wild thyme. The road curved to the right, and now blue 
 sea came into view before them above white cottages: 
 instinctively they quickened their pace. High on their 
 left upon the cliff appeared the fragments of the old 
 Keep of Tintagel Castle, piled in rugged and fantastic 
 ruin against the sky-line. Now they were approaching 
 the two cottages rapidly downhill. When they reached 
 them, Cynthia entered the one with a carpet of smooth 
 stones before the door to obtain the key of the Island 
 from the dame who has conversed with all the celebrities 
 of the world and heard them utter identical praises of 
 Tintagel. 
 
 A few yards farther, and the party were looking down 
 on a narrow cove, cliff- walled; its beach, which was 
 composed of slaty shingle worn smooth by the sea, being 
 attainable only by steps. Projecting from the water in 
 the middle of the inlet was a rock, to which were con- 
 nected the cables by means of which boats were lowered 
 from or drawn up to a shelf of rock on the right. Sev-
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 63 
 
 eral newly-painted dinghies were lying there now, with 
 another on which men in long boots and jerseys were 
 busily working. The left side of the cove was formed 
 by the towering precipice of the so-called "Island," 
 which was in reality a peninsula, joined to the mainland 
 by a crumbling isthmus of the narrowness of the track 
 which crossed it and falling sheer to the sea from either 
 brink. A path led up to this narrow place and was 
 continued on the Island side by steps cut in the rock 
 up the face of the precipice as far as a door in a battle- 
 mented wall that had once formed part of the fortifica- 
 tions and now protected the headland from the intrusions 
 of relic-hunters with large sacks. 
 
 Peter had been hurried up there so quickly that he 
 had not had time to be dizzy or to realise more than 
 the wildness of the scene and its quality of exceptional- 
 ness which is the striking characteristic of Tintagel. But 
 when Alan had entered, Cynthia would not follow. 
 "We'll go in later," she announced, "without a guide- 
 book, Alan." And when the door was closed and they 
 were turning to descend again to the cove, Peter glanced 
 above him up the towering cliff and below him down the 
 stairway hewn from rock, that had only the frailest 
 balustrade to shut it off from vacancy, to the narrow 
 path across the isthmus ; and he heard the pounding of 
 waves upon the boulders at the foot of the precipice, 
 and was attacked by vertigo. He managed to fight it 
 down by the thought of Cynthia behind him. Looking in 
 front of him, he saw the ruins of the Keep perched high 
 across the gulf on the landward side ; to the right were 
 weird, slaty-dark cliffs with veins of grey quartz running 
 through them : they loomed gigantic, three hundred feet 
 above the breakers that assailed them with thundering 
 blow after thundering blow, at whose tremendous impact 
 the whole earth seemed to quiver. Somehow he got 
 down to the isthmus. There, clinging to the wooden 
 handrail and staring westward between Island cliff and 
 mainland cliff across a shining, glittering sea to dim 
 Pentire, he was again attacked by the sickening dizzi- 
 ness. This time Cynthia saw, and touched his arm, heal-
 
 64 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 ing him. He turned to thank her. She smiled, and 
 glanced away. In another moment he had mastered 
 himself and was able to look down upon the cove. 
 
 The worst of the descent was over, and as they 
 walked to the beach Peter had time to take a leisurely 
 survey of the outer and inner battlemented walls and 
 the few small ruins which were all that remained of the 
 defences of Tintagel Castle upon the Island. They slope 
 on green grass to the precipice edge; and underneath 
 them, attainable at low water from the beach, passes 
 a tunnel through the cliff, and the name of it is Merlin 's 
 Cave. Joyce ran ahead into it and the others followed, 
 struck with wonder at the mystery of the place and 
 awed by the sullen reverberating boom of water beyond 
 in darkness. Cold drippings from the roof fell on their 
 heads, the shingle descended in a sharp incline beneath 
 their feet, then a corner was turned and light streamed 
 across the cave, and another moment brought them to a 
 high, arched entrance and sunshine and the tumbling 
 waves. 
 
 "Isn't it glorious?" cried Peter, his hair ruffled by 
 the breeze, his cap on the back of his head, a happy 
 boy. 
 
 "Who stepped into that pool, besides me?" inquired 
 Joyce. 
 
 "I did," said Cynthia. "And it is glorious. It's per- 
 fectly lovely." 
 
 "Top-hole!" agreed Phyllis. "I told you stockings 
 were no good, Rosie, didn't I now?" 
 
 "Look at those whopping big gulls. I wonder which 
 of them belongs to the old man, ' ' said Joyce, chewing a 
 lock of hair in default of a blade of grass. 
 
 "We'd better go back and paddle, as we are wet," 
 Cynthia recklessly suggested, and they entered the black- 
 ness again and passed into a place of dim shadow up the 
 shingle slope to brightness and the beach of the cove. 
 
 "People bathe from Merlin's Cave," remarked Joyce, 
 as she flung herself down and snatched at her shoes 
 with business-like celerity. "And we've bathed from 
 behind that rock there."
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 65 
 
 "Auntie wasn't a bit pleased," chimed in Phyllis, 
 "and it's frightfully difficult to dry oneself, crouching 
 down!" 
 
 "Mummy's quite right," Cynthia declared loyally. 
 "The undertow is too much for Phyllis, as she can't 
 swim." She had taken off her shoes and was drawing 
 a stocking from her pretty toes. She tucked the stock- 
 ing neatly into a shoe. Now both her feet we're bare 
 and she rose with a lithe movement and stepped cau- 
 tiously to the edge of the water. Peter started as he 
 found Phyllis 's eyes fixed curiously upon him ; conscious 
 that he had been caught in the act of staring. It was im- 
 possible to deny it as he was stooping forward with one 
 boot half unlaced and his fingers idle. 
 
 "It would have been all right, Cyn, if you hadn't 
 swum so much," said Joyce from the advance place 
 which shortness of skirts enabled her to take. 
 
 "Well, I don't often get a chance for a swim," 
 Cynthia defended herself. 
 
 Phyllis accepted Peter's hand to help her to rise, and 
 spoke to him in an odd voice, still gazing at him with 
 round, surprised eyes, which looked as though they 
 had suddenly understood something. "She swam out 
 to that rock in the middle and dived from it, and of 
 course Auntie wouldn't stand that, for there were men 
 looking on." 
 
 "I never knew that!" cried Cynthia, vexed. 
 
 "1 saw them!" said Phyllis. 
 
 And now Alan came hurrying down to the beach. 
 "Glad you've Middleton to look after you," he com- 
 mented. "That seems likely to be a damp amusement. 
 The Chapel's all right, and so are the graves and the 
 kitchen chimney, but much of the rest is faked. You 
 might date the lot from the twelfth century, and as for 
 King Arthur ..." He threw up his guide-book and 
 caught it again. 
 
 "Oh, don't spoil King Arthur!" cried Joyce im- 
 patiently. 
 
 ' ' Kid ! Well, I 'm off to meet Hamley. ' ' 
 
 "I'm not going to climb up to that island again,*
 
 66 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 said Phyllis when Alan had disappeared, and she nodded 
 at Joyce as she spoke. "Won't you show it to Peter, 
 Eosie dear?" 
 
 "If you two will lie quietly on the beach and behave 
 yourselves and go straight back to tea when the time 
 comes!" replied Cynthia, too happy with her playmates, 
 sun and air and water, to resent the diminutive. Peter 
 was overjoyed. He had misjudged Phyllis, not having 
 dared to hope for this, especially after the last few 
 minutes ! 
 
 They lay in a row on the warm shingle, waiting for 
 their feet to dry in the sun. Those of Cynthia and 
 Phyllis were equally white and finely shaped. Joyce's 
 bare limbs were more sunburnt, for at her school the 
 simple life was in force and young girls played summer 
 games without stockings. "I'm jolly glad Helen Timbs 
 got measles!" she sighed. "Else I couldn't have been 
 here." She rolled over and picked up a piece of paper 
 that was held down by a stone. 
 
 "That's not yours," said Phyllis, warningly. 
 
 "I know that, darling! Oh, it's a tract!" 
 
 "Those men who passed us as we came down must 
 have left it," said Cynthia, getting ready to depart. 
 
 Phyllis gave a sudden scream. "Look!" she cried, 
 pointing to a black head moving on the water at the 
 entrance of the cove. It vanished. 
 
 "A seal," said Peter. "It was coming for the tract 
 and you've frightened it away." 
 
 Cynthia was now shod and she rose to her feet, a tall, 
 white figure with a crown of burnished hair, which the 
 sun was turning to gold. 
 
 "Even a clean beach like this makes one's skirt hor- 
 rid," she sighed. "I do like to be tidy. Come along, 
 Mr. Middleton." 
 
 "Call him Peter!" implored Phyllis, teasingly. 
 
 Cynthia took no notice of her, continuing, "We shall 
 have to be quick to get back by tea-time." 
 
 So Peter hastened to get ready, and presently they 
 were climbing the steep path together, alone for the third 
 time in their acquaintance. Peter had wondered what
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 67 
 
 he would say, had invented brilliant, glowing conversa- 
 tions which he never dared hope would take place, as he 
 expected to be tongue-tied. And lo, everything was 
 different from what he had foreseen, and he was talking 
 freely with his divinity, as though they had known each 
 other for years! As indeed they had, according to 
 Cynthia's point of view, which included the childhood's 
 meeting. 
 
 He uttered his thought aloud, while the girl was fitting 
 the great key, which Alan had left behind with them, 
 into the keyhole of the door set in the battlemented wall. 
 Unconsciously he leaned away from the brink as he 
 spoke, and stared at her with white face, for he was 
 still suffering agonies from the dizzy ascent. "It's the 
 first time we've been alone since I've been down," he 
 said, "and we're good friends already!" He felt as 
 though he ought to be disappointed, the quiet content 
 which he experienced in her presence now that they 
 were by themselves being far from his idea of a lover's 
 passion. The glow of excitement was lacking, and not 
 because of the mental strain of overcoming his vertigo. 
 Kather it was replaced by this happy ease, for which 
 Shaun would have told him to thank God, kneeling. 
 
 "I'm glad," replied Cynthia, frankly. "I want 
 friends." She, like him, felt singularly free from care 
 and as light-hearted as though something long looked 
 forward to, even from childhood, had come at last bring- 
 ing peace not readily to be understood ; but in her case 
 the emotion was calmer still. And it was unconscious ; 
 all she admitted to herself being, "I wish everybody 
 were as nice and as easy to get on with as Mr. Middle- 
 ton." Why he was so congenial she was too innocent, 
 too unawakened, to attempt to analyse. 
 
 And now they were in the first enclosure, surrounded 
 by ruined walls conspicuous for the height of their bat- 
 tlements and the skill with which the warrior-architect 
 had utilised every inch of level ground and built his 
 fortifications into the cliff. A circular Norman archway 
 led out from the opposite side; by it was the remnant 
 of the old kitchen, noticed by Alan.
 
 68 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "They're jolly fine, even if they weren't built in King 
 Arthur's time!" said Peter. "And I daresay he had a 
 castle here as well. Tell me why you need a friend, 
 please. I'd like to be one to you." 
 
 Cynthia felt that she was going too fast with Mr. 
 Middleton, and to salve her conscience deferred her ex- 
 planation for several minutes. "I'll tell you about 
 Tintagel first, ' ' she said. ' ' Didn 't you know Sir Lancelot 
 fought giants on the causeway outside? By the way, I 
 think it was very brave of you to come up here as you 
 don't like heights. Mother has never been up yet. This 
 part we are in was a prison in mediaeval times. The old 
 legends are much more exciting. When we were sitting 
 on the beach couldn 't you see King Arthur being washed 
 up, a little baby, at the feet of the enchanters? That 
 was the place where it happened, and the cave we went 
 through is called Merlin's Cave. King Mark of Cornwall 
 lived at Tintagel, and Tristram saw Iseult here. Shall 
 we go on ? It 's only a little bit of a scramble to get to 
 the top of the Island, where there's St. Juliet's Chapel 
 with the old altar-stone remaining. The legend says 
 Merlin was to be buried in it, but as they carried his 
 body to the threshold it was snatched out of their 
 hands, because he could not enter holy ground. So they 
 had to bury him outside after all." 
 
 During the walk thither Peter was silent, though with- 
 out confusion: he could not be embarrassed in the 
 presence of this girl. She was too splendid, too real. 
 The simplest things she said had a kind of magic in 
 them, or was it just the sweetness of her girlhood, and 
 her freedom from self-consciousness, and the friendly 
 charm of her eyes? Love or no love, he and she were 
 born to be comrades. 
 
 They examined the chapel; and walking on the high- 
 est ridge of the Island came to the ancient graveyard, 
 whose stones are barely visible above the soil. On the 
 left was the Pinnacle Rock, and, close by, King Arthur's 
 Seat, high above the waves, and the hollows known as 
 his Cups and Saucers and his Footprint ; but all of these 
 were near the edge of a sheer precipice and Cynthia
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 69 
 
 forgot them for her companion's sake. She showed him 
 the spring that gave fresh water to the garrison 
 discoverable by the rich emerald green of the grass 
 around it; and also the curious, low cave, roofed by a 
 mighty slab of rock which tradition says was placed 
 there by Merlin, who closed the opening by a spell so 
 that his prisoner could gaze everlastingly into the free 
 air. The confined spirit might be still suffering his 
 awful punishment, so they approached the narrow en- 
 trance with a thrill, speedily calmed by the sight of a 
 Daily Mail which desecrated the interior. Peter threw 
 this over the cliff. 
 
 Then they seated themselves as near to the brink as 
 Peter could get in comfort, surrounded by the tiny 
 star-like flowers of the stonecrop growing in and out 
 of the crevices of the rock; and looked for choughs 
 among the ravens that chattered angrily about their 
 heads; and listened to the ceaseless complaining of the 
 breakers as it rose to them from far below. The sea 
 was a slaty blue, the breeze was dropping, and long 
 lines of spindrift made white streaks upon the plain of 
 water. On their left the cliffs stretched unbroken to 
 the headland of Pentire off which was the rocky islet 
 called The Mouls. The light shone white on houses half- 
 way thither, marking the position of Port Isaac, whose 
 harbour was concealed from view. And on their right 
 hand were higher, grimmer precipices, from Willapark 
 and Trevalga Cliffs to Meachard Rock and Firebeacon 
 Point by Beeny, crowding upon each other to the misty 
 outline of far-off Hartland. The view was of compel- 
 ling grandeur. 
 
 "There's nowhere else like this in Cornwall," mur- 
 mured Cynthia, under the spell. 
 
 And Peter also spoke beneath his breath. "Why do 
 you need a friend?" he asked, looking from the ocean 
 to the girl's sea-grey eyes, which were deep and thought- 
 ful. "She is my star," he heard a voice whisper in 
 his heart, and it seemed to him he said the words 
 aloud, but she neither moved nor did her countenance 
 change.
 
 70 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "Because I'm lonely, I suppose. I want to do things. 
 You don't know what it is to be a girl." 
 
 "I'm not free either," answered Peter, slowly. "I 
 can sympathise." 
 
 She turned her bright gaze to his; full of impulsive 
 gratitude. A tender smile rose to her lips. Their 
 delicious curves quivered and they opened. "I thought 
 you would!" she cried. "Shaun has always been free, 
 and though he understands he hasn't real sympathy. 
 He blames me in his heart for not standing up to 
 Mother, but how can I? You see how difficult it is. 
 Mummy is right in nearly everything, and if I could 
 make a choice I 'd often do exactly what she chooses for 
 me, which makes it all the harder to fight for the other 
 things. She knows I do willingly what she asks, and she 
 doesn't realise how I hate to be taken for granted. It 
 isn't that she doesn't trust me! It's only that she's ac- 
 customed to arrange for me as well as herself. I've 
 fought to be allowed to keep Shaun, and she 's been sweet 
 in giving way to me there. But it's the little things! 
 I don't want to be independent half so much as to feel 
 independent." She leant back again. 
 
 "It's partly like that with me," said Peter. "The 
 system is wrong." 
 
 1 ' That 's it ! Not the people at all. ' ' 
 
 "I hate to sound discouraging, but systems are 
 horribly difficult to alter, far worse than individuals. 
 That's why I'm a Conservative and not a Socialist, be- 
 cause if the State did everything it would be all Sys- 
 tem." 
 
 ' ' I never thought of that ! ' ' said Cynthia. ' ' Of course 
 it would." 
 
 "I'll ask you to forgive me, if I'm impertinent. I'm 
 trying to say what I think. It seems to me that in a 
 way it's rough on a girl to be good-looking. A girl who's 
 pretty is never free, if she 's carefully brought up ; and 
 supposing she isn't she gets a kind of liberty certainly, 
 but every man she meets is trying to put an end to it. ' ' 
 
 ' ' How did you learn all these things ? ' ' asked Cynthia, 
 curiously.
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 71 
 
 "I don't know," said Peter, flushing. 
 
 "And that would mean that if I entered a profession 
 or was able to do what I liked I should be bothered by 
 men making love to me?" 
 
 "You wouldn't have any peace," Peter stated with 
 conviction. 
 
 ' ' I don 't want to sound a conceited cat, ' ' said Cynthia, 
 laughing, "but I'm already worried that way at pres- 
 ent!" 
 
 " I 'm sure you are, but don 't you see ? The freer you 
 were, the more opportunity there 'd be for men to 
 approach you, and you'd have to learn to guard against 
 them and keep them off, and that must be a beastly sort 
 of knowledge for a girl. ' ' 
 
 "You think I should occupy all the spare time I'd 
 gained, just in keeping the men I didn't like at a 
 distance? It's a flattering suggestion, Mr. Middleton." 
 
 ' ' I mean it, ' ' said Peter, doggedly. " It 's not all fun 
 for a girl who's working side by side with men, and 
 claiming equality with them, to be tremendously good 
 to look at." 
 
 ' ' Isn 't the disadvantage the same in society ? ' ' 
 
 "Not quite. When a girl is sheltered men have to 
 make love in a certain way. That cuts out the wrong 
 'uns." 
 
 ' ' I wonder ! ' ' said Cynthia. ' ' Queer people have pro- 
 posed to me. Still I do understand, and it's very, very 
 nice of you to be so frank. Also I agree with most that 
 you've said. Tell me what sort of a man would you 
 think sets a girl who's been a prisoner free when he 
 marries her?" 
 
 "I suppose every man would think he does." 
 
 Something in his voice must have startled her, for 
 she remained a long time silent. Peter could see her 
 profile and some strands of waving hair. He thought it 
 a face intended to be strong as well as beautiful. There 
 was indecision in the parted lips, but not weakness. Then 
 her charm overcame him again, and he could only adore. 
 
 She stirred and he looked away. "Would Mr. 
 James?" she asked.
 
 72 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Peter hesitated. "Really, I hardly know him. I've 
 only met him once." 
 
 "You've read his books, and thought about him since 
 you saw him. Please, Mr. Middleton!" 
 
 "I believe he'd make a splendid husband," said Peter; 
 then, choosing the greater risk of honesty with a third 
 member of the Bremner family, "but his wife would 
 have to put him first in everything. She might like to," 
 doubtfully. 
 
 Cynthia sat up with impulsive, girlish grace. She 
 held out her hand in greeting. ' ' It was horrid of me to 
 ask you," she said, "and I apologise. You must have 
 hated having to criticise him. Let 's be friends ! Proper 
 friends, I mean; intimate friends, if I can help you! 
 You are kind to answer my questions so straight-for- 
 wardly ! ' ' 
 
 Peter seized her warm hand. She returned his grip 
 with a steady, strong pressure. His heart had sunk at 
 the word ' friend, ' but an extraordinary feeling of light- 
 hearted joy came at her touch. "I'll be anything you 
 like!" he answered, fervently. 
 
 She let go his hand and sprang to her feet. "It's 
 time to be moving," she said, smiling a little. "All 
 good moments come to an end." She was amused at 
 the sense of independence and ease and space which 
 she felt always in the presence of this new acquaintance. 
 "Was 'freedom' equivalent to being with Peter Middle- 
 ton?" she idly asked herself, and a horrified exclama- 
 tion from him cut short a train of thought which might 
 have caused her to draw back. 
 
 "Dp you know it's five o'clock?" he cried. 
 
 "Five o'clock!" repeated Cynthia. The position was 
 serious. It was impossible to get back to the house 
 in time for tea. She hastily decided to take tea at one 
 of the cottages above the cove, and keep watch for a 
 possible search-party. That was better than hurrying. 
 ! ome like culprits; but, oh, to belong to a family where 
 <:lvls were permitted to break rules! 
 
 ''Have tea with me at the Cove." The suggestion 
 :;me as an echo to her thoughts, and the sunlight was
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 73 
 
 on his face, transfiguring it, and his voice was trembling 
 with eagerness. 
 
 "Thank you very much," she said. 
 
 That night Peter retained a clear recollection of the 
 fantastic contours of the cliffs and rocks and ruins on 
 the landward side, seen from the summit of the Island, 
 of their wild beauty, of the shelving veins of quartz 
 across the precipices, and the circling seabirds, and 
 the steep paths running to and fro like stretched-out 
 ribbon; and he remembered the descent into the gulf, 
 down endless stone steps, with a white skirt fluttering in 
 front; but he could not be clear as to all they had 
 talked about, because he had had to restrain his lips from 
 uttering words of passion which gathered unbidden in 
 his heart and surged upward like a flood. Mostly it 
 was of books that they had spoken, and she had laughed 
 her merry, childlike laughter, which was musical as the 
 mirth of a rippling brook. So much he knew. And he 
 remembered the tiny, oak-raftered parlour in which they 
 had eaten and drunk together as naturally as though 
 they were always to enjoy the same sweet intercourse. 
 The walk up the combe was vivid in his mind. He could 
 hear the creak of the swinging gate before they came to 
 the village, and the sound of Sir Everard 's voice in front 
 speaking to Alan and his words of greeting as they came 
 into sight. "Hullo, Polly, here you are, safe and sound. 
 Your Mother has been anxious," and Cynthia's low- 
 toned reply, "I'm sorry, Daddy." Dear Cynthia, his 
 friend. Dinner had passed gaily, and she had played and 
 sung. Her lovely arms had gleamed white in the soft 
 candle-light on the piano. Her hair had shone with a 
 rich glow. Her frock had been simple and wonderful. And 
 although she knew she had whispered it to him that 
 her mother was coming to her room to scold her, with 
 what courage she had smiled when she said good-night. 
 The stars were dancing again in her eyes. She was a Star 
 herself, his friend ... his love ... his darling Cynthia. 
 Sweet Cynthia! Darling, darling, darling . . .! 
 
 And this was the end of Peter 's second day of freedom.
 
 VIII 
 
 LADY BREMNER had not been unkind. She was dis- 
 armed by Peter's skilful apologies which drew the blame 
 on himself, and by the sudden propriety of Phyllis, 
 whose dinner-gown was described by Joyce with par- 
 donable exaggeration as 'nun-like.' Or was it the 
 holy aspect of the wearer that produced the effect? 
 And Phyllis had listened meekly to her lecture, for she 
 was full of the secret she had discovered and of her 
 own self-sacrifice. What a romance ! Just fancy Peter 
 falling in love with her own sweet Rosie ! For he was 
 in love, of that she felt certain, and was only afraid 
 lest young Joyce had noticed it as well. She meant to 
 be a friend to Peter he had such nice broad shoulders. 
 It would be a Platonic affection, on the loftiest plane of 
 sentiment, and already she felt a better and a wiser girl. 
 Alas for good resolutions, which so often die at the 
 birth of their splendid children, deeds! Phyllis 's were 
 short-lived. The very next day, after puzzling Peter by 
 her singular behaviour all the morning, as soon as she 
 was left alone with him in the afternoon she joined the 
 pianola attachment to the piano, hastily assured herself 
 that Lady Bremner was lying down, tore into her bed- 
 room, which was on the same floor as the drawing-room 
 across the corridor, to change into an evening frock, 
 and was back in a flash to dance to him. What is more, 
 she compelled him to abandon his attitude of resignation 
 and admire her deviltry and somewhat acrobatic skill. 
 Satisfied by his simple words of praise, she was good for 
 two whole days after. Then coming down early to 
 dinner and finding him by himself in the room, she got 
 him to fasten a bracelet round her slim wrist and practi- 
 cally dared him to kiss her. Brilliantly pretty girl 
 
 74
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 75 
 
 though she was, Peter refrained, and, to her credit be 
 it said, Phyllis bore him not the slightest malice. On 
 the contrary, she elevated him to a loftier throne in her 
 fancy, comparing him with King Arthur to that mon- 
 arch 's discredit, and herself with Vivien ! After this she 
 played around him with perpetual demands of friendship 
 about as difficult to satisfy as those of a Persian kitten 
 would be. 
 
 Her use of his Christian name was persistent enough 
 to secure before long official authorisation from Lady 
 Bremner. "It is difficult for you young people to keep 
 up formalities when you are constantly together. I'm 
 sure Rosemary would not mind your addressing her by 
 her first name, Peter. My husband and your father were 
 such close friends that I cannot think of you as a 
 stranger." Peter had the grace to wonder what his 
 hostess would think of him if she knew his worship of 
 her daughter and how he trembled with happiness at 
 the idea of being on familiar terms with her. Lady 
 Bremner was invariably nice to him ; indeed this sprang 
 from a genuine liking. She was more than ever deter- 
 mined that he should replace Shaun James and deliber- 
 ately threw him and Cynthia together, which was the 
 easier because Phyllis and Joyce now went together to 
 Trebarwith Strand before lunch to bathe. Peter had 
 already swum at daybreak with Alan, when the dew was 
 sparkling on the grass in the pearly morning sunshine 
 and the fresh sea breeze was rising, and Cynthia pre- 
 ferred a ramble with him to bathing with the others 
 under the chaperonage of her mother, who would prob- 
 ably insist on a tent being taken were she to be of the 
 party. Cynthia felt she could not bear the idea of a 
 stuffy tent shared with restless Phyllis and chaffing 
 Joyce. She longed to bathe from a boat far out at sea, 
 as she had been allowed to do before she put her hair up. 
 
 Sir Everard and Alan fished most of the time, and on 
 the morning that Lady Bremner came to her decision 
 about Christian names Peter was asked to accompany 
 them. His host, shocked to learn at dinner the night 
 before that Peter had never caught a trout, had resolved
 
 76 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 to make good this omission in his education. He proved 
 a stern taskmaster, and his pupil whose thoughts were 
 at Trebarwith whither Cynthia had escorted her mother 
 did not do him much credit. True, Peter landed the 
 only catch of the day, quite two inches long, but as he 
 returned it to the stream with unnecessary secrecy Sir 
 Everard was never aware of this triumph. 
 
 The same afternoon Miss Taliesin arrived, and the 
 addition of so strong a personality as hers proved to be 
 on closer acquaintance could not fail to affect them all ; 
 Alan, with whom she spent the greatest portion of time, 
 being the least altered. He remained smooth and un- 
 approachable, and came back from long walks with the 
 woman he was supposed to love, only a shade whiter 
 than he set out. Cynthia was at a loss to understand 
 either of them, or the attitude of her parents. Her 
 mother went out of her way to be nice to Miss Taliesin 
 and treated her with a respect and affection which almost 
 suggested she was to become one of the family. But 
 Daddy was equally affectionate. Surely he would not 
 approve of Alan making such a match ! The wife of a 
 Foreign Office clerk in Holloway Gaol, or supporting 
 Miss Kenney on the platform at a public meeting, would 
 place her husband in a difficult position. Cynthia her- 
 self believed her brother rather a heartless person, and 
 doubted whether he cared sufficiently for Miss Taliesin 
 to marry her. And could a Suffragette love? Joyce 
 out of her vast experience would have hotly contended 
 the thing was impossible; but Cynthia was woman 
 enough to know that Miss Taliesin was extremely fond 
 of her brother. Indeed she said so herself, though in a 
 way to make it clear she did not mean to be questioned. 
 Altogether the condition of affairs was mysterious. 
 
 Peter observed that Cynthia was getting together a 
 good deal of information regarding the work, other than 
 political, which women do nowadays; but he did not 
 connect this with their talk on the Island, and Cynthia 
 did not return to the subject with him. It was settled 
 he was to call her Cynthia, not Rosemary, which Lady 
 Bremner welcomed as a blow to the supremacy of Shaun
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 77 
 
 James who had previously been the only user of the 
 name. Cynthia, however, had no thought of possible 
 rivalry. Shaun was still her first and dearest friend, 
 the cleverest man in the world. Peter was the most 
 charming boy she had ever met, who might in the course 
 of time become a friend of Shaun 's standing. Her mind 
 and emotions were bewildered by the complexity of the 
 opposing influences which were being brought to bear. 
 Peter Middleton was making love to her without either 
 of them being aware of it. Shaun was making love to 
 her against his own will and in a very insidious way. 
 She liked him sufficiently well to suppose that if he tried 
 hard he might persuade her against her better judgment, 
 and was resolute in believing he would not try. On the 
 other hand, Laurence had announced his intention of 
 marrying her, and he had the peculiar knack of making 
 her do what she did not want to do ; even, on occasion, 
 things she thought wrong. No amount of self-analysis 
 revealed the origin of this power, and in secret she was a 
 trifle afraid of him. She detested flirting of all things 
 in the world ; and twice he had succeeded in making her 
 flirt. She was too innocent. Mothers of tke type and 
 class of Lady Bremner bring up their daughters almost 
 entirely with a view to matrimony and neglect the most 
 important point of all. They do not tell them what 
 marriage means. Cynthia had no idea that the difference 
 between being the wife of Shaun or Laurence would be 
 a very great matter, so long as she married the one she 
 loved. And at present she loved neither, at least she 
 thought not. If she did, love was a fearful disappoint- 
 ment! 
 
 She felt more disposed to make an attempt to earn her 
 own living than to marry, although both were possible 
 means of obtaining the freedom that was a necessity of 
 her soul. The situation of Peter had made little impres- 
 sion upon her as yet and she honestly thought him freer 
 than herself. The simplest deductions are often the most 
 difficult to make and one does not need to be blind not 
 to see what is immediately before one's eyes; otherwise 
 there would be no such thing as learning by bitter
 
 78 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 experience and the young would be rulers of the world. 
 
 How was she to earn it, that was the problem ? As an 
 actress? Mummy would be horrified at the idea. As a 
 governess, then? No. Cynthia Bremner had seen too 
 many governesses to envy them. As an inspector of 
 factories, like Helen Taliesin ? She possessed no qualifi- 
 cations for such skilled and useful work. Brought face 
 to face with the facts she realised that she was not 
 suitable for any kind of employment. It came as a 
 shock to Cynthia, who asked herself next what happened 
 to girls like her if their parents suddenly lost their money 
 and died, and no one appeared to help them. Fortu- 
 nately for her peace of mind she did not know the 
 answer. 
 
 Laurence Man had arrived at the King Arthur 's Castle 
 Hotel at a propitious moment, as his luck generally 
 enabled him to do. He was invited by messenger to a 
 picnic at the Ladies' Window Rock with the 'young 
 people ' on the following day. Peter, issuing from happy 
 dreams, sorrowed because his lady did not play or sing 
 that evening. He thought 'her candid front was lined 
 by care' an4 looked so woebegone that Joyce, coming 
 unconcernedly to have her hair-ribbon tied she liked to 
 make use of him murmured a fervent, "Buck up, 
 Peter. Don't be a silly!" She knew That One would 
 imitate him, and two faces of such a length would attract 
 unwelcome comment from Alan. Joyce did not care to 
 have anyone but herself tease Peter. She was an affec- 
 tionate child in spite of her chaffing ways.
 
 IX 
 
 CYNTHIA awoke to see the sunshine streaming through 
 her blinds. She was disappointed in the weather. So 
 was the lady 's maid, Marie, who disliked carrying towels 
 and bathing costumes. No one else was, not even Sir 
 Everard, who was a fisherman but no mere murderer of 
 fish ; not even Peter, although he knew Laurence would 
 dominate the picnic. He hoped for moments alone with 
 Cynthia, counting on the help of Joyce with whom he 
 had now a first-rate silent understanding; in any event 
 he would have his lady constantly in sight, performing 
 the miraculous feats of walking, speaking, and smiling. 
 Lady Bremner, who expected most from the day, had 
 to be careful to forget all that she would suffer by 
 Laurence 's success in order to avoid weakening her reso- 
 lution. Having done it, she visited the children's bed- 
 rooms to request them to wear their most becoming 
 frocks, deceiving none by the ruse of adorning all. 
 "Why does she bother about us?" asked Phyllis, arriv- 
 ing in Joyce's room in an elaborate dressing- jacket of 
 transparent lace, which she wanted to have admired. 
 "Don't be such an ass," answered the younger girl 
 crossly. "You know as well as I do." 
 
 Phyllis flung out slender, rounded arms, from which 
 the Mechlin fell back in a way that drew attention to 
 their beauties as well as its own, and pretended to yawn. 
 ' ' Seen this lace of mine ? ' ' she fished. 
 
 Joyce did not trouble to look. " I 'm not a man, ' ' she 
 said, witheringly. "You needn't bother, Phyl. I know 
 you 've got a thundering lot of hair, but I don 't want to 
 see you sit upon it this morning, thank you. And Cyn 
 has more anyway, and hers has golden lights in it which 
 is a jolly sight better than your tarry stuff. Clear out, 
 and let me dress in peace ! ' ' 
 
 Phyllis using the high top rail of the end of the bed 
 as a horizontal bar lifted herself to a sitting posture with 
 
 79
 
 80 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 legs outstretched in front of her. "You're a cheeky 
 kid!" she observed. "Now what d'you bet I won't 
 throw a somersault backwards on to the mattress?" 
 
 "Anyone could fall back on a bed," jeered Joyce. 
 
 "I'm not talking of a fall back. I mean a proper 
 somersault coming down on my feet." 
 
 Joyce was intrigued. She came and stood in front of 
 the carefully balancing Phyllis. "I bet you can't!" 
 she said at last, with her head on one side. "And you 
 daren 't try. ' ' 
 
 "What will you bet?" persisted Phyllis, and she 
 jeopardised her chance of a big wager by clasping her 
 hands behind her neck, which was skilful. "Will you 
 leave me alone with Peter against my promising to 
 take Mr. Man from Rosie?" 
 
 Joyce's eyes narrowed as she deliberated, and Phyllis 
 dropped her hands and took hold of the rail in readiness. 
 
 "Why should you want to bother Peter?" protested 
 Joyce. "You know he likes Cyn better, and you're al- 
 ways talking about friendship! Why don't you be a 
 silly old Suffragette again as you used to be, and leave 
 men alone?" 
 
 Phyllis tossed back her black mane and tightened her 
 grip. "Yes or no, and be quick about it!" she cried. 
 "I'm not going to stay up here all day! You don't 
 believe I can do the somersault, so why be in a funk?" 
 
 "You're only boasting, and it's yes!" decided Joyce. 
 A whirl of white limbs and garments answered the 
 challenge, and Phyllis was on the quilt, knees bent, sav- 
 ing herself with both hands from falling forward. She 
 sprang upright and shook her hair from her eyes. 
 
 "There!" said the victor, triumphantly, leaping to 
 the floor, "I'll teach you to despise my gym, Miss Joyce ! 
 You don 't seem to understand how good I am at gym ! ' ' 
 And Joyce was aghast. In silence she watched Phyl- 
 lis pursue a slipper which had flown into a far corner 
 of the room, turn it right way up, and insert her 
 little bare foot. "I'll let Rosie see me with him," 
 threatened That One as she withdrew in high feather 
 to her own apartment; and when she was gone Joyce
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 81 
 
 threw herself on the bed in despair and burst into tears. 
 
 Alan and Miss Taliesin had agreed to guide them as 
 far as Willapark before departing on an expedition of 
 their own ; Alan was to point out the breeding-place of 
 the choughs. The party found Laurence in the lounge 
 of the 'King Arthur's Castle,' looking very much at 
 home there. He brightened on catching sight of Cynthia 
 and, coming forward, greeted all warmly, not excepting 
 surprised Peter, who had not looked for cordiality. 
 Peter, however, soon became an onlooker. 
 
 The first thing to strike him was their exceptional 
 collective good looks. Laurence's handsome countenance 
 was almost saintly with the sunlight upon it ; Alan was 
 gentlemanly in features and bearing; Cynthia was a 
 lovely girl, who just fell short of perfect beauty (which 
 Peter could not and never did admit) ; little Phyllis 's 
 black and white and rose made her equally striking at 
 first sight, and there was no flaw in her brilliant, con- 
 ventional prettiness ; Joyce had an odd, attractive face ; 
 and Miss Taliesin well, it must be admitted she was 
 hopelessly plain. He took a second glance round the 
 circle. Laurence was in white flannels, Alan in an old 
 golfing suit; the girls, as usual, all in white Cynthia 
 with gold belt and brown shoes and stockings, Phyllis 
 with a scarlet tie and belt, bare ankles and white shoes, 
 and Joyce with a pink ribbon in her hair, a tie to match, 
 bare legs and grey sand-shoes; Lady Bremner having 
 given in to Phyllis 's persistent disobedience in the matter 
 of stockings had had to let the younger girl leave them 
 off also. Cynthia's hat was a Panama. Phyllis wore a 
 floppy muslin affair with a big scarlet bow in front, and 
 Joyce had a straw hat with her school colours. Miss 
 Taliesin was dressed in green; on her head was a, very 
 ugly cloth cap. She looked thirty-five, Peter thought; 
 Cynthia, about twenty; Phyllis, seventeen; and Joyce, 
 fourteen her real age. His other guesses went astray, 
 as Miss Taliesin was only twenty-seven; Phyllis being 
 nineteen, and Cynthia more than twenty-one. It struck 
 him that of them all Laurence and 'That One' seemed
 
 82 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 most in place in the lounge of the hotel. Although Miss 
 Taliesin was of a type often to be met travelling, she did 
 not look appropriate, and the others needed the severer 
 and finer background of a private house to do them full 
 justice. 
 
 On hearing that Marie had been sent to Bossiney to 
 await them with bathing gear, Laurence excused himself, 
 and returned with his; and then they started, Joyce 
 lagging behind with Peter. The child's conscience was 
 teasing her as to the consequences of her bet lost to 
 Phyllis. She had become attached to Peter, who was 
 always kind and interested, and treated her as a civilised 
 being. Schoolgirls grow tired of being chaffed, and they 
 do not love being condescended to any more than does 
 the average grown-up person. Joyce had brains and 
 humour. She did not worship the male sex, and she 
 found men, although pre-eminent in the activities of 
 cricket and hockey, dull of understanding where girls 
 and women were concerned. She idolised her games- 
 mistress who combined wisdom with prowess; but she 
 doubted whether C. B. Fry could sympathise with the 
 workings of her mind or perceive the really funny things 
 that constantly happened before her eyes. Peter did 
 sometimes see them, not always by any means, still a 
 great deal oftener than any man except the terrible 
 Shaun James, who had only to look at her to read her 
 inmost thoughts. Few feminine beings like to be under- 
 stood by men, and young girls are often particularly 
 shy in this respect. Joyce feared Shaun as she did 
 no one else, although she had nothing in the world to 
 conceal or be ashamed of. 
 
 She was as sweet to Peter as she knew how, and all 
 the way up the breathless ascent to the headland of 
 Willapark she was telling him about her beloved school, 
 and her wonderful mistresses surpassing those of any 
 other girl as pearls do bricks; and how the girls were 
 divided for games, not according to forms but into sec- 
 tions regulated by age and strength; namely, First and 
 Second Greeks, First and Second Trojans, Big Cats and 
 Little Cats, Big Mice and Little Mice ; and of the fright-
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 83 
 
 ful excitement when, as occasionally happened, the First 
 Trojans challenged the First Greeks and beat them. She 
 herself had just ceased to be a Big Cat and had entered 
 the ranks of the Second Trojans. Had Peter noticed 
 her colours, pink and white ? Cyn wasn 't at school long 
 enough to get higher than the First Trojans, but she was 
 frightfully good at games then. .Did Peter like hockey? 
 Joyce loved it, and cricket next, and then swimming. 
 That One had been at a stupid school where there wasn't 
 a swimming-bath and there weren't enough of them to 
 play games properly, so they golfed and did a lot of gym, 
 and thought a heap of themselves. She didn 't like stuck- 
 up girls, did Peter ? Did he see those two birds up high, 
 big ones? . . . "No, there, Peter, like aeroplanes!" 
 
 ' ' See the buzzards ? ' ' shouted Alan from in front. 
 
 Now they reached the summit of the enormous head- 
 land, and on Phyllis turning to wave a hand to them 
 Joyce became moody and found no more to say. Peter 
 talked to her about cricket until they came to the Tye 
 Rock cliff, where the rest were waiting. Here a general 
 consultation took place. While Alan was marshalling 
 his forces, Cynthia told Joyce, quietly, "That One is 
 full of yearnings, to-day," to which the child replied 
 with grimness, "That One will grow out of them!" 
 
 "Attention, please," said Alan. "It's a scramble on 
 turf down the slope as far as you can see, and then a 
 stiff climb down the rocks to the level of the water, 
 which isn't a great distance further. The nest is in 
 the roof of a cave, and you have to get below it to 
 see. Rose, you've got to come, I know you're all right. 
 Joyce, I'll let you try, but you must turn back if you 
 get frightened." 
 
 "Which I shan't!" said Joyce, promptly. 
 
 "I'll tuck you under my arm and carry you, if you 
 interrupt! Miss Taliesin will make the attempt to get 
 down, Peter I hope won 't ; and if we put up the birds he 
 may get a better view of them than we do. Man, are 
 you coming?" 
 
 "Most emphatically!" replied Laurence, looking at 
 Cynthia.
 
 84 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "You needn't come on Sissy's account," said Alan. 
 ' ' She 's a first-class mountaineer. Still, delighted to have 
 you with us, of course. Phyllis, you darling girl, your 
 little f eatherhead is easily turned, I believe ? ' ' 
 
 Joyce was on the point of bursting in with a denial, 
 but Phyllis silenced her by a glance. ' ' Remember your 
 promise!" said the quick wave of her hand. "Leave 
 me with Peter!" commanded the black eyes. "Do!" 
 formed the scarlet lips, beseechingly. 
 
 "You told me so, when it was a question of my com- 
 ing on the last occasion," said Phyllis, demurely. "I 
 think I 'd better stay up here, please ! ' ' 
 
 "All right," said Alan. "Take my hand, Joyce." 
 
 So Peter and Phyllis lay on the grass to watch. Half- 
 way down the steep declivity Miss Taliesin was seen to 
 be in difficulties, and Alan left Joyce to go by herself 
 and went and helped her. Cynthia was ahead, balancing 
 with careless ease and descending swiftly. Laurence's 
 pursuit looked dangerous from above, and he stumbled 
 twice. At the place where the precipitous rock began 
 Miss Taliesin found a seat, and remained in sight after 
 the others had disappeared downwards one by one. 
 
 "Wouldn't you have thought I had a steady head?" 
 inquired Phyllis, moving nearer so that he might have an 
 opportunity of examining it. 
 
 Peter sighed. "I'm sure you're a daring climber," 
 he said. 
 
 "I am," said Phyllis. "I don't fear anything." 
 
 "You're tactful to-day, Phyllis!" 
 
 She shook her head at him reproachfully, quite un- 
 abashed. ' ' You don 't understand me a bit yet, Peter. ' ' 
 
 "I'm tired of hearing you say that," muttered Peter. 
 
 "What are you growling about, like a big bear? Of 
 course I wasn't jeering at you. Aren't we Friends? I 
 want to consult you about something, Peter." 
 
 "Well, what?" 
 
 "Please be nice. Tell me the honest, truthful truth. 
 Do you think I'm a selfish girl?" 
 
 "I don't know enough about you to judge." 
 
 "Oh, you do! You might tell me, Peter."
 
 THE WINGS OP YOUTH 85 
 
 He was aroused to indignation. "Look here, Phyllis. 
 If I told you, it would only mean you'd argue with 
 me for half an hour and end up by swearing I didn't 
 understand you a bit. What's the use?" 
 
 Vivien wriggled a little closer to King Arthur and told 
 him not to be a cross boy. Could he look at her and 
 continue ill-humoured? No one else could! (An in- 
 ternal reservation was made as to sex.) When people 
 looked into her eyes they called her bewitching, or 
 tantalising or fetching, or pretty or lovely, but never 
 did they remain out of temper ! 
 
 "I can," said Peter, firmly. 
 
 ' * I dare you ! ' ' cried the minx. 
 
 Long afterwards Peter asked Shaun James what he 
 ought to have done in this emergency. "Kiss her and 
 talk to her about her soul," replied the expert. "But 
 she hasn't got one. "" That 's a trifle."- "Besides, I 
 don't want to kiss miscellaneous girls," objected 
 Peter. . . . 
 
 ' ' All right, ' ' he said in a ridiculously portentous voice, 
 and turning, faced her squarely. She was lying with 
 her head supported on her hands. Her wide-open mis- 
 chievous eyes deepened to innocence under his gaze and 
 became roguish again as her lips parted and she smiled. 
 Peter smiled, too. He could not help himself. 
 
 "Thank you," he said, "for restoring my good 
 humour. ' ' 
 
 "I've won!" sparkled Phyllis, and then invitingly, 
 "Aren't you going to, Peter? Won't you?" 
 
 She was fascinating, but Peter was armed. He shook 
 his head. 
 
 "I don't understand you a bit," he teased, thinking 
 himself out of reach. Phyllis, however, like the Vivien 
 she had compared herself to, could writhe swiftly as a 
 snake. She did so now and kissed Peter, entirely taken 
 by surprise, fairly on the left cheek. 
 
 "You shouldn't have dared me!" she said, sitting up, 
 flushed and rather ashamed. She had known that the 
 others were mounting the slope, and was now calling 
 herself, most justifiably, a cat of cats.
 
 86 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 ' ' I got part of the way down the cliff ; didn 't I, Alan ? ' ' 
 called Joyce in high excitement, as the toilers approached 
 the top. She had evidently observed nothing, so that 
 was one accounted for. Cynthia had a bright colour, 
 for which the climbing might be responsible. She spoke 
 to Peter. ''The cave is very big, with an entrance like 
 the nave of a cathedral. And the sea conies into it and 
 makes a whispering sound. We saw the nest quite 
 plainly. How would you describe it, Alan?" 
 
 "A good, symmetrical nest." 
 
 "It is up high, and the mother bird flew out. We saw 
 her red legs and beak, so there could not be any mistake. 
 Did you see her, Phyllis?" 
 
 "No," said Phyllis, with hanging head, for she felt 
 her cheeks burning. One of Peter 's was equally hot ; and 
 he guessed for the first time what a girl 's sensations must 
 be when the wrong man unexpectedly snatches a kiss. 
 He pitied the girl. 
 
 " I 'd sooner face an angry meeting than go down that 
 slope again, ' ' exclaimed Miss Taliesin, as soon as she was 
 safely over the edge. 
 
 Alan's voice was different when he spoke to her. 
 "You aren't called upon to do either unless you wish," 
 he said. Laurence, stooping for his towel, turned his 
 head, but Miss Taliesin did not answer. 
 
 Then they marched to Bossiney Haven, where they 
 met Marie bearing towels, accompanied by a boy who 
 staggered under the luncheon basket. ' ' Poor kid ! ' ' said 
 Cynthia, and tipped him twice as much as was necessary. 
 On the western side of the cove stands the Elephant 
 Rock; Joyce and Phyllis bathed from behind the trunk 
 of the elephant where there is a natural dressing-room. 
 Laurence found another and joined them, but Miss 
 Taliesin changed her mind and remained with Peter and 
 Cynthia, keeping alive the conversation, as she was fated 
 to do whenever the former was present. They sat on the 
 beach watching, and Marie stood by the water's edge 
 with cloaks and kept a satiric eye on Miss Phyllis, whom 
 she suspected as only a cynical Frenchwoman can sus- 
 pect. If Phyllis could have read her sentiments the
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 87 
 
 shock might have caused her to behave more carefully 
 iii the future ! Nothing, however, could exceed her cor- 
 rectness now; Joyce, who was swimming about by her- 
 self, was overjoyed and thought that probably That 
 One had given up the idea of mischief for the day. 
 Laughing and splashing in the shallows, with inno- 
 cent eyes, Phyllis did not betray her mind, which 
 was ashamed and alarmed. She knew that she 
 was detected; Cynthia had not deceived her for a 
 moment. 
 
 At last the bathers came out of the water, and Alan 
 returned from his stroll inland. Both Peter and Cynthia 
 were relieved. They were in dread of being left to- 
 gether, for Peter was by this time sensible of a change 
 in the girl's manner which could only be explained on 
 the supposition that she had seen the naughty deed on 
 the cliff. His brain was in a tumult, and his worst 
 fears were realised when on starting he asked her to 
 walk with him and was answered, ' ' I don 't want to walk 
 with you, Peter." The courage that he had collected 
 in order to make the request dissolved on the instant, 
 and Miss Taliesin found him not merely distrait but 
 positively wanting in wits. 
 
 After the descent into the Rocky Valley, the beauties 
 of which were lost upon Peter, she and Alan said good- 
 bye and turned aside to explore it thoroughly. Cynthia 
 now ran in front, fleeing from herself as well as from 
 Laurence, who was close at her heels. The two sprang 
 over the stream and up the rugged track as though 
 pursued, and Joyce and Phyllis, not to be outdone, 
 were after them like mountain goats. On the path 
 across the plateau above Cynthia still led the way, 
 Laurence having dropped behind; and the party filed 
 singly along the cliff edge, a row of white-clad girls 
 and men. Ahead of them came into view their objective, 
 the pierced crag, hanging high above the sea, called the 
 Ladies' Window. On their right were grass uplands, 
 which rose beyond Travalga Village to the sweep of the 
 downs; on their left was an airy void. The sun was 
 burning hot. No cloud moved in the blue, and the ocean
 
 88 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 was silent; its surface glittering and flashing like a 
 great sheet of beaten steel. 
 
 Arrived at the crag Cynthia climbed through and 
 without hesitation stepped down on the narrow ledge 
 which is the brink of the precipice. "The water is 
 wonderfully clear!" she cried. "I can make out the 
 veins in the boulders at the bottom of the sea." 
 
 Laurence spoke to Peter and Joyce. "Will you leave 
 me with Miss Bremner afterwards? I should be very 
 grateful." 
 
 "All right," said Peter, unwillingly, as Cynthia ap- 
 peared in the cleft. "Who's coming next?" she asked, 
 and leapt to the ground. 
 
 "Not I, thanks," said Laurence. "I value my life 
 too much just now." 
 
 " I '11 go, " called Phyllis, eager to prove the steadiness 
 of her nerves, but on seeing what was before her she 
 got Cynthia to stand close and hold her hand through 
 the opening while she snatched a glance over the edge. 
 
 "I suppose we must let him," whispered Joyce to 
 Peter. 
 
 "Can't help it, I'm afraid!" 
 
 "Come along, then. I don't want to go through 
 there." 
 
 And when Phyllis returned and ran after them, 
 Laurence begged the surprised Cynthia to sit down and 
 chat. 
 
 "There are seal caves below these cliffs," he told 
 her, "and a wreck, five fathoms down, like the Santa 
 Catharina below the Shutter, where Amyas sat in West- 
 ward Ho!" 
 
 Cynthia sprang alertly to her feet. "No, no," he 
 cried, amused. "It isn't to be seen from above. What 
 a restless girl you are!" ' 
 
 "It's a holiday," said Cynthia, excusing herself. She 
 dropped down further away. 
 
 Laurence collected himself, summoned all his energies 
 of intellect and will, and said: "Rosemary, please listen 
 in patience to the whole of what I am going to say, 
 before beginning to form a decision. I love you, and
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 89 
 
 I want you to marry me. I know you are not what 
 is called 'in love' with me, and that it would be your 
 first impulse to refuse me hastily. That is natural and 
 right enough, but you must not act on impulse. You 
 have brains. You are not an ordinary silly girl, and 
 I am sure you are too just to refuse me a hearing. 
 May I go on?" 
 
 The unexpectedness of the appeal made its effect on 
 Cynthia. Her generosity and her vanity were attacked 
 with equal skill, and her first fluttered shyness almost 
 dispelled by his tone of studied moderation. She had 
 never been proposed to in this way before. The novelty, 
 coming from Laurence, brought a startled sense of relief, 
 and curiosity helped him as well. There was nothing in 
 his appearance to warn her, as his eyes were bent on the 
 ground. He had self-control enough left not to look at 
 her. She stole a glance, and reassured, ' ' Yes ! ' ' she said. 
 
 "You want freedom, I've seen that. I can give you 
 freedom. You are ambitious, I also. We should start 
 sufficiently high and there would be no limit to the power 
 we might obtain if we chose to employ our abilities 
 socially. To do this requires a developed intellect, and 
 you are not afraid of work. If you marry me you 
 will become what you were intended to be, a woman 
 of brains and authority as well as of charm and beauty. 
 I love you. I would be good to you as in me lay. Will 
 you pity me?" 
 
 What rose to her mind was the memory of the hate- 
 fulness of Peter. Stammering, she said: "I do-don 't 
 love you, do - 1 ? " Because his passion went deep he 
 was aware she did not, but his self-control was leav- 
 ing him, and victory seemed very near to sight. 
 
 "I think you might yet," he said. "You've been 
 near it once or twice!" 
 
 She looked at him, terrified at she knew not what, 
 but far from comprehension. "Oh, I haven't!" she 
 protested, unconsciously cruel. 
 
 He made a last effort, rigid, holding himself in. "You 
 could be so very free, you know," he pleaded. "You 
 could do and learn and see just whatever you wanted all
 
 90 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 the rest of your life. And have your own friends. I 'm 
 not a jealous man." (Did he believe the lie?) "You 
 could go out and come in at your own times, visit art 
 galleries, choose dresses, read and study, motor. You 
 could dive and swim as much as you pleased." 
 
 He had lost! "Phyllis has been talking," was 
 Cynthia's first, carelessly secure deduction.- Then she 
 remembered. At Portman Square he had wanted to 
 know if she swam. He had spoken of visiting Corn- 
 wall simply to bathe with her. He had ! Her 
 
 thoughts stopped with a sudden jar and flew on racing. 
 What did being married mean? Yes, yes, but it was 
 natural, there wasn't any immodesty, Mummy had said 
 so. What made her think of it now ? That wasn 't the 
 important part of being married, was it ? ... Laurence 
 would deny it, if she asked him. He 'd talked as though 
 other things were more important . . . talked of her 
 mode of life, her freedom ; never mentioned companion- 
 ship. What could be his point of view? Why, he had 
 not . . . No, not once had he spoken of himself ! What 
 would she be to him? 
 
 "Wait a minute," she said aloud, with the feeling as 
 if a cold hand were clutching at her heart. She trembled 
 with fear. She remembered how in her bedroom one 
 night, after gazing at 'Eve' upon the wall, she had 
 slipped a white arm from her nightgown, turned to her 
 mirror and, taking the exact pose of the statue, had let 
 the garment fall to the ground and looked with shy 
 wonderment on her naked beauty. The reflection had 
 startled her with the sight of a young divinity, tall and 
 slender, whose bare body and limbs shone in the blaze of 
 the electric light with the clearness of marble, a girl 
 supple and vigorous as Diana, graceful as ' Eve ' herself, 
 crowned with a great wreath of hair, having wide, grey 
 eyes that dropped abashed before hers, while the splendid 
 shoulders and even the arms of the vision grew rose- 
 stained, as they stooped towards the drapery about the 
 snowy little feet. . . . She was beautiful ! Was this what 
 Mr. Man desired in return she would not think of him 
 again as Laurence was it her beauty?
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 91 
 
 "No," she said, "I'm sorry! I can't marry you." 
 
 Laurence had seen her cheeks and neck flush red. His 
 own face darkened into sombreness. 
 
 "I love you," he repeated. 
 
 "You don't!" said Cynthia, rudely and hotly. 
 
 "I do!" he replied, fixing his gaze upon her. "You 
 silly child! You little fool! You don't know how a 
 man can love. You are afraid to know." 
 
 "I am," she said, briefly, turning her face away. 
 
 "A coward! Cynthia Bremner, a coward, before 
 what '[ 
 
 "I've given you my answer!" 
 
 "I won't take it." 
 
 "You must!" 
 
 "I tell you I will not, Cynthia." 
 
 "Don't call me by that name! I've never given yon 
 leave. Never ! Never ! ' ' 
 
 "It's Shaun James's name, isn't it?" shouted 
 Laurence. "And I am not to use it! No, but young 
 Middleton may! I'll make him suffer for that, Rose- 
 mary! And James, your Platonic friend, making love 
 to you all the time, the dirty sneak !- 
 
 I hate you! Please, be silent. 1 
 
 "You hate me, and he makes love to you all the time, 
 the cad! Please be silent! Oh, yes, I'll be silent, for 
 I feel like silence!" He lowered his voice suddenly, 
 almost to a whisper, touching the ground on either side 
 of him with his fingers as if to assure himself of reality. 
 "You've ended me. God! How I love you! And 
 Shaun James gets you. He gets you, after all, the 
 sneak ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' He doesn 't ! " said Cynthia, great tears rolling down 
 her cheeks, sobs shaking her slender body. 
 
 "Will you swear that? Will you, will you?" 
 
 "No, no, I can't." At this moment Shaun appeared 
 in her thoughts as a relieving angel. 
 
 Laurence looked at her craftily. "Can you swear he 
 does not make love to you Mr. Platonic Shaun ? Your 
 Mother would like to know, and so should I!" 
 
 Cynthia managed to fight back her sobs, and faced him
 
 92 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 bravely. "I do hate you," she said, "but I'm sorry I 
 was brutal. I won't answer any of your questions. 
 Leave me alone, please. You've said enough, and we 
 can't understand one another better." 
 
 The change in her voice acted on him like a spell. He 
 threw himself before her and kissed her silk-clad ankles. 
 "Forgive me!" he cried. "I was mad to speak to you 
 like that. I am mad, I think. But I love you so. You 
 believe that, Rosemary? You must believe it, for it's 
 truth. Only care for me a very little, and I '11 be perfect 
 to you, and snatch the Gates of Heaven, if you want 
 them, for a plaything! Oh, my saint, forgive me!" 
 
 Gently she drew her feet away, and he sat up. She 
 shook her head. "It's no good!" she said. "I'm 
 awfully sorry. I am sorry for you, Laurence." The 
 sign of weakness brought upon her a fresh torrent of 
 asseverations. It was in vain. . . . He threatened, and 
 was furious. He beat at her defences. The others 
 peeped at them from a distance and went away again 
 unperceived. . . . He began to repeat himself. Cynthia 
 was faint and dizzy and deadly tired and sick at heart, 
 but she would not yield. . . . Then suddenly he com- 
 menced to concentrate the whole of his power on wring- 
 ing from her a single concession. Would she be to 
 him as before ? Would she let him see her ? Cynthia did 
 not wish it; she knew she would be foolish to give way 
 on that point; she saw clearly how much more it would 
 involve than the promise implied. She struggled hard. 
 
 "I'm jolly well going back," said Joyce. "I don't 
 believe Cyn wanted to be left with him all this time." 
 
 "I don't care what he thinks," agreed Phyllis. 
 "Come along. We ought to be starting, anyway." 
 
 "He's had a good innings," confirmed Peter. 
 
 "Anyone can see what's up!" murmured Phyllis, as 
 they approached. ' ' Now talk at the tops of your voices. ' ' 
 
 But they arrived an instant too late. Cynthia had 
 committed herself to friendship. 
 
 On the way back she recovered her spirits, with the 
 elasticity of youth. The others saw that she was pale,
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 93 
 
 and they joked and laughed to cover her embarrassment 
 until she was able to share their mirth. Then That One 
 took charge of Laurence, who had not said a single word, 
 and marched him on in front, and Cynthia began to tell 
 Peter of her merits, partly from gratitude, partly from 
 another reason. She recited to him the accomplishments 
 of Phyllis, who could do fine embroidery, toe-dance, play 
 billiards brilliantly, write poetry (not so well), speak 
 French and Italian, play a good round of golf " 
 
 "Fair round of golf," from Joyce who was a critic. 
 
 ' ' She passed the Matric, with honours, and is a clever 
 gymnast," Cynthia concluded. 
 
 "She is that," admitted Joyce, who had reason to 
 know. "When Auntie doesn't come down to watch us 
 bathe, she stays out turning cartwheels and doing somer- 
 saults on her hands like a street-boy, and I can't get 
 her into the water." 
 
 ' ' She won the gym medal at school. She 's supple and 
 can twist herself into all kinds of contortions." Cyn- 
 thia began to laugh : ' ' Do you remember Mother catch- 
 ing her one day?" 
 
 Joyce grinned at the recollection. "Don't I, Cyn! 
 It was heavenly. That One tied up in knots, and trying 
 to disentangle herself while Auntie Emmie just gave it 
 her! You and I got blamed too." 
 
 "You did, you mean. I hadn't encouraged her!" 
 
 "It's the only time I've ever seen Phyl go scarlet. 
 When Auntie had done with her she was like a tomato. ' ' 
 
 "And I'm a beast to give her away!" cried Cynthia, 
 in sudden distress. "I meant to praise her to Peter." 
 
 "I don't know why you should!" exclaimed Joyce, 
 tactfully departing to overtake the others. 
 
 Peter was nettled by Cynthia's tone, which had cer- 
 tainly implied Phyllis to be his particular chum, if not 
 something closer. His conscience was clear regarding 
 the events of the afternoon and he was glad to have an 
 explanation at last. "I don't either," he said rather 
 warmly. ' ' She 's a nice enough girl, but, really, Cynthia, 
 she's not any especial friend of mine." 
 
 Cynthia gazed straight before her. "Isn't she?"
 
 94 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "No, upon my honour!" 
 
 "Then why did you let her kiss you, please?" Icily 
 it was said, for Cynthia was surprised at the volume of 
 anger she was capable of on account of what did not 
 concern her, and she would not allow her voice to tremble. 
 
 "I don't very well see how I could help it!" replied 
 Peter with fervour. 
 
 Cynthia smiled. She was relieved as well as amused, 
 immensely relieved, so much so that nothing seemed to 
 matter any more, and the path began to sway beneath 
 her and the sea to swell before her eyes to the level of 
 the top of the cliff. She stood still. 
 
 "I'm only a little faint, thank you; it's all right," 
 she said, clinging to his wrist but holding herself pluckily 
 upright. "It is passing. I've had such an awful after- 
 noon, you don't know. . . . But it oughtn't to make 
 me like this. ... I'm not an idiot, Peter; only a mo- 
 ment and I'll be able to go on." 
 
 "Dear Cynthia!" he whispered. "Dear!" 
 
 "I had to refuse him, oh, so many times. The whole 
 time I was away with him he was attacking me, trying 
 to make me alter. . . . And oh, Peter, I'm tired, and it 
 seemed horrid if I'd lost you this day of all days. I've 
 probably got to lose Shaun as it is, and I do love my 
 friends ! ' ' She released his wrist and moved slowly on. 
 "You will be my friend, won't you, Peter? I'm sorry 
 I thought you were flirting with Phyllis. I've been 
 horrid altogether this afternoon; but it's difficult, being 
 a girl, sometimes!" 
 
 "I'll be whatever you want," he promised. "Al- 
 ways!" 
 
 "That's nice of you!" she rejoiced, turning to him 
 candid eyes full of a troubled sweetness. Her mind was 
 not wholly relieved until she had added, ' ' I don 't know 
 why I so hate to say this; I'm not jealous as a rule, 
 truly I'm not. But please be nice to Phyllis, Peter, and 
 be her friend, too!" 
 
 The others were waiting to be overtaken. He had 
 time to answer, "Yes, I'll try!" 
 
 Then Laurence claimed her.
 
 "MOTHER, I can't discuss it any more," said Cynthia 
 lamentably. "I'm. worn out, and, please, I do so want 
 to forget about it, and go to sleep!" 
 
 "Don't say another word, darling," Lady Bremner 
 assured her. "Only he was so certain you hesitated, 
 and it would have been a marriage Daddy and I could 
 quite approve. Are you sure you won't change, Rose- 
 mary ? He 's terribly cut up, poor fellow ! ' ' 
 
 "I know he is!" cried Cynthia, exasperated. 
 
 "Hush, dear. Joyce is not asleep yet." 
 
 "He told me so a hundred times, and I'm not likely 
 ever to forget it. Mummy, I 've promised to let him try 
 to make me care, and I can't do more, and I am fear- 
 fully tired ! Really and truly I 've got a headache, and 
 want to go to sleep." 
 
 Lady Bremner kissed her tenderly, and went out. 
 "She has refused him," she informed her husband, 
 whom she found in their bedroom, just come up after 
 a final game of billiards with Phyllis. 
 
 "Whom? Polly looks washed out to-night. Has she 
 been receiving a proposal?" 
 
 "Didn't you notice Laurence Man's face of despair, 
 Everard? He might have more control over his emo- 
 tions, I must admit ! Rosemary is a very charming girl, 
 but scarcely old enough to inspire a grande passion!" 
 
 "I'm not sorry, Lina. Nor do I regret her refusal. 
 Man is a very good fellow in some ways, but not good 
 enough for Polly. Alan sees more of him than I do 
 and does not care for him. No, I was afraid you meant 
 some boy-and-girl affair with young Middleton. Re- 
 member, I did not see Man; I was out when he came 
 in." 
 
 95
 
 96 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "Peter Middleton! He's far too nice a boy to be so 
 silly!" smiled Lady Bremner. "Of course you did not 
 see Laurence, dear! How excessively stupid of me! 
 But I am really grieved and disappointed by what has 
 occurred to-day." 
 
 "And I am not, Lina. I shall not stand in their 
 way if he persuades her to change her mind, but I 
 sincerely trust it will not happen. One can't help 
 wishing girls would not grow up. I'd hate to part 
 with little Polly ..." He moved to his dressing-room 
 door. "Still, it'll have to be done some day, I sup- 
 pose! Are you ready for Marie? Shall I ring?"
 
 XI 
 
 THE next morning was Alan's last at Tintagel; he and 
 Miss Taliesin were leaving by the mid -day train. Sun- 
 rise was bright and cold. The whole sea was in turmoil 
 and the far-off islets disappeared in the spray of break- 
 ers. Into the window of his room came a thundering 
 roar composed of many voices howling and bellowing, as 
 the great white horses charged upon the enemy in con- 
 tinuous, furious succession, only to be dashed to pieces 
 against the bulwark of the cliffs. Mingled with it were 
 moaning cries and yells of despair, but the deep-sounding 
 clamour of assault rose higher and, borne by the wind, 
 came as a steady and unceasing uproar. 
 
 The sunshine beckoned Alan. He slipped on coat and 
 trousers and a pair of shoes, and seeing Peter already 
 below waiting, hurried down to join him. "Bossiney, 
 and let's run it! Our cove is hopeless in this heavy 
 sea." They ran the distance, a mile, in just over five 
 minutes and came in neck and neck. 
 
 Oh, the glory of the dive through the green curl of a 
 white-topped wave, and the strong swimming in the 
 foaming surf, and the rush back to shore, and the 
 stinging glow of the rub-down with a hard towel after- 
 wards! As they walked home through the lanes the 
 sunshine was delicate upon the sparkling grass, and 
 birds saluted it with a madrigal, and Peter saw the 
 world all rosy from the east. 
 
 Alan talked of Phyllis: how her people would do 
 anything for her; they were immensely wealthy and 
 she an only daughter. She could marry whom she 
 pleased "unlike Sissy," as he put in and he changed 
 the subject to his journey without giving an oppor- 
 tunity of reply. But Peter did not wish to com- 
 
 97
 
 98 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 merit. His youth was on wings, and the flight delirious. 
 
 The joy of greeting Cynthia, more wonderful on each 
 new day in the health of her slender loveliness, clothed 
 in garments that embraced her with a white gentle 
 dignity, and the thrill from the warm pressure of her 
 hand, and the grey sweetness of her kind eyes that raised 
 themselves so frankly to meet his! Then, the sea- 
 hunger! The ordered fineness of the breakfast-table, 
 the unobtrusive, watchful service of experienced maids ; 
 the light, merry conversation that danced and rippled 
 across the mahogany like the airy sunbeams that 
 streamed above it! The chaff that did not hurt, and 
 the plans that never came off; the adventures of bath- 
 ing and climbing, of birds and fishes ; the wild imitations 
 of Cornish dialect from Joyce and Phyllis, and the 
 cleverer, closer ones from Cynthia, and Alan's parody of 
 the local news in the morning paper; the quick dis- 
 cussion of foreign polities, mingled with scattered words 
 of dress-talk from the girls ; Miss Taliesin 's dry humour ; 
 Lady Bremner's civil, gracious tones, formed together 
 an harmonious earth-song for his soaring spirit, which 
 swooped downward to meet a glance, or a laughing word, 
 and mounted again eagerly to the regions of ethereal 
 happiness ! 
 
 But Cynthia was in trouble, and to-day Peter soon 
 came down to the dull, drab earth because of the ache 
 which men call sympathy. He was not yet fully experi- 
 enced in the use of his wings, or would have flown higher, 
 and gained the greater strength thereby. 
 
 The morning passed in wonderment and farewells. 
 It was not possible for him, knowing as little as he did, 
 to avoid the conclusion that both the Bremner parents 
 favoured Laurence as a suitor. To what extent their 
 support would now be given, was the problem that 
 exercised his mind. Would they bully Cynthia ? Would 
 they apply steady, quiet pressure by the statement of 
 their hopes and wishes at every opportunity? He had 
 no idea, any more than he could tell why Lady Bremner, 
 having made so much of Miss Taliesin and tried so hard 
 to get to know her intimately, nevertheless, was openly
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 99 
 
 relieved when the wagonette had driven away from the 
 door. 
 
 In the afternoon, about an hour after lunch, Cynthia, 
 who had been lying in the hammock slung across the 
 verandah at the back of the house, listening to every 
 footfall within with an expectant face, as Peter who 
 was reading The Times in the morning-room could not 
 help but notice, sat suddenly up and with a swirl of 
 white skirts and brown silk stockings alighted grace- 
 fully on her feet. In the same motion she darted in- 
 doors and across the room, knocking over a vase of 
 roses and not pausing to set right their tumbled glories, 
 and was out into the hall ; and again with a thrill Peter 
 heard a maid announce, "Mr. Shaun James." Some- 
 thing caused him to remember oddly, aloud, "That girl 
 
 is like a white chrysanthemum " Dressed for the 
 
 evening she was like one, too! And then Shaun en- 
 tered, Cynthia close, cheeks pink, eyes starrily beam- 
 ing on this dearest of her friends, and Peter became 
 wildly jealous. He was greeted; as he was going out, 
 Lady Bremner came in. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. James?" She sailed forward, 
 extending a welcoming hand. "Oh, here you are, Rose- 
 mary ! Darling ! The vase is overturned, by your elbow. 
 Look, child ! We had no hope of seeing you, Mr. James. 
 It is a great pleasure. Are you down for long?" 
 
 "A day, perhaps," replied Shaun, bending over her 
 hand with twinkling eyes. 
 
 Disliking him, or to be more correct, finding him in- 
 convenient as she did, Lady Bremner always compelled 
 herself for that reason to scrupulous courtesy, and often 
 her conscience drove her farther. She had forgiven him 
 the unfortunate contretemps of his arrest before the 
 dinner-party, and now, seeing the child so radiant, asked 
 him to accompany them to the Rocky Valley after tea, 
 "which you'll have with us, won't you?" He accepted. 
 "I was bound there," he said, gravely. "It is a coinci- 
 dence. I find myself called upon to describe it. ' ' Cyn- 
 thia 's dimple went in and out. 
 
 Try as he might, however, he could not succeed in
 
 100 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 drawing the girl away. Lady Bremner held her ground 
 and kept him occupied. Now Sir Everard came in and 
 listened with perfectly distrustful politeness to the same 
 excuse, delivered in a more business-like tone this time 
 and with added enthusiasm. ("A good lie," Shaun was 
 accustomed to say, "grows upon one. Remember that 
 it does not necessarily grow upon one's audience.") 
 
 "In a novel?" inquired Sir Everard. "Are we to 
 look forward to it?" 
 
 Shaun drew upon another of his aphorisms, "A good 
 lie should never appear in public undraped. Dress the 
 little creature in gaudy corroborations. " "I want it 
 for a friend in the States, ' ' he said aloud, ' ' who needs it 
 for a lecture on this district. He has the right to ask a 
 good deal from me." Sir Everard 's expression did not 
 alter, but Cynthia knew that he was inclined to belief, 
 and rejoiced. However he took charge of Shaun until 
 tea-time. 
 
 "Must Laurence come, Mother?" asked Cynthia, 
 aside, at the first opportunity. 
 
 " I 'm afraid he must, dear, if he wants to. We asked 
 him, you know." 
 
 ' ' Oh, Mother ! ' ' said Cynthia, turning away. 
 
 "You gave him your promise," was the relentless 
 reminder. 
 
 And Laurence, to Lady Bremner 's mild surprise, 
 arrived to tea as he had been bidden. It was a bold 
 move, for the mother was immediately led to wonder 
 whether Rosemary had exaggerated the vehemence of 
 her refusal. In any case, she decided, he ought to have 
 made an excuse and stayed away from the meal. It was 
 taking much more for granted than was necessary ; and 
 he could very well have joined them afterwards. How- 
 ever, Laurence had schooled himself and, although half 
 crazy with jealousy, behaved with absolute discretion. 
 Sir Everard, who was by this time determined to protect 
 his property in little Polly with vigour, frowned when he 
 saw him, for which his daughter surreptitiously stroked 
 his sleeve. It was Shaun 's high spirits which took the 
 attention of all during the uncomfortable meal. Sir
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 101 
 
 Everard, who had usually found him entertaining, came 
 near to admiration of what he regarded as supreme 
 social tact. And Shaun, whose merriment was genuine, 
 had never more desired his goodwill, which increased in 
 value by being only partially deserved. The spectacle 
 of a diplomat, a professional rival in the detective 
 art, misreading character, was an amusement to the 
 novelist. 
 
 Sir Everard had his revenge when the start was made, 
 for he retained Shaun firmly by his side, and the party 
 did not break up until they had passed the old Mill 
 which stands at the head of the Rocky Valley, sur- 
 rounded in its charming solitude by ashes, elms, and 
 sycamores. Then the two elders fell behind and the 
 young people, among whom Shaun must be counted by 
 virtue of his art, proceeded in a body down the wind- 
 ing gorge, following the stream, which rippled over its 
 slaty bed with a rush and a murmur. The cliffs on either 
 side grew more precipitous. What had been merely an 
 outcrop of slate shelving from turfy banks now assumed 
 the character of the walls of a ravine, with fantastic 
 ledges and pinnacles to which the green vegetation clung, 
 nestling in crevices and spread over the slopes like a 
 carpet of rich colour. Ferns grew by the edge of the 
 stream, and the rocks there were covered with velvety 
 moss. Blue butterflies flitted. Up the valley con- 
 tinuously came the roar of the breakers on the tiny 
 beach, a sound which increased in volume as bend after 
 bend was passed, until they came in sight of the ad- 
 vancing waves and felt the weight of the wind and smelt 
 brine, standing with lofty cliffs close on either hand so 
 that they glanced round instinctively at the way they 
 had come to make sure there was a means of escape. 
 After the sylvan beauties of the upper part of the 
 Valley the mouth seemed like a trap set by the sentinels 
 of Nature, and the angry sea a devourer. 
 
 On the backward road they lingered, straggling in 
 changing groups, but still, through Laurence 's watchful- 
 ness, Shaun did not succeed in drawing Cynthia apart. 
 She and Phyllis leaped recklessly from ledge to ledge
 
 102 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 and clambered up and down the rugged walls, Cynthia 
 always leading, the bolder and the more agile at this 
 mountaineer work, although much the longer skirted ! 
 Joyce followed with comparative caution and in a moody 
 silence. Her blade of grass was between her lips, lend- 
 ing her an air of jauntiness, which Shaun saw through. 
 He had known the child in her wide-awake moods. 
 Now she had retired into herself, and not because she 
 felt neglected; Cynthia's kindness and frank comrade- 
 ship precluded that. He joined her and, carefully look- 
 ing away, said, "I wish you'd talk to me about your 
 people, Joyce." 
 
 She glanced up, startled; but his voice had been so 
 natural and unconcerned that she was not made shy, 
 and yet the sympathy in it could not be mistaken. She 
 lost her reserve forthwith and gladly chattered to him 
 of India. Long afterwards, Cynthia told him it was 
 the nicest thing he had ever done, and Shaun said to 
 her: "A few little actions of that sort, and some love 
 not made, are all I 've got to rely on in the Day of Judg- 
 ment, dear!" Joyce always liked him after this. She 
 divided her allegiance between him and Peter. 
 
 Aided by the departure of Shaun, Laurence drew 
 Cynthia aside to admire the waterfall. 
 
 "I want to tell you I'm sorry," he said, hurriedly. 
 "Forgive me. I'll be your friend." 
 
 Cynthia hesitated. 
 
 ' ' I can 't help loving yon ; but I will not bother you. 
 Let me be a friend. Let me help to find you work, if 
 you are resolved upon a career. I am in a position to 
 advise on such matters, and perhaps to influence your 
 father and mother." 
 
 She could not keep surprise from her voice. ' ' Thank 
 you ; really thank you ! I cannot let you do it, though." 
 
 "You distrust me!" he said with anger. 
 
 ' ' I think it might . . . might be better for you not to 
 see me," said Cynthia, trembling. 
 
 Laurence began to insist: "You told me you did not 
 mean to marry at present and I judged from that and 
 from what you have let drop at various times that you
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 103 
 
 want to enter a profession or to go into business. I 
 could be of assistance to you. Why not give me the 
 pleasure, which would be great?" 
 
 "I can't. Please don't ask me." 
 
 "I do ask you." 
 
 "I may not want to get work of that' sort. I have 
 not made up my mind. ' ' 
 
 "It is probable that you will," he said, coolly. "I 
 ask it as a sign of your forgiveness. ' ' 
 
 ' ' One can 't tell what one will do, beforehand, ' ' argued 
 Cynthia, hopeless of escape, "and I won't promise. I 
 don 't see how I can. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I mean to prove that you can trust me. I will leave 
 you with Mr. James, even to-day, which is my last day 
 here, if you desire it. His arrival seemed unexpected" 
 Laurence had concealed his sneer, as he thought, 
 perfectly; but Cynthia read him and hardened her 
 heart "and he may have news of importance. Mean- 
 while, Rosemary, I count myself your friend. When I 
 reach town I will get information regarding women's 
 professions and write to you." 
 
 "Don't!" she said. 
 
 He looked at her sadly. "Are you so bitter?" he 
 asked. "You promised to allow more than that. I'm 
 only asking for friendship now." 
 
 As he spoke he almost believed it. Cynthia was young, 
 easily caught by an appeal to her generous instincts. 
 The interview had proved less bad than she feared. She 
 felt she owed him gratitude, and she was longing to 
 escape to Shaun. "If you can do that without trouble 
 to yourself, and if you still wish to when you get home," 
 she began slowly "only it doesn't bind me to any- 
 thing, nor you either, I should be grateful for some 
 information. We ought to be joining the others now." 
 
 He had obtained his concession. The need for self- 
 restraint was gone as soon as her back was turned ; she 
 would have been startled by the despair and anger on 
 his face. He had thanked her quite simply. He had 
 done the very best he could until the end. Now he 
 gazed after her, tortured ; and jealousy of Shaun seized
 
 104 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 and shook him like a fever, so that Joyce, who caught 
 a glimpse of him as she was glancing back, stifled a cry, 
 clutching at Shaun 's sleeve. 
 
 "What's the matter?" said Shaun, stopping amazed, 
 for her voice and gesture had conveyed positive terror. 
 
 ''It's all right, Mr. James. I can't see straight, that's 
 all. I thought that Man looked weird. It must have 
 been the sun making him screw his eyes up. ' ' 
 
 Laurence was impassive when he overtook them. 
 Shaun noticed at once that he bore the full sunlight 
 without blinking and there the incident ended, Joyce 
 being luckily engaged with Cynthia. Shaun and 
 Laurence talked golf, a game which neither of them 
 played. 
 
 Meanwhile Phyllis, who had not disturbed Peter for 
 twenty-four hours and was conscious of having let him 
 perceive that she was shy of him, proceeded to avenge 
 herself upon the male creature who had seen her at a 
 disadvantage. Cynthia had forgiven her; she need no 
 longer be ashamed and 'call herself minx. 
 
 "You are sullen, bad boy," she smiled. 
 
 "I'm in a very bad temper," said Peter. 
 
 "Don't mind me! Say 'in a devil of a temper,' if 
 you feel that way! You are very young, you know, 
 Peter. It's absurd of you to be jealous of an elderly 
 fogey like Shaun James. Rosie would never marry 
 anyone so old he must be nearly forty. She only 
 wants to pour out her soul to him. ' ' 
 
 "My good kid," observed Peter, "you are talking 
 absolute rot!" 
 
 Phyllis skipped. "Drawn him!" she cried. "Is it 
 nice to be kissed by a pretty kid, Peter?" 
 'No." 
 
 'Not nice?" 
 'Not at all." 
 'Then it is nice!" 
 
 'No, not at all nice, when you haven't invited the 
 kid, Phyllis." 
 
 She was too fond of teasing to be vexed with him 
 when the play was only half done. "Then you won't
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 105 
 
 marry me, Peter darling?" He looked so horrified that 
 she fell into gurgles of delighted and delicious laughter. 
 
 "I'm afraid not," he said, shaking his head. "You 
 see I should thrash you if we were married, and that 
 wouldn't do, would it?" 
 
 "Really you are becoming interesting, boy! What 
 makes you think I should let you beat me?" 
 
 But Peter had relapsed into shyness and would not 
 answer, and soon she turned away and walked with 
 Joyce and Cynthia. 
 
 At the Mill, Sir Everard and Lady Bremner were 
 waiting, and Cynthia said boldly, ' ' Mother, I 'm going to 
 take Shaun to St. Nectan's Kieve. We'll walk quickly 
 and then I shall be back in time to dress." It was one 
 of the advantages of Shaun, she knew, that he never 
 looked surprised whatever one said or did, and now he 
 backed her, saying in a quiet tone, from his place by 
 Laurence, "I should be sorry to miss the Kieve." 
 
 "Have you seen it?" Lady Bremner asked Laurence. 
 
 "I was there this morning," replied the latter, not 
 truthfully. 
 
 Peter in haste started on with Phyllis and Joyce, 
 which was foolish of him, as it attracted the attention of 
 Sir Everard whose gaze had been on the stream. 
 
 "Goodbye, Daddy!" called Cynthia, escaping. 
 
 They walked between high hedges twined about with 
 morning-glories and sweet-scented honeysuckle, and 
 green with branching fronds of tall osmunda, and 
 pierced with the spears of nodding foxgloves; and for 
 a time were silent. Cynthia was too happy in the rest 
 and peace that this man 's presence gave her, and Shaun 
 was afraid to break the glamour which held him en- 
 chanted in a midsummer land of youth and faery joy. 
 "You've no idea," he said at last, "how much a writer 
 longs to behold with the outward vision the beautiful, 
 magical scenes and people which he has to conjure up 
 in fancy by an effort of the will." 
 
 "I can imagine," Cynthia softly echoed. 
 
 "It is relief," he went on, turning to look at her, 
 "past words to express, to have romance incarnated
 
 106 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 before one in the splendour of a Cornish lane with the 
 last sunrays bright on its eastern hedgerow, and the 
 beauty of a willowy, rose-and-white girl of the kingdom 
 of dreams, who glides in silver raiment looking deep into 
 the hearts of men through wise and dancing eyes ! And 
 is all woman ... a child of earth with sweet faults, 
 and dear, tender failings . . . Cynthia ! Have you good 
 news for me? I read your wire, and I trembled. Some- 
 thing said, 'She's a girl who wants help from her chum,' 
 but another voice cried louder, ' If she 's found she loves 
 you, you are free.' : 
 
 ' ' I only said, ' Come, please ! ' : ' she faltered, over- 
 whelmed by her own inconsiderate folly. How reckless, 
 how selfish had been her message ! What right had she 
 to summon him only because she felt wretched ? Wicked 
 Cynthia! She hated herself and learnt, if she had ever 
 doubted it, that she did not love him. Fool that she 
 was ! She remembered the disquiet with which she had 
 read and re-read his letters. But he had sworn friend- 
 ship in the British Museum ! He was her friend, Shaun 
 James, her pal, not 
 
 "It is really quite safe and right for me to make love 
 to you," said Shaun 's voice beside her, "because of the 
 negative results. Don 't be sorry, dear. ' ' 
 
 "I am sorry," she said, looking at him through tear- 
 dimmed eyes. 
 
 "Don't, Cynthia! Girls who have style, who wear 
 their clothes so well as you do, should never regret, and 
 straight-backed girls should never apologise. That's a 
 rule! And I shall learn by experience, like Joyce, who 
 says that after the first day with Phyllis she always ate 
 her chocolates immediately. 'That's the worst,' she told 
 me in a sententious voice, 'of intercommunicating bed- 
 rooms. I don't know where to keep my chocolates.' 
 I chaffed her. 'A good long word you've got there, 
 Joyce.' 'You're welcome to it,' she flashed back, cheeky 
 as you please. I'm not complaining. She cheeked 
 as a sign of confidence. Last time we met she was 
 very polite. It's all right, Cynthia! Truly it's all 
 right!"
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 107 
 
 "It's all wrong, and it's my fault. I'm the stupidest 
 beast!" 
 
 "My dear, if you had any notion how ridiculous are 
 that epithet and noun applied to a person so coolly 
 decorative and yet so warmly alive as your brilliant self ; 
 you would withdraw them." 
 
 "Oh, Shaun, I don't feel brilliant!" 
 
 "Don't you see how cleverly I'm suggesting that my 
 admiration for you is the artist's and not the man's 
 while remaining perfectly honest ? I am convincing my- 
 self, chum. You cannot help looking as though you 
 felt brilliant, and that is the main point. Looks, looks, 
 looks! Even your sorrow, your shame, are brilliant. 
 Your eyes are large and deep like truthful wells and 
 your cheeks of the softest rose and I'm a fool! The 
 horse is a noble animal, with a leg at each corner. Is 
 this beautiful house Trethevey? And what is the little 
 building there, with a cross on it ? Is it a well ? ' ' 
 
 "It's St. Piran 's Holy Well." 
 
 " Quiller-Couch wrote about St. Piran." 
 
 "I call here for a key. A barn in the farmyard was 
 once a chapel of St. Piran. Would you care to look for 
 it, while I go in?" 
 
 ' ' I consider the saint the property of Q. No, I '11 stay 
 here and converse with the gander. He and I are broth- 
 ers. Don't let either of us peck you, Cynthia!" 
 
 "I'm not afraid!" she said, and approached the door. 
 
 When she returned, "I'm cunningly arrayed against 
 my own cunning," said Shaun. "There is to be no 
 deception. I freely admit it is vanity which causes me 
 to say that had I the right I could make love in a very 
 different, more real, and I flatter myself, more effective 
 manner! It is rooted in my mind that I could get you 
 to love me ! There, another safeguard ! A lover should 
 hold that conviction, but never declare it. This is a 
 lovely walk, and the grasshoppers are jeering at us. Oh 
 yes, at you as well as at me, because they can 't understand 
 what are the crystal things trickling down your cheeks. ' ' 
 
 "Shaun dear, if you asked me very hard, I believe I 
 should marry you," exclaimed Cynthia.
 
 108 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "So do I," said Shaun. "You are very fond of me, 
 and very generous and soft-hearted. But no, listen to 
 the blackbird. It is indignant at the bare suggestion, 
 whistling ' Be wise ! ' Wisdom is knowing the right uses 
 of things, and the conscience of Shaun James tells him 
 he was born to be the chum of a beautiful young woman 
 called Cynthia Eosemary Bremner. Do I sound very 
 maudlin, pronouncing the name? Don't answer. Tell 
 me of the evil deeds of the Byronic individual with a fish 
 heart who has a genius for finance and for worrying my 
 pal. It must be he who brought me to this fairy stream, 
 exquisite in flickering shade, dimpling with gentlest 
 whispers past fern and bush and lichened stone." He 
 added mentally, "For young Peter has not yet boiled 
 over, in spite of his face of adoration. Where are the 
 eyes of those parents ? And where the Dear One 's ? " 
 
 "That's it!" said Cynthia, with bent head. 
 
 "He was so deadly polite to me," laughed Shaun. 
 "Poor thing, you're having a holiday indeed ! The fatal 
 result of loveliness and charm and being so excessively 
 nice a girl. You're the perfection of your type, my 
 chum. The result of all the beauty and brains and 
 pleasant minds and courage and fine breeding of hun- 
 dreds of ancestors, all from the same fortunate class, 
 born to honour as well as to honours. ' ' 
 
 "Great-grandfather was a merchant sailor," put in 
 the chum. 
 
 "He was a Bremner. Forgive my stupid talk. Tell 
 on, and command my sympathy, dear. I 'm serious now, 
 the old Shaun James, purged of the older Adam." 
 
 And as he listened, while sunlight shivered into twi- 
 light and the gnats danced intricately above the running 
 water and a robin called with unearthly sweetness, they 
 reached a little door, 'leading to a fairy country,' and 
 opening it saw the pool of St. Nectan at the foot of a 
 waterfall which sparkled in two cascades to a rock- 
 rimmed basin below. They wandered back, still deep 
 in talk, and went homeward through dusky lanes by a 
 Stone Cross, driving before them a flock of straying 
 sheep which glimmered ghostlike with sudden rushes and
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 109 
 
 swift scurrying retreats until in Bossiney village they 
 took a turning and vanished into memory. "Maa-a-a," 
 came a bleat of farewell out of the past and the dark- 
 ness ; and Cynthia and Shaun moved on more quickly. 
 
 They halted at the Wharncliffe door. "It's good-bye," 
 he said, holding her hand the little longer that says so 
 much which may not be spoken. "I go to-morrow by 
 the earliest train. My Mother isn't very fit. I must 
 visit her. Widows are lonely people." 
 
 "I oughtn't to have kept you from her. But you 
 have helped me, Shaun, and I've twice the courage that 
 I had ! Thank you, chum dear ! She isn 't really ill, I 
 hope ? And she lives so far north. It was doubly good 
 of you to come to me. ' ' 
 
 He answered carelessly enough. "Nothing much, I 
 expect. She writes cheerfully. She's a brave old lady, 
 who lives for bridge and reads Smollett." 
 
 But inside he found a telegram repeated from his 
 rooms, signed with a doctor's name, bidding him come 
 for she was dying.
 
 XII 
 
 THE last train had left Camelford in the afternoon. 
 Shaun decided to hire a car and motor to Plymouth to 
 catch the midnight express. By half-past nine he was 
 leaning back beside the chauffeur, under a lofty sky of 
 towering, fantastic clouds, lit by the gleam of a gibbous 
 moon. In front the glaring headlights opened an avenue 
 in the darkness, up which mile after white mile flew to 
 meet them; trees swayed mysteriously above the road 
 and were gone; hills swung in the dim distance and 
 were replaced by other hills. Overhead, cloudlets fleeced 
 across the disc of the moon in hurried procession; but 
 the upper air was quiet, and the giants who obscured 
 the stars marched in the pageant of night with a grave 
 and deliberate majesty. 
 
 The connection was made with minutes to spare, and 
 thenceforward the clatter of the train accompanied his 
 black thoughts with a sinister racket of threats and 
 warnings. Many times through the long hours of dark- 
 ness outside, which he endured curled up, lonely and 
 desolate, in the bright compartment, he sighed for the 
 smooth purr of the motor. Unable to concentrate, he 
 suffered clear pictures of old days to crowd through his 
 mind, each momentary, vivid as flashlight and not to be 
 forgotten. She had been a stern mother to his childhood, 
 a stern judge of the untruth of imagination and the half- 
 truth of fear, which were evil in her sight as treachery 
 and greed. Yet she had loved him. He remembered 
 caresses after the good-night hymn had been read, a 
 sweet offered shyly, received almost with dread, and the 
 sigh with which she had noticed his shrinking. The 
 child had not understood, the man pitied the tragedy of 
 temperaments. We artists, he thought, are a curse to 
 ourselves and to those around us from the beginning to 
 
 110
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 111 
 
 the end. Beauty is born of suffering, and it is not we 
 alone who pay. All who love us are part of the great 
 sacrifice whereby beauty is revealed to the world as was 
 Love upon the Cross. Mother would call the comparison 
 blasphemous. Ah, but it isn't! We are unwilling vic- 
 tims, Christ gave Himself. There is the difference. 
 
 Morning dawned grey beneath a nimbus and the rain 
 was thick as mist. Shaun was travelling on another line, 
 speeding north, asleep. He dreamt of her face bending 
 above him, vast and madonna-like, and he was a very 
 little babe, for her shoulders seemed the width of his cot. 
 He longed to call out, ' ' Mother, I loved you after all. I 
 love you still, ' ' but his tongue clove to his lips, and there 
 was a roaring and a rushing as of many waters and she 
 was swept up and away, leaving him stretching out weak 
 arms and crying bitterly. He awoke to the rumble of 
 the train, tears streaming down his cheeks. The fat 
 commercial opposite had hidden himself behind the 
 Chronicle of the day before, and emerged flushed and 
 uneasily compassionate. 
 
 They ran smoothly into the curve of York Station 
 about one o'clock, and Shaun drove with a heart full of 
 dread to his mother's home near the Cathedral. The 
 blinds were up and his terror abated. He was a man 
 easily overwhelmed, with the facile, uncontrollable imag- 
 ination of the writer, but he was called upon now to 
 play the stoic, to match the courage of an indomitable 
 old woman and if he could not live to please her at least 
 to be what she would have him on the last occasion when 
 they would see each other as in a glass darkly, and not 
 with the eyes of the soul. He strung himself to the pitch 
 of her strong character ; and tapped with the old brass 
 knocker. The familiar sound echoed in the narrow dark 
 street of lofty houses and was drowned in the rattle and 
 throb of the departing taxi. Both noises seemed por- 
 tentously loud and, although Shaun knew her bedroom 
 to be on the second story, at the back, across a corridor 
 and protected by the thick walls of an honest builder, he 
 regretted what he had done. The new anxiety helped 
 the moment of waiting to pass, but suspense was agonis-
 
 112 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 ing before the door slowly opened, and in the aperture 
 was thrust the withered face of Martha who had been 
 his mother's nursemaid sixty years ago. 
 
 "Am I in time?" 
 
 "Ay, she's been worriting for ye, Master Shaun." 
 
 There were thirty stairs to climb behind shuffling 
 Martha. A doctor encountered him at the top and 
 bade him wait. 
 
 A sense of peace came with her near presence. He 
 knew how much he had longed just for that, clinging 
 passionately to the ease of the moment, as we must so 
 often in this life. "Was it the influence of his dream, or 
 did he still love her indestructibly with the love of child- 
 hood ? Shaun wondered with the cold detachment which 
 is one of the phases of hysterical emotion. But he had 
 inherited strength from her and from his father the 
 country surgeon, the farmer's son who had overthrown 
 countless objects to win culture and a profession and 
 a Miss Bannister of York. He had self-control. "When 
 he had quarrelled with his mother there had been no 
 loud words, in spite of which the breach had been in- 
 evitable and final. She had spoken of his godlessness 
 and condemned his books with a caustic humour. They 
 did not fit in with her particular creed and were there- 
 fore evil, but happily immature. He would grow out of 
 such wicked nonsense ; in the meantime it was wrong 
 to infect Doris, poor child. Her duty was to make that 
 very clear. She blamed him because Doris was High 
 Church and called herself a Catholic, blamed Shaun, 
 the lover of all honest creeds, the dilettante Platonist, 
 but, as his heart, humble in the presence of death, told 
 him, a philosopher true to his real self. Looking back 
 he could not regret. 
 
 "I believe the Truth is that God is Love. There's my 
 faith." 
 
 1 ' That is not enough. ' ' 
 
 "We perceive God through Beauty, realise God 
 through Truth, know God through Love." 
 
 "\ will hear no more, Shaun." 
 
 She had heard no more, and since then she had been
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 113 
 
 good-humouredly eager to have him away from her. 
 Her affection for the broad eighteenth-century writers, 
 her passion for whist and of late years bridge, her fierce 
 wit, her white hair piled high under a jet comb, her lace 
 caps, one for each day in the week, her tyranny over 
 Martha, her suppers to the Minister at which the good 
 man's sermons underwent a rude handling while he was 
 courteously entreated and fed with every North-Country 
 delicacy, were known to the old ladies of York and ap- 
 proved by them. Shaun and his wife were not. Their 
 appearance in the city became infrequent, and after 
 the death of the younger Mrs. James -Shaun paid only 
 visits of duty, which he believed to be enjoyed by his 
 mother as little as by himself. 
 
 The doctor had spoken in a calm manner which had 
 helped to reassure him, but the delay was long and the 
 son again grew agonised. What was going on behind 
 that great oak door which he had not entered since 
 childhood? As though in answer to his thought it 
 slowly opened. The doctor stood on the threshold, 
 beckoning. Shaun approached. 
 
 In the long, low room with its damask curtains half 
 drawn across the lofty and narrow windows the sunshine 
 was mellowed to a frail glow. It made a pool upon the 
 polished floor, before the vast mahogany bed from whose 
 shadow came a babbling voice that ran on continuously. 
 A nurse sat silent. A small fire burnt in the grate and 
 on the hob a kettle sang. A drawer of the ambry which 
 stretched from floor to ceiling was open. Towels were 
 visible in it. The nurse rose to her feet, a tall, stout 
 woman. She emerged, passed lightly from the room. 
 Shaun received an impression of plainness, capability, 
 middle age. A smell of soap hung in the air. It was a 
 disinfectant soap. The nurse's moon face had shone 
 with rubbing. She was gone. She . . . 
 
 "Steady!" said the doctor under his breath, clutch- 
 ing Shaun 's wrist. 
 
 The voice from the bed was repeating the forty-seventh 
 psalm. Shaun had never heard that voice before. It 
 was shockingly unfamiliar in delirium. But he knew
 
 114 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 that his mother lay there. His brain grew clear, his 
 colour came back, and the doctor released him. 
 
 "How long?" whispered Shaun. 
 
 "Not long. See if she recognises you." 
 
 At this moment there was a sudden hush in the room. 
 The singing of the kettle became dominant. It filled 
 the air, a sustained gentle sibilance. . . . His mother 
 spoke. "Shaun!" 
 
 He moved into the shadow of the bed, and it seemed 
 a bright light in which he saw her more distinctly than 
 ever before. She was little and wasted and dauntless: 
 that she had always been. Her white hair was smooth, her 
 eyes dimmer, but to Shaun she was all love. He yearned 
 to her as in his dream. She was his Mother, found. 
 
 "You did want me?" he pleaded. 
 
 "Always," said she, faintly, but with the old grim 
 humour. ' ' I used to wonder how a clever man like you 
 failed to perceive it. Give me my handkerchief, child." 
 
 She had no strength to hold it. He helped her. 
 
 "The roles reversed!" she commented, with closed 
 eyes. And then with sorrow and some asperity, too 
 human to the end she spoke to him of religion, and 
 bade him not promise her what he did not mean to 
 perform. "Listen and don't interrupt," she said. Her 
 voice faded and rose again. The doctor was standing 
 at the foot of the bed, watchful. . . . And now delirium 
 seked her. ' ' The Lamb ! ' ' she cried, powerfully. Then, 
 "I dreamt last night that I was dead! It was a great 
 disappointment to awake. I saw the golden shore, and 
 the silver walls. I did not see the Face, but the White 
 Hand was stretched out to me!" The light flickered 
 in her old eyes, sprang up and died away. "Shaun!" 
 she murmured once. . . . The singing of the kettle be- 
 came audible in the room. . . . The doctor moved. He 
 came forward and touched Shaun 's arm. 
 
 For the second time in his life Shaun knelt by a bed- 
 side and prayed with sobs. And as he did so her 
 strength entered into him, and he made a resolution. He 
 would conquer himself and leave Cynthia free.
 
 XIII 
 
 THE last day of Peter's holiday approached with sudden 
 swiftness. It came out of hiding like a beast of prey 
 and advanced threateningly. People changed under its 
 influence, or seemed to change. Perhaps it was only 
 the departure of Alan and Miss Taliesin, Shaun and 
 Laurence, causing Peter to be more conspicuous in the 
 family party, that recalled Sir Everard to his duties of 
 host and prevented Peter from being so much alone with 
 Cynthia. Sir Everard was friendly in his dry fashion, 
 which accepted Peter as a relative or a privileged per- 
 son, but he sent Cynthia to bathe with the other girls at 
 Trebarwith and took his guest sea-fishing. Phyllis was 
 different, too. She flirted as outrageously as ever with- 
 out having the air of expecting a response. And when 
 she did expect it she ran away. At other times she 
 treated Peter with a good deal of respect, and always 
 kept a watch upon him of which he could not remain 
 unconscious. He had no idea that she was beginning 
 to be sorry for him. 
 
 Joyce was very .sweet and kind to him, and in some 
 ways appeared the oldest of them all in those last days. 
 She still came to Peter to have shoe-laces tied or hair- 
 ribbon arranged, but the mark of childish confidence 
 and affection was now felt by him as a definite encour- 
 agement. ' ' Cheer up, ' ' it said. ' ' I know she likes you. ' ' 
 Joyce had been distressed by Cynthia's praises of 'That 
 One,' the meaning of which she had perfectly under- 
 stood, and for days after she bombarded Peter with 
 accounts of Cynthia's feats of riding and swimming, 
 and tales of her athletic prowess at school. She was 
 careful to explain that Cyn had not been allowed to 
 go in for exams., but that she was frightfully clever and 
 Sir Everard being cited as authority 'top-hole at 
 Maths.!' Peter was much impressed by the latter in- 
 
 115
 
 116 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 formation, while remaining slightly sceptical as regards 
 the huge scores at cricket and dare-devil high dives 
 which Joyce recounted with too many superlatives for 
 absolute credit. 
 
 The last day hut one arrived. In the morning they 
 flew about Cronwall in a motor-car. Peter saw nothing 
 but Cynthia's pretty neck and head until she changed 
 seats with him. In the afternoon the three girls bathed, 
 and Lady Bremner, lying in the hammock, talked to 
 Peter of what Laurence Man could do for him in the 
 Great Company. It was like taking a nightmare seri- 
 ously. He listened to the buzz of insects, and the re- 
 fined, unreal voice telling him how to alter the bad dream 
 that had not begun yet, so why, oh why, should he think 
 of it ? He wanted Cynthia. Being a polite boy he could 
 only stay and suffer. 
 
 At length he escaped, and hurried to meet the girls. 
 He took them by surprise and found three tomboys 
 comparing their biceps. Three! And Cynthia's soft 
 hair was afloat like Phyllis 's and Joyce's. All the girls 
 turned rosy and Cynthia became noticeably sedate. Yes, 
 as dinner was to be put off until nine for that friend of 
 Daddy 's who was coming, she would like to see the sunset 
 from the island. Phyllis did not even offer to go. With 
 pinned-up skirts she was playing leapfrog with Joyce, 
 Marie having been sent on ahead. Peter had had no 
 idea that girls were ever childish. It was a valuable 
 reminder of their humanity, their winglessness. He al- 
 most managed to see Cynthia without wings, not as the 
 starry lady of the secret name, but as his comrade, a 
 wholesome, natural young girl, plagued with lovers and 
 longing for freedom. They talked of books, exchanged 
 enthusiasms over Meredith and Leonard Merrick and 
 Kenneth Grahame. Before reaching Tintagel Cynthia 
 produced a comb, and crowned her sweet head with a 
 coronal of shining hair. No one would have thought 
 she had been playing leapfrog, too! 
 
 They stood on the cliff, above a tossing sea, England 
 behind them, in front a glorious sky of apple green
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 117 
 
 merging into the faintest blue. On the horizon the 
 golden sun was dipping towards his pathway across the 
 sparkling waves. Flame-coloured and orange-rosy 
 streamers flew from the ball of fire whose background 
 was clear light. In the zenith strange shaped warrior 
 clouds, like figures in a Japanese print, fought in shaded 
 armour. A few stars glimmered in the duskier sky as 
 the swift brightness faded, and the sun's rim sank over 
 the edge of the world and his surface changed to crim- 
 son, with the waves leaping against it in a jagged line. 
 A wind stirred the watcher's hair. 
 
 "My last!" said Peter. 
 
 "I'm sorry," she murmured, her eyes on the west. 
 "Isn't it perfect? Phyl would be right if she called 
 this 'heavenly.' We ought to be going back, Peter. 
 Oh, I'm sorry that you won't be here to-morrow!" 
 
 "Are you?" he asked, as they turned reluctantly 
 away. 
 
 "Of course I am," she said, surprised. "You musn't 
 doubt that, please. I shall miss you fearfully." 
 
 He would rather she had not been willing to confess 
 it. He was not altogether conscious what had prompted 
 his question, why he so longed to cover the girl's hands 
 with kisses and tears. Something rose in his throat, 
 making thought difficult. He did not understand the 
 strength of the passionate emotion which was striving to 
 express itself. She was the sunset holiday, all joy, all 
 beauty, so much he knew, and to leave her would be 
 bitter as death ; but he did not realise that the worship 
 of Star had changed into the love of Cynthia. He still 
 called her 'Star' in his secret mind. She was still 
 Romance, and had he been frank with himself he might 
 have declared that his feeling for Cynthia was one of 
 friendship and that Star, his beloved, was a different 
 person. He would have been right, but it was Cynthia 
 whom he loved now. 
 
 "Let's climb up to the Keep, and look at the after- 
 glow, ' ' proposed the girl. 
 
 They scrambled up the steep path at the landward end 
 of the narrow isthmus, and gave the key of the Island
 
 118 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 to a visitor they met upon their way, saving thus ten 
 precious minutes. Cynthia was in front as they climbed 
 the stone steps to the level patch of greensward sur- 
 rounded by ruined walls. She moved ahead of Peter 
 to an embrasure which from a precipice-edge overlooked 
 the sea. Her walk was like a melody played sweetly in 
 tune. Yes, she was a song, and a lily, and a girl to make 
 a man's pulses quicken! But Peter was not conscious 
 how his own were stirred. A blustering wind was blow- 
 ing in gusts. Her muslin sleeves flew and fluttered, out- 
 lining her arms. She leant her elbows on the ledge and 
 drew a long breath of delight; for now the sky was a 
 blaze of crimson, rose, and gold, and the warriors fought 
 on in resplendent armour, brandishing their swords 
 among the stars. The sea rushed and tossed at the foot 
 of the precipice, gulls were crying desolately overhead, 
 jackdaws chattered about the cliffs. Peter came close 
 to her. As he stood by her side their arms were touch- 
 ing. He felt the warmth of hers through the thin fab- 
 ric. It seemed to diffuse through his whole body a glow- 
 ing flood that mounted swiftly to his brain. He looked 
 down at her clustering hair, her exquisite, clear profile, 
 at the long white fingers propping her chin. 
 
 A struggle was going on in his mind. Interminable 
 moments passed. 
 
 Meanwhile her thoughts flew back from the crimson 
 tinted warriors of the sky to a frivolous thing, the gown 
 she was to wear at dinner. The ethereal look was still 
 upon her face, her delicate chin still uplifted, under the 
 long lashes her eyes were heavenly bright, unconscious of 
 him. It was a wonderful frock, a Paris model, no longer 
 new; of which she had once been afraid because it left 
 uncovered the lovely lines of her shoulders, the short 
 sleeves falling upon the arms from the level of the decol- 
 letage. The colour was ivory white, the style very sim- 
 ple, very becoming. Mummy had fallen a victim to it be- 
 cause her child, wheedled by the arts of a clever sales- 
 woman into trying it on, had looked 'so cool and de- 
 licious. ' And it was not too low cut ; in every way it was 
 fascinatingly right, and dainty, and distinguished. That
 
 THE WINGS OP YOUTH 119 
 
 was the word the saleswoman had used, transferring it 
 to Cynthia, whose cheeks as she remembered flushed a 
 richer rose, whose eyes sparkled with a happy light. 
 "Mees Peto has chic, beaucoup de chic, mais mademoiselle 
 est bien distinguee ! ' ' Cynthia was well aware that she 
 deserved Shaun's compliment, that she had 'style' and 
 wore her clothes as they should be worn. Phyllis had not 
 this instinctive grace of bearing and fitness of taste and 
 deft art in the adjustment of detail. And Phyl was 
 always outree, in the extreme of the fashion, from which 
 Lady Bremner kept Cynthia carefully apart. "A girl 
 who can look as nice as you, darling, should never dress 
 as though she followed the fashions, but as if she availed 
 herself of them." It was the wisest counsel. 
 
 Suddenly hot lips brushed Cynthia's cheek, and she 
 started violently awake. Peter at the moment of self- 
 conquest, in the very act of drawing back, had noticed 
 the beautiful turn of the girl's head and neck. "Without 
 the slightest premeditation or knowledge of what he was 
 doing he kissed her, and was not amazed at the fire of 
 her wrath. She sprang upright and faced him. 
 
 "Oh, Peter, why did you do it?" she cried, blushing 
 scarlet. 
 
 He answered doggedly, "I love you." 
 
 "I trusted you," she said with anger. "Haven't I 
 a single friend? I thought we were to be friends, 
 Peter. I don't want lovers. Oh, it's hateful to be so 
 lonely!" 
 
 "I'm. sorry," he said, very white. "I did not mean 
 to tell you or to do that. I don 't want to give you pain, 
 Cynthia. There's nothing I want less. I'd make you 
 happy if I could, but I don't see quite what I can do to 
 help you in this. I've told the truth, and I don't feel a 
 bit as if I should change. It's no good saying that I 
 do." 
 
 "We'd better be moving on," said she, in a quieter 
 voice but not kindly. "It's frightfully late. I mustn't 
 keep them waiting." 
 
 They walked slowly, Cynthia behind, along the top of 
 the down above the combe. After the first shock of
 
 120 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 surprise was past her anger swiftly and unaccountably 
 faded away. Instead she felt tremulous. A sense of 
 disappointment grew in her somewhat like that of a 
 dreamer who has missed the happy climax of a dream 
 through waking forgetful. 
 
 "Peter!" she said, noticing the straightness of his 
 back and the stiffness of his broad shoulders. Laurence 
 would have been writhing, Shaun bowed. Her heart 
 went out a little way to him because he had taken rebuke 
 like a soldier. But he had had no right to kiss her. She 
 wasn 't that kind of girl. As if Peter did not know it ! 
 He couldn't have been responsible, somehow, for what 
 he did. Peter was not that kind of man. 
 
 He waited for her without eagerness, at which she 
 felt vaguely puzzled. She had a cruel impulse which 
 amazed her. Overcoming it, she said : ' ' Forgive me for 
 my rudeness. I ought to have believed at once what 
 you told me." 
 
 She was a tall girl, but he towered above her. Cynthia 
 breathed faster. An excitement thrilled her, as in the 
 instant before diving from a height. Space opened, the 
 passage of time was suspended. Her spirit hovered on 
 the brink of some bold plunge, uncontemplated by the 
 self she knew. She added with a breathless little laugh, 
 "You are big, Peter. You dwarf me!" 
 
 He stepped a pace backward, and accompanied her as 
 she walked on. "I don't regret what I did," he said. 
 "I can't! But I promise not to do it again. You 
 weren't rude. Cynthia could not be rude. I've been 
 thinking things out in the last few minutes, and I know 
 just why I love you as I do. I won't bother you! 
 Heaps of men must have said the same things. I don't 
 expect I could be original about your charm and your 
 dearness. You don't mind my saying this?" 
 
 "No," said Cynthia, softly. "And the last man did 
 not speak that way at all. He was like a starchy thing 
 dipped into hot water! I don't believe you'll ever 
 bother me, Peter." 
 
 "I wish I could!" he sighed, looking down at her 
 bright head. She flushed, and for an instant was shaken
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 121 
 
 like a leaf. "I wouldn't be a girl!" he said, calmly. 
 ' ' Your friends plague you. ' ' 
 
 Now they descended the side of the combe to reach 
 the stepping-stones across the stream. The incline was 
 abrupt. They dug their heels into the green turf and 
 advanced with precaution. Unfortunately for him she 
 was active and did not need his help. Down below in 
 the valley the twilight was changing into dusk, but the 
 birds sang plaintively from dim bushes, wagtails dipped 
 over the surface of the rippling water, a goldfinch 
 flashed from mossy bank to mossy bank. By the edge 
 were yellow marigolds in the grass. The forget-me-nots' 
 blue eyes were half closed with sleep. 
 
 They walked, silent, up the long, quiet village street, 
 like themselves deep in thought of eternal matters. The 
 ancient house knelt brooding, its gables pointed skyward 
 with the look of praying hands, as if some old knight 
 crouching by the wayside. Lights began to appear in 
 the cottages. The Wharncliffe blazed. At the gate 
 Cynthia held out her hand. By the motion she swept 
 away Peter's stoicism and he was conscious of a flood of 
 bitter pain and sorrowful longing that invaded irresist- 
 ibly his whole being. He pressed her hand, and dropped 
 it and rushed up the stone path, choking back his sobs, 
 seeing a picture which he never forgot of a bright in- 
 terior and the shining mahogany dinner-table arranged 
 with vases of white flowers, above which a white-capped 
 housemaid was bending. The vision wavered into tears. 
 
 Cynthia entered the garden slowly, reluctant to face 
 the lighted hall; and as she lingered Phyllis appeared 
 round the corner of the house. Immediately a window 
 was thrown open above the porch and Joyce, who had 
 been watching from her bedroom in the dark, leaned out 
 and cried triumphantly to Phyllis, ' ' Your father 's only a 
 Banker. Mine's a Major, isn't he, Cyn?" Cynthia 
 went in and upstairs without reply, and while mounting 
 to her own room she heard That One hammer a reckless 
 tattoo on Joyce's door. At all events those two had not 
 encountered Peter nor had they seen her close. As she 
 bathed and changed it was her one comfort. Was there
 
 122 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 ever a girl who caused as much unhappiness as she? 
 Except Helen of Troy, and Cynthia smiled at the idea 
 of comparing herself with Helen. Worse, she giggled 
 hysterically, a thing that she had not done since she 
 was a schoolgirl. 
 
 She was down early, after all. What a comfort it was 
 to be allowed to arrange one's own hair and do things 
 at one's own time ! She wished this holiday might never 
 end. Here came Peter. They were the two earliest 
 again, as they had been at Portman Square on their first 
 meeting. How nice he looked in his evening clothes, 
 and he was not pale now. Perhaps he would get over 
 his feeling quite easily! 
 
 She had not time, quick as her impressions were, to 
 consider the shock of disappointment which this thought 
 gave her, before he was standing by the side of her chair. 
 
 "You must come out into the garden after dinner!" 
 he said, commandingly, in a voice which was new to her. 
 ' ' Come when you can. I '11 be watching for you, Cynthia. 
 I must speak to you again before I go." 
 
 The entrance of Lady Bremner prevented a reply, but 
 Cynthia never dreamed of refusing. She could trust poor 
 Peter not to hurt her as Laurence had done, and it was 
 so very peaceful and nice to be ordered about by him! 
 It brought her something oddly like happiness. As the 
 meal dragged to a close, Cynthia wondered why. She 
 was usually irritated by any attempt to control her 
 actions, and had had several angry little disputes with 
 Shaun because he, persistently in certain moods, in- 
 structed her as to what she was to do or not to do. Dis- 
 putes over trivial matters. She was trying to analyse 
 the difference between Peter and Shaun, when Lady 
 Bremner gave the signal to rise. 
 
 In the midst of an indictment of the Home Rule Bill 
 by the guest of the evening Peter heard her singing in 
 the drawing-room. He excused himself as soon as he 
 could and went upstairs. She sang Der Nussbaum, not 
 perfectly but with a sweet, round voice. Lady Bremner 
 played the difficult accompaniment with unexpected 
 skill, She would not stay at the piano when Cynthia
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 123 
 
 had finished, so the latter chose a volume of Beethoven 
 and played the Waldstein. She was uplifted, and did 
 well. Lady Bremner then asked for the Pastoral, while 
 Phyllis demanded the Appassionata. The arrival of the 
 two men prevented the playing of either, for 'Daddy's 
 friend ' wanted ' ' that pretty thing, ' ' which proved to be 
 In the Shadows. 
 
 The music had clarified Peter's mind and confirmed his 
 intention. The evening seemed endless, yet he went 
 through its varied incidents patiently, arid at last found 
 himself in the cool verandah, listening to the stridulation 
 of the grasshoppers and starting with beating heart 
 whenever he thought he heard a footstep within. He 
 had faced himself ; and the call of his blood to obstinate 
 battle against odds had sounded within him; he told 
 himself, unafraid, that he meant to marry Cynthia Brem- 
 ner. The thought had not occurred to him as the 
 wildest possibility when he entered his bedroom a few 
 hours ago. Now he said humbly that he intended to 
 have a try. If he found he was hurting her he would 
 not go on, that was definite. What he would do, if he 
 made progress, was vague in his mind, remote, and could 
 be decided when the occasion came. He was strung to 
 an entire concentration. His past was a dream. He 
 stood awakened. He was a man. 
 
 She came to him; like a tall lily, in the dusk of the 
 verandah. Her head was hooded in a filmy scarf of the 
 colour of the moonlight flooding the garden. It was 
 swathed around her shoulders, and the ends twisted 
 about her forearms, and as she stepped forth into the 
 world of glamour he caught sight of her smooth, white 
 elbows peeping. He followed without a word, and she 
 led him down rose-trellised paths, through the door into 
 the field. 
 
 The low stone hedges made lines of shadow upon the 
 argent plain, and the uplands swept gloriously to a sky 
 of countless stars among which hung the great, solemn 
 moon in full circle. The air was mild and smelt sweet of 
 hay. Far distant, the sea whispered a lullaby to the 
 night; bats flitted, and their thin cries were like moon-
 
 124 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 shine made audible, voicing the magic of the pale radi- 
 ance that streamed on the wold. Dewdrops glistened 
 underfoot. 
 
 And now she stopped, while still hidden from the 
 windows of the house by the fence; and the feathery 
 edge of the veil discarded by her lay on the one bare 
 shoulder and slipped from the other, the nearer to Peter. 
 O'ertopping her, he looked at her flower-poised head 
 and the lovely line from the grace of her neck to her 
 symmetrical, slender shoulder, curving adorably over 
 the smooth roundness to the firm upper arm. She 
 emerged, snowy, from the clasp of her ivory gown. The 
 silver moonlight gleamed on her young beauty. The 
 pink carnations at her breast were reflected in her 
 cheeks and lips. The long lashes dropped over the 
 mystery of her eyes as he passed by and faced her. 
 
 Phyllis had worn a scarlet poinsettia against her white 
 skin, in the same nook where Cynthia's dear carnations 
 nestled; and she had invited him to smell the flowers, 
 ready to dart away. Peter would have given a year of 
 his life to be asked that by Cynthia in gentle surrender. 
 The throwing back of the wrap would have been coquetry 
 in Phyllis. He did not misread the girl he loved, whose 
 gesture was instinctive, symbol of her resolve to bestow 
 truth as well as demand it. 
 
 "What is it, Peter?" asked Cynthia. He could see 
 the swift rise and fall of her bosom. The simple ques- 
 tion touched him like a caress, for she had trusted him 
 so greatly in coming! 
 
 "Just to say this," he answered. "I care for you, 
 Cynthia. I want you. I believe that it is real love 
 which I feel, not a passing attraction. I wish you to 
 know it because of the difference it makes. I did not 
 insult you on the cliff. I was irresistibly drawn to do 
 what I did. It happened because I did not know, and 
 it shan't happen again. Will you forgive me, please, 
 Cynthia?" 
 
 "I do forgive you," she whispered. "I did before." 
 
 "That's good!" he cried starward, yet not so loud as 
 to be overheard by a loiterer in the garden. A passion
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 125 
 
 of relief shook him. "Thank you," he said from the 
 bottom of his heart. And then he hung his head, 
 abashed by her generosity. And spied the dewdrops 
 glistening in the grass at her feet. Her satin slippers 
 were streaked with damp. "Cynthia, you must go in," 
 he said, speaking masterfully again, so that she felt a 
 little thrill of joy. It gave her happiness to acquiesce 
 in the orders of this man whom she did not love. She 
 turned obediently and went, passing away like music, 
 fading into a memory of loveliness, leaving the night 
 dark. 
 
 "It's over," Peter said aloud. He was thinking of 
 his holiday. His travail had only just begun.
 
 XIV 
 
 THE 'bus he had descended from plunged forward, and 
 the portico of the offices of the Great Company frowned 
 above Peter, already depressed by the roar and rattle 
 of the City streets and the pallid, elbowing throng of 
 black-coated clerks, who poured out of the tube entrance 
 opposite and traversed the narrow thoroughfare in all 
 directions and at every variety of pace. The familiar 
 sight took him back into a world from which it was 
 difficult to realise he had ever been away. "While the 
 image of Cynthia slipped into his under-mind and Corn- 
 wall faded from memory, London and the Company 
 resumed him. The scent of the night flowers could not 
 fight against the stale smell of petrol, the murmur of 
 the sea was drowned in the thunder of traffic, cliff walls 
 gave place to drab, smoke-stained architecture on either 
 hand, and NINE sounded triumphantly from the clock 
 tower, as Peter passed the commissionaire and entered 
 the courtyard at a run. 
 
 His welcome was a hasty cry of, "Hullo, Middleton! 
 you'll be late," from a passing High Official who was 
 well-disposed to him, and a cold stare from a hurrying 
 junior whose bundle of papers and air of confident 
 superiority proclaimed him to be on the staff of either 
 Laurence Man or the Managing Director. Peter dived 
 into the gloomy doorway on the right, which had once 
 while overtime was being worked been inscribed by 
 a reckless spirit with Dante 's line, Lasciate ogwi speranza 
 voi ch'entrate, in red chalk. The inscription escaped 
 notice in the dark, but next morning there were furious 
 attempts to discover the culprit, who was ultimately 
 betrayed and dismissed. Laurence had been called 
 upon by the Managing Director to translate the phrase, 
 which resulted in a most comical scene! 
 
 126
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 127 
 
 "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here!" Peter had 
 arrived, glowingly determined to make the best of his 
 unpromising employment and to wring success and 
 promotion from the hands of fate at the earliest pos- 
 sible moment. The sight of a High Official standing 
 over the signing-on book, beaked like a bird of prey, 
 ready to snatch it the instant the five minutes of grace 
 were up, damped his enthusiasm horribly. He knew that 
 Mr. Lemon had greeted those who came before the clock 
 struck with a "Good morning," even though they were 
 about to idle away the next quarter of an hour; while 
 for him, returned from leave and eager to put his back 
 into the work, there was only a sidelong glance from 
 narrowed eyes, because he was two minutes late. And 
 old Lemon never did anything himself except get chaps 
 into trouble ! 
 
 Thank goodness, he was sent across to Brown! The 
 sight of his kindly, clean-shaven face and dim blue eyes 
 was welcome as that of a friend, for Mr. Brown was one 
 of the few popular High Officials in Laurence Man's 
 department. He was an able, truly religious man, 
 courteous and just in all his dealings, a Quaker, who 
 always considered before he spoke, and enunciated with 
 precise, clipping care. 
 
 "Good morn-ing! I hope you enjoyed your leave, 
 Mid-dleton." 
 
 "Thank you, sir, I did." Enjoy! Does a man enjoy 
 Heaven ? Well, after all, it was the only available word. 
 "How are the butterflies getting on?" 
 
 Mr. Brown was an enthusiastic breeder of rare Eng- 
 lish butterflies, which he was said to release in Hyde 
 Park at dead of night, attired (Mr. Brown, not the but- 
 terflies!) in purple silk pyjamas. 
 
 " Excell-ently, thanks! Will you be good enough to 
 assist Blotter and Sem-ple?" 
 
 About eleven o'clock Peter had time to look round 
 him, and did so. It was safe under Brown to do this, 
 although the incorrigible Blotter insisted on pretending 
 to work when there was no work to be done, in case 
 of the unexpected entry of a High Official. ' ' You never
 
 128 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 know your luck with them Highos," he was reported 
 to have said when he first entered the service, from 
 which arose his malicious nickname of "Old Them," 
 corrupted to "Old Clem" or "Clement," which most 
 fellows now believed to be his Christian name. 
 
 ' ' Married the pretty daughter yet ? ' ' inquired Semple, 
 loudly. 
 
 "Whose pretty daughter?" grunted Blotter, without 
 looking up. 
 
 "I told him to take plenty of shirts, and then she'd 
 well fall in love with him. ' ' 
 
 Peter knew better than to show signs of anger. "Why, 
 oh why, had he given this animal credit for any of the 
 instincts of a gentleman? 
 
 "Be quiet, you low blackguard," he said genially. 
 "Did I tread upon your foot? I'm sorry. I hope it 
 hurt. "Would you like a fight afterwards?" 
 
 "Are you mad, you fool?" demanded Semple, 
 
 staring. 
 
 "Don't you swear at me!" said Peter, coldly. "I 
 won't have it. You were quite right about the clothes, 
 Semple ; I needed everything I took. ' ' 
 
 Blotter leaped up to ask for work, although he knew 
 none had come in, and this changed the subject. Semple 
 turned on him. 
 
 "It's no use sucking up to Brown, old !" he 
 
 observed. ' ' He knows you ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' He knows a good man, then ! ' ' retorted Blotter, com- 
 placently. 
 
 "Oh my god! Good gargoyle, you mean! If you 
 
 dressed up as a butterfly he might take some 
 
 notice of you, and then your face would spoil 
 
 it." 
 
 "How did I stand this filthy swearing?" thought 
 Peter. "Old Semple only knows two words, and if I 
 can't stick them, how the deuce shall I put up with the 
 really dirty talk of Kilworth and Pulley? There I go 
 
 myself! I'd never have talked of the deuce at I 
 
 won't think the name here. But it's a serious matter, 
 for one's got to enjoy dirt to be comfortable in this
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 129 
 
 infernal place. I suppose I'll become accustomed to it 
 again, but I'm bothered if I'll ever let myself like it." 
 
 ' ' Heard Kilworth 's latest limerick ? ' ' inquired Semple. 
 ' ' Oh, ! Here 's the work. ' ' 
 
 At lunch Peter collected a table-full of men whom he 
 liked, and heard the news. The most popular chap in 
 the Office had gone round telling a funny story about 
 a goat and no one could find out what the joke was, 
 although he seemed to see it quite plainly himself. Every- 
 body in the building had made an excuse to come and 
 ask for that yarn! . . . There was a rumour that the 
 Managing Director was thinking of retiring to a quieter 
 place on the Board. Half the table were backing Lau- 
 rence Man to get his place. . . . The Directors had pro- 
 moted young Mainwaring, whom Peter had met in the 
 Courtyard, though there were fifteen men senior to him, 
 of whom five at least were better clerks. The table 
 agreed that Peter was one of the five. . . . Blotter would 
 probably get the next vacancy in Department B. "If so 
 that's an end to your chances of quick promotion, Mid- 
 dleton. Well, we 've all seen these lads with interest pass 
 over our heads. You 're in good company, old boy ! ' ' 
 
 One of the New Entrants, or News as they were called 
 in office slang, was delightfully green. O'Brien, who 
 lived in the country " where all the decent sorts live: 
 what the deuce makes you dig in London, Peter?" 
 had told him how on the way to the station he had 
 tripped over a nest of field-mice, containing three hun- 
 dred and sixty-five young ones. Field-mice, 'Brien had 
 explained with gravity, are very prolific. And the 
 mother had run at him and bitten him in the heel through 
 a stout walking boot, and did the New think he was in 
 danger of hydrophobia? The New had actually con- 
 sulted old Lemon "Isn't that man a swine, Peter? 
 Always getting some poor devil into a row," and the 
 Old 'Un had said gruffly, "Good job if he does get it. 
 Tell him I said so. Don't come to me with silly ques- 
 tions. Stupid young ass!" He was right for once. 
 
 After lunch Peter went out with a message, which he 
 was ordered to deliver at a number of addresses. He
 
 130 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 came into Cheapside and saluted the Church, dingy in 
 the afternoon sunshine, with Gog and Magog over its 
 projecting clock. The famous Bow-bells were pealing; 
 entitling Cockneys. Peter was one of the few who knew 
 that St. Mary-le-Bow derives its name from the arches 
 of its old crypt. Down Queen Street he walked at a 
 swift pace, past Jones and Evans' Bookshop where duty 
 forbade him to linger, into the dulness of Queen Victoria 
 Street, only partially redeemed by its branch of Mudie 's ; 
 then on to the civic centre of London, where the Bank 
 and the Mansion House and the Royal Exchange gloom 
 at one another across the crowding traffic. The courts 
 and alleys of Cornhill led him to heavy Lombard Street, 
 from which he gladly emerged, and passed Leadenhall 
 Market into the sunshine of Bishopsgate, and turned 
 backward through Adam 's Court to the Stock Exchange, 
 and pushed through Throgmorton Street, swarming with 
 hatless clerks. In Lothbury he bought chocolate from 
 the poet Shepperley, and hurried on to the mellow calm 
 of the Guildhall, within sight of which he ended his 
 mission; and so strolled regretfully officeward through 
 the hot, narrow streets, feeling as though the City had 
 welcomed him again and claimed him as her own. 
 
 He had deliberately put aside all thought of Cynthia 
 until he should be on the 'bus homeward-bound in the 
 cool of the evening. While gulping his tea at six o 'clock, 
 listening to the curiously mingled clatter and hush of 
 a big restaurant, he kept strictly to his resolve. No 
 sound of the sea intruded. The listless attendant did 
 not break a spell as she slanted her indifferent head to 
 take his order, nor when she brought him cake instead of 
 bread did he fail to point out the error. "O-ah!" she 
 said. "Sorry!" And reached out a perfunctory hand. 
 ' ' Thanks, I '11 keep it, ' ' Peter told her, remembering she 
 might be tired as well as haughty. . . . He paid at the 
 desk, pushed back the swing-door, and sniffed the warm, 
 rubbery smell of the City street. An instant later he 
 was on his 'bus, plunged into memories and calculations. 
 
 St. Paul's Cathedral loomed, and swung past. He was 
 getting 135 a year and Cynthia probably spent that on
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 131 
 
 clothes alone. He liked her best in white, he thought. 
 He was visioning her in white as the 'bus racketed under 
 dark Ludgate Bridge. It crossed the Circus with the 
 favouring stream of traffic and drew to a standstill at the 
 bottom of Fleet Street. Confound that man, Blotter! 
 It was certainly possible that he would be promoted 
 above Peter's head. And yet Blotter did not do nearly 
 as much work, and was not more accurate, although he 
 might appear so through his artful avoidance of posts of 
 danger. That was the result of judging a man on nega- 
 tive grounds, according to the smallness of number of 
 the mistakes recorded against him in that infernal book 
 they kept in Department A. It was all a kind of lottery 
 whether Peter were promoted or sacked. Ha , no, not 
 hang it all, but bother! Why, how many hundreds of 
 mistakes of young Main waring 's had not he himself 
 picked up as checker ! If only one of those had slipped 
 through, Lordly Laurence would have cursed as though 
 it were the sole error which had been made by the staff 
 of the Great Company for years. But he Peter had 
 no right to complain ! Why, every one of the bloomers 
 he had made immediately before going on leave had 
 been discovered before it reached a Higho. And he'd 
 made a thundering lot and deserved to be properly told 
 off! Here was the Griffin of Temple Bar, and there 
 were the appropriate Law Courts; Peter proceeded to 
 talk to himself severely. 
 
 Work slow ; copperplate handwriting ; check every- 
 thing twice ; let the public wait. Those were to be his 
 mottoes for the future. "Middleton is a most reliable 
 man," in unctuous tones, must replace, "He's a quick 
 worker. Give it to him to do. Here, Middleton! Don't 
 make any mistakes and let yourself in for trouble, but 
 get this done sharp. The people are waiting." 
 
 Supposing it did, what had he to hope for, beyond the 
 sight of St. Clement Dane's every evening on his way 
 home from the Office? Was there any other thorough- 
 fare in the world, he wondered, with two churches in the 
 middle of the street within a few hundred yards of each 
 other? He liked St. Mary's the better of the two. It
 
 132 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 passed, and the Gaiety Theatre rushed towards him. If 
 he could get into Department A he would soon be re- 
 ceiving 180 a year, and might rise to 800 before he 
 retired. Laurence Man must be getting that now, and 
 he had a very good chance of becoming Managing Di- 
 rector. There were undoubtedly prospects in Depart- 
 ment A. But without interest had Peter any reasonable 
 hope of being selected for that favoured spot? The 
 Bremners were not the kind of people he was glad to 
 think who would ask Man to push him forward. 
 
 The Savoy and the Cecil taunted Peter by reminding 
 him of the wealth in the world. He would like to give a 
 supper at the Savoy to Cynthia and Alan and Miss 
 Taliesin. It seemed to him an extraordinary thing that 
 he had never known before how lovely could be a girl's 
 arms. Even in long sleeves her dear slender wrists 
 fascinated him. . . . But this was not business. No, he 
 must face the prospect of staying in his own office and see 
 how that worked out. "When he arrived at the age of 
 thirty he might be getting 200 a year, and might reach 
 350 before he retired. My word ! Could he ask Cynthia 
 Rosemary Bremner to wait six years and then share an 
 income of 200 ? It would not be fair ! Nelson stooped 
 from his Monument to whisper that a Middleton could 
 not do such a thing. Then was he to give her up? 
 Something said aloud in his heart: "You are strong 
 enough. You are not a coward. But I shall not let 
 you." He started violently, and the typist who shared 
 the front seat of the 'bus glanced at him apprehensively. 
 "A nice-looking boy," she thought, relieved. "He must 
 have seen a girl he knew on the pavement there. I wish 
 I had a nice boy like him to take me out ! ' ' 
 
 The voice had been objective and impersonal, as if 
 Fate had spoken. For the time Peter gave up the idea of 
 renunciation, and devoted himself to practical matters. 
 Cockspur Street with its models of steamships in the 
 Shipping Companies' Offices, His Majesty's Theatre, 
 Piccadilly Circus, Piccadilly itself, the dried meadow 
 beauty of the Green Park, the solid row of clubs and 
 mansions facing it, Hyde Park Corner and Knightsbridge
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 133 
 
 fled by like phantoms of a dream, while he endeavoured 
 to work out a budget for two people with 200 a year. 
 It included many day dresses and evening frocks for 
 Cynthia. ' ' What on earth do girls pay for their clothes ? 
 I must look in the shop- windows !" Ignorant Peter! 
 Lady Bremner does not go to the shop-windows for 
 garments for Rosemary. The flap of the budget would 
 not close. In passing the hideous Knightsbridge Barracks 
 it flew open and showed the financier that he had for- 
 gotten servants for his small house and also the cost of 
 lighting. Was it certain he could clothe himself on 4 
 a year, and subsist on sandwiches for lunch ? Peter was 
 a tall man with a tall appetite. The dusty green of 
 Hyde Park, soft and cool in the summer evening haze, 
 glided by with noiseless, smooth flow of railings and 
 trees. People whizzed by in hooting landaulets on their 
 way to dinner. The hoods of the cars were down, and 
 most of the women and girls were wearing light colours. 
 With a flash of white they were gone. The outlines of 
 the Albert Hall were sharp against the rosy sky. The 
 'bus gathered speed down the long incline. Still Peter 
 wrestled with his figures. He strove against their 
 tendency to expand the moment the grip of his will was 
 removed. After settling the allowance for housekeeping 
 at ten shillings each per week ("St. Mary Abbot's? 
 That's rather a church for weddings!") he flew down 
 the Kensington Road ("Campden Hill would be the 
 jolliest place, or Holland Park. Rent makes them impos- 
 sible, I suppose"), and came to the conclusion that for 
 fifteen shillings apiece two people ought to do themselves 
 fairly decently. "That throws the whole thing out. I 
 said ten just now!" He wrestled with his budget all 
 the way to Hammersmith in a fury of concentration, but 
 it declined to reclose. "After all, it's only an estimate," 
 he thought, dismounting from the Tms in front of the 
 District station. The Broadway was bustling. Shabby, 
 sordid people crowded along the pavements, each intent 
 on his or her particular shopping. The door of a public- 
 house swung-to, driving into the street a waft of hot, 
 alcoholic air, "The sea!" longed Peter. "The salt
 
 134 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 briny smell and green combers, and Cynthia standing 
 close, silent and loving it too." He reached his lodg- 
 ings, which were in a tall, Georgian, shabby-genteel house 
 in a row of others exactly similar, and climbed flights 
 of stairs to his little sitting-room with its faded red cur- 
 tains, and its one comfortable chair, and its horsehair 
 monstrosity of a sofa, and the two photographs on the 
 bare mantelpiece, and the Diirer engravings on the walls 
 amongst the cheap oleographs of his landlady's fancy. 
 The windows were wide open, and the room was cool. 
 Peter crossed to the fireplace and looked at the photo- 
 graphs one after the other. What would his father say ? 
 He would say in his kind, sad voice, "My boy, she does 
 not love you yet. Let her alone. It is hard to see the 
 woman you care for pining in poverty. ' ' Cynthia, with- 
 out her sea. breezes, and her many books, and her beau- 
 tiful clinging gowns. Cynthia in a blouse and skirt, her 
 oldest, doing the cooking! "Why not?" asked the face 
 of the mother whom he had never seen. "If she loved 
 you, little son of mine, she would be glad and proud to 
 work for you." His mother had sweet eyes. She had 
 followed her husband over all the world, suffered many 
 a hardship with him; perhaps had died because she 
 would not leave him. . . . 
 
 The voice which had spoken before in Peter's heart 
 said clearly and distinctly, ' ' I shall not let you give her 
 up." He felt a cold shudder run down his spine and 
 his hair seemed to lift, his pulses to stand still. The 
 voice said, more faintly, "She is yours." He came to 
 himself, and turning, went into the bedroom and fell 
 upon his knees.
 
 XT 
 
 A MONTH later, having neither written to nor heard news 
 of Cynthia in the meantime, Peter descended from his 
 'bus in the Haymarket and turned up Panton Street. 
 He had obtained Shaun James's number from Who's 
 Who, and in a few moments was ringing a bell above a 
 plate marked with the novelist's name at a door beside 
 a fruiterer's shop. A buxom, elderly woman came out 
 of the shop and, seeing Peter standing before the sep- 
 arate entrance to the upper premises, went back again 
 after bidding him a respectful, "Good evening, sir." 
 Peter liked her face. Shaun opened the door while Peter 
 was watching her hang row after row of bananas on 
 hooks in the ceiling of the little room. 
 
 "They look after me," said Shaun. "Do it very well. 
 Come in, please, Middleton. I'm delighted to see you. 
 I was expecting you soon. Forgive my leading the way 
 up these dark stairs. Mind your head at the turn. 
 People over five foot ten bump their heads most pain- 
 fully there, I'm told." 
 
 Peter followed, astonished, and was taken into a large, 
 dark sitting-room on the second floor. The well-worn 
 furniture was upholstered in green, and the carpet, which 
 was very thick and warm, had once been purple but had 
 now faded almost to the hue of lavender. A wide writing- 
 table stood in one of the windows, with a neat pile of 
 manuscript upon it, also some ragged blotting-paper, and 
 a vase of yellow gaillardias. "A present from down- 
 stairs, ' ' explained Shaun, who seemed to have the power 
 of reading his guest's thoughts. " They give me flowers 
 daily. Take the big chair unless you'd rather wander 
 round and look at the pictures. I'm lucky in knowing 
 chaps who paint, and most of these sketches are really 
 
 135
 
 136 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 good. You don't smoke a pipe, do you? Then take 
 one of these cigarettes, if you don't mind Virginian. 
 Odd, you look the kind of man who would swear by a 
 pipe. I'll have mine, I think. That's an Orpen you 
 are in front of now. Shame to hang it in such a bad 
 light, isn't it? But it's too big for anywhere else in 
 the room." 
 
 "It's awfully fine," said Peter, reverently. The tone 
 with which he spoke made the novelist regard him, an 
 interested look in his sharp, blue eyes. 
 
 "You know, then " he was beginning, when Peter 
 
 turned, and lowering himself into the big arm-chair, said 
 abruptly: "Forgive me if I'm rude, Mr. James, but 
 would you mind saying why you were expecting me to 
 come?" 
 
 "Call me James, and bother the Mr.!" said the kind 
 voice, veiled as though its owner were considering. 
 "Anyone Miss Bremner likes is a friend of mine if he 
 cares to be. I might say that I thought she would ask 
 you to call on me, but if I did it wouldn't be wholly 
 ingenuous. I hoped that you liked me well enough to 
 come and ask my advice. Draw any or no conclusions 
 as you please, Middleton, but when I saw you on the 
 doorstep I knew you had come for a definite purpose. I 
 am glad" to see you in any case. Now shall we discuss 
 the horse?" 
 
 ' ' The horse ? ' ' repeated Peter, too nervous to be quick 
 of apprehension. 
 
 "A sagacious animal, with a leg at each corner. 'Ce 
 noble et f ougueux animal, ' says Buffon, who must not be 
 confounded with buffoon. Not that you'd do that!" 
 
 "No, don't lets! I did come for a reason. I 
 wouldn't have ventured to without, although I should 
 have wanted to tremendously. I came to ask you a 
 question. ' ' 
 
 The light had grown dimmer in the last few moments, 
 but Peter had a fleeting impression that Shaun smiled. 
 "I do not believe you'd ask what I should not want to 
 answer, Middleton." 
 
 Peter recollected himself. "I was awfully sorry to
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 137 
 
 hear what called you away from Tintagel. Only I 
 couldn't write." 
 
 "Thank you. She was old and not sorry to go. 
 Death, if we trustlour hopes, cannot be a sad thing for 
 the people who die. In my mother's case an old servant 
 is left most lonely. ' ' Shaun would not claim sorrow for 
 himself, feeling that he had not the right, as he had 
 left the dead 'most lonely' during her lifetime. If 
 Middleton thought him heartless well, he deserved it! 
 
 Peter found it difficult now to put his question. 
 
 "I cannot conjecture with any certainty what you 
 are going to ask me. Please be quite frank, ' ' said Shaun, 
 leaning back to tap his pipe on the bars of the grate. 
 
 Peter looked up. "It seems impertinent now that 
 I'm actually here," he said, slowly, "but you've been 
 very kind, so I will ask you whether there is any chance 
 of your marrying Miss Bremner. I don't mean proba- 
 bility. It would be frightful cheek to make inquiries 
 about that. If you'd answer the question just as it 
 stands it would be very generous of you. ' ' 
 
 "There is no chance whatever," said Shaun. "Put 
 that idea out of your head entirely. She never wished 
 me to be anything but a friend, and I am no longer 
 trying to be. That is categorical." 
 
 ' ' Thank you, ' ' said Peter, rising. He looked happier, 
 but still a trifle perplexed, and his face, coming into the 
 light, looked pale, as though he had lain awake at nights. 
 So thought Shaun, who did not move. 
 
 "You have found out, almost to your own surprise, 
 that you love her in the true sense of the word," he 
 asserted quietly. "I am glad, and should like to help 
 you. I imagine you are troubled by various honour- 
 able scruples, the nature of which I may say with frank- 
 ness that it is not difficult to guess! If you would 
 like to talk them out with some one else who cares very 
 greatly for her welfare, please believe that I am your 
 friend." 
 
 " It is good of you, ' ' said Peter, with emphasis, remain- 
 ing standing. "There's something more in my mind 
 which I've got to tell you now before you allow me to
 
 138 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 be friends. I came here undecided whether to say it, 
 and it's only fair to have things out. It's worse cheek 
 than ever, this, but I honestly don't think I'm consider- 
 ing anyone but her, really. She 's so tremendously influ- 
 enced by you, you see. I can't help wondering whether 
 she would marry any one at all while she's got your 
 friendship; she compares people with you so, in her 
 mind, I mean. Even if she met a man who understood 
 things and people the way you do, he couldn't start by 
 knowing her so well. . . . You do see, don 't you 1 ' ' 
 
 ' ' I understand you to suggest that I give her up alto- 
 gether?" asked Shaun, in a dry tone. 
 
 "No," said Peter, "I'm not so bad as that. Only it 
 was in my mind, and I thought it fair to tell you since 
 you were being so kind to me." 
 
 "I was the same variety of ass as you, once!" ex- 
 claimed Shaun, springing up. "Upon my soul, Peter, 
 I 'm glad to be reminded of it ! Sit you right down, and 
 light up, while I go and tell them you are staying to 
 dinner. It's got to be. Don't say a word now. I've 
 set my heart on it!" 
 
 Peter felt very shy when he found himself alone in 
 the great man's room. There was a glow and warmth 
 within him, such as a man feels who has found some- 
 thing unaccountably beautiful of which he but half un- 
 derstands the value. He admired Shaun James ,so art- 
 lessly, and it seemed so impossible that James should 
 be interested in him in return. 
 
 In a moment the novelist came back. ' ' Miss Bremner, 
 whom we 'd better call Cynthia now that we 're friends, is 
 I think in only the very slightest danger of being mo- 
 nopolised by me. I've been alive from the beginning to 
 the risk you point out, and I've taken careful precau- 
 tions to eliminate unconscious romanticism if you'll 
 forgive a clumsy phrase. A short time ago I proved 
 my success." He made a grimace of pain. "Merciful 
 Providence did not make me the kind of artist who loves 
 to dominate young girls under a pretence of education. 
 Now you fire ahead with your story. ' ' 
 
 Peter began. At first he was nervous, and involved
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 139 
 
 his narrative by stopping to explain bits of psychology 
 which were transparently simple to Shaun. Sometimes 
 he puzzled himself in the process. ' ' The boy is innocent 
 enough!" thought Shaun. "If I could remember the 
 time when I was as young as this, I'd make a book of 
 it." But when dinner was brought in and the lights 
 were turned on, Peter grew in courage and told his 
 story well, helped by the ingenious questions of his host. 
 
 "By the way," warned Shaun, suddenly, "you are 
 trusting me a good deal. Don't trust any other literary 
 man in the world. We batten on confidences. I promise 
 I'll try not to use what you're telling me." 
 
 Peter looked rather alarmed. "Go on," said Shaun. 
 "It's all right." He only interrupted once more. Then 
 he asked, "Do you sketch? You talk as though you 
 saw colour and mass uncommonly clearly. ' ' Peter came 
 from the Keep of Tintagel with reluctance. Shaun 
 could almost see the image of Cynthia fading from be- 
 fore his eyes. ' ' Don 't answer. Go on, ' ' he said hastily. 
 
 They were seated in big chairs by a window in the hot 
 August dusk. Their own narrow thoroughfare was 
 silent. Coventry Street roared at the back of them, 
 Leicester Square on their one side, the Haymarket on 
 their other; but from the south the noise of Cockspur 
 Street and Trafalgar Square was dulled by distance 
 and intervening houses to a steady hum of traffic. The 
 sky was grey, wreathed with dim clouds and striped with 
 thin streaks of rising smoke. When he had finished 
 Peter sat looking up at it, wondering whether it was 
 clear and bright for Cynthia wherever she might be. 
 
 "I don't pay much attention to that Inner Voice of 
 yours," said Shaun, at last. "It's probably a trick of 
 the subconscious self, and most lovers believe the girl 
 they love is theirs. I speak of it first in order to get it 
 out of the way. I know you were not over-impressed. 
 Your financial position we'll discuss presently. It may 
 not be so bad as you think. On the point of honour 
 I agree with you, Peter. You had not any right to make 
 love to Cynthia Bremner. No more had I, and we are 
 a pair of knaves."
 
 140 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Peter's heart sank, changing into a lump of lead. 
 
 "The reason why I expected you, and why I encour- 
 aged you to discuss the matter when you came, is this, ' ' 
 explained Shaun. "As you've no doubt guessed, 
 Cynthia wrote me some account of what happened on 
 your last evening at Tintagel. She was very brief, and 
 from what she said and did not say more particularly 
 the latter I gathered you had made an impression on 
 her which well, we'll say which differed from what 
 I, for example, have achieved. She seemed to be think- 
 ing of you with a shyness new in my experience of 
 Cynthia, who does not lack self-confidence as a rule 
 and is accustomed to dismissing men. I do not mean 
 she is hard-hearted. That she could never be. Nor 
 has she learnt how to deal with people who rave and 
 throw themselves at her feet. But she has probably 
 refused twenty or thirty ordinary enough young fellows 
 and a few extraordinary elderly ones also, all of whom 
 have taken her refusal normally. She has told me about 
 five or six and sometimes asked my advice. You must 
 remember I know her well, Peter." 
 
 Peter's heart was a flame of fire. "What do you 
 think, then ? " he managed to blurt out. 
 
 "I thought no more than I have said. Now, having 
 heard everything from you, I am inclined to believe that 
 she's beginning to care for you, unknown to herself. 
 That is my impression. Are you all right? It's hot in 
 this room, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, thanks," said Peter, with set face. 
 
 ' ' Remember literary people are always cocksure when 
 it's a question of human nature. I'm not infallible. I 
 only give you my impression. At the same time I've 
 weighed the probable consequences of saying what I do 
 say. I 'm not speaking lightly, as you may guess. Tell 
 me all over again about your prospects, will you? And 
 give me some details of your work." 
 
 Shaun listened awhile, and said, ' ' Is that the Laurence 
 Man who was at Tintagel ? He is unlikely to be friendly 
 to you." 
 
 "He's not very popular," answered Peter vaguely.
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 141 
 
 Presently Shaun summed up. "Secret reports on 
 staff are the devil, always. You would have been much 
 better off in the Government Service. It seems to me, 
 Peter, you were born too late. The rules under which 
 you are working date from a time when the Directors 
 could afford to employ plenty of men and treat them 
 well. The staff was therefore selected with a view to 
 the maintenance of the dignity of the Company in the 
 eyes of the public, and gentlemen were preferred. Now 
 the Board is inclined to grudge the men their salary and 
 yet lacks the moral courage to introduce cheap labour 
 in a straightforward way. Instead it goes in for petty 
 economy and deferring promotions and other devices 
 which create ill-feeling between employers and employed. 
 Say that again about handwriting. I don 't understand. 
 To select men for the most important office because they 
 write not only clearly but in a special style approved 
 by the Company, seems to me merely fantastic." 
 
 "It is, now that all the letters out are typewritten," 
 said Peter. "The Highos get attacks of madness about 
 handwriting. I 've been in the place six years, and I 've 
 just had to send in a 'test,' an example of my writing. 
 I 've had lessons and altered it once to suit them already. 
 Usually, asking for a test means that they are looking 
 for an excuse to get a man into trouble, but it can't be 
 that in my case." 
 
 "Why not?" asked Shaun. 
 
 "I know I'm above the average at my job," answered 
 Peter. 
 
 Shaun looked serious. "Do you think that Man likes 
 you ? ' ' 
 
 "No," said Peter, and he suddenly recollected the 
 incident at the Bremners' dinner-party, when he had ad- 
 mitted before his Chief that he did not love his employ- 
 ment. "No, I suppose he doesn't!" 
 
 "Well!" said Shaun drily, "I make a deduction." 
 
 "Really it can't be that," exclaimed Peter. 
 
 "I hope it isn't! Could it mean promotion by any 
 chance ? ' ' 
 
 "Now, that isn't the way they do things. I should
 
 142 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 have been given a hint when the test was asked for. And 
 several other men had to send them in as well. ' ' 
 
 ""Were they good men at their job?" 
 
 "Some good, some bad. Really, I don't expect to 
 hear any more of it!" 
 
 "It may be only my professional eye looking ahead 
 for a melodramatic incident, Peter. But truth is stranger 
 than fiction, and life often more sensational than a 
 cinema-play. Don't forget, and take care. Now I'm 
 going to turn you out, for a reason that I know you'll 
 understand and sympathise with. I've got a day's 
 writing to do to-morrow and must go to bed early as a 
 matter of duty, against my inclination." 
 
 Peter understood and said so. He got up, feeling 
 dazed, as from a long night's tossing, and immensely 
 tired. Many waves of emotion had broken upon him in 
 the last four hours, excitement had followed excitement. 
 Everything had appeared normal and simple while it 
 was happening, and was so in fact, but the cumulative ef- 
 fect was not ordinary. An extremely sensitive nervous 
 system, such as most creative artists possess, would have 
 undergone reaction and its owner been a prey to a horri- 
 ble melancholy of the remainder of the night, but Peter 
 was of tougher fibre. He merely became conscious of 
 fatigue, and felt he must put off his decision until next 
 morning. He still thought that to give Cynthia up 
 lay in his power and that it might prove to be his 
 duty. 
 
 The deep-tinted room and the glorious paintings on 
 the walls were strangely familiar to Peter as he went out. 
 He seemed to have lived years with them, happy years 
 which had glided by with swiftness. It was startling to 
 descend the dark, unknown staircase, and to hear Shaun 's 
 steps tapping behind. The noise the pair of them made 
 on the uncarpeted boards racketed through the whole 
 house. "I'm very rarely in late!" said Shaun 's voice, 
 a sound that Peter was accustomed to and loved. Was 
 it possible that he had scarcely known Shaun a few hours 
 .ago? Surely there was never a time when he did not 
 know and love this friend.
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 143 
 
 "You've been frightfully decent to me," he said, im- 
 pulsively, at the street door. 
 
 ''I believe I have ..." said Shaun. "You'll need 
 kindness before you are through with things, young 
 Peter. You've a hard row to hoe." He was silent a 
 moment, and added with gravity, "If Cynthia has begun 
 to care for you I should have wronged her by acting 
 otherwise. That is what my knowledge of humanity and 
 my religion tell me, and I care not sixpence for any one 
 else's." 
 
 "You still think she does?" said Peter, a tide of 
 happiness rising in him. 
 
 "I do." 
 
 The tide reached its height. Youth triumphed. In 
 all the world there could not be more joy than was 
 rioting in Peter. 
 
 "Yes," went on Shaun, his fingers on the handle of 
 the door, face in shadow. "But she'd have married me 
 out of pity, in the long run; and your Chief several 
 times came near to controlling her ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' Laurence Man ! ' ' repeated Peter, in horror. 
 
 Shaun laughed. "You don't know how comparatively 
 easy it is to get a certain influence over a sheltered girl. 
 Cynthia's human, has weaknesses, little faults of vanity, 
 and she is not unpassionate, which you may thank 
 Heaven for! The ladies are very real, Peter, different 
 from men and yet oddly similar; better in some ways, 
 falling short in others. They wear no halo, nor does 
 their womanhood give them any knowledge that the 
 artist has not got. Love Cynthia and make a comrade 
 of her. Worship no one but God. That's my advice to 
 you. And Peter ! Though she may love you, remember 
 you may not find it easy to convince her of it. Good 
 night!" He drew back and closed the door. 
 
 Next day in the afternoon Peter received a post-card 
 which said : Returns fortnight. Come soon, take counsel. 
 It was signed S. J.
 
 XVI 
 
 DURING the weeks that followed Peter's departure 
 Cynthia had not once given herself to introspection. She 
 had been mountain-climbing in Wales; and healthy fa- 
 tigue in the evening and very early rising in the morning 
 helped her to postpone the reckoning which she knew 
 she must eventually have with herself. Her last impres- 
 sion at Tintagel, which she had left soon after Peter, was 
 the consciousness of being virginally shy of the whole 
 race of men. She felt herself in flight from these hunt- 
 ers, and took refuge in a household of girls with a sensa- 
 tion of positive relief. Laurence was the trapper and 
 tamer, even Shaun wished to put friendship in a cage. 
 Peter she would not consider, although it was he before 
 whom her spirit fled, he who had made the wild part of 
 her nature know that one day it would submit. She 
 had trusted unaware to her maiden fleetness; and had 
 he approached in the interval while she was quivering 
 with the first apprehension of capture that she had ever 
 felt, it would have been the worse for him, for she would 
 have turned and struck at him blindly. 
 
 But Peter did not write, and in time her mood re- 
 laxed. After all he would be a friend, and what was 
 there better? He had said he was sorry, and been for- 
 given. She need not bother about analysis while Cader 
 Idris remained to be conquered. Presently she began al- 
 most to resent his not writing. Phyllis did Peter a dis- 
 service here by inquiring from an illegible address in 
 Norway, How is Peter Middleton ? ' l The first letter I 've 
 had from Phyl in my life," thought Cynthia, flushed 
 and indignant, ' ' and if she 'd wanted to know she 'd cer- 
 tainly have asked him herself! I won't be teased by 
 
 144
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 145 
 
 Phyllis Peto!" Her hostesses found her in a prickly 
 mood that day, and at night she made a tour of all their 
 bedrooms to beg for pardon. 
 
 The beginning of September found Cynthia back in 
 London, waiting for her mother, whom she was to take 
 to Brittany. Lady Bremner lingered in the north a 
 week after the date she was due to come home; and 
 Cynthia, who had not informed Shaun of the shortness of 
 her stay, partly because she took it for granted that he 
 would telephone on her arrival, partly because she would 
 not be sorry if she missed him, received the announcement 
 of his name on a Sunday afternoon with mixed emotions. 
 " I do hope he won 't want to discuss Peter, ' ' flashed into 
 her mind as she rose, and was lost in the gladness of 
 seeing him; but the sight of Peter behind was a shock 
 and she believed with vexation that she had turned 
 white and stared. " Jackson did not announce you, 
 Peter, ' ' she said, smiling, ' ' but you are very welcome ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' My fault, ' ' said Shaun. * ' I told her, ' Oh, if you say 
 Mr. James!' She's new, isn't she?" 
 
 His eyes had dwelt for a moment on her face. ' ' Oh, 
 Shaun!" she thought reproachfully, guessing the trap 
 he had set for her. 
 
 ' ' Yes, she 's new, and a good parlourmaid. Don 't you 
 think she 's pretty, Peter ? ' ' ' ' Cynthia, you cat ! ' ' being 
 her internal comment on Peter's look of surprise. 
 
 "I suppose she is," he replied, simply. "I didn't 
 notice." 
 
 Shaun would have liked to add, "And Middleton 
 doesn 't generally fail to observe charm or beauty, ' ' but 
 he knew Cynthia and did not underrate her cleverness. 
 She was looking faintly puzzled, which probably meant 
 that she was not. "A person in a canary-coloured tail 
 coat with brass buttons and a very fine maroon waist- 
 coat left this parcel at my rooms the other day," he 
 said. She had not noticed that he was carrying any- 
 thing in his hand. 
 
 "Please sit down. ... It's Laurence Man's writing, 
 Shaun!" 
 
 "What I expected!" said Shaun, continuing coolly,
 
 146 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "Rather a neat dodge sending his stuff by me, Cynthia. 
 Are you impressed by his supersubtle tact?" ("I don't 
 think that's in too bad taste for me," he thought. 
 "Peter can be relied on to feel uncomfortable. If only 
 he '11 look it, they '11 be united against me ; and also he '11 
 get a chance to show his loyalty.") 
 
 He did. Cynthia was angry. "Peter doesn't under- 
 stand," she said. "It isn't fair to him. You oughtn't 
 to talk secrets before Peter." Shaun thought sadly, 
 "She likes calling him by his name. I've never heard 
 her say 'Shaun' in just that tone." 
 
 ' ' James can 't say anything wrong, ' ' said Peter. ' ' Es- 
 pecially if it's against Laurence Man." 
 
 ' ' A dear boy ! ' ' commented Shaun, aloud. ' ' He really 
 means it. Peter is the only living individual who has 
 called on an author in his den without going away 
 disillusioned. The Orpen dazzled him, Cynthia. And 
 here comes tea." 
 
 Peter took his leave early ; ' soon enough to be missed ' 
 had been his instructions, which he interpreted modestly. 
 When they were left alone, "It's good to see you back," 
 said Shaun to Cynthia. His tone was not that of a 
 lover, which rejoiced her. She wondered whether it was 
 due to the death of his mother, guessing near to the 
 truth without divining it exactly. "If you had not 
 been in time to see her before she died," she said with 
 sudden emotion, "I should have hated myself for 
 ever! It was horrible of me to bring you away just 
 then." 
 
 "Don't, dear! If I'd arrived sooner, Mother and 
 I would only have quarrelled. It sounds a brutal thing 
 to say, but it's probably the truth, and God knows I 
 say it without the smallest feeling of bitterness. Hadn 't 
 Laurence Man your address, or is this a touching proof 
 of his absence of jealousy, as I suggested?" 
 
 "Both, I daresay," replied Cynthia, carelessly. 
 "That's all right," thought Shaun, and questioned her 
 about the books she had been reading. They were 
 few. 
 
 "Your losing of my firstborn on Cader Idris is what
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 147 
 
 Joyce would call ' a bit thick, ' " he said. ' ' Is it an easy 
 mountain, Cynthia?" 
 
 "Not the way we went! We were out for rock- 
 climbing. They are awfully sporting girls." 
 
 He had scarcely listened and now he rose to depart. 
 "One way or the other you won't find Peter Middle- 
 ton worry you," he assured her with intentional vague- 
 ness. "He seems to me a reliable boy, and I've grown 
 to like him. You did not mind my bringing him, did 
 you? The irony of it appealed to me, and you said 
 you'd forgiven him." 
 
 Blue eyes met grey; and the grey were sweet and 
 clouded, but the gaze of the blue was clear. 
 
 "It wasn't . . . curiosity?" asked Cynthia.
 
 XVII 
 
 THE parcel from Laurence Man proved to contain a 
 Guide to the Employments of Women, a handbook on 
 nursing, one on the medical profession, the prospectus 
 of a College of Physical Education where 'gym- 
 mistresses' were trained, details of the Cambridge 
 Mathematical Tripos, a Civil Service Year-book, the 
 syllabus of the Royal Academy of Music and that of 
 a dramatic school. A letter enclosed stated that the 
 writer thought it safest to send 'through Mr. James' 
 as he did not know Miss Bremner's address, and if 
 she would mention the volumes which interested her 
 he would at once obtain 'inside information as well as 
 full particulars. ' / can give an introduction to a society 
 milliner and to the woman business manager of a large 
 concern, and to a woman secretary, wrote Laurence, but 
 I must say that I think only the latter would interest 
 you. Does not your father need a secretary? If you 
 did a little work now and again for him, it would 
 help you to discover where your tastes lay. 
 
 ' ' I see Daddy letting me ! " murmured Cynthia. She 
 despatched a brief note of thanks, threw aside the 
 Medical book, skimmed the handbook on Nursing and 
 rejected it, read about the Physical Training College 
 with the deepest interest and packed that prospectus 
 and the Civil Service Tear-book very carefully for 
 Brittany. She was fully informed in regard to Cam- 
 bridge and it had been settled once and for all that 
 she was not to go. The Guide she put away. The 
 other two brochures she hovered over with bright eyes 
 and parted lips. Shaun had told her that with a voice 
 like hers she ought to study recitation to music, but 
 had added that it was a false art; and people had 
 
 148
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 149 
 
 praised her acting in amateur shows, which, meant that 
 she had spoken distinctly and worn pretty clothes. 
 One syllabus fell on the discarded pile. As for music! 
 No, she did not feel the impulse. It was a pity, since 
 those two suggested possibilities of romance. 
 
 Brittany, with Mummy to take about, was almost 
 dull. Cynthia, being devoted to her mother, blamed 
 Brittany. Peter did not write, ("I wonder why!") and 
 Shaun, whilst praising him 'from a man's point of 
 view,' which was good hearing, for Cynthia was wise 
 enough to value precisely that attitude, depreciated 
 poor Peter 's intelligence. Really ! She could not pre- 
 tend that Peter was a genius there was still no one 
 in the world like Shaun but he was much cleverer than 
 Shaun appeared to think ! He was rather silent, and did 
 not do himself justice until you knew him well. She 
 wrote a special letter to explain this in a postscript, 
 and caused Shaun to smile an odd smile. He hoped 
 that she was not going to lose her fine acuteness when 
 she fell in love! There was nothing to complain of in 
 her representation of Peter, which was masterly and 
 fair, altogether worthy of her teacher. It was too fair 
 to be shown to Peter, who might have been discouraged. 
 
 From a long grey vista stretching down the years 
 life had suddenly changed for Peter to a broad and 
 winding high-road with something interesting round 
 every corner and beautiful prospects over its gay hedges. 
 He was learning day by day, qualifying himself to be 
 loved by Cynthia. The ingenious tuition of his new 
 friend brought him a rapture such as only the solitary 
 can understand. 
 
 "Nothing more about your handwriting?" Shaun 
 asked, on one occasion. 
 
 "No, thank goodness," answered Peter. "But a man 
 I rather like has had his rise stopped." 
 
 "You never talk of your chums in there. I suppose 
 they live too far out for you to see much of them?" 
 
 "Yes, and we're all a bit shy of one another. You 
 never know whom you can trust. That's the feeling 
 even when you think the man is straight enough. And
 
 150 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 one wants to forget the Company. Did that mean you 
 were bored, Shaun?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And such a lot of the chaps want to go 'up west,' 
 unless one plays tennis at their own club, which is 
 generally out in the suburbs, you see." 
 
 " 'Up west.' I turn to the left to reach 'up west,' 
 I suppose! Does Leicester Square intrigue you, 
 Peter?" 
 
 "It's different!" said Peter, thinking. "Yes, I sup- 
 pose in a way it's interesting." 
 
 "And in the obvious way?" 
 
 "They don't seem human to me. And I'd be too 
 frightfully sorry for them. No, as long as I keep fit, 
 which isn't difficult even in town, I'm not much bothered. 
 I always have managed to keep fit somehow." 
 
 "Writers are worst off that way. They train their 
 imaginations to be vivid. Damned uncomfortable thing 
 to be, an artist! When B. Shaw has his way and so- 
 cialism makes us all happy and glorious, perhaps the 
 artistic temperament will get its own back. A drunken 
 man stopped me in Wardour Street the other day and 
 said, "Wha' kindovartisht are you, you shtraw-haired 
 blackguard?' 'Writer,' I answered. 'Shall I stop that 
 taxi for you and start you home?' 'No. And I won't 
 ashk you t' come an' haveadrink! You ruddy shports 
 can alwaysh feel asthoughsh you were tight!' Some- 
 thing in it, too. Chuck over the matches, Peter, there's 
 a dear!" 
 
 At this stage in Peter's career a conversation in which 
 he shared did not remain desultory long. "I say!" he 
 remarked, after handing what Shaun had asked for, 
 "did I ever tell you about Eric?" 
 
 "The book was not wholly grievous. Who is your 
 Eric?" 
 
 Eric was a she, a pretty tea-shop girl whom Peter had 
 admired at a distance for several romantic months, 
 about a year ago. She had apparently departed into 
 pantomime, whither he had not followed her. 
 
 These were the moments when Shaun could not help
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 151 
 
 feeling amused. "You never spoke to her then, except 
 to give an order?" 
 
 "No," said Peter. "I say, don't laugh at me, Shaun. 
 It'll dry me up for ever if you do." 
 
 "I'm not, old chap. I'm grinning at my own self, 
 who was once equally shy. For goodness' sake, don't 
 tell Cynthia now. Not for years. A girl brought up 
 as she has been would not readily understand, and you 
 are a vile explainer ! She 's not the type to fall in love 
 with a chauffeur at any stage of her youth. The story 
 you tell me is of truly pathetic loneliness, and you make 
 it a confession. Wait until you are forty. ' ' 
 
 Shaun was educating Peter, much in the same way 
 that he had educated Cynthia, and the irony of this was 
 his constant reward. 
 
 One night while they were drinking beer in a tavern 
 in Holborn after the theatre he observed Peter regarding 
 him with a certain shy wonder. Sensitive to anything 
 approaching criticism from a friend, he promptly in- 
 quired : ' ' What is it ? You 're comparing me with some- 
 body. I know I'm not clever like Shaw." 
 
 * ' You don 't talk as splendidly as you write, ' ' confessed 
 Peter. 
 
 "Splendid is the wrong epithet," said Shaun, ap- 
 peased. ' ' I can say a few simple things kindly and carve 
 out some beautiful prose by dint of furious and incessant 
 labour. That's Shaun James the novelist. I was a 
 fluent journalist, if you like ; but, thank God, those days 
 are over." 
 
 Peter developed with such rapidity that, only a short 
 time before Cynthia's return for the winter, when he 
 said reflectively tl\at he wished he could generalise about 
 women Shaun was able to bid him, "Start now. It's 
 your last chance." . . . "You're beginning to under- 
 stand them," he aded in reply to Peter's look of inter- 
 rogation. "Understanding is death to generalities. . . . 
 What are you going to do about it, Peter? I've never 
 asked you before; but I must now that she's coming 
 back." They were at Hammersmith, in Peter's sitting- 
 room. Before answering Peter glanced at the photo-
 
 152 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 graphs on the mantelpiece. Then : ' ' I 'm going straight 
 on," said he, "and I shall do the best I can." 
 
 "Very well. Call soon, and make no love. Let her 
 wonder why you do not." Peter shook his head and 
 smiled, very attractively. 
 
 " I '11 try, ' ' he said. " It 's not easy, Shaun ! ' ' 
 
 "Oh, I know. Keep out of the light when Alan 
 Bremner is around." 
 
 Peter frowned. "He was jolly decent to me," he 
 said, slowly. 
 
 "Well, if you wish him to go on being it, don't let 
 him think you are in love with his sister. Face facts, 
 Peter. Bremner would think me a blackguard for en- 
 couraging you, and would tell you that you were taking 
 a mean advantage of his father's hospitality. Both state- 
 ments would have truth in them!" 
 
 ' ' You haven 't been a blackguard ! ' ' 
 
 " So I think. From my point of view I 've been help- 
 ing to make the best of a job that is bound to turn out 
 badly for the Bremner family, however it results for 
 Cynthia personally. At the best I do not expect to 
 retain their esteem their liking I haven't already. At 
 the worst, I shall forfeit Cynthia's. Be prepared for 
 trouble, as I am; and for the Lord's sake don't be too 
 proud to step out of the way to avoid it, either at the 
 Office or in Portman Square ! ' ' 
 
 Peter had to admit the good sense of this, and while 
 he was doing so the postman knocked. He ran down- 
 stairs and received two letters, which he read going up. 
 One was from Phyllis and it told how she had smoked 
 an enormous cigar in her bedroom, which had not made 
 her feel in the least queer, and so she gave herself a new 
 dinner-frock as a reward. "A fine old smell of cigar- 
 smoke there must have been afterwards, ' ' thought Peter. 
 ' ' Is she with the Bremners ? ' ' No, the address was near 
 Weybridge. The other letter was an invitation from 
 Lady Bremner to dine quietly in a fortnight's time. He 
 showed this one to Shaun. 
 
 "Something's up! It's long notice for a family din- 
 ner, ' ' said the novelist. ' ' I bet sixpence I haven 't one of
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 153 
 
 these at home, Peter. It strikes me that somebody in the 
 house wants to make sure of a talk with you. A friendly 
 talk undoubtedly. No, not Cynthia. . . . Hang Sherlock 
 Holmes! The man was a fraud. There are at least 
 five possibilities here. ' ' 
 
 ". . . What do you think?" 
 
 "Oh, were you waiting? It's real life, my son. I 
 I won't hazard any guesses."
 
 XVIII 
 
 SHAUN was right ; Cynthia had not suggested an invita- 
 tion to Peter. She would have liked to do so but hung 
 back for a reason which was obscure to herself ; certainly 
 not because she feared she would be misunderstood. 
 And when she heard he had been asked she hastily pro- 
 posed that Shaun should be invited as well. 
 
 "I do not think we want to see Mr. James again so 
 soon," said her mother, with downcast eyes. Cynthia 
 knew better than to persist. 
 
 She remained a long time undecided what to wear 
 when Peter came. In the intervals between shopping 
 the problem was constantly in her mind. It was neces- 
 sary to decide before the day because Marie must not 
 be kept waiting nor must she be allowed to think the 
 decision of any importance. It was not important ; only 
 the more you thought about clothes the more puzzling 
 they were, and she liked to look nice when meeting 
 anyone again after a long time. "When those two arrived 
 unexpectedly that Sunday she was in rags, which must 
 not occur again. 
 
 It was to be a family dinner, so she could not wear 
 either of the lovely evening dresses which Mummy had 
 given her in Paris, where they had spent their last week 
 away. No, it was regrettable ! She finally decided upon 
 the green frock which she had worn on her first meeting 
 with Peter. 
 
 This time she was the last to descend. "He seems 
 taller than ever, and older, ' ' she thought. Alan noticed 
 that she coloured as she entered the room, and that her 
 eyes were very bright. "Sis looks a remarkably pretty 
 girl to-night!" he approved. 
 
 154
 
 THE WINGS OF YOFTH 155 
 
 "Rose!" he said, aloud. 
 
 Cynthia started. She had greeted Peter who was 
 talking to Lady Bremner, and was standing aside, grace- 
 ful head bent. 
 
 ' ' Dad is waiting to take you in. ' ' 
 
 Sir Everard was eyeing her severely. She hastened to 
 take his arm. "There's nothing new about this room, 
 is there?" asked Alan. "It still looks to me uncom- 
 monly like a showroom at Harrod's." 
 
 He had succeeded in diverting his father's attention. 
 ' ' Your Mother likes it, ' ' Sir Everard said to Cynthia as 
 they entered the dining-room. 
 
 "She would have liked it better still if she had only 
 let Shaun do it," retorted Cynthia, as she took her seat 
 and untwisted her napkin. The decoration of the big 
 drawing-room was an old grievance. Lady Bremner 
 had carried it through in great haste in order that Shaun 
 might not be called in for 'endless consultations.' 
 
 Sir Everard frowned, and addressed Peter blandly. 
 ' ' James ! ' ' thought Alan. ' ' I suppose Mother would not 
 ask him. That accounts for Sis. Poor kid ! It 's rather 
 rough on her after all." He laid himself out to be nice 
 to her during the remainder of the meal. All her family 
 had somewhat guilty consciences in regard to Rosemary 
 to-night, and they encouraged her to talk to Peter, who 
 appeared doggedly determined to keep the conversation 
 general. Cynthia made shy efforts to approach him, but 
 in vain. "Can those two have quarrelled?" wondered 
 Alan. "Sis seems willing to strike the pathetic note!" 
 He decided they had nothing to quarrel about. The 
 truth was that Peter, racked by scruples, had resolved 
 that in no circumstances whatever could he possibly be 
 more than civil to Cynthia in her father's house. Hon- 
 our was causing him to behave with the deepest policy, 
 and the consequent circle of misunderstandings round 
 the dining-table would have given Shaun enjoyment for 
 a week. 
 
 In the drawing-room Lady Bremner again took pos- 
 session of Peter, sending Rosemary to the piano ' ' Men- 
 delssohn, please darling ! ' ' and he soon realised that he
 
 156 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 was being consulted, very diplomatically and cautiously, 
 in regard to the influence of Shaun upon the dear child. 
 ' ' She is a little inclined to hero-worship, Peter ! ' ' Peter 
 had once thought so himself. He forgot he had gone so 
 far as to tackle Shaun on the subject, and at once became 
 all loyal indignation. He had sense enough, however, to 
 remain silent. 
 
 Lady Bremner had not invited him for a specific pur- 
 pose in order to be baulked of it. She decided on a direct 
 question, pleased by his obvious wrath at Mr. James's 
 misdoings. "We like you and we trust you, Peter. I 
 am sure you will forgive my asking if you think Mr. 
 James has any idea of proposing to Rosemary. Alan 
 thinks he has not ; and of course we all hope not. ' ' 
 
 Peter felt on hot coals. ' ' I agree with Alan, ' ' he said. 
 The moment he had spoken he understood that he had 
 chosen his phrase unwisely, for Alan had probably ac- 
 cused Shaun of playing fast and loose. 
 
 ' ' Yet we cannot help being afraid that she may never 
 marry while his influence remains," sighed the mother. 
 
 Peter was too nearly involved to enjoy the comedy of 
 this, or of his own fervent reply, "I don't think that, 
 Lady Bremner. Honestly!" 
 
 Lady Bremner looked at him with a slight smile. She 
 had very pretty white teeth like Cynthia's. Thus 
 thought innocent Peter, unaware that she was engaged 
 in readjusting all her ideas of him. "Do you like Mr. 
 James yourself?" she inquired, knowing now what his 
 answer would be. It was a warm one, and the conversa- 
 tion promptly closed. The evening seemed to close with 
 it, and Peter took an early leave. 
 
 Shaun 's frank comment was, ' ' You idot ! You should 
 have denied me." He wrote a full account to Cynthia, 
 as soon as Peter had started homeward. Next day a 
 district messenger boy brought the following : 
 
 Dear Shaun, 
 
 I think Peter behaved very nicely. Why do you 
 run him down if he is your friend? / cannot agree that 
 he ought to have stopped Mother at the beginning.
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 157 
 
 I'm afraid you are right and that Mr. Man has "been 
 making mischief. I am almost inclined to hate him. 
 Now Peter won't be able to come to see me either, if 
 Mother has made up her mind to eliminate you. I'm 
 not sure that he'll care very much, but I miss my friends. 
 It is a tiresome world. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 Cynthia. 
 
 P.S. Would you approve if I became a physical train- 
 ing teacher f 
 
 Shaun wrote back, A physical training teacher should 
 be one of the noblest creatures on God's earth and is 
 usually a schoolmistress, and sometimes a suffragette. 
 Still you have my blessing, Cynthia. If you think you 
 can escape the dangers, go ahead and prosper. But be- 
 fore this reached its destination there had been a crisis 
 at Portman Square. 
 
 A visit from Lady Bremner at hair-brushing time 
 meant a consultation or a rebuke that must be delivered 
 tactfully. "Come in, Mummy!" Scandals such as 
 Phyllis 's bare legs at Tintagel were dealt with later when 
 the culprit was recumbent in bed and at a disadvantage. 
 However, Cynthia stiffened her courage when she heard 
 her mother's knock. She did not intend to be attacked 
 indirectly, and for once almost the first time in her life 
 she meant to carry the war into the enemy 's country. 
 
 Lady Bremner, opening the door, beheld the dainty 
 scene which always softened her maternal heart were she 
 never so determined upon severity. The standard elec- 
 tric lamp which had just been installed was shaded, and 
 the blue and white apartment was full of soft lights, 
 thrown downward about the girlish figure of Cynthia, 
 who was seated in front of the tall cheval glass, brushing 
 away with lithe, quick movements now to one side, now, 
 after a toss of the head, to the other. Gold gleamed in 
 the white of her muslin dressing-jacket. The edging of 
 the loose sleeve which fell from her white, lovely arm was 
 gold. Her hair glinted with sunny lights all down its
 
 158 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 length of crinkling, chestnut-brown glory. The glass re- 
 flected a flash of grey eyes now and again, veiled immedi- 
 ately by long lashes, but the straight young back re- 
 mained obstinately turned to the watcher, and Lady 
 Bremner thought she read indignation or defiance in the 
 young shoulders as they squared for an instant during a 
 pause in the brushing. But before this she had ex- 
 claimed, "Darling, I have never seen such hair! It 
 seems to grow thicker and longer every month. ' ' 
 
 "You've been looking at the 'Koko' advertisements, 
 Mother," answered a clear voice with a note of sullen- 
 ness in it, which vanished as the speaker added, "I think 
 the colour is better than it used to be." 
 
 Lady Bremner stood where she was, answering mechan- 
 ically, "I have always admired it." She wondered 
 whether to withdraw since the child was in one of her 
 queer moods, and reminded herself that the best of 
 daughters has fits of ill humour; but relying on Cyn- 
 thia's habitual equanimity reasserting itself, as the last 
 speech implied that it was doing, she made up her mind 
 to advance, and perched herself on the edge of the bed. 
 
 ' ' Everyone takes it for granted I 'm sweet-tempered ! ' ' 
 thought the girl. "I'm not! I'll show Mother in a 
 minute. One feels so helpless somehow with one's hair 
 streaming all over the place. ' ' She was already making 
 excuses to herself for failure. 
 
 Now she divided her mane and began to braid. ' ' I see 
 you've been taking care of your complexion," said the 
 toother, approvingly. "A girl who's lucky enough to 
 have a skin like yours cannot be too careful. ' ' 
 
 "I haven't, Mother!" declared Cynthia. "I'm 
 fcshamed to say it has been taking care of itself the whole 
 ttimmer. ' ' 
 
 "It's wonderful. Oh, then didn't you use that cream 
 t sent you at Ynys-Gawr ? ' ' 
 
 " I 'm sorry. No, I lost the stuff. And we had scarcely 
 uny sun in Brittany." "Why do I hesitate?" Cynthia 
 Vas asking herself. "Why don't I tackle her?" She 
 stole a glance, but her mother was meditating, a peaceful 
 expression on her face, almost a smile. "Dear old
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 159 
 
 Mummy!" said Cynthia, aloud. Lady Bremner rocked 
 herself gently, smiling openly. She was glad of this 
 lovely young thing's affection, though it did not count 
 with her compared with her husband 's. 
 
 "Put back your jacket, Rosemary child," she said. 
 "Push it back. So! Your shoulders are just as they 
 should be, dear! You look charmingly pretty so. You 
 know I think we ought to have those wide shoulder-straps 
 on the blue changed to pearls, after all." 
 
 "It might make me feel rather undressed," objected 
 Cynthia, doubtfully, "until I got accustomed to the 
 gown." Her face clouded. "Mummy, shoulders can't 
 be pretty. Shaun says they are either beautiful or not 
 beautiful and there 's an end of it. ' ' 
 
 "I trust there is," Lady Bremner could not help re- 
 marking, and having begun she decided to go on, in spite 
 of the unpropitiousness of the opening. "Your Father 
 and I and Alan would all like you to see less of Mr. 
 James in the future, Rosemary. ' ' 
 
 Cynthia readjusted the dressing-jacket, pulled her 
 braids in front of her, and leaned back deliberately in 
 her low chair. "Perhaps Laurence Man has suggested 
 that he is a bad companion for me ? ' ' 
 
 "The three of us your family, darling dislike him. 
 The idea of a middle-aged widower, poor and eccentric, 
 monopolising you to the exclusion of other friends is not 
 nice. Surely you can see this." 
 
 "Shaun is forty. He's distinguished, not eccentric. 
 I'm sorry to contradict, but he doesn't monopolise me, 
 Mother. He encouraged me to be friends with Peter 
 Middleton " 
 
 "And I approved of Peter as your friend," inter- 
 rupted Lady Bremner, "until he also fell under the 
 fascination of Mr. James." 
 
 "I don't see what anybody could object to in Peter! 
 And I don't believe Daddy is really against Shaun. I 
 shall ... I shall tell Alan to mind his own business! 
 What about Miss Taliesin, I should like to know? He 
 has compromised her far more than Shaun ever did me. ' ' 
 
 "No one has hinted, still less spoken, of compromise.
 
 160 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 You forget yourself, Rosemary darling. I should be 
 speaking very differently if there were the smallest ques- 
 tion of Mr. James having compromised you." 
 
 "I'm sure, Mum, that Laurence Man did!" cried 
 Cynthia, bending forward. 
 
 "Hush! You are too loud, much too loud. No, he 
 did not, Rosemary. He told me he thought the exacting 
 friendship of Mr. James was a bar to your marrying, a 
 very different thing ! ' ' 
 
 "He has done for himself, anyway," said Cynthia, 
 bitterly. ' ' How thoroughly impertinent of him to med- 
 dle ! It was underhand, mean ! " 
 
 "It was intended for your good." 
 
 "You haven't told Daddy all that!" said Cynthia, 
 leaning back. "He would make short work of Mr. 
 Laurence if he heard of such underhand tricks. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Rosemary, you must not say things like that to your 
 Mother! Control yourself." 
 
 "Mummy, I'm sorry." 
 
 Cynthia looked seventeen with her long, beribboned 
 tresses, her wide eyes cloudy with tears, her sad lips 
 trembling, but she felt eleven and in disgrace. The 
 habit of daughterhood is not easy to forget. Lady 
 Bremner did not speak, and presently the girl managed 
 to conquer herself. Bravely, proudly she erected her 
 slender form, raised her drooping, ashamed head for a 
 last effort of rebellion. The brilliance of her beauty 
 astonished her mother. 
 
 "I've said I'm sorry, and I am," she slowly pro- 
 nounced. "Mother, don't let's fight! I can't be such a 
 beast as to give up Shaun, and Daddy will see that, I 'm 
 sure." Lady Bremner had an uncomfortable idea that 
 this was true, so she discreetly kept silence, and Cynthia 
 went on, encouraged. "I'm thinking of asking him to 
 let me go to a physical training college, so that I might 
 qualify as a games mistress. That would take me out of 
 Shaun 's way. I want to be able to do something in the 
 world, to feel I could get my own living if necessary. I 
 want self-reliance. Oh, I want such a heap of things I 
 haven't got!"
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 161 
 
 But the behaviour of Phyllis had implanted a deep 
 dislike of gymnastics in Lady Bremner ; visions came to 
 her of Rosemary with her sweet limbs and body vilely 
 and ignominiously contorted or with her heels flying over 
 her head. "I am sure that Daddy would never con- 
 sent!" she said, rising. "I wish to hear nothing more 
 of this, Rosemary. ' ' Nor did a cool perusal of the docu- 
 ments next morning dispel the horrid pictures thus 
 conjured up. It was clear that if Rosemary were not to 
 be called upon to do such unladylike tricks herself 
 which was far from certain she would at least be help- 
 ing to make it posible for others to perform them. And 
 the subject was closed. Her mother declined flatly to 
 reopen it.
 
 XIX 
 
 DADDY was in the library, browsing amongst old sporting 
 books and early volumes of the Badminton, on a Sunday 
 afternoon. This betokened a relaxed mind, which his 
 Polly, curled childishly in a big chair with The Queen 
 and The Sphere on her lap, thought to take advantage 
 of; raising long lashes, she said, "Daddy, do you like 
 Shaun James?" Her voice was_ innocent but not frank, 
 and to herself it sounded tremulous. 
 
 Sir Everard lifted his head, with the action of sniffing. 
 Perhaps he scented the atmosphere of feminine intrigue, 
 for he answered curtly: "I hear his work praised. It 
 leaves me personally indifferent," and stooped to the 
 shelf again. 
 
 The women of the household had learnt the seriousness 
 of invoking an autocrat, and seldom appealed to Sir 
 Everard directly. Cynthia knew herself courageous in 
 persisting, ' ' I meant the man, not the books. ' ' 
 
 Her father turned and directed on her a stern-eyed 
 glance from under shaggy eyebrows. He always ruffled 
 them backwards whilst choosing a book, which added 
 to the terror of his aspect. His Polly, however, was 
 looking so charming that his frown vanished, and "Why 
 haven't I the sense to weep on his waistcoat?" thought 
 she, conscious, ' ' Phyllis would, like a shot ! ' ' He began 
 to speak with an air of majesty that was thoroughly mas- 
 culine. Cynthia giggled internally at the picture of 
 Peter talking like that, ' ' when he 's quite old ! ' ' She was 
 overstrung, though no signs of it appeared on her face, 
 which was tender and beautiful. He ended a speech 
 of faint praise with the words, "I am inclined to 
 respect him as something more than an amusing com- 
 panion. ' ' 
 
 162
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 163 
 
 "Then mayn't I ask him here?" said Cynthia, start- 
 ing up. 
 
 Sir Everard looked at her again, and said, suavely, 
 "With your Mother's permission certainly, Rosemary!" 
 He returned to his books, and Cynthia made a stately 
 exit. 
 
 This occurred a few days after Lady Bremner had 
 visited the girl's bedroom, and settled the question of 
 Shaun, at least for the time being, without having 
 enabled Cynthia to decide in her own mind whether 
 Daddy was aware of Laurence's treachery. Not that it 
 mattered ! She had returned the handbooks with a chill 
 note of thanks and had dismissed their owner from her 
 life. He was gone ! He no longer existed. She started 
 Descartes to please Daddy, and studied him seriously to 
 please herself. From the mathematical treatises she 
 turned to the Disc&urs de la Methode, and after being 
 absorbed in it for a week broke off to attend a succession 
 of dances which left her feeling tired and lonely. One 
 thing was certain. She had never since the days at 
 Tintagel contemplated a life without Peter, and it seemed 
 to be singularly empty, so she wrote to Shaun and made 
 a clandestine appointment. Perhaps he would bring 
 Peter, whom it would be pleasant to meet again. 
 
 Shaun was too wily, but he talked of Peter and how 
 hardly he was treated by the Great Company and 
 promised to recommend him to read Descartes. They 
 were at 'Alan's' in Oxford Street. The cosy top-room 
 became a radiant place to Cynthia, and the noise of the 
 traffic was the dearest sound in the world. She grew 
 absorbed; chin tilted on slender fingers, elbows on the 
 table, muff dangling. Others came in; her presence 
 lit up the room for them and they envied Shaun, playing 
 the pathetic part of 'old dog' with skill and patience. 
 His sole reward was the humour of the business ; and on 
 their next meeting towards the end of November his 
 over-great enjoyment of this caused her to detect him, 
 which she did with a sudden smile. Her face thus sun- 
 shine-lit was vivid with a beauty which made the unfor- 
 tunate Shaun groan. The clatter of teacups drowned
 
 164 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 his exclamation if it were audible and not solely mental. 
 Seriousness had settled on her sweet countenance, and 
 she drew herself up to have it out with him. If she had 
 been cruel she must ask forgiveness ; in any case Shaun 
 must not think she cared for Peter; she longed to see 
 him, but that was not love, surely not! It was nice of 
 Peter not to bother her ; she did not blame him for leav- 
 ing her alone. Nor would she lift one finger to draw 
 him back, if he had succeeded in forgetting her. 
 
 "You are laughing at me," said she. "Why, please, 
 Shaun?" 
 
 "Because you bring me here to talk of Peter. I'm 
 inclined to be jealous. ' ' He spoke chaffingly, and added 
 in a different tone, "I've always been your firstest friend 
 hitherto," intending her to think him platonically jeal- 
 ous. Cynthia's intuition told her otherwise, but his 
 gravity almost deceived her. She inquired, "You are 
 not laughing because you think I'm in stupid about 
 Peter, are you?" with convincing indifference, in spite 
 of the stumble over the Life-word, and accepted his 
 careless denial, each being too much occupied with acting 
 to watch the other. Afterwards came the danger he had 
 foreseen, and she was inclined to regard him as the hero 
 sacrificing his own suit for his friend 's. To avert suspi- 
 cion Shaun had never mentioned his own withdrawal, 
 and this gave colour to the romantic theory. He was 
 desperate now to prevent her examining the relations of 
 all three, and wrote, Sometimes I'm jealous, sometimes 
 I'm not. Always though, I want you to like Peter. She 
 reflected, smiling tenderly the while, that here was in any 
 case the truth; and more dances helped her to forget. 
 Shaun, however, dared do no more for Peter than con- 
 tinue his education. So things went on until Christmas 
 in spite of the lover's protestations. Shaun would not 
 let him visit or write, for ' ' If her feeling does not grow 
 with absence it is not what I think it," he declared, 
 and Lady Bremner's attitude when Peter paid his dinner 
 call had been the reverse of encouraging. Cynthia her- 
 self had been out. 
 
 "Never let the shy bird catch sight of the salt," was
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 165 
 
 one of Shaun 's maxims, and he had violated it. To 
 punish himself he sent Cynthia no Christmas present, 
 and gave Peter a complete edition of Meredith. He 
 prayed that she was not thinking him a hero, forgetting 
 that the writing of scores of letters and the despatch of 
 innumerable parcels, to make no mention of festivities 
 of every description, left the girl no leisure at all for 
 thought at this season. Early on Christmas afternoon 
 Peter arrived, overjoyed, to thank him for the Meredith ; 
 he was to dine in Panton Street but had been unable 
 longer to restrain himself from gratitude. Shaun 
 promptly engaged him for tea. 
 
 "I've only had a couple of Christmas cards, besides 
 your gift," said Peter, rather wistfully. "Have you 
 much spoil?" 
 
 "Anything from Cynthia?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Good sign that. You sent her the Yoshio Markino 
 book, I suppose? No, Peter, I haven't much spoil. 
 Three or four cards; as many letters; a lithograph by 
 that chap we met at the Savage last Saturday very- 
 good of him to think of me, wasn't it? The Crock of 
 Gold from Cynthia Rosemary, which I 'd got already, as 
 I had to review it, you take the review copy, will you ? 
 and a very delightful old leather-bound Ovid which I 
 coveted in the Charing Cross Road when I was with a 
 certain Peter Middleton. Thanks and many of them. 
 I should never have afforded it for myself!" 
 
 Indeed Shaun was a comparatively poor man, even 
 from Peter's point of view, which caused that library 
 edition of Meredith to weigh for the moment on his 
 conscience. 
 
 "Tactless ass that I am," exclaimed Shaun, reading 
 him, "I have the intellect of a deboshed fish. The 
 Meredith was a little contribution to your housekeeping, 
 Peter. It was a sly gift to a lady whom I otherwise 
 disregarded. I hope it will bring you luck, and you've 
 no right to thank me for it yet. Did I tell you that I 
 knew Meredith? Not intimately. He was kind to me 
 when I left journalism."
 
 166 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "I saw him once," said Peter. "I've brought you a 
 sketch I made of him. It's in my overcoat." He de- 
 parted downstairs to fetch it, while Sliaun set his mem- 
 ory to work ; he disliked to be forgetful, and was strug- 
 gling with a dim recollection that some time in the past 
 he had asked Peter whether he could draw and had not 
 received an answer. 
 
 Peter was back in a moment. He was surprised at 
 the way Shaun stared at the rough piece of work that he 
 handed over. "Is it like ? " he inquired, at last. 
 
 "Have you got a portfolio at home?" asked Shaun, 
 still examining the portrait. 
 
 "Portfolio?" 
 
 * ' Other sketches, man ! Go and get them. I want to 
 see all you've got." 
 
 "Do you like it, then?" 
 
 "Don't stand there jabbering to me!" cried Shaun, 
 irritably. "I don't think you are a Michelangelo, but 
 I want to see your work. Can't you understand, and 
 clear out? Bring me ^everything you've done." 
 
 Considerably mystifredj. Peter withdrew, and when he 
 returned nearly a coupte^of hours later Shaun was 
 beaming. ' ' Here 's your teav' ' he said, rising. ' ' Forgive 
 my ill- temper, won't you? I'll sit by the fire and look 
 through this stuff of yours. ' ' 
 
 Half an hour later he picked up the sketches from the 
 floor, where he had laid them one by one, tossed the 
 pile on to the desk behind him, and said, "Come over 
 here opposite, and light up. . . . Well, old chap, what do 
 you think of these yourself?" 
 
 Peter puffed solemnly before answering. "I don't 
 think about them," he said. "I've never been taught 
 to draw. Sometimes I 've reckoned that a pity. ' ' 
 
 "It may or may not be, considering the kind of art 
 school you'd probably have attended," said Shaun, 
 grimly. "Go on." 
 
 "I think I can catch a likeness. Landscape is what I 
 want to do, but I never have the chance. For goodness ' 
 sake tell me what you're thinking of, Shaun. You've 
 made me as jumpy as anything."
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 167 
 
 Shaun leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, 
 a favourite gesture of his when moved. "My dear 
 Peter, your catching a likeness, as you call it, is a very 
 genuine gift of caricature." 
 
 "I wasn't caricaturing Meredith!" objected Peter, 
 flushing. 
 
 "But you did it!" 
 
 "I say, you are rough on a chap! Why, I wouldn't 
 have minded showing that sketch to Meredith. I had 
 no idea of making fun. ' ' 
 
 "That's the point. Your caricature has the extraor- 
 dinary gift of kindness. It isn't brutal, it isn't vulgar, 
 it's quaint and it's illuminating! Hang it all, man, 
 that rotten little sketch of yours is Meredith, technically 
 bad though it is! Have you ever tried to sell those 
 cartoons of politicians, the cat ones I mean ? ' ' 
 
 "I sent one to Punch a long time ago," said Peter, 
 over whom a curious prickling excitement was beginning 
 to creep. 
 
 ' ' You 're no good for Punch yet, but I '11 sell these four. 
 Damn it, man, you must work like hell! There's an 
 income here in the course of time. You must go to a 
 decent school and learn to draw. Honestly, I know what 
 I'm talking about! I was a successful journalist for 
 years. 800 a year I made and Doris encouraged me to 
 give it up to do good work. There was a girl for you ! 
 There was a girl! I pulled in 50 by my first novel, 
 which took fifteen months to write. Why, now, with 
 reviewing, my income is never more than 120! I'm 
 spending my savings. I tell you it's journalism that 
 pays, not literature. You shall add twenty pounds to 
 your income the first year, Peter. This is some use; 
 this may help to Cynthia." 
 
 "I've always longed " 
 
 * ' Don 't long to be an artist of any kind. Want to be 
 a journalist," exclaimed Shaun, preaching against his 
 practice. "To be the real article is to be a profound 
 affliction to yourself and to everyone round about you. 
 A genuine creative artist, whether he be poet or musician 
 or painter or novelist, would kill his own baby and eat it
 
 168 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 on toast, if that would help his work. And look at the 
 way he's treated by normal people! While he is young 
 it is their job to tell him not to be theatrical, and to warn 
 him of the fate of liars and of boys who decline to enter 
 the Civil Service. When he is adult they despise and 
 distrust him and accuse him of wanting to borrow money. 
 When he 's old they emerge and inquire candidly whether 
 he does not think he has wasted his life!" 
 
 "You don't mean all that rot," said Peter, reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 "I mean about your having a gift which may enable 
 you to marry, my boy, ' ' said Shaun, sucking furiously at 
 his pipe. '"Talk of hiding your light under a bushel!" 
 
 That was the happiest Christmas Peter could remem- 
 ber ; and when he reached home in a tremendous state of 
 excitement, resolved to do or die in the coming year, he 
 was told a maid had left a note from Lady Bremner. His 
 landlady was deeply impressed. She had "just hap- 
 pened to ask who it was from." He hastened upstairs, 
 and found that it was from Cynthia, who had written to 
 thank him and give her and her Mother's good wishes 
 and ask whether he could take Phyllis (Oh Lord!) and 
 herself (Thank God!) to Peter Pan to-morrow evening, 
 and if so would he dine with them first ? 
 
 Peter thanked God again, from his heart.
 
 XX 
 
 THE stalls were filling rapidly. There was a buzz of 
 conversation in the crowded theatre. People were re- 
 moving wraps, settling in their places, or standing up to 
 greet distant friends. Many of them were habitues of 
 Peter Pan, their faces familiar to Cynthia: she bowed, 
 smiling, in return to the salutation of ladies she had met 
 year after year. Shrill childish voices sounded occasion- 
 ally from the pit above the hum of hushed talk and 
 laughter. The gallery was packed and riotous. Into 
 the upper and dress circles a steady flow of movement 
 was setting ; which Cynthia was watching, her arm rested 
 on the back of her seat. Everywhere programme-sellers 
 were busy, followed by the chink of coin. At her side 
 Peter and Phyllis were bending over one of the unfolded 
 sheets. When he straightened himself Cynthia moved 
 also and regarded alternately the programme that she 
 held in her hand and the great curtain which was sway- 
 ing in a mysterious fashion. Now and then an eye ap- 
 peared at the peep-hole and was welcomed by three little 
 girls in the front row with shrieks of ecstasy. In the 
 orchestra, violins were beginning to be tuned, a flautist 
 was blowing smooth scales, a double-bass throbbed. 
 
 Peter was tall, broad-shouldered, and gentlemanly. 
 She liked him in his evening clothes, was confused to 
 think how much she had enjoyed the meeting after so 
 many months. His dear, plain face was almost beauti- 
 ful! She dared not ask herself when it had become so. 
 Or how ! But she thrilled with the knowledge that she 
 was looking her best. Phyllis, beyond, was pensive in 
 white. The silence amongst them was queer, although it 
 could only have lasted seconds ! 
 
 Peter was aware of his Beloved in a peacock-blue, 
 
 169
 
 170 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Liberty theatre frock, gold-embroidered, with short 
 sleeves; her hair done high. He blushed hotly as her 
 bare elbow touched his coat. That One laughed at them 
 both, unrebuked; and he turned involuntarily to speak 
 to Cynthia, though he had meant to address Phyllis. 
 
 The words were ordinary enough : ' ' One 's first night 
 at Peter Pan brings the same thrill season after season : 
 doesn 't it ? I 've always been in the pit, and it feels odd 
 to be part of the scene I used to look on at." 
 
 "Yes," said Cynthia, taking refuge from her embar- 
 rassment in the shortest and plainest speech. She dim- 
 pled in uttering it, and he watched her soft cheek and 
 rounded chin for a repetition of the wonder. Phyllis 
 nudged him. 
 
 "Don't stare like a cat at a mouse-hole!" she derided, 
 prettily. "Silly old Peter!" Her dark, oval face 
 mocked him at close quarters; bewitching, had he not 
 been in love ! He cast about in his memory for something 
 to suppress the tease. 
 
 ' ' Where 's Joyce ? " he asked, instinctively. 
 
 "In Devonshire. Where she belongs!" retorted That 
 One. "And I'm off, though not so far. You're the 
 ultimate edge, mooncalf! Lucky for you I'm good- 
 natured. Your behaviour to faithful Phyllis is perfectly 
 abominable. You were better at dinner, but I'll hint to 
 you before I go that Aunt Emmie, who meant you for 
 me, isn 't any longer remorseful at having neglected you ! 
 S-ss! Bad boy!" She snatched her wraps from the 
 back of the seat and sidled actively along the row, as the 
 orchestra burst into the Pirates' Chorus. 
 
 "Avast! Belay! Yo-ho! Heave-to! ..." hummed 
 Cynthia, under her breath, and heard a tragic whisper, 
 "Phyllis is gone." 
 
 "So much the better," she answered serenely and 
 recklessly. "I expect she has found friends. Don't 
 bother about her, Peter!" "Could I ~be a poor man's 
 wife?" she was asking herself, in the breathless hush that 
 preceded the rise of the curtain. 
 
 Oh, clear child's voice of Michael! Oh, Nana! Oh, 
 Joy! She settled down to listen, and did so absorbed,
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 171 
 
 while all the time an undertone of thought was chiming 
 in her like silver bells. Children ! . . . She would love 
 to have nice children. . . . "Every girl wishes for nice 
 children," had said Phyllis, who did not. . . . And a 
 memory of Shaun's wisdom was repeated like a melody. 
 "A woman who can see the child in a man is fit to 
 marry, is fit to marry an artist. ' ' Peter was very childlike. 
 
 Not Peter Pan. Oh, Wendy, you are sweet! Peter 
 Pan was a boy, but the author's genius had not made him 
 a true child. . . . He was a changeling, he never had a 
 mother ... he was the spirit of boyhood. . . . Peter 
 was very childlike. 
 
 Could she be a mother to the child in Peter Middleton ? 
 Dared she ? He was such a man ! Such a big, splendid 
 man ; really far cleverer than she ; and strange to her. . . . 
 ( Oh, the sweetness of them, flying ! ) Would he ask her ? 
 Yes, he was waiting to, she could not be mistaken. . . . 
 They were flying out of the window ; the music triumph- 
 ing, crashing to a climax. She heard the rattle of ap- 
 plause and the curtain was falling, falling. Would it 
 drop for ever? And the voice at her ear said, "I love 
 you, Cynthia!" Earnestly it said, "I love you!" It 
 said, "Darling! Darling Star! Dear Cynthia! You 
 Beautiful! ..." The curtain was down, and through 
 the wild clamour of the house she listened to her Peter 
 imploring, ' ' Can 't you ? . . . Can 't you ? ' ' He asked it the 
 third time, despair in his voice, and she whispered, 
 "Yes!" 
 
 The lights shot up. The orchestra began to play the 
 merry Entr'acte. Brown eyes were lowered, and long 
 lashes veiled the grey. Brown eyes peeped, and grey 
 were shining with the sudden tenderness of the sky at 
 dawn. The colour was warm on Cynthia's cheeks as she 
 drew back and pulled the wrap upon her bare shoulders. 
 She belonged to Peter and was not afraid. It was a dif- 
 ferent girl who had arranged this scarf before the look- 
 ing-glass an hour ago. That girl seemed very young and 
 far-off, and she pitied her because she had not known 
 happiness. 
 
 "Peter!" said Cynthia.
 
 172 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 He grasped her hand, and let it go as he feared to 
 draw attention to her. His grip hurt, but she did not 
 wince. She loved the pain. 
 
 Peter had turned, and now he uttered an exclamation. 
 ' ' Phyllis ! " he cried. ' ' There in the stage-box. Do you 
 see, Cynthia ? ' ' The runaway was alone with a big, sun- 
 burned man of middle age, heavy of countenance, who 
 looked a mighty hunter, not of women. He was admiring 
 her as a wondering Newfoundland might a kitten, and 
 she was flirting desperately. The two in the stalls ap- 
 proached their heads to consult as comrades. 
 
 ' ' I say, ought I to go after her ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' I think he 's a friend of the Petos, but Mother would 
 be very angry if she knew ! ' ' 
 
 "I shall have to, then." 
 
 "Be fearfully tactful, Peter!" 
 
 He showed no sign of departing. Instead he mur- 
 mured, ' ' We are engaged, Cynthia ! ' ' She dimpled, and 
 he went on, "I can't believe it yet. Are you sure are 
 you sure you like being engaged to me?" 
 
 He was entirely serious, arousing in Cynthia tender 
 amusement. It was incredible she had ever not loved 
 Peter ! Besides, women aren 't doubtful about things like 
 this. She became conscious of an impulse to tease him 
 in order to know her power, but met his eyes and could 
 not. Her gaze grew wonderful and deep : she answered, 
 "Yes." She had a gift of frank simplicity, rarely be- 
 stowed on a girl who inherits loveliness of the refined and 
 delicate type. In a few moments they were talking 
 naturally, with only glances to betray their secret. When 
 they remembered Phyllis the box was empty, and even 
 as they looked the auditorium was darkened, and behind 
 the curtain rang out the Pan-pipes. 
 
 Oh, sweet, charmed pipes of Slightly; oh, dancing 
 Ostrich, and Lost Children, and dear House we built for 
 Wendy ! Oh, mysterious Lagoon, and fascinating Home 
 under the Ground ! Oh, Redskins, and Hook and gentle 
 Smee ! They sat apart in a rosy mist, from which they 
 surveyed the traffic of the Never Never Never Land with 
 magic joy, the girl exulting in being owned, Peter en-
 
 ,THE WINGS OP YOUTH 173 
 
 raptured and surprised. Cynthia loved her soul and her 
 looks, because they gave him pleasure. She radiated, 
 sparkling, a heavenly young felicity. Stie asked herself 
 what she had done to be such a happy girl. He was 
 Peter ! His nearness filled her with a delicious trepida- 
 tion. She fluttered at the touch of his hand, which, bold 
 in the darkness, caressed hers lightly ; until after a while, 
 greatly daring, she drew off her scarf and contrived a 
 hiding-place where the two lovers might hold each other 
 close. 
 
 Once more the clapping subsided in the brightly-lit 
 auditorium amid a general stir of movement and a hum 
 of excited conversation. The girl covered her smooth 
 shoulders, and felt a sensation of stroking fingers as the 
 thin silk settled against her skin. She felt the fabric 
 upon the nape of her neck to be warm from the nest in 
 which their hands had lain interlocked; and turned 
 gracefully away, confused. He saw her inclined forward 
 in an attitude of readiness for flight, a hand on the fur- 
 ther curve of the stall; a bare, flexed elbow visible be- 
 hind her; and her near slender, lovely arm drooping 
 straight, creamy white under the blue of its short, trans- 
 parent sleeve. On the second finger was a sapphire ring, 
 and Peter could see clasped round the wrist of the other 
 white arm, just beyond the falling wrap, a bracelet of 
 soft gold. The picture impressed itself on his brain and 
 then he, too, turned away. 
 
 The stage-box was still vacant, and a wild hope sprang 
 up in his heart that Phyllis might not reappear. He did 
 not know whether or not she were sleeping at the Brem- 
 ners'. Perhaps her own car was to meet her after the 
 theatre to take her back to Weybridge, in which case the 
 Bremners ' new, dark-green Wolseley, which had brought 
 them hither, would be calling for Cynthia. Of course it 
 would ! He had not thought of that. Although it made 
 small difference, so long as he was alone with her. . . . 
 But was it could that be why she was shy, because they 
 would be absolutely alone ? A cold fear crept over him, 
 and before he knew, he had whipped round and was 
 calling, "Cynthia! Cynthia!"
 
 174 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Oh, her dear, silky hair, and her neck! She turned. 
 Her cheeks were scarlet, the poise of her chin proud, 
 and her wide grey eyes gazed beyond him ! Never had 
 Peter suffered before. All previous agony were happiness 
 to this! His world toppled into hideous ruins. "Are 
 you sorry you said yes?" he breathed, his soul in his 
 tragic face. "You are free, you know." She glanced 
 at him alarmed, and uttered a low singing cry that was 
 half a sob : ' ' Oh, Peter, I 've hurt you so ! And I was 
 only frightened." 
 
 She was swaying to him, like a blue flower, when they 
 noticed watchers and drew back both, and for a long 
 time after the house was dark sat still and upright and 
 self-conscious. 
 
 Swiftly, swiftly the scenes passed by. Wendy's 
 Sampler vanished, leaving Outside the House. The 
 short dialogue there sustained the enchantment. Then 
 beauty succeeded quaintness; the music entered on a 
 broad and flowing melody, and the curtain rose for the 
 last time, to reveal the exquisite fairyland of the tree- 
 tops. Moonlight and glamour cast their spell; the little 
 house ascended and Peter Pan and Wendy made their 
 appearance in the doorway. Liza flew off on her broom- 
 stick. The fairy-lights, mauve, white, and blue, flashed 
 in the branches. The music swelled to a noble climax. 
 An ecstasy of youth and joy flew from the beating 
 handkerchiefs. Peter and Wendy were waving from 
 the stage. The whole of the audience were on their feet, 
 shouting and waving, Cynthia and Peter among them. 
 Applause shook the building. The mounting tide of en- 
 thusiasm turned all into children. At last the lights shot 
 up; Cynthia slipped into her long, gold cloak, Peter 
 struggled into his overcoat, and they joined the pro- 
 cession moving slowly towards the exit. 
 
 ' ' Isn 't it glorious ? ' ' asked Cynthia. ' ' Isn 't it simply 
 beautiful? I'm coming every year if it's revived a 
 hundred times ! May I, Peter ? ' ' 
 
 He was dizzied by the 'May I?' and jogged a neigh- 
 bour's shoulder, necessitating apologies. Then, "I 
 hope we'll go a thousand times!" he said to her
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 175 
 
 as they emerged into the open air, which frostily at- 
 tacked their cheeks. "Bremner," he told the Commis- 
 sionaire. 
 
 "That One is a beast!" murmured Cynthia as they 
 waited on the pavement in the throng of stallites. "I 
 haven't the faintest idea what to do." 
 
 Suddenly Phyllis made her appearance, stepping out 
 of the Bremners' landaulet, as cool as possible. "I've 
 left mine up the road," she cried. "Take me up to it, 
 Cynthia Rosemary ! Oh, I 've had such a topping supper 
 at the Savoy. He had actually come to bother one of 
 the actresses and I couldn 't stand that, could I ? Don 't 
 you think he's rather a dear? Fat and fifty, but a 
 ripping good sort, and, oh Cynthia, what an appetite! 
 You never saw anything like the quantities we ate. I 
 was hungry as a hunter again in spite of your good 
 dinner, darling. Don't you think Pauline Chase is 
 sweetly pretty, Peter? There's mine! There's mine! 
 Tell Rogers to stop, Cynthia! Oh, I didn't see you'd 
 got a bell! Rather decent! We have one of course. 
 Don't you admire our big yellow Lanchester? Good 
 night, darling! Thanks terrifically for bringing me! 
 There's no need to say anything to Auntie about my 
 flitting off, but if you think anyone saw me you'd 
 better own up. I don't want to get you into a row, you 
 know. S 'long, Peter!" 
 
 She was gone. "Did we say anything?" he inquired, 
 as he shut the door. 
 
 "There wasn't any need," said Cynthia. The car 
 leapt forward. They turned and looked at each other 
 and suddenly he clasped her to him, unskilfully and 
 almost with roughness. She shook herself free and then- 
 meeting his eyes abandoned herself with an inarticulate, 
 sweet cry, yielding her upturned face, her throat, her 
 hair to his kisses. Their lips met. Hers seemed cold and 
 unresponsive. Then they warmed, they returned the 
 pressure of his. Oh, wild rapture! "Darling!" 
 "Peter!" murmured the young voices. Their strong 
 young arms were holding each other tightly embraced, 
 her soft cheek was against his, her hair blinding him,
 
 176 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 the warmth of her maddening him, as the car ran 
 smoothly to a standstill in Portman Square. 
 
 "My hair!" exclaimed Cynthia, sitting up and touch- 
 ing it with deft fingers. "Rogers will take you 
 
 home " as the chauffeur appeared at the door. He 
 
 opened it and she leaped lightly to the ground. She 
 could have flown. ' ' Good night, Peter ! Sweet dreams, 
 Peter ! ' ' 
 
 "Good night, Cynthia." 
 
 The hall door was flung wide. She turned on the 
 threshold in the bright light of the porch, a beautiful, 
 slender person, and waved her hand. The loose sleeve 
 fell from her white arm, which gleamed. It jerked and 
 disappeared, as the car started and passed into dark- 
 ness, steadily purring, while from behind came to Peter 
 the sound of the closing door.
 
 XXI 
 
 Shawl's, 
 
 Next evening. 
 Darling Cynthia, 
 
 I could hardly "believe it was true when I woke. 
 You are such a darling. I don't know why you care for 
 me. 
 
 The package with this was my mother's. I know you 
 like sapphires because you were wearing them. It is 
 sapphires and diamonds. Please like it, dear. Tour hair 
 is lovely and soft against one's cheek; I wish I felt it 
 now. 
 
 Shaun sends his love. Isn't he the kindest chap in the 
 world f There isn't anyone like him. He says he wants 
 back a Jeremy Taylor he lent you. He says I ought not 
 to speak to your father yet, but it seems the straightfor- 
 ward thing to do. I feel as though I couldn't do any- 
 thing that wasn't straight, until the world ends. If I 
 did I should deserve to lose you. Darling. 
 
 What do you think? I can't help knowing, and so I'll 
 call to-morrow after the Office and break it to him. He 
 can't be pleased. I never went to sleep last night till six 
 o'clock, thinking of what I've let you in for. That isn't 
 quite true. I was thinking of you, beautiful, beautiful 
 Cynthia, my own darling, most of the time. 
 
 You know how I stand. I'm afraid we shall be en- 
 gaged an awfully long time. I'm sorry, dear. 
 
 Shaun says he has written to you about my drawing. 
 I tell you I was glad about that! But even if he's right 
 and I make some money it won't ever be enough to give 
 you all the things I want to, all the things you ought to 
 have. 
 
 You won't laugh, because you are so wonderful at 
 
 177
 
 178 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 understanding. I feel as though God must have wanted 
 it or He would not have let it happen. I can't tell your 
 Father that. When did you begin to love me? I "began 
 when I saw you, I think, but it really came at Tintagel. 
 I knew on the first night. 
 
 Darling, if I don't hear from you I'll come to-morrow. 
 If you think it best for us to say nothing for a bit please 
 send a wire saying "Better not." If you are sorry you 
 ever went to 'Peter Pan' send a wire "No," and I shatt 
 never bother you. 
 
 I love you. 
 
 Peter. 
 
 Cynthia, may I give you a kissf 
 
 Shaun tells me to say from him, show his letter to your 
 Mother at once before I come. He says you'll under- 
 stand. 
 
 Darling Cynthia.
 
 XXII 
 
 Portman Square, 
 
 Saturday, 28 : XII : 191Z. 
 Dear Potor, 
 Peter Dear, 
 
 Whatever you decide is right; whatever you wish 
 is to be done. I am the happiest girl in the world. I do 
 not care if millions more are saying the same thing! 
 They are not engaged to my Peter. The ring is lovely, 
 dear. Thank you!! It is as near to my heart as I can 
 coax it to go. Gravity makes it hang too much to the 
 right! I shall have to take it off in the evening or the 
 chain will show. Luckily there is no Marie, and so I can 
 keep it until the last moment! 
 
 Daddy will Ite out this afternoon. You had better write 
 and ask for an appointment; suggest Tuesday at six>, 
 when I think he will be free! It is the last day of hi*\ 
 Christmas leave. 
 
 We are all of us hopelessly tied up with engagements. 
 Mother has gone away until Tuesday; and Cynthia has 
 to look after her Daddy and take him out in the daytime, 
 in return for which he takes her out in the evening. If 
 she can she will prepare her Parent, but you won't be 
 fearfully disappointed if he forbids our engagement at 
 first, will you, dear? I love you. I will never give you 
 up. I do not mind waiting years and years and years! 
 I want to be a poor man's wife. 
 
 I do not know when it was! I have puzzled myself 
 with thinking it over. Let's say we've always cared from 
 the beginning of the world! I will, if you will. I care 
 now, anyway! 
 
 Tour 
 
 Cynthia. 
 179
 
 180 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Yes, please! 
 
 Daddy is leading me to St. Margaret's, Westminster, 
 to-morrow morning. I'm afraid I ought not to do more 
 than see you! 
 
 Shaun is a darling!
 
 XXIII 
 
 Portman Square, 
 
 December 30th, 1912. 
 Dear Middleton, 
 
 I shall be free to-morrow at the hour you name. 
 Glad to see you then. 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 Everard Bremner. 
 
 181
 
 XXIV 
 
 ON the morning of the appointment Cynthia entered the 
 library, where Sir Everard was writing, and busied 
 herself with some cataloguing which she had undertaken 
 some time ago in order to find out whether she possessed 
 any aptitude for the work. It still interested her; and 
 she knew that she was doing it well, and that her father 
 liked to see her thus employed. Seizing the psychologic 
 moment when he had finished a letter and was watching 
 her, she asked, "Daddy, Peter Middleton is coming to 
 see you this evening, is he not ? ' ' 
 
 She went on sorting cards as she spoke. 
 
 "Yes," said Sir Everard, precisely. She knew by his 
 tone that his brows were knitted and his gaze piercing. 
 She was glad that he was looking at her; she felt that 
 she made a picture to touch a father's heart. "Isn't 
 that a new dress?" he said, sharply, before she could 
 speak again. 
 
 "I'm spending the day with Madge Tressly-Buchan. " 
 She was already conscious of being on the defensive. 
 
 "What has Middleton to tell me?" 
 
 She rose. ' If you are tall and slender, when in doubt 
 rise!' was one of Shaun's maxims. Cynthia, however, 
 acted upon instinct, which led her into the centre of the 
 room where the sunlight was. 
 
 "We care for each other, Daddy. Don't be angry 
 with me! I know you'll feel inclined not to agree to 
 our engagement. I simply ask you not to say anything 
 to Peter that will make things unpleasant afterwards. 
 We shall marry in time ! ' ' The last words were like the 
 unfurling of a banner. 
 
 ' ' There is no need to upset yourself, Polly, ' ' said Sir 
 
 182
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 183 
 
 Everard in a dry tone and with apparent lack of sur- 
 prise. ' ' I will listen to what Middleton has to say, and 
 consult your Mother." He turned away with an air of 
 finality. She went towards him to kiss him, but he had 
 taken another sheet of paper and lifted his pen. So she 
 ran swiftly upstairs and fell upon her bed and cried. 
 She hoped that she had done good, though not as much 
 as might have been done, but she had spent all her 
 courage in the effort. 
 
 After a while she bathed her eyes, and left the house 
 half an hour before her mother was due to return, with a 
 feeling of escape, glad that she was going to be out dur- 
 ing the remainder of the day. Her programme included 
 lunch at the Bath Club for certain, and tea there as well 
 probably, as Madge would want to dive, so she need not 
 reach home until after Peter had left. Poor Peter ! She 
 was afraid to meet him immediately after his interview 
 with Daddy. Dear Peter ! How gentle he was with her 
 always, and he was so big ! All day long she was think- 
 ing of him. When lunching it was "Does Peter like 
 salmon ? ' ' While swimming ' ' He loves bathing. Does 
 he ever go to the baths in winter ? There is no place to 
 lounge about in, no place where you can get cool after 
 dressing in ordinary baths. If only he doesn't catch 
 cold ! ' ' Poised for a dive, she remembered how she had 
 seen him once with his sleeves rolled up he had splen- 
 did, muscular arms, which was nice in a man; she 
 thought he must be tremendously strong. As she was 
 climbing out of the bath she resolved to ask him to bring 
 his drawings to the house next time he came. During 
 tea she said to herself, "Madge is rather off-hand. 
 Would he like her ? How nice he is with Mother ! ' ' But 
 on the drive home it was again, ' ' Poor Peter ! ' ' 
 
 Meanwhile Peter had been ushered into the library, 
 now lit by pendant lamps with green shades, and had 
 found Sir Everard in the deep-cushioned revolving arm- 
 chair in front of the big kneehole table, where he had 
 been seated in the morning when Cynthia spoke. Sir 
 Everard rose in silence to shake hands with him and mo- 
 tioned him to a seat; then he appeared to wait with
 
 184 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 expressionless face for Peter to make an ass of him- 
 self. 
 
 Shaun had said, ' ' If you are boyish, you run the risk 
 of sailing into Portman Square on the point of Papa's 
 toe. Be steady and grim!" Peter had rarely felt less 
 steady, or milder; but he did his best to keep apology 
 from his voice as he began, ' ' Cynthia and I have found 
 out that we love each other, sir. I thought it my duty 
 to tell you. ' ' Then he awaited the explosion. It did not 
 come. 
 
 "Are you both sure of yourselves?" asked Sir 
 Everard, in a quiet voice. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 To his surprise Peter thought he heard the father sigh, 
 and was immediately disturbed by compunction. 
 
 ' ' Be frank as to your prospects, Middleton. ' ' 
 
 He stammered over the recital but it got finished at 
 last. 
 
 "My wife tells me Mr. James holds out hope of your 
 succeeding as an artist." The voice was colourless and 
 low. 
 
 Peter explained, ending with, " I 've made the worst of 
 things intentionally, Sir Everard. I know it will be a 
 very long engagement, and that we shall always be poor, 
 in comparison with what Cynthia was brought up to. 
 That at the very best, I 'm afraid ! But we 're young, and 
 we do we do care for each other." 
 
 "I was expecting to hear that you had brighter pros- 
 pects than you have disclosed, ' ' said Sir Everard, coldly. 
 "I cannot reconcile your making love to my daughter 
 with the conception of your character I had formed pre- 
 viously. Did it not occur to you that there was a point of 
 honour involved ? You were a guest in my house, and I 
 trusted you. . . . Answer the question, Middleton ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' It happened, sir, ' ' said Peter, doggedly. ' ' There was 
 nothing deliberate about it. I suppose it was because 
 we're young." 
 
 "You certainly are!" exclaimed Sir Everard. He 
 continued in a milder tone, ' ' Do I understand you to ask 
 my consent to an open engagement?"
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 185 
 
 ""We hoped you might, sir. I do not ask quite that 
 now. But I felt all along it was my duty to tell you. ' ' 
 
 "You were right ; only you should have done it sooner. 
 There would be nothing against you, had you the smallest 
 prospect of being ever in a position to marry. I respect 
 your frankness, Middleton, but I cannot allow it to in- 
 fluence me. Whether you are received in this house 
 again will depend upon Lady Bremner. There will be no 
 question of it, however, unless you give me your word 
 that you come on terms of friendship with Rosemary." 
 
 "That's impossible," said Peter, turning white. 
 
 Sir Everard rose. "I am acting, upon consideration, 
 as I think best for my daughter. I should like to part 
 from you without ill-will. ' ' 
 
 Peter had risen also. He took Sir Everard 's hand. 
 "You won't be angry with Cynthia, will you?" he asked, 
 trying hard not to sob, as he felt childishly impelled to do. 
 
 "I shall not reopen the subject with her," promised 
 Sir Everard, who had rung. The next moment a servant 
 appeared at the door. Peter got out of the house, but he 
 never remembered how. Outside he hailed a taxi, 
 and drove to Shaun's, where he was received with open 
 arms. 
 
 "You did not fly hither, I trust, dear Peter!" ex- 
 claimed his friend, rushing for the decanter, with a soda- 
 water syphon under one arm. "You'll get accustomed 
 to these little interviews in time. Drink this, you old 
 ass. When I proposed to Doris she was a ward in chan- 
 cery, which is a serious matter! You could not expect 
 him to embrace you; and the more violent he was, the 
 sooner will come the collapse, you know." 
 
 "He was civil," groaned Peter. "And I don't know 
 why I should be as devilishly disappointed as I am! 
 Listen, Shaun." He gave a verbatim account, during 
 which Shaun's face became gradually more and more 
 serious. 
 
 "Yes, it is bad. He said good-bye to you for ever, 
 my poor Peter ! He has brains. It is clear that he sees 
 you are both in earnest at present, for he did not believe 
 it advisable to forbid a correspondence or secret meet-
 
 186 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 ings. His plan is to daunt you by his iron will and per- 
 fect self-control, while doing nothing to arouse defiance 
 and prejudice you against his point of view." 
 
 "He has one," remarked Peter. "I couldn't help 
 being sorry for him." 
 
 "I should have had one in the sense you mean, if I 
 had not thought the mischief already done at the time 
 you first spoke to me. If Cynthia were seventeen it 
 would be a different matter. But when a girl who is old 
 enough to know her own mind, and has one, loses her 
 heart in the course of nature, that is, without having 
 been attacked by violent love-making or flirtation or emo- 
 tional appeal, to a man absolutely suited to her in every 
 respect save fortune, well, it behoves a parent to think 
 whether he can afford an allowance. A heart-broken 
 daughter is no satisfaction to a parent, is she ? Cynthia 
 is not the kind of girl to give you up, nor are you the 
 sort of f man to give her up. Bremner is too sound a 
 judge of character not to know this. He would do better 
 to give in before he ruins the health and spirits of both 
 of you, as happens infernally often in these cases. If he 
 wins, she may seem to forget you, but she won't ever be 
 the same girl again. His honesty is proved by the fact, 
 known to him, that she will never forgive what he has 
 done. Poverty is hard. Poverty is a dreadful thing. No 
 one knows it better than I, for we were frantically poor 
 when we married. But by God ! I 'd sooner see the girl I 
 loved worn out by struggling with life than hardened in 
 spirit by the prudent avoidance of such a struggle ! If 
 he had never introduced you into his house, I mean had 
 he deliberately abstained from introducing you, I should 
 not blame him. That is a different matter. But as I 
 understand it, Lady Bremner encouraged this intimacy 
 in order to oust me. The responsibility is hers ; and if 
 those two were capable of thinking each other in error, 
 she would hear of it ! Such a bargain as he suggested to 
 have been implied between you and him is ridiculous. 
 The wind bloweth where it listeth, and who can control 
 Love? Has the man never heard of people falling in 
 love unconsciously ? I in no way approve his opinions !
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 187 
 
 But I don't think that he will alter, my dear boy, and 
 you must just make the best of it for the present." 
 
 Cynthia did not arrive home until there was barely 
 time to dress for dinner. She crept upstairs, mousy- 
 quiet, and reached the shelter of her bedroom without 
 detection. Tremblingly she rang for Marie, who came 
 and performed her duties. No sooner, however, was the 
 maid gone than Lady Bremner appeared in the doorway, 
 and said: "Daddy has told me something that has 
 distressed me very much, darling, but he says we must 
 all of us forget about it. . . ." 
 
 ' ' I don 't want to, and I won 't ! " interrupted Cynthia, 
 suddenly bold. "I couldn't if I wanted to, for I love 
 Peter." 
 
 "Hush, darling! You must not ever mention his 
 name to either of us. Daddy will be angry if you do. 
 Kemember I forbid you to see Mr. Middleton or to corre- 
 spond with him." 
 
 "But, Mother, can you tell me any single thing against 
 Peter?" 
 
 "Daddy says he will never be able to marry a girl in 
 your position, Rosemary dear. That is enough. We are 
 not wealthy like the Petos, you must remember. If he 
 had fallen in love with Phyllis, Aunt Bertha and Uncle 
 Tim could very easily have allowed them a thousand a 
 year, on which they could have managed had Phyllis 
 been economical. But we are in a different position, and 
 you are not an only child, my darling. Mr. Middleton 's 
 utmost expectations, even supposing Mr. James's hopes 
 of him are fulfilled, would only amount to some 500 a 
 year or so, and there is nothing certain. Absolutely 
 nothing, except 200 a year, in several years' time. 
 It would not clothe you! What is it that you wish to 
 say?" 
 
 ' ' I can learn to be poor, Mummy ! ' ' 
 
 "You could learn to suffer a moderate poverty, dar- 
 ling. Neither of us doubt that. But this is immoderate, 
 quite impossible. And it is better to make an end once 
 and for all. I shall not receive Mr. Middleton or permit 
 the subject to be reopened ; and if you consider us in the
 
 188 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 least, you will not disobey us. Daddy is much upset 
 already. ' ' 
 
 "Does he care whether I am?" asked Cynthia, with 
 mutinous lips. 
 
 "Rosemary!" 
 
 " I 'm sorry, Mummy ; but really you were taking me 
 a little too much for granted ! ' ' 
 
 "Would you promise to give the boy up and forget 
 all this ? ' ' asked Lady Bremner, ingratiatingly. 
 
 "No," said Cynthia. "No, Mother, I can't do that." 
 
 ' ' Isn 't it partly that you won 't, darling ? ' ' 
 
 "Oh, it's both!" cried Cynthia. "Don't you remem- 
 ber the time when you first knew Daddy ? I 'm not being 
 a silly kid about Peter, or having a romantic fit as 
 Phyllis does sometimes. Really, Mummy, I love him in a 
 grown-up way." 
 
 "I hope not," said Lady Bremner, advancing and 
 kissing her. "Now come downstairs, darling, and we'll 
 be just as usual to Daddy and cheer him up. I have 
 mentioned the subject for the last time." 
 
 Cynthia did not think that her father showed signs of 
 distress, and pride forbade her to do so either. After 
 dinner she played to her parents as usual. The evening 
 came to an end. She was kissed and sent to bed at half 
 past ten. Many evenings in the past had resembled this 
 with one difference, of which she became conscious as 
 soon as she was alone in her room. It was to mark many 
 evenings in the future. 
 
 ' ' What a dreary feeling ! ' ' she said to herself. ' ' You 
 are inexperienced in suffering, Cynthia! I suppose this 
 is what they call 'heartache.' "
 
 XXV 
 
 JANUARY and February of the year 1913 fled swiftly 
 away; and as far as the Bremner household was con- 
 cerned Peter Middleton ceased to exist. He was never 
 mentioned after the day when Alan dropped in and told 
 his sister with marked kindness of manner that he had 
 just cut young Middleton for his own good. It was a 
 pity the parents were not there, for they might have been 
 impressed. Alan was shocked by Rose 's upbraidings and 
 tears. 
 
 Lady Bremner was watchful, and gave Cynthia small 
 opportunity to reflect upon the future or the past. Her 
 days and evenings were filled with a constant stream 
 of engagements. During a fortnight she ate no meal at 
 home save breakfast, and danced every night. She had 
 always been a popular girl as well as greatly admired, 
 and this season she had an enormous success. There was 
 a brilliance in her loveliness, a charm born of happiness 
 and youth, a tender allurement. She took a man 's hand 
 for the dance and swayed into his clasp with so enchant- 
 ing a readiness and grace that he did not realise he was a 
 proxy for one Peter Middleton, and proposed on the 
 slightest acquaintance. Which surprised and annoyed 
 her. "They don't know me!" she said. "They are 
 rash!" Luckily Mummy did not guess the matches 
 she refused. Mummy would have liked to see her a 
 countess or the wife of either of the attaches or of the old 
 Admiral or of the man who talked about Home Rule. 
 The old Admiral was rather sweet, and not quite so 
 impulsive as the others. It would have been quaint if 
 she had loved him instead of Peter, and much more con- 
 venient ! Such matters must be arranged by Providence ; 
 they are so unmistakable and unexpected. She had 
 
 189
 
 190 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 never dreamed of loving Peter. Wanting him for a 
 friend had wasted months and months of him, dear 
 Peter! "Bother! Here comes that man I promised to 
 sit out with, and he looks stupid already!" 
 
 Peter's letters were brought direct to her bedroom in 
 the morning by Marie. Her mother would never ques- 
 tion the maid, she knew, and the correspondence though 
 open remained concealed. Hasty meetings were ar- 
 ranged at Baker Street Station. The dismal strip of 
 green off Paddington Street, beyond the huge block of 
 flats, was their refuge on a Saturday afternoon, secure 
 from any friend of the Bremners; and streets and 
 squares on the way home saw kisses snatched in the dark- 
 ness. ' ' Peter, we know people here, you mustn 't ! . . . I 
 must go in, Peter. . . . Yes, I do!" Cynthia's honesty 
 was tested when it became a question of arranging these 
 escapades. Barely could she get away without assigning 
 a reason. Sometimes she boldly declared, "I'm going 
 out, Mummy ! ' ' and went ; but more often it was neces- 
 sary to have a pretext ready, the truthfulness of which 
 did not prevent her from feeling mean. Occasionally 
 when she needed Peter to the extent of yearning, ached 
 for his embrace and longed to hear his kind voice consol- 
 ing a silly girl who cried because everyone was not good 
 to her occasionally she lied outright. Shaun wrote 
 after one such tragedy, Yours to hand suggesting you are 
 not afraid of Hell, but deserve that it be created to re- 
 ceive you. My dear child, you are there! I would laugh 
 at your remorse, did not the tears come. You shame me, 
 as Peter does now and then. He is another truth-teller, 
 and I confess I regard Truth as a luxury fatal to the 
 intemperate, and only to be entrusted to those capable of 
 using it discreetly. Your people were engaged in pre- 
 tending you do not love the nonpareil. They stuck their 
 heads in the sand, affected to ignore him. It was a pol- 
 icy, though a foolish one. But now they begin to wag 
 their tails, a fatal proceeding. They advertise their 
 belief in your seriousness when they seek to control your 
 movements, and you should rejoice. Also they break a 
 truce, and I in your place should lie furiously, defying
 
 ,THE WINGS OF YOUTH 191 
 
 them to doubt my word! Like Hilda Wangel I have a 
 robust conscience. Yours, dear, is not sickly but dif- 
 ferent, and I cannot help you. You must settle it with 
 God yourself. 
 
 As Shaun had intended and expected, she asked Peter. 
 
 I am awfully worried, wrote Peter. Darling, you are 
 sweet! I do not know what to advise. I've told enough 
 bangers in this beastly hole in my time! Do you mind 
 my saying ( beastly 'f It seems the only word. Dar- 
 ling Cynthia, I feel I have no right to talk to anybody as 
 much above me as you about right and wrong. It would 
 be cheek! Which was not very helpful, either. Cyn- 
 thia's decision was feminine. She made up her mind 
 always to have an excuse for being out and to do re- 
 ligiously whatever she had said she was going to do, but 
 not to go out of her way to make the pretext credible. 
 Shaun was highly amused. 
 
 In the last days of February, Lady Bremner, who had 
 been ailing for some time, became seriously run down, 
 fell a victim to influenza, and took to her bed with a 
 temperature of 105. She was nursed by Cynthia de- 
 votedly, but made a slow recovery and did not leave 
 the sick-room until after Easter. All those weeks the 
 girl was a prisoner in the house. She knew that her 
 mother would hate 1 to see a strange face near her, and 
 resolutely declined outside assistance, both because she 
 was extremely fond of her, and because she welcomed the 
 chance to prove herself a capable woman. If Sir Everard 
 were surprised by his daughter's endurance and capa- 
 bility he did not show it. He thanked and praised her 
 after the corner was at last turned, in a few words that 
 touched her heart. Cynthia could scarcely remember 
 another occasion on which Daddy had praised her except 
 for success with differential equations. It was not his 
 habit, and it meant a great deal coming from him. Not 
 enough, however, she decided after reflection, to justify 
 her in reopening the subject of Peter. After all Mummy 
 had not been dangerously ill, only run down through 
 taking her daughter out so much! She really did not 
 know why Dad had been so worried.
 
 192 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 True, the doctor always saw Lady Bremner alone, and 
 was never communicative to Cynthia about the patient's 
 condition, but the word 'influenza' accounts for much 
 to a young and healthy girl, and it was freely used when 
 Mummy was at her worst. At a later date 'nerves' ex- 
 plained the patient's continued depression. Her fever- 
 ish delusion that the loss of her eyesight was threatened 
 had not persisted after her temperature went down. 
 Cynthia had wanted to bring an oculist, and the offer had 
 magically calmed her mother's fears; at least she had 
 not complained of her eyes again. Daddy had been grave 
 when he heard of this, had listened without comment and 
 did not return to the subject either. It seemed natural 
 to Cynthia afterwards that feverish people should talk 
 nonsense and worry themselves about nothing. She was 
 not experienced in illness, or she would not have been 
 alarmed at the time, she thought. Mummy had been 
 impatient when she suggested an oculist, so clearly there 
 had been nothing to fear. Yes, she was just run down 
 and needed rest, poor Mummy ! Cynthia did not blame 
 herself, did not consider her forbidden engagement at 
 all responsible for the depression, because recollection 
 told her that the change in her mother dated from before 
 Tintagel. She had been languid in the hot weather; in 
 Brittany she had not cared to look at beautiful places; 
 in town she had often seemed tired and worried for 
 no reason at all. Yes, she had undoubtedly been run 
 down, and if only she would go to Switzerland she 
 would get well quickly. She would be fit to travel in 
 May. 
 
 In May Lady Bremner was in fact much recovered, but 
 she firmly refused to leave London, and Cynthia could 
 not help feeling relief on her own account. Although she 
 loved Switzerland, the prospect of losing her rare meet- 
 ings with Peter had filled her with selfish terror. More- 
 over, now that Mummy was stronger the opportunities 
 would increase. 
 
 Peter had worked hard during these months of separa- 
 tion ; both at the office in the daytime, and in the evening, 
 under the superintendence of Shaun, at drawing. He
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 193 
 
 went to Heatherley 's to sketch from life, and studied the 
 technique of working for reproduction under an old 
 black-and-white artist to whom Shaun had recommended 
 him, saying, ' ' Gin and genius. Once genius and gin. So 
 soon to be gin only that you must learn quickly, Peter. ' ' 
 The lessons were not a pleasant experience in themselves, 
 but what he learnt from them was invaluable. 
 
 One night Peter had to tell Shaun that another speci- 
 men of his handwriting was required on the morrow. 
 He seemed cheerful about it, indeed for once he gave 
 quite an encomium of the Great Company perhaps be- 
 cause he had received his salary that day and the 'jim- 
 mieogoblins ' were chinking in his pocket. "Lordly 
 Laurence has his eye on me, but I don't care very 
 much, ' ' he declared. ' ' My work is all right. They can 't 
 complain of that." 
 
 ' ' They can continue to pass you over for promotion, ' ' 
 remarked Shaun. 
 
 "Not for ever," said Peter, hopefully. "And I 'did 
 down ' an old beast called Lemon to-day. He was trying 
 to get me into trouble and failed. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Nice chiefs you seem to have ! ' ' 
 
 "Oh, well! Heads of Departments aren't usually 
 chosen for their power of inspiring loyalty. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Not with you, ' ' said Shaun, with dryness. 
 
 1 ' Cynthia writes that Laurence Man is making a con- 
 founded nuisance of himself in Portman Square," said 
 Peter, suddenly doleful. "Always making up to Lady 
 Bremner now that she 's getting better. She simply can 't 
 get rid of him when he calls. ' ' 
 
 "Which she?" 
 
 "Cynthia," 
 
 "I hope she does not try. I asked her for your sake 
 to put up with Laurence Man, so long as he does not 
 openly make love to her, Peter. ' ' 
 
 Peter was not pleased, and Shaun, who was out of 
 humour, rebuked him rather sharply. "Haven't you 
 sense enough to know you ought to be grateful to both of 
 us?" he exclaimed, in an irritable way. "You would 
 sacrifice your pride for her or for me, for the matter of
 
 194 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 that! You're a bit of a young ass sometimes." Peter 
 admitted it. 
 
 Cynthia had complained of Laurence to relieve her 
 feelings; but she was careful in practice to give him no 
 cause of offence. She was always civil, which she con- 
 sidered more than he deserved after his treachery to 
 Shaun, and if she did her best to avoid being alone with 
 him she flattered herself that he was not aware of it. 
 Wherein she underestimated him. Laurence knew per- 
 fectly well that he had lost whatever power he possessed 
 over her. He was not Lady Bremner's confidence in 
 regard to Peter, and he was still inclined to believe in the 
 supremacy of Shaun. Peter was altogether too insig- 
 nificant in Laurence's eyes. He kept a watch upon his 
 handwriting partly because he had once threatened 
 Cynthia that Peter should suffer for the privilege of 
 using her Christian name, partly because he recognised 
 the absurdity of the presence of men of his type and class 
 in the offices of the Great Company. Laurence never 
 forgot an enmity, but he was not dishonest in the busi- 
 ness sense of the term. If Middleton made a slip and 
 played into his hands, he would discharge him without 
 mercy. He did not intend, however, to manufacture an 
 excuse to get rid of him, unless the Directors agreed to 
 his scheme of the gradual elimination of all public-school 
 men from the staff ; ' all, ' of course, except himself and 
 other persons who had entered the service with a promise 
 of rapid promotion. Laurence was a firm believer in the 
 divine right of wealthy gentlemen, or of gentlemen with 
 connections to push them on, to be rulers of the world. 
 Pride made him dislike seeing any of his class in a subor- 
 dinate and hopeless position; and as an official he de- 
 spised what he called 'the incompetence of discontented, 
 muddle-headed employes, ' that is to say, of men educated 
 so well as to be above their work and with no incentive 
 such as the prospect of early promotion to cause them 
 to bow their necks to the yoke willingly. If the Directors 
 fell in with his scheme he promised himself to dispose of 
 the lot, one after the other, by whatever means came to 
 hand, and to reorganise the offices on a sounder basis.
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 195' 
 
 Board-school boys would actually be grateful for a 
 smaller salary than these fellows grumbled at now, and 
 they would leap at the social position conferred by a 
 clerkship in the Great Company, which was a tradition 
 handed down from the ' good old times. ' He would have 
 an efficient staff, and show the Directors what could be 
 done with it. And then he would become Managing 
 Director at a largely increased salary for that post, and 
 marry Rosemary Bremner. Peter Middleton was only a 
 pawn in the game of Laurence's ambition. If he could 
 be sacrificed to advantage he should go, but the wise 
 player does not force exchanges unless he is certain to 
 improve his position. Middleton, however, should be the 
 first; Laurence mentally promised him that. 
 
 The early months of 1913 saw also the final break 
 between Alan Bremner and Helen Taliesin, who disap- 
 peared from the family life of the Bremners suddenly 
 and without overt cause. She came to the house for the 
 last time in March, to inquire for Lady Bremner, and 
 would not enter. After that she merely was not. Cyn- 
 thia had not forgiven her brother for cutting Peter and 
 displayed no curiosity about his affairs. It struck her, 
 however, as intensely odd that in a family of only four 
 people, all fond of each other and on terms of affection 
 whenever they met, there should be a mystery, a grudge, 
 and a clandestine love-affair! The more polite is pa- 
 rental tyranny, Shaun wrote in May, the more subtly is 
 double-dealing encouraged. And I welcome your con- 
 tinued animus against your brother, since it proves you 
 can be obstinate too (not that I had doubted!). Peter 
 does not report that you are becoming callous, selfish, or 
 'a horrid girl,' so I cannot but believe your fears un- 
 founded. I had not noticed a change myself. If your 
 people complain as I do not gather they have done up 
 to the present make them admit that they have hardly 
 encouraged you to display your true self or your better 
 feelings. I am sorry they do not treat you brutally, for 
 then you would wear your engagement ring upon your 
 finger instead of round your particularly adorable neck! 
 (Old habit, and a love of sincerity!) The thought of it
 
 196 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 over your heart must encourage Peter to impatience, 
 serving no useful purpose thereby; the picture of it 
 adorned by your hand would warm him to emulate the 
 open courage of the wearer. Alas, Cynthia, you are a 
 living girl, and therefore imperfect! Not as I should 
 have written you. The silken chains hold you fast, and 
 your mother's illness came at a right moment for her 
 plans. The steadfast wearing of that ring from the first 
 would have saved much trouble in the future, I fear, 
 and write myself down an ass by recording the bray. 
 It resembles a bray in being a useless noise unpleasing 
 to the hearer. So does my counsel to demand a latchkey 
 and an allowance at once, with in the future a wedding 
 at St. George's and a much larger allowance. The latch- 
 key of the daughter is the symbol of the trust of the 
 parent. Every girl should possess one and rarely use it. 
 Weep daily on your father's waistcoat until you obtain 
 one, is my advice. Forgive me, dear, if I make things 
 harder. 
 
 Cynthia burnt the letter, and cried. She knew she had 
 not the courage to break through all the traditions in 
 which she had been brought up. For the rupture with 
 Helen Taliesin she decided that she blamed Alan, and 
 wondered what she would do if she met the girl, an event 
 which never happened. She understood now why she 
 had not appealed to her for assistance in the abortive 
 struggle for freedom by way of employment. She had 
 always had a premonition that Alan would make a beast 
 of himself !
 
 XXVI 
 
 THE second period of Cynthia's engagement justified to 
 a considerable extent Shaun 's gloomy forebodings. Lady 
 Bremner, now in her usual health, retained the habit of 
 nervous dependence upon her daughter, and was un- 
 willing to let her go out of her sight. Inwardly ex- 
 asperated, the girl was still not able to be openly unkind, 
 and Lady Bremner was so wrapt up in herself that she 
 never guessed how near her slave came several times to 
 revolt. She had in truth almost forgotten the existence 
 of Peter, and her plaintive demand, repeated evening 
 after evening, "Darling, would you mind talking or 
 reading to me until it's time to dress? I think I ought 
 to rest my eyes, which feel tired," had actually no sub- 
 tlety in it, which Cynthia found incredible. She did not 
 know anything that could have driven Peter from her 
 own thoughts. Besides, her mother did not need her ; as 
 was proved by the frequency with which she cheered up 
 again, and at the first lapse in the conversation picked 
 up a review and began to read. 
 
 Very bitterly Cynthia said to herself sometimes that 
 she was in the position of a paid companion without 
 receiving any pay. Other people suffered for her weak- 
 ness, her soft-hearted compliance with her mother's 
 whims. Peter only admired her for a virtue of self-sacri- 
 fice she did not possess, but Madge Tressly-Buchan, who 
 was inconveniently dependent on Cynthia's influence, 
 had drifted into a love-affair with a chauffeur who was a 
 gentleman and a bad lot. This was partly spite on 
 Madge 's part, because Lady Bremner had declined to let 
 her train Cynthia for the ladies ' diving championship of 
 the Bath Club. She had threatened, "All right, Lady 
 Bremner. I shall probably make a fool of myself thi? 
 
 197
 
 198 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 summer, but that doesn't matter to you." She had to 
 be packed off at the beginning of June to shoot elephants, 
 after the letters had been ransomed. Cynthia lost a lot 
 of healthy pleasure, as well as her companionship, 
 through missing the mornings at the swimming-bath, and 
 she was extremely distressed by her friend's folly, al- 
 though she did not attach as much importance to it as 
 did Lady Bremner, who would probably in the future 
 make it an excuse for severing the friendship. 
 
 The firmest stand she made was on the old, vexed 
 question of Shaun James, whom she insisted on meeting 
 occasionally. He was free in the mornings, or said he 
 was free, and gave up more than a few to initiating 
 Cynthia into the knowledge of Man. By him she was 
 enlightened, very pink and bright-eyed on a windy day 
 at the Round Pond, as to the physiology of marriage 
 ("You'd better tell me, Shaun dear; Mummy never 
 will ! ") . And in the galleries of the Victoria and Albert 
 Museum she learnt wisdom concerning the married state 
 for which she blessed him in after-years, incidentally 
 gathering what she had been saved from by refusing 
 Laurence Man. Greatly to Shaun 's amusement he was 
 called upon to perform the same office of priest of the 
 mysteries to Peter ; and to neither did he spare his own 
 reputation. Indeed he pictured Doris James to Cynthia 
 as a most unfortunate woman with a husband only faith- 
 ful because he could not bear to cause her pain, so 
 alarmingly did he represent the imagination of an artist. 
 Cynthia smiled and only half believed, but the half was 
 sufficient for Shaun 's purpose. When the subject was 
 finally done with, "I'd like to say how much I admire 
 your frankness and good sense," he said. The compli- 
 ment pleased Lady Bremner 's daughter more than any 
 other he had paid her. She wanted to be wise, and was 
 proud that she had forced herself to be brave. 
 
 To Peter the City was becoming a nightmare place 
 where he worked as on a treadmill, harder and harder, 
 without ever making any progress. Indeed the more he 
 strove for promotion the more swiftly did his position 
 glide away from under his feet, the more unpopular did
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 199 
 
 he seem to become with the High Officials. Only Mr. 
 Brown remained a steady friend. He could always be 
 relied upon for justice. Peter saw others as well as 
 Blotter pass over his head, and began to make strenuous 
 attempts to get a secretaryship to a public company, or 
 any kind of post that promised a better salary or offered 
 prospects of any kind. He answered advertisements and 
 made the acquaintance of adventurers and rogues. Cyn- 
 thia when staying with the Petos Sir Everard and 
 Lady Bremner had gone away together alone confided 
 in her aunt and uncle, and tried to persuade the latter 
 to use his influence to help Peter. She wrote, and Peter 
 read aloud to Shaun, "Aunt Bertha lives for her gar- 
 dens. She has fifteen acres, and they keep her busy! 
 Even if they did not exist I fear she would not go against 
 Mother. Uncle Tim simply won't be bothered, Peter. It 
 is mean of him, because he must have any amount of 
 power. I do not want to confide in Phyllis, who would 
 certainly cry out, 'Let him dare not to!' and make his 
 life a burden but I think without success. He would 
 know she would get tired of bothering, and after all it 
 isn't for her." Shaun said, "That little Phyllis as the 
 punishment of a fat old Banker ! Ha ! There is an ob- 
 ject for her existence, after all." 
 
 Peter went on reading, with omissions: "Joyce's fa- 
 ther and mother would like to help if they could. I be- 
 lieve Auntie Marjorie has written to Daddy, but I'm 
 afraid it won't move him. She is much younger than 
 he. They will not be home from India until the end of 
 next year! Uncle Rupert expects to get the regiment 
 then. Dear little Joyce wrote me the kindest letter and 
 sent her love to you. You did not mind my telling her, 
 Pet erf" 
 
 ' ' The more the better, ' ' said Shaun. 
 
 "I'm afraid the Petos are no good. Cheer up, Peter. 
 I'U wait for ever, and call myself a lucky girl. ..." 
 
 "Groans!" 
 
 "You know what I mean . . . she says. I say, I can't 
 read any more ! ' ' 
 
 But while the City grew abhorrent and threatening to
 
 200 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Peter the rest of London was frequently illumined with 
 flashes of sunshine which were meetings with Cynthia. 
 She was away for a fortnight in June paying the above- 
 mentioned visit and for three weeks in August. That 
 was all, and as the year went on Peter became a mas- 
 ter of the topography of the Metropolis, regarded as a 
 place where one wants to kiss, and while lamenting the 
 bareness of the result topolatrised certain hallowed 
 spots ! 
 
 London had become the background in his thoughts for 
 moving pictures of sweet Cynthia, clad in grey, cream or 
 pale blue, brown, white or navy blue, with all sizes and 
 shapes of hats. . . . Cynthia in Kensington Gardens on a 
 fresh, spring day ; Cynthia at Hertford House, waiting 
 for him in front of a group of Watteau's ladies, herself 
 as elegant in the modern fashion ; Cynthia on her way to 
 tea in Downing Street; Cynthia before shop windows; 
 Cynthia reverent in the gloom of churches. With the 
 smallest effort of his imagination he could see tall Cynthia 
 standing by a Sphinx on the Embankment, watching the 
 shifting crisscross of lights on Waterloo Bridge and the 
 shiver and gleam of them thrown on the shadowy water, 
 her graceful neck bent as she listened to the throbbing 
 hum of distant thoroughfares, the whirr and clank of 
 trams, and the delicate wash and lap of the Thames 
 against the steps. He could feel the sway and barely 
 perceptible droop of her shoulder against him, as her 
 gloved hand was met by his in the darkness. He could 
 see the straightening of her slender form as she leant 
 away. And then there was a picture, with too many 
 variants, of her disappearing into a taxi, with wistful 
 grey eyes and a smile on her lips ; and a glimpse of her 
 suddenly tragic, seen through the open window and 
 snatched from view, leaving a horrid, petrol-smelling 
 vacancy in which there was no Cynthia ! 
 
 Peter removed to lodgings in Church Street in order 
 to be nearer to her. He started a pipe and strove to be- 
 come a philosopher. Then occurred that meeting at the 
 Natural History Museum when they almost quarrelled 
 over her answer to the great question which had been
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 201 
 
 worrying him for weeks, "Could a girl of her beauty 
 have avoided being kissed ? ' ' He put it, before a ridicu- 
 lous striped monkey, feeling himself of the same tribe. 
 
 ' ' When I was eighteen and just out, I was curious, and 
 silly sometimes like other girls. Not more than three 
 times then. ' ' 
 
 "What about afterwards, I should like to know?" 
 asked Peter, indignantly. 
 
 "You aren't jealous, are you, Peter?" said Cynthia, 
 knowing well that he was, and not displeased. ' ' I never 
 kissed anyone back!" 
 
 "Certainly not," he asserted, turning red. 
 
 "I let Laurence Man once. I know I was a perfect 
 idiot. Forgive me, please!" 
 
 "Did Shaun ever . . . ?" 
 
 "You've no right to ask about particular people!" 
 exclaimed Cynthia, spiritedly. "No, he didn't, if you 
 want to know. I should never dream of questioning you, 
 Peter!" 
 
 "Who else besides Man?" 
 
 Silence. 
 
 "Who else?" 
 
 Silence. 
 
 "Who else, Cynthia?" 
 
 "No one." 
 
 "You were the first girl I'd ever kissed," said Peter, 
 thoughtfully. "Let's leave my brother and go to look 
 at the whales. That 's the quietest room, and I 've got to 
 go on my knees and beg your pardon for ordering you 
 about." 
 
 "You needn't," said Cynthia, softly. He looked at 
 her. Love and mischief were dancing together in her 
 eyes, and she smiled. He did not wait for the shelter 
 of a whale, but then neither did he go upon his knees ! 
 Whilst they studied the Cetacea (and the movements 
 of the attendant), she told him that he must never, 
 never give way to her, even when she was right. The 
 attendant almost caught them that time ; so nearly that 
 they fled in confusion before his suspicious glare and 
 did not venture to return to the Museum for many a
 
 202 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 long month. After all, it contained little of interest ex- 
 cept the Cetacea. 
 
 Cynthia rarely had much money in her pocket during 
 these expeditions, and Peter had to supply her. He 
 found a ridiculous pleasure in so doing. They lunched 
 sometimes at Roche's, on a Saturday, when Peter could 
 get away in time and Cynthia stifle her conscience. 
 Shaun's favourite waiter did his best to spoil them by 
 little attentions and swiftness of service and an obvious 
 pleasure in their romance, all of which Cynthia took for 
 granted in the most natural way. Many of their meet- 
 ings were at tea time at 'Alan's,' in the little top room to 
 which Shaun had introduced her. The exit at the foot 
 of the staircase past the boy in buttons was dangerous, 
 as Lady Bremner often had tea at Fuller's in Regent 
 Street and might easily be passing on her way home. 
 She sometimes made an appointment with Cynthia at 
 Liberty's, and was given the slip. On those days an en- 
 counter outside ' Alan 's ' would have been fatal ! Later, 
 as Cynthia grew more bold, she arranged her rendez- 
 vous nearer at hand and with greater frequency. Deben- 
 ham and Freebody's, Self ridge's, outside Mansell's, a 
 fascinating shop-window to gaze into whilst waiting and 
 a favourite haunt of Cynthia and Shaun, and Bumpus's, 
 of which the same might be said, were favourite spots 
 for an apparently accidental meeting. When there was 
 necessity for extreme caution, in other words when Cyn- 
 thia had stretched the truth in order to escape, she usu- 
 ally appointed the entrance to Tottenham Court Road 
 Tube Station, opposite the Oxford. It was quick of ac- 
 cess and out of the range of her mother, but she was so 
 conspicuous there that she had to come late, in order 
 not to find herself alone. As a rule she was a punctual 
 girl. 
 
 Once they ran into Shaun, in Greek Street, Soho. 
 Once, having unwisely ventured to the Royal Academy, 
 Cynthia was recognised in Old Bond Street afterwards 
 by an acquaintance. Fleeing to the left into Grafton 
 Street they fell into the hands of Mrs. Gwiney, who 
 remembered Peter, she being the 'sheathed lily' of his
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 203 
 
 first dinner-party at the Bremners', and insisted on 
 talking and reminding him that she had played Liszt. 
 She looked arch enough to have added, "while you were 
 gazing at this dear girl. ' ' Evidently she had sharp eyes. 
 When they escaped from her it did not seem prudent to 
 turn back into Bond Street, which they should never 
 have left; and Cynthia, now reckless, would not leave 
 Peter, so they plunged down Hay Hill, where the Prince 
 Regent and his brother were held up by highwaymen 
 and could only raise half-a-crown between them. It 
 was at least as perilous to the lovers, because they had 
 to pass the side wall of the Bath Club. No one was 
 coming out of the ladies' entrance in Berkeley Street, 
 and Cynthia breathed again, but in Berkeley Square 
 they overtook the Countess of Kempston walking and 
 had to double back and take a taxi. Peter was dropped 
 in Oxford Street. He had only threepence in his pocket, 
 and that was no good to Cynthia, who was penniless. 
 She was reduced to bidding the maid pay the man, and 
 hurrying upstairs. Lady Bremner was out as it hap- 
 pened, but had she been at home Cynthia would never 
 have dared to approach her, for fear of questions. It 
 was two days before she could settle with the maid, so 
 short of money did her parents keep her. 
 
 The Whitehall and Pall Mall districts were barred be- 
 cause of Sir Everard and Alan, and the Zoo was dan- 
 gerous because of the former. At the Tate, which had 
 been the topic of their first conversation, Peter learnt 
 that Cynthia could be petulant and saucy, but she as- 
 sured him that the mood only happened about twice a 
 year ! In the upstairs room, before The Seeds of Love, 
 she announced her resolution to give up taxis in order 
 to practice herself and to save the fares. The presence 
 of the attendant could not prevent Peter kissing her fin- 
 gers, which he did with fervour, just unperceived ! After 
 this it was he who waved to taxis, ' for solitude, ' usually 
 in celebration of the sale of a drawing, which Shaun 
 permitted now and again, although he declared that the 
 doors of journalism should be burst open, not pushed, 
 and that Peter must not be in a hurry.
 
 204 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Nothing further was heard of the unlucky encounters 
 in Mayfair, and soon Cynthia beamed on the City, shin- 
 ing starlike against a background of black coats and 
 gloomy faces. She inspected St. Bartholomew's, Smith- 
 field, drank from the fountain outside the Royal Ex- 
 change because she liked the figure above it, and wan- 
 dered round the interior of the Exchange, exclaiming at 
 the badness of some of the mural paintings contrasted 
 with the Brangwyn, the Leighton, and the Abbey. This 
 visit was cut untimely short by the appearance of Sem- 
 ple, who luckily did not perceive them where they stood 
 back in the shadow beside the Admiralty notices. The 
 prospect of lewd jests daunted Peter, for if he were pro- 
 voked to knock the jester down that would be the end 
 of all things so far as the Great Company was con- 
 cerned. He rather chose retreat, and at ease on a 'bus, 
 they read together the Certificate of Character she had 
 brought him in a letter from the household of Welsh 
 girls. We cannot say that C. R. B. is never a cat. She 
 is distinctly human. But we will say that she is always 
 a nice cat, and thoroughly repentant afterwards. They 
 got off, and walked round Lincoln's Inn Fields to dis- 
 cuss it. 
 
 Peter heard little of the full, active life of dances, 
 theatres, and dinners which she led apart from him. 
 He did not even know that during the autumn she was 
 swimming and diving every day at the Bath Club. 
 Nothing could indicate more clearly the separateness of 
 their existences than the fact that she never once thought 
 of telling him of her great disappointment when Madge 
 Tressly-Buchan was prevented from training her through 
 Lady Bremner's interference. Besides, Cynthia would 
 not criticise her mother to Peter, although she felt very 
 much inclined to after Madge had departed disconso- 
 lately abroad. It was all too foolish. She could see no 
 harm whatever in diving at a private competition from 
 which the Press was rigorously excluded, and Madge 
 would never have been so foolish had Cynthia been meet- 
 ing her daily at the Club. Lady Bremner was wrong 
 in supposing she had the smallest influence over Cyn-
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 205 
 
 thia. On the contrary the big, sullen, impulsive crea- 
 ture was a baby in the hands of her self-possessed friend. 
 Cynthia was one of the few people who could do any- 
 thing with her when she got into one of her passions or 
 fits of obstinacy. She felt herself responsible for Madge, 
 and was mortified as well as distressed by the unfortu- 
 nate affair with the chauffeur. Then the moment Madge 
 was gone Mummy had said, "Why don't you go to the 
 Bath, darling, and have a swim ? You are looking quite 
 pale." 
 
 It is the drawback of a forbidden engagement, as of a 
 secret one, that intimacy is slow of growth when the 
 girl has pride which the man respects and does not try 
 to conquer. Peter liked her sweet letters, gossip-less 
 and to the point she was too busy to be a voluminous 
 writer but he would have enjoyed them more had 
 they told something about her daily life. He did not 
 admit this to himself. His idol could do no wrong. Still, 
 he wrote very different epistles in return. Shaun, who 
 was in a position to judge, complained that he had 
 taught Cynthia to describe and now she would not do 
 it. Peter, on the other hand, whose descriptive powers 
 were of the smallest, laboured long and manfully to give 
 pictures of the Company. The resulting confusion Cyn- 
 thia laughed and cried over. It was impossible to praise 
 his literary efforts. But when he was not trying to de- 
 scribe he wrote charmingly. 
 
 On one occasion only did they get a whole day to- 
 gether in the late autumn ; and they spent it at Hamp- 
 ton Court. Cynthia walked boldly out of the house 
 without saying whither she was going, and telephoned 
 that she would not be in to lunch. This was Shaun 's 
 advice, acted upon desperately in order not to lose the 
 opportunity of Peter's leave. All day her cheeks were 
 pink, all day Peter's eyes followed her every move- 
 ment, worshipping. He lost their tram tickets and had 
 to buy others, the waiter gave him wrong change unre- 
 buked; it was an expensive outing. But what a back- 
 ground the grey walls of the palace and the old gardens 
 and the tapestries and weaponed halls made for his dar-
 
 206 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 ling! Those were happy hours of youth, and a happy 
 rush back on the outside of the tram in the chill breeze 
 of the evening, their hands clasping each other under 
 her great white muff. Cynthia had not really meant 
 to tell the truth if questioned, but she came in bold; 
 Lady Bremner, however, took it for granted she had 
 been at the Kempstons' and failed to comment, so the 
 opportunity for martyrdom was lost. Peter had gath- 
 ered something of the truth that day, and was puzzled 
 how Cynthia managed to keep on good terms with her 
 mother seeing the constant state of supervision in which 
 her life was passed. Shaun told him, "It is because 
 all is above board. Lady Bremner does not spy. She 
 doesn't make a confidante of her maid. She is not 
 mean. She annoys Cynthia in trifles without alienating 
 her affection." 
 
 Peter was inclined to want more, so Shaun who was 
 in a jealous mood barked at him, "Girls are different 
 from men, Peter!" and shut him up. The truth was 
 that silence and reserve had become so habitual with 
 both mother and daughter that it seemed well-nigh 
 impossible to break either into open mutiny or open 
 censure. Lady Bremner discovered that Rosemary had 
 not been at the Kempstons', but she never said a word.
 
 XXVII 
 
 CYNTHIA saw the Old Year out in Edinburgh and made 
 brisk resolutions. Her engagement had lasted twelve 
 months and was no nearer to recognition. Yet she felt 
 cheerful. ' ' Hope is the daughter of discontent and good 
 health," said Shaun, when she told him. Cynthia 
 pointed out that he was responsible to a large extent 
 for her confidence, and this was true. When Peter 
 was most despondent, Shaun remained optimistic con- 
 cerning the selling qualities of his work, exhorting him 
 not to be in a hurry. He replied now, "Keep your 
 resolve and wear your ring, Cynthia. That is the way 
 to help things on." In private, Shaun was disquieted 
 by the steadiness of the parents' opposition and the 
 excellent terms on which they lived with Cynthia. He 
 would have liked them made uncomfortable every hour 
 of the day by the sight of a declining, fading, pathetic 
 child. Cynthia had never looked better in her life. Or 
 they should have been attacked by means of constant 
 disobedience, quiet but open, in the form of refusal to 
 ignore the engagement and the claims of Peter upon the 
 girl's time. Not that he wished Cynthia to imitate the 
 insolence of so many modern daughters. He neither 
 desired this nor thought it possible. He had, though, 
 apparently overrated her fighting courage, or else under- 
 estimated the strength of her affection for her parents, 
 and he frankly admitted that Sir Everard was victor of 
 the first year's struggle. There was no earthly reason 
 why the latter should consent to an engagement of 
 whose existence he was never reminded, or make the 
 sacrifices necessary to provide Cynthia with an adequate 
 allowance while there remained any hope at all that she 
 would forget Peter. The father misjudged the girl's 
 
 207
 
 208 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 seriousness, just as he, Shaun, had failed to allow for 
 the lack of combativeness in her nature. 
 
 When Cynthia announced her intention of learning to 
 cook, "Any caprice but the fatal one!" spoke her 
 mother's eyes as she gave permission, which she did in 
 hasty retreat from the room. Her voice had said, 
 "Many young girls are beginning to learn, they tell 
 me." Cynthia could not help being amused when she 
 found that the pose of the moment had deprived her of 
 all appearance of rebellion! She was in the fashion 
 without intending it the consequence of four weeks 
 in Edinburgh among sensible people, who did not take 
 up new fads with sudden enthusiasm only to abandon 
 them with equal celerity. Smiling, she confessed defeat, 
 and learnt to cook Peter a seven-course dinner. Her 
 family made no remarks on her perseverance. 
 
 One evening Cynthia appeared at dinner with a 
 slender gold chain round her bare neck and disappearing 
 into the bosom of her dress. No notice was taken at 
 the time; but that night Lady Bremner came to her 
 room after she was in bed. The girl was wearing a 
 nightdress which was cut somewhat low, and again the 
 chain was visible. Acting on impulse she drew her ring 
 from its hiding-place and held it up. 
 
 "What would you and Daddy do if I wore that 
 always on my finger?" she asked, too nervously. 
 
 Lady Bremner had not really the faintest idea what 
 they would do, but she was quite certain that Daddy, 
 having once declared against the engagement, would be 
 immovable as a rock that was the conception she had 
 of her husband ; she was horrified at its being suggested 
 that he could change. She said firmly, "I am sure 
 Daddy would send you away, darling! He would send 
 you to Aunt Marjorie in India." The readiness of the 
 answer deceived Cynthia completely. Her eyes filled 
 with tears and the corners of her pretty mouth began 
 to droop. Lady Bremner kissed her hastily and fled, 
 conscious of a victory, possibly decisive. She had 
 indeed done much harm, as well as conquered any desire 
 on her daughter's part to rebel openly. Cynthia would
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 209 
 
 have loved to see India, she was extremely fond of her 
 aunt and uncle; but then she was much more fond of 
 Peter and Shaun and her parents, and to leave them all 
 for an indefinite period seemed to her an unbearable 
 prospect. She judged her father quite capable of execut- 
 ing the threat, and Alan would back him. She was still 
 on cool terms with Alan, who, since Miss Taliesin's 
 disappearance, had become more and more his father's 
 confidant. 
 
 Peter heard and groaned. Shaun heard and whistled. 
 Twenty years ago he would have interfered, for he was 
 not at all lacking in self-confidence; he could certainly 
 have made the situation clearer to Sir Everard than it 
 appeared to be at present. However he was over forty, 
 and reserved himself for a greater crisis. Peter 's groans 
 were stifled by being asked, unexpectedly, to the Coun- 
 tess of Kempston's small dance, at which Cynthia and 
 Phyllis were to be present, and not Lady Bremner; 
 Phyllis having good-naturedly procured him an invita- 
 tion by saying he could tango. Peter had three weeks 
 in which to acquire the art. After the first lesson he 
 would have called three months insufiicient! 
 
 A dance in Carlton House Terrace was a new experi- 
 ence for Peter. He realised from the moment of enter- 
 ing the ballroom that Cynthia was popular in society; 
 he found her surrounded by men, whom she dispersed 
 cleverly in order to greet him. The sight, which might 
 have stirred his blood, was humbling. Any one of these 
 men could have given her so much! He murmured it, 
 prefaced by an, ' ' I say, ' ' boyishly eager. She answered, 
 "So much that I do not want!" Then the daughter 
 of the house, a pale blonde who had a 'devotion' for 
 Phyllis, descended upon him and carried him off. 
 
 A hidden string band struck up magical 'Sourire 
 d'avril,' the only tune to which Lord Kempston could 
 dance, which therefore always opened the programme 
 at his house. A partner had not been found for Peter. 
 Phyllis flitting by, vivid in yellow and scarlet, nodded 
 and smiled. But Peter was looking for Cynthia. Here 
 she came, valsing in the old style most beautifully. He
 
 210 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 noticed now how she was dressed, admired her frock of 
 black and silver with a kind of gauzy jacket that floated 
 from her white arms as she circled. Her pretty slippers 
 were black and silver. They twinkled on the shining 
 floor. She vanished into the throng, her starry eyes 
 alight with youth and swift movement, a straight-backed, 
 willowy girl, with the loveliest arms and the slenderest 
 ankles in the world of girls. 
 
 The next was the dreaded tango, out of fashion, but 
 still the rage at Kempston House. Peter's partner was 
 more incompetent than himself and soon elected to 
 watch. Little Phyllis and a slender horse-faced man 
 like a knight at chess were the most conspicuous couple. 
 The girl at Peter's side remarked rather cattishly, "Miss 
 Peto told me tango was becoming to a flexible figure. 
 She said: 'So I tang!' She does, doesn't she?" It 
 was almost an epigram. To his surprise though why ? 
 Peter perceived Cynthia skilfully and gracefully per- 
 forming the difficult dance. "How little I know about 
 her everyday life!" he thought. "Now there's a girl 
 I really do admire!" said his partner, who prided her- 
 self on her quick observation. Peter withdrew into a 
 shell of small talk. 
 
 His dances with Cynthia were heaven; his struggles 
 with Phyllis, the reverse. She called it teaching him. 
 Phyllis was now a cynic, and informed him, "I shall 
 probably go to the bow-wows. ' ' She was huffed because 
 his denial lacked proper fervour, but suddenly changed 
 to sweetness and coaxing, "You don't really think I 
 shall, Peter ? ' ' He was honest in his reply, ' ' Of course 
 not!" Phyllis had kept up a kind of correspondence 
 with Peter, mostly on her side, seldom evincing a genuine 
 interest in him or his affairs ; and he could have named 
 her phases of a year. First, Koman Catholicism, with 
 the religion omitted; then yearnings, with bad poetry; 
 then a literary mania, during which she asked a thousand 
 questions about Shaun ("Cheek!" thought Peter), al- 
 ways referring to him exasperatingly as "Ye pathetic 
 Shaun ! ' ' Now it was cynicism. 
 
 This chance meeting with his darling suggested the
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 211 
 
 possibility of others, and accordingly Shaun procured 
 tickets for a Fancy Dress Revel which he thought Cyn- 
 thia might like to attend. The result was tragic. Lady 
 Bremner discovered that Peter was to be present and 
 imposed her veto on the entertainment at the last 
 moment because of the "queer people who might be 
 there." She promised that Cynthia's dress, 'Burne- 
 Jones,' should not be wasted, which did not console the 
 victim in the least. Cynthia dissolved into tears out- 
 right, like a child of ten. She was tired and overwrought 
 from a succession of entertainments; perception of 
 which assisted her mother to be firm. It was a fact 
 that the girl needed rest, and Lady Bremner was genu- 
 inely unconscious of not giving her the sympathy that 
 she needed more. 
 
 ' ' I thought my choice of costume would have disarmed 
 the woman, ' ' said Shaun. ' ' Could anything be more con- 
 ventional than Mephistopheles ? He must be a simple- 
 hearted ass who would wear that. ' ' 
 
 Peter grinned in spite of himself. "Nothing could 
 make you look a simple-hearted ass, Shaun. ' ' 
 
 ' ' So it appears. I am suspected of vulgar appropriate- 
 ness and a Faust is deduced. Through the indiscre- 
 tion of Phyllis Peto, no doubt! It will be a shame if 
 that girl does not engage herself to a midshipman, be- 
 cause the Banker will miss a priceless opportunity of 
 quoting from 'Peter Pan/ 'Me poor lad! Me innocent 
 little tarpaulin!' ' 
 
 On the night Phyllis denied the accusation warmly. 
 If she had given away the secret she had already forgot- 
 ten the fact. She was attired as a snake in scaly tights, 
 becoming to her lean grace of outline, Peter heard 
 her described as "a black-haired, slender, fine-limbed 
 young devil, pretty as they make 'em. ' ' He was wearing 
 a modest domino. Phyllis, surrounded by a group of 
 men, danced a solo dance and afterwards tied herself 
 into snaky knots on the floor. Two or three of the 
 spectators were the worse for drink and their comments, 
 free and easy and familiar, did not please her in the 
 least. However, it is impossible to look scornful or
 
 212 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 dignified on the floor with your ankles crossed behind 
 your neck and your hair coming down, which was Phyl- 
 lis 's condition when Shaun and Peter shoved their way 
 into the circle. She was beginning to be a little fright- 
 ened, for Phyllis was not really what an admirer had just 
 in a loud voice declared her to be, namely 'hot stuff'; 
 her extremely reckless looks and behaviour belying an 
 essential innocence. She was naughty, but not bad. 
 
 The scene, which was becoming unpleasant, was ended 
 by a large man in huntsman 's pink bursting through the 
 ring of spectators and picking her up in his arms as she 
 was, without waiting for her to undo herself, and bearing 
 his capture triumphantly away. Peter recognised him as 
 the occupant of the box on the night of his engagement, 
 and deduced from his present expression that the actress 
 he was then pursuing had ceased to interest him. 
 
 "That's the type of chap," said Shaun in his ear, 
 "who when he's ancient becomes an 'old buffer.' I like 
 him. I hope he will spank her, and that she will continue 
 to refuse him for the reason that he is twice her age. 
 He will take the greatest care of her, because she's a 
 lady and he loves her; but if she were not a lady and 
 he loved her he would take no care of her at all. ' ' 
 
 ' ' You know him, then ? ' ' asked Peter, innocently. 
 
 ' ' Not from Adam, ' ' replied Shaun. ' ' A landowner, I 
 should say. Major of cavalry. Yeomanry, of course. 
 Hearty fellow." 
 
 ' ' He is a landowner, ' ' said Peter, ' ' I think I remember 
 Cynthia telling me." When he came across Phyllis 
 next he tried to discover whether Shaun had guessed 
 right in regard to the stranger's majority. It seemed too 
 wonderful to Peter! But Phyllis neither knew nor 
 cared. "Oh, he's all right!" she dismissed the subject 
 with, rather consciously. As for warnings she would 
 have none of them. "Insult me!" she exclaimed, 
 "Let them dare. You are a silly boy, Peter. Because 
 you're engaged to a beauty you think you know every- 
 thing!" Peter retired, hurt. He had been deadly 
 shocked at Phyllis, much more so than Shaun, who al- 
 lowed pretty girls a bohemian latitude in behaviour,
 
 THE WINGS OP YOUTH 213 
 
 did not disapprove of tights, rather liked contortionists, 
 and called flirting good for the young. 
 
 Before leaving the hall Peter encountered Phyllis 
 again, and would have passed her by, but she insisted 
 on his being friendly as she called it, which meant that 
 he had to listen to all she knew about Mr. Adams for 
 this was the name of her rescuer his position, which 
 was excellent, and his not unamiable character. She 
 ended up with, "But I mustn't discuss him, Peter, 
 because he wants to marry me, and it wouldn't be 
 nice!" 
 
 "Girls lick everything!" Peter informed Shaun. 
 
 "Ahem! They aren't good subjects for generalisa- 
 tion," observed Shaun, drily. "I've told you that be- 
 fore." 
 
 ' ' She liked talking about him. I noticed that. ' ' 
 
 "Poor Adams! He is a major. I've found that out. 
 Now away to bed, Peter. ' ' 
 
 "I'm going to walk through Portman Square first. 
 Will you come?" 
 
 "Oh, youth!" But he came, and saw the dawn tint 
 the pavement in front of Cynthia's home. 
 
 A photograph of Phyllis, entitled A Society Girl as a 
 Serpent, appeared in one of her favourite sixpenny 
 weeklies, to the unspeakable horror of her aunt. The 
 paper asked for a portrait in evening dress, and got it. 
 This started Phyllis on a craze for notoriety, and she 
 went in wildly for flying, while her Major steadily lost 
 weight. At this time Cynthia and Peter began to meet 
 at Shaun 's rooms, a symptom of desperation. It came 
 out there one day that Laurence Man had discovered the 
 secret engagement. Cynthia revealed this innocently 
 in the course of conversation. 
 
 "How?" asked Shaun, before Peter could speak. 
 "Through the Revel. He saw I'd been crying, and 
 Mother told him why." 
 
 ' ' You are sure he did not know before ? ' ' 
 
 "Quite. Mother said he won't trouble me again." 
 
 Peter and Shaun glanced at each other. Shaun said :
 
 214 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "He knows you better than your parents do, Cynthia, 
 after all." 
 
 In a tone that gave no clue to her feelings, Cynthia 
 stated, "Mother was angry with me. She did not 
 understand Laurence. ' ' 
 
 "Come, now, let's have an end of this," said Shaun. 
 "Answer me a few questions, children, will you? and 
 then I'll make a speech. I've got to relieve my mind 
 somehow. ' ' 
 
 Peter saw that Cynthia's grey eyes were dewy. He 
 answered for her. ' ' Ask away, old Shaun. ' ' 
 
 "What is your income, Peter?" 
 
 "One hundred and twenty-five pounds, excluding 
 drawings. Not much, is it?" 
 
 ' ' I did not ask for comments. Private means ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Thirty pounds in the bank. ' ' 
 
 "Rich relatives?" 
 
 "None any good." 
 
 "I tell you I don't want your comments," barked 
 Shaun in his most irritated voice. "Rich rela- 
 tives?" 
 
 "I have one aunt, my father's sister Janet, who has 
 seven or eight hundred a year. She is a very clever 
 woman of business and made most of it herself on the 
 Stock Exchange. She spends very little, I believe. ' ' He 
 stopped short. 
 
 "Go on, you exasperating fellow. You mean she's 
 crabbed and hard-headed, and I can guess she did not 
 live on good terms with your father, whom she prob- 
 ably despised, but " 
 
 ' ' Oh, I say, not despised ! ' ' interrupted Peter. 
 
 " but I wish to know your own relations with her. 
 When did you see her last ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' When I was about three years old ! ' ' 
 
 "When did you last hear from her and from what 
 address ? ' ' 
 
 "She writes every Christmas from Bath, sends a 
 postal order for ten shillings and tells me to acknowledge 
 receipt on a post-card, as she can't be bothered reading 
 letters." Cynthia laughed irrepressibly ; and when she
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 215 
 
 rippled suddenly like that every single person in the 
 room had to join in. 
 
 "I don't know what we are all grinning about," said 
 Shaun at last. 
 
 " I 'm laughing at you, Shaun dear, ' ' she said. ' ' Your 
 fairy godmother is so badly cast! Peter was quite 
 right; now, wasn't he?" 
 
 "Quite right to love you. Not necessarily wise in 
 neglecting his rich aunt, Cynthia. ' ' 
 
 Peter protested: "What on earth can I do, Shaun? 
 She doesn't want to have anything to do with me. 
 She never answers my letters, and I 've given up writing 
 to her since Father died. She did not come to the 
 funeral. Aunt May arranged everything; and she died 
 soon after him and left her money to a hospital. ' ' 
 
 "Is Aunt Janet the only relation you've got?" 
 
 "Practically." 
 
 "Stand down, witness. My apologies for troubling 
 you ! A poor man with rich relations lives surrounded 
 by sword-points, which sometimes prick and sometimes 
 proffer cheques and sometimes do both simultaneously! 
 He acquires dexterity in removing the cheques un- 
 wounded, or arms himself with pride and stabs in return. 
 There's happiness in neither course; and yet one of 
 the most difficult things in the world is to stroke those 
 sword-points in order to learn which are blunted and 
 have no intention to injure, and which are needle-sharp ! 
 Cynthia, one question only for you. How much do you 
 think your people could allow you, and never miss it ? " 
 
 Cynthia did not know and said so. "I have not the 
 faintest idea, Shaun. I don't know what their income 
 is, even." 
 
 ' ' Couldn 't you ask, my dear child ? ' ' 
 
 "No," she said, "I couldn't, I'm afraid, Shaun." 
 
 Shaun detected Peter smiling at her encouragingly. 
 "Young ass!" he remarked, briefly. "She has a per- 
 fect right to know what expectations she has. ' ' 
 
 "I do not believe I have any!" exclaimed Cynthia. 
 
 "Your father's official income must be close upon 
 1,500 a year, and he lives at the rate of 2,500, 1 should
 
 216 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 say. There's a margin for private means. However, 
 we'll leave it. You would be aware if there was any 
 money already invested in your name, because the inter- 
 est would be coming in. What about reversions ? ' ' 
 
 "Reversions?" asked Cynthia, puzzled. 
 
 "Cynthia and I have talked all this out," said Peter, 
 "and we came to the conclusion that it was unlikely 
 she would inherit money except from her father and 
 mother. We do not think there is anything to be gained 
 by bothering them." 
 
 " 'Let well alone,' as the dog said when he decided 
 not to steal a steak off the live bullock. I know you 
 think I 'm a hopeless sort of a person, Peter. I retaliate 
 by gibes at your youth. I would take the last copper 
 from a blind child, myself, if I needed it to get married. 
 Don 't interrupt ! You may come to that yet ; you can 't 
 tell what Providence has in store for you. 'He's a 
 Character!' as my mother's old servant used to chuckle. 
 I was once a beautiful plant covered with a fresh green 
 foliage of illusions and flowering all the year round with 
 brightly-tinted ideals, lovely rose-coloured things. I 
 became a journalist, and withered. You are going to 
 be a journalist too, Peter ; and unless Providence bestows 
 upon you an independent income you may wither like- 
 wise. I don't advise you to meet withering halfway, but 
 I do recommend you to keep as much as possible out 
 of draughts!" 
 
 "You have not really withered, Shaun," said Cynthia, 
 quietly. "You have grown older, and Peter must, too. 
 I would face Father and Mother if I were strong enough, 
 but I 'm not. I 've tried and I give way when the critical 
 moment comes. Surely, it is better to own up. ' ' 
 
 "The girl's growing into a woman!" cried Shaun, 
 ruffling his hair. 
 
 "You see Lady Bremner is easily made ill " Peter 
 began to explain. 
 
 " I saw! Now I'll leave you to yourselves, while 
 I go downstairs and make tea. A tap precedes my 
 entry." 
 
 The conversation had not been quite fruitless. Shaun
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 217 
 
 dimly foresaw action which he might be called upon to 
 take to enable the boy he had grown fond of to wed this 
 girl he could not altogether cease from loving. A 
 train of thought had been set in motion. He caused 
 them to start apart, by letting slip a cup in the kitchen 
 below, long before tea was prepared. Which was odd, 
 for Shaun was seldom clumsy. And during the remain- 
 der of the evening he was inclined to be silent.
 
 XXVIII 
 
 A PEW weeks later, on a warm evening in early May, 
 Peter met Cynthia by appointment at the bridge over 
 the Serpentine. He was the first arrival, but contrary 
 to his wont did not start forward to welcome her when 
 he saw her approaching from Alexandra Gate. He stood 
 straight and still. 
 
 She had been light-hearted, with the careless joy of 
 youth in sunshine. Now she turned pale and seemed 
 to herself to falter as she drew near, for his soul was in 
 his eyes, and they were agonised. Her own were beau- 
 tiful. He could see nothing but her deep, compassionate 
 eyes. ' ' Tell me, Peter ! ' ' cried the sweet and clear voice 
 that he loved. ' ' Tell your friend, Peter ! Darling, what 
 is it ? " The pain that had held him as in a vice relaxed 
 at the sound ; it lifted, was gone, and left him free to 
 speak. 
 
 "Cynthia!" 
 
 "Peter, do tell me! You are not ill?" 
 
 "No, no. I am sorry. Oh, I've frightened you, my 
 own, my own ! Beautiful Girl ! That 's the right name 
 for you, sweet, sweet Cynthia ! ' ' 
 
 "I'd sooner be called just your dear chum. Please, 
 Peter, let me try to help ! ' ' 
 
 "It's these brutes of Directors of ours. They are 
 going to bring in a rule that none of us may marry until 
 he has 200 a year. From the Company, dear! Seven 
 years to wait, unless Laurence Man promotes me ! " 
 
 "I must walk on. Come with me, Peter. Surely 
 they won 't ; they can 't be so unreasonably cruel. They 
 must allow private means to count! You'll be making 
 200 the first year you start to sell your drawings. ' ' 
 
 218
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 219 
 
 "Perhaps, with my salary, but oh, Cynthia, they are 
 brutes; even though they allowed private incomes to 
 count and they may I could not mention that. They 
 don 't allow any clerk to engage in a trade or profession 
 outside the Office. Some do and are winked at. I 
 couldn 't, that 's certain ! ' ' 
 
 * ' Poor, poor Peter ! Yes, they are brutes, and I hate 
 them for what they do to you. I would like to tell them 
 so. At any rate they ought to have given longer no- 
 tice! When does the rule come into force? How was 
 it announced? Tell me everything." 
 
 "Laurence Man read it out to-day. I thought he 
 gave a sneering look at me as he finished. I don't know; 
 probably I'm wronging him. The order will date from 
 the end of next month, after which special dispensations 
 will only be given on the recommendation of the Manag- 
 ing Director, who '11 be him by that time, old girl ! Don 't 
 you see how hopeless it is ? His promotion is before the 
 Board now, and he's already acting in the higher capac- 
 ity. He'll never consent against your people's wishes. 
 It's hopeless! And rotten job though this is, I daren't 
 chuck a safe, regular salary and a pension and pros- 
 pects, too, if I were only given a chance! Even Shauii 
 advises against it. ' ' 
 
 They were passing the lodge in the centre of the park. 
 There was a pleasant view of fresh young grass, tall 
 English elms; and from the distance came the muffled 
 noise of traffic. A robin was piping his poignant-sweet 
 little song; it seemed to shake tears into Peter's heart. 
 He felt them tremble there and rise to his throat. Cyn- 
 thia 's elbow was touching his. He thrilled. They were 
 walking very slowly, entering upon the long path which 
 leads to Cumberland Gate. Suddenly she spoke, in an 
 odd voice, with her face turned away. She was glancing 
 down at the parasol she held in her right hand. 
 
 "It's not hopeless, Peter!" she said. 
 
 ' ' What do you mean ? ' ' 
 
 "It isn't hopeless, yet." She did not look at him. 
 
 "But how, dear?" 
 
 Cynthia stopped and faced him, holding the parasol
 
 220 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 in both hands, slender and upright and frank. "I'm 
 not afraid ! ' ' she said. 
 
 Peter flushed to his forehead. His plain countenance 
 became transfigured. He was the picture of astonish- 
 ment and joy. 
 
 "I'm not!" she repeated, growing pink. She was a 
 lovely lady in that moment; to him aureoled, to the 
 passer-by a very type of fair English girlhood, he was 
 a considerate passer and he hurried on. The man and 
 the girl neither saw nor heard him. It was as though 
 their souls hovered, questioning, in the air between 
 them. . . . 
 
 "My dear!" said Peter, coming back to himself, 
 "I'd love it. I'd give the world if I possessed it, just 
 for that. But could we live on two hundred? And if 
 we could, I have not got it ! I mustn 't ask you to marry 
 me now. ' ' 
 
 Her sad eyes darkened, suffused with tears. She said 
 firmly : ' ' Whatever you decide is right, my Peter. We 
 could live on two hundred, though. Trust me not to 
 be a spendthrift. I've learnt to cook. I would work, 
 make my own clothes. I 'm not afraid ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' But I suppose we could not possibly manage on 125 
 a year, and your people would never consent, would they, 
 Cynthia ? Oh, I long to, but I know we mustn 't. ' ' 
 
 "I would sooner be married, and tell Father and 
 Mother afterwards, ' ' said Cynthia, turning and walking 
 on. " I 'm not strong enough to fight against them. ' ' 
 
 Peter followed. "We could be married and go on 
 living as before," he argued, thoughtfully, "and an- 
 nounce it when we could afford to. The Great Company 
 doesn't know officially anything about my affairs, and 
 they couldn't object when they saw the date of the wed- 
 ding. It would be rough on your people, but it would 
 make them consent to our being engaged you know what 
 I mean. It wouldn't matter, then oh, what is it? I 
 mean they would have to make the best of it." 
 
 "That was what I thought of at once," said Cynthia, 
 in a quiet voice. "You don't think nue very horrid, do 
 you, Peter ? I feel rather ashamed, I don 't know why. ' '
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 221 
 
 "You couldn't be horrid. Did you think of it seri- 
 ously, then?" 
 
 ' ' I said I wasn 't afraid ! ' ' 
 
 "By Jove," said Peter, a new light breaking in on 
 him. He suddenly felt very cool and businesslike. "It's 
 a thing to consider, anyway ! ' ' 
 
 "And I must go in," said Cynthia. "Don't come any 
 further, Peter dear. Alan is dining at home to-night; 
 he might walk up inside the Park. It would only make 
 trouble if we met him. Good-bye, darling. Really you 
 must go back now." She spoke gravely. 
 
 Peter was grave as he replied, "We'll think it over 
 and write. I didn't know I could love you more, but I 
 do. ' ' There was a handclasp. Cynthia turned with a lit- 
 tle sobbing cry and walked quickly away. Dusk seemed 
 to fall upon the Park, and the air grew cold. When she 
 disappeared among the people passing in and out of the 
 gates, he felt a wrench at his heart like the grip of a 
 savage hand ; and as he moved towards the west a chilly 
 breeze struck his face and the last sunlight was fading 
 from the grass. But overhead the sky was clear, flushed 
 with pink that deepened to a rosy splendour as of dawn ; 
 and straightway Peter began to whistle.
 
 XXIX 
 
 SHAUN had been suffering from fits of morbidness, dur- 
 ing which he shut himself up and refused to see Peter. 
 They were not new, these 'bad moods' of his. About 
 once in every month for a space of two or three days he 
 became a prey to depression and secluded himself. The 
 fine, early spring appeared to have affected his nerves 
 unfavourably since frequently of late his door had been 
 closed to his friend. The novelist had warned Peter that 
 creative artists, from the nature of their endowment, 
 were peculiarly open to assaults of the senses upon the 
 imagination ; and he himself was an object-lesson in the 
 might of the assailant as he generally emerged from 
 these moods looking shrunk and battered. He rarely 
 slept until the attack was over, instead tramping all 
 night ; and he neither wrote nor read. In the daytime he 
 carpentered in an attic. 
 
 When Peter presented himself he saw that the climax 
 was successfully past Shaun was pale but beaming. 
 "Dear old Peter," he began, "I'm conscious I look like 
 a deboshed fish, out I'm my own man again, and rather 
 in love with life as a matter of fact! You may talk 
 about Cynthia for a full half-hour." 
 
 Peter responded by eloquence lasting without a break 
 for thirty-seven minutes by the clock on the mantelpiece. 
 
 "I was thinking of suggesting that you two should 
 let me announce the engagement in the Press and take 
 the responsibility with Papa," said Shaun. "Secret 
 marriages are all very well in their way, but the absence 
 of wedding presents is a fatal objection in my mercenary 
 eyes. ' ' 
 
 Peter did not smile upon the amendment. "Are the 
 
 222
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 223 
 
 Bremners the kind of people to be rushed ? " he inquired, 
 in a doubtful tone. 
 
 "I think, yes. I have always thought so. I grant 
 that Lady Bremner is obstinate, but I believe Sir 
 Everard to be capable of reason. Of course Lady 
 Bremner would take to her bed if opposed. To my mind 
 that 's your strongest argument for a fait accompli; and 
 it's the one you have not used. But will the Great 
 Company register you all as either married or single on 
 the date of bringing their rule into force ? That would 
 spike your guns, my friend." 
 
 "No, they aren't going to do that," Peter assured 
 him. "The rule is horribly unpopular and Man will 
 not do anything likely to make it more so. It's only 
 the marriages after that date which have got to be 
 sanctioned by the Directorate. I'm jolly sure they won't 
 ask any questions about what happens in the next few 
 weeks. All the men think that, and several are going 
 to get quietly married." 
 
 "Won't your chums find it odd that you never told 
 them you were married?" 
 
 "I don't see why. I never talk about my private 
 affairs, and I really haven't any chums, if it comes to 
 that." 
 
 "You'll let them imagine you were living with your 
 wife all the time. Is that the idea ? ' ' 
 
 "It doesn't matter what they think, Shaun. They 
 may not find out anything at all until quite a long time 
 after the marriage has become known to the Bremners' 
 friends. Laurence Man will know sooner than that, of 
 course, but he can't say anything if Cynthia's people 
 are friendly to us, can he?" 
 
 "How is he behaving now? You haven't mentioned 
 him lately." 
 
 "I haven't seen you since the Revel, I believe! Oh, 
 he's all right." 
 
 ' ' Peter, you seem to have thought this whole thing out 
 pretty carefully, and I'll tell you what I'll do: I won't 
 condemn your scheme offhand ! You and she had better 
 come here on Thursday and talk the proposal out. I
 
 224 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 shall have made up what I call my mind by then. 
 You've plenty of time in between to fix up an ap- 
 pointment with her. Send me a postcard." 
 
 Accordingly, soon after seven o'clock on Thursday 
 evening, Shaun was lying back in his big arm-chair; 
 having already guessed the decision at which his guests 
 had arrived. They were standing together by the 
 window in a spot where lingered the last sunshine. 
 As he looked on them he knew himself jealous, not for 
 the first time, of the splendour of their youth. Tall, 
 strong Peter was bending forward above the girl, who 
 stood with her rounded chin uptilted ever so little and 
 her hands clasped lightly in front of her. He was dis- 
 figured by his office coat, which in his haste he had 
 forgotten to change; it was tight across the shoulders, 
 concealing in place of suggesting his really fine muscular 
 development. But the enchanting girl was dressed so 
 as to display her beauty to the uttermost advantage. 
 
 Cynthia had attired herself for the evening, in order 
 to be able to stay till the last possible moment, and on 
 entering she had flung off her cloak. She wore a cling- 
 ing gown of delicate blue, embroidered with silvery 
 flowers, sleeveless, with straps of pearls; in accordance 
 with the fashion it outlined her slender, young body 
 and limbs. Its colour set off her dazzling white skin, 
 the frail rose of her cheeks, the carmine of her lips, 
 and the rich, brown masses of her hair, bound low above 
 wide, grey eyes. Out of a pardonable vanity she had 
 drawn off her gloves in the cab and her lovely arms and 
 graceful ivory shoulders were wholly bare save for the 
 two pearly bands; she wore no other jewels. Cynthia's 
 eyes were dancing, they were radiant and excited, but 
 when she glanced at Peter there was a steadfastness 
 in her look which told Shaun everything. 
 
 "Why isn't she for me?" Shaun asked himself, and 
 thought well-nigh grudgingly of fascinating, elf-like 
 Doris, his wife, who would have appeared plain by the 
 side of this brilliant girl. But her image grew in his 
 heart ; and, in place of disparagement, he felt a flood of 
 tears rise suddenly and the old, helpless pain return.
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 225 
 
 "I love her," he knew. "When I imagined I cared for 
 Cynthia I was only searching, searching for lost Doris, 
 like a child groping in the dark for his mother who is 
 gone away. I was pathetic, because I would not face 
 my tragedy." The last trace of his romantic passion 
 for Cynthia vanished in that instant of self-knowledge. 
 He never forgot again that he was lonely. Memories 
 haunted him until the end. 
 
 Aloud he said, "Those who have once loved cannot 
 cease to love, you happy children! Remember before 
 it is too late." 
 
 "It is too late," said Cynthia. 
 
 "If one of you be taken, there is Life for the dead 
 lover, we believe ; but for the living only work with- 
 out comfort, and empty days of waiting and bitter nights 
 of despair." 
 
 "It is worth while, Shaun," answered Peter, taking 
 her hands. 
 
 "Yes, it is worth it a thousand times, a myriad mil- 
 lion times, as much as God Himself is worthy! All 
 who've ever cared for a woman know that He gives 
 Love. Swear that you'll so love each other, Peter and 
 Cynthia!" 
 
 "I do ! " they cried, with one voice, ringingly. 
 
 "Then your spirits are wedded, for I am an artist 
 speaking truth in the presence of God. Get on with 
 your Church ceremony when you please. Leave me 
 to settle up with your parents, or keep it dark that's 
 for yourselves to decide. I 've thought things over. I 'm 
 not speaking hastily. I'm responsible for the advice I 
 give. Don't make up your minds here. Think things 
 over separately and remember my cynicism as well as 
 my emotion! You can't afford to live together yet, in 
 my opinion. In your place I'd be patient as to that. 
 But the Great Company is forcing your hands and per- 
 haps it would be well to be married." He was silent, 
 sitting crumpled in his chair, with burning eyes. They 
 waited, now side by side in front of him, glancing at 
 each other awestruck. After a little he said, ' ' The joy- 
 ful years are those in which you are finding yourself,
 
 226 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 children; the years when love is teaching your soul to 
 fly ; when you are striving and struggling and making a 
 fool of yourself and learning; the time of development 
 that comes after physical growth, that leads from man- 
 hood and womanhood to maturity. Those are the joyful 
 years." 
 
 "And aren't the years after?" asked Cynthia, wist- 
 fully. 
 
 "Then you are free to do your work in the world 
 and to help others. No, joy goes, but happiness comes 
 instead." He stood up, and said with abruptness, "Let 
 yourselves out when you go. Do not disturb me!" and 
 passed into the inner room; from which, through the 
 closed and locked door, came after a little time the sound 
 of stifled sobbing.
 
 XXX 
 
 FOUR weeks, during which Peter did not once meet 
 Cynthia, had dragged slowly away, and they were to be 
 married before the Registrar in the morning. Peter had 
 overcome his agonies of shyness and faced that official ; 
 he had made the very simple arrangements necessary 
 and been surprised at their simplicity; he had plunged 
 boldly into a jeweller's on Netting Hill and bought the 
 ring; he had lived in a trance at the office, walked the 
 streets without being aware of the pavement under his 
 feet, suffered Shaun's almost womanly tenderness 
 towards him with a certain amount of embarrassment, 
 and blushed hotly at every mention of Cynthia's name. 
 Now he was upon the back of a roaring monster, speed- 
 ing, dragon-borne, through dark London streets. The 
 motor- 'bus was as unreal as the phenomena of his own 
 existence, or the picture of Cynthia in his memory. He 
 could not believe it existed in the same dimension as 
 himself. Nothing did except the knowledge of his love, 
 and that came seldom close. It concealed itself per- 
 petually round the corner and peeped ; a solitary fact in 
 a world of shadows, more actual, however, than the Be- 
 loved herself, who in his thoughts often appeared a 
 stranger. It seemed extraordinary that he was going 
 to link his life to that of a beautiful girl stepping out 
 of a dream. The name 'Cynthia' might have been that 
 of a romantic Princess whom he was wedding from lofty 
 reasons of state, so secluded was she from his con- 
 sciousness, so intrusive seemed this bursting in upon 
 her and claiming her as his own. He could have found it 
 in his heart to pity her had it not been that in his waking 
 life he knew they loved. Sometimes, ah, sometimes, 
 she came close and looked at him with the eyes of the 
 
 227
 
 228 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 soul, deep and starry and grey, and then he knew 
 rapture. But it was not the rapture of earth. A lyric 
 of Shaun James, written many years ago during the 
 novelist's boyhood, expressed this aloofness to Peter's 
 mind. 
 
 "I have a dream, so piercing sweet, 
 Of One that lieth at my feet: 
 Her face, her form I cannot tell, 
 And yet I know I love her well. 
 
 Her voice is distant like the sea; 
 It draws the soul away from me, 
 And when I wake and am alone 
 I know to whom my soul is gone. ' ' 
 
 That he was not disturbed by the sense of distance 
 between them, was a convincing proof of his love. Yes, 
 it certainly was. He recognised this. But what might 
 she not be suffering now from a similar feeling? She 
 might not have discovered the same consolation. 
 
 The 'bus was clearing a way for itself through a 
 crowded East-end thoroughfare, along a line of barrows 
 lit by flares. "What do I know about girls, or how 
 to take care of them?" Peter asked himself. "I'm 
 such an ignorant sort of chap." The thought shaped 
 itself into a prayer. "Please God, help me to help 
 Cynthia. Help me to find out how to do it." Im- 
 mediately he was thrilled with so strong a sense of her 
 nearness that she might have been seated at his side. 
 His heart went up in a flame of thanks to Almighty 
 God. 
 
 Cynthia sat in a little rose-and-white boudoir that 
 Lady Bremner had furnished for her next to her bed- 
 room. She often spent an hour or so there before 
 going to bed. From where she was lying in an easy- 
 chair, her head against a cushion, thick hair loose, hands 
 clasped behind her neck, she could see a reflection of 
 her bare-armed, bare-throated beauty in a mirror which 
 hung upon the wall. Idly she admired her rest-gown 
 of shell-pink silk through which her shoulders gleamed
 
 THE WINGS OF YOUTH 229 
 
 white and satiny, and "I know he likes my hair," she 
 thought. "I wish there were something to like about 
 me besides my looks. I'm dreadfully unworthy of 
 Peter." She rose with a motion full of the grace 
 which comes from supple strength, and went and stood 
 in front of the glass, stretching out her arms. "It's 
 nice to be beautiful, when one's loved," she thought. 
 "One has more to give. I won't be a drag on him for 
 clothes. I've got more things than I can wear out in 
 twenty years. I wish we could have a home and be 
 married properly; Peter frets so at the waiting. He 
 isn't like me, just happy with being loved. Poor Peter 
 of mine! He has all the worst part, all the anxiety 
 and the hardships. I should like to be married properly 
 if it were only to be able to share them. Somehow 
 it isn't possible to think of what's going to happen to- 
 morrow as marriage! Shaun would laugh, and say I 
 wanted a trousseau and bridesmaids, but it isn't that, 
 it's Daddy and Mummy there and being kind that I 
 want! I should have thought I would be the last girl 
 in the world to marry secretly at a registrar's, it seems 
 much more characteristic of Phyllis, and yet here it is, 
 going to happen! This is a queer world, and you are 
 not very clever, silly Cynthia, or you would have found 
 it out before. I'm sure the books all say so." 
 
 She glided to the door and opened it, passed into the 
 bedroom. "I shall brush my hair myself," she decided. 
 ' ' It would be a shame to fetch back Marie now. Eleven 
 o'clock! Your last night as Miss Bremner, Cynthia. 
 To-morrow I shall be Mrs. Middleton! Oh, my dear 
 girl, I can hardly believe it. I wish I had a sister; 
 it's dull talking to oneself on such an occasion! I feel 
 horribly queer and excited." 
 
 She had slipped off the rest-gown. Her pretty white 
 feet shone on the soft black rug by the side of the bed. 
 She was slender and fair as she stood upright for a 
 moment before stooping to the night-dress laid out upon 
 the coverlet. She put it on, and whilst its folds were 
 still in the act of falling dropped suddenly on her knees 
 and buried her head in her hands, shaking her hair over
 
 230 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 them and over her face; and her body quivered. "If 
 it were that, to-morrow," she was thinking, "should I 
 be afraid? Oh, Peter, Peter, bear with the stupid 
 girl who loves you, and when the time comes, let her be 
 a little afraid! Peter, I do love you!" Her agitation 
 subsided ; and now, like Peter, she was praying.
 
 PART TWO 
 TRANSFORMATION
 
 PART TWO 
 TRANSFORMATION 
 
 ". . . // the love be false and the wings waxen, great 
 is the fall and youth lies shattered. But if the love be 
 of the spirit, then under the hot sun youth undergoes a 
 wondrous change, passing into maturity without descend- 
 ing to the gross earth; and its flight becomes ever more 
 strong, for such winged youth is deathless. ' ' SH. JAMES. 
 
 THE marriage was to take place at half past eight. 
 Peter woke at five, and by eight o'clock he was pacing 
 up and down in front of the district register office. 
 He gazed at the uninspiring building with wonder at 
 its power. Here was to be brought to pass quite simply 
 and easily what had seemed impossible during a year 
 and a half. Here he was to be married to Cynthia! 
 Little mattered the exterior of the place in the circum- 
 stances. He wished himself it had been a church, though 
 Cynthia had not minded. The religion of all the 
 Bremners save Alan, who was keen on forms and cere- 
 monies, was eminently tolerant: it was another proof 
 of her wonderfulness that she had not been shocked at 
 the idea of marriage before a registrar. Peter halted 
 in his promenade in order to admire. She had con- 
 fessed honestly that she would miss the bridesmaids and 
 music and crowds and excitement. And though she 
 had not said it, how lonely she would feel this morning, 
 leaving her home secretly, all by herself! Without 
 even a girl chum to go with her. She was brave ! How 
 plucky she was! He had not realised the magnitude 
 of what she was doing for him. No girl was fonder of 
 
 232
 
 234 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 her people. It must be agony for her to leave them. 
 His darling! His poor darling! . . . 
 
 "Steady there!" said a voice behind, and Shaun 
 slipped an arm into his and gently drew him away. 
 "I did not expect to find the bridegroom performing 
 balancing feats on the outer edge of the kerb and 
 grimacing like a sick monkey! If you are worrying 
 about Cynthia, stop it at once. "Women are much 
 more sensible than men except when they 're mad. Most 
 are mad, but Cynthia is an exception. She '11 arrive sane 
 and cheerful, all her little weeps and grimaces over at 
 home in order not to distress Peter. Bless her ! She knows 
 what she's doing, old ass. Come and be ginned up!" 
 
 "No, really! I won't have a drink, thanks. I only 
 remembered what a tremendous thing she was doing 
 in consenting to this." 
 
 "My remarks still stand, Peter. Here's my wedding 
 present to you both. Shove it in your pocket, don't 
 look at it now; it's only a letter! Mr. and Mrs. Trerice 
 have a small, farm between Roughtor and Brown Willy 
 on the Cornish moorland. They are the best people 
 in the world, and can make you uncommonly comfort- 
 able at a few hours' notice. No one goes there but me, 
 so you only need to wire, and stay as long as you care 
 to! I pay the bill, see? No thanks, if you please; 
 not a thank ! I 'm honestly relieved that I 'm not going 
 there with Cynthia myself liar! We should never 
 have suited. Now don't you feel bound to go to Corn- 
 wall if you don't want to when the time comes. May 
 that be soon, by the way! Here she is! ... No, it's 
 the registrar ! Shall we keep his taxi ? Is it quicker to 
 drive to the City than to go by tube? I'll pay. This 
 is my funeral." 
 
 "Tube is quicker," decided Peter. 
 
 "All right. No, we don't want you, driver! I've 
 sold a drawing, Peter just to encourage you and to 
 make the sun shine. Pity it's such a dull morning! 
 Here she is ! Early, too. Cream coat and skirt, my boy. 
 Come on, don't be shy; you must go to meet her. I 
 walk in the wrong direction bye-bye!"
 
 TRANSFORMATION 235 
 
 Peter found himself alone, heard through the throb- 
 bing in his ears the sound of Shaun's retreating foot- 
 steps they were irregular and excited, a kind of hop, 
 skip and jump and hurried toward her. The stars in 
 her lovely eyes were sparkling, her dimples played bo- 
 peep. He caught a glimpse of pretty white teeth between 
 the smiling lips. Who was this beauty stepping so 
 lightly and freely, who was this fair young English girl 
 approaching him? She was wearing a small blue hat, 
 and on her breast where the coat was open below her 
 white exposed throat was a bunch of nodding sweet 
 peas, blue and pink, fresh as a dewy morning. Her 
 hair shone coppery against the dark lining of her hat. 
 He knew the rounded chin, those adorably curving lips, 
 the childishness of the smooth oval of the cheeks and 
 their frail glow that came and went; her eyes, wide 
 apart, full of a dancing comprehension under long 
 lashes ; the rich hair waved above ; her indescribable look 
 of fragrance, all her dainty girlhood and compelling 
 womanhood ; but not till she had spoken, saying quietly 
 his name, did he feel that she was Cynthia, his darling ! 
 Then when he held out both hands, dazed no longer, 
 she laughed and shook her head. 
 
 "I'm not yours till afterwards!" she cried, taking 
 from the pocket of her coat a veil. "I must put this 
 on. I ran so quickly that there was not time!" 
 
 "I love you," he said. 
 
 ' ' I gathered so ! " she smiled, and melted to a madonna 
 look. She had unfolded the veil; and now, lifting her 
 elbows, with busy fingers behind her head she grace- 
 fully tied it, and arranged the front with quick deft 
 pats of the hand. ' ' Is that right ? ' ' she asked. ' ' It must 
 do." 
 
 "I like you in a white veil!" Peter worshipped. Her 
 colour deepened to scarlet. 
 
 Shaun's voice came, over the bridegroom's shoulder. 
 "Good morning, dear chum! In a boys' magazine long 
 since defunct but of the highest value during its brief 
 existence, edited by the late G. A. Henty and entitled 
 The Union Jack, there was a short story containing a
 
 236 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 detective who made use of an admirable catch-phrase, 
 'Why waste time? That's the p'int!' : 
 
 "We're early, Shaun," said Cynthia, hesitatingly. 
 "Ought we to go in?" 
 
 ' ' The doors stand open. The enchanter waits within. ' ' 
 
 She did not move. The two men stared in astonish- 
 ment. ' ' Peter, I 'm rather frightened ! ' ' suddenly she cried. 
 
 White-faced, he stammered, "Go back, go back, dear, 
 if you wish ! ' ' 
 
 "No, no, no, I don't wish! I'm only nervous. Peter! 
 My poor Peter!" She clung to his arm, in despair. 
 Shaun glanced about him. Luckily the street was 
 empty. "Children, don't be foolish! Give her your 
 arm, Peter, and follow me." He led the way into the 
 building, without looking round. 
 
 In an inner office he found the bearded Superintendent 
 Registrar the man who had arrived in the taxi at- 
 tended by a deferential Registrar of Marriages. The 
 one was seated at a desk with a long narrow volume 
 open in front of him, the other was hovering with 
 documents. "Miss Bremner and Mr. Middleton!" an- 
 nounced Shaun, trusting to goodness that his charges 
 were really there. He wheeled, and with a sigh of re- 
 lief saw them in the doorway. Cynthia regained her 
 self-possession in the presence of the strangers and man- 
 aged to return their greetings with her pretty air of 
 dignity, but Peter's voice trembled still. A second wit- 
 ness was summoned by the Superintendent through a 
 speaking-tube; none of the three could afterwards re- 
 call his entrance into the room. 
 
 Then the Registrar of Marriages administered the 
 declaration to Peter. "I do solemnly declare . . . that 
 I know not ... of any lawful impediment . . . why I, 
 Peter Middleton . . . may not be joined in matri- 
 mony ... to Cynthia Rosemary Bremner." Cynthia's 
 turn came. Her speaking voice was exquisite as her- 
 self, lovelier far than her singing voice; very clear and 
 young and ringing it sounded in the dark office. The 
 Registrar looked at Peter again, "I call upon these 
 persons here present," he said with less haste and more
 
 TRANSFORMATION 237 
 
 careful articulation; "I call upon these persons here 
 present," Peter earnestly repeated after him ... "to 
 witness that I, Peter Middleton," "to witness that I, 
 Peter Middleton," . . . "do take thee, Cynthia Rose- 
 mary Bremner" "do take thee, Cynthia Rosemary 
 Bremner," . . . "to be my lawful wedded wife," "to 
 be my lawful wedded wife." And Shaun forgot the 
 ring, which was in his pocket. He passed it hurriedly 
 to Peter as the Registrar turned to Cynthia. "I call 
 upon these persons here present ..." Peter caught her 
 hand and pressed the ring on to the wrong finger. 
 Cynthia murmured, "I call upon these persons here 
 present," gently drawing off the ring, detaining his 
 hand, and making him understand by offering ring and 
 ring-finger. "There's presence of mind for you!" 
 thought Shaun, admiringly, for the Registrar went on 
 unconscious of what was passing below his line of vision ; 
 he was standing facing them behind the desk, reading 
 the oath from a printed card. 
 
 "Well done!" said Shaun, when it was over. 
 
 "Will you kindly sign the Registrar, Mrs. Middle- 
 ton?" said the old Superintendent with the tone of 
 an actor who had never failed to get his effect from that 
 particular line. Cynthia started; Shaun saw that he 
 had let slip an opportunity; Peter grew redder, if that 
 were possible. "We wish you both every happiness." 
 There were murmurs of thanks and the scratching of 
 pens. Shaun took charge of the certificate. "I suppose 
 with you gentlemen reticence is a professional habit," 
 he said, addressing himself to the older man, whose beard 
 he now perceived to be almost white. He had been 
 under the impression before that it was dark. 
 
 "Certainly," was the answer. "I never gossip." 
 
 "We were sure of that," said Cynthia, as a princess 
 might have spoken. 
 
 Shaun shook hands with the two Registrars warmly. 
 "I knew it!" he said. "I meant no offence. Write 
 me down an ass!" 
 
 "I can more easily consider you a great author, sir!" 
 said the old gentleman politely.
 
 238 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "A reader!" cried Shaun. "Come to my arms! 
 But forget me as soon as I get out of the door." 
 
 "I will try to do so. Mrs. Middleton, our duty 
 this morning has been a pleasure." 
 
 "Thank you!" said Cynthia, charmingly. There was 
 quite a chorus of farewells. Peter came to himself and 
 joined in them. Outside, he glanced at the girl in 
 wonderment. It seemed almost a desecration that he 
 should be the husband of this slender piece of loveliness, 
 this delicately civilised young person. He was conscious 
 of looking clumsy and savage beside her. Again his 
 emotional excitement made him feel aloof the word 
 defines his condition of mind, which was distinct from 
 shyness or any sense of separation. He enjoyed her as 
 a picture, aided by this curious mental detachment. 
 Never before had he so vividly realised her decorative 
 quality, how ornamental she was; his recent artistic 
 study helped him to imagine for the first time the 
 pleasure which such a girl must find in clothes. He 
 approved the resentment which society must feel 
 towards the poverty-stricken husband of a beauty. He 
 did more than understand, he shared it; and the artist 
 in him blamed the man. 
 
 As they marched rapidly to the tube station Shaun 
 talked with apparent inconsequentiality and actual con- 
 centration of purpose. He wanted to make Cynthia 
 laugh and to restore Peter his naturalness before the 
 imminent public parting. He was pitying the youngsters 
 from the bottom of his heart. The situation was 
 humiliating for the boy and painfully unpleasant for 
 the girl. Moreover he had partially read Peter's glances 
 and imagined him overcome with self-reproach, which 
 was far from being the case. The painter in the bride- 
 groom had registered a protest, whose justice the rest 
 of his nature admitted; but the man was loving and 
 claiming his wife all the time he walked silent by her 
 side. Excitement had developed Peter to the extent of 
 rendering him capable of duality. For the moment he 
 had ceased to be simple, without losing his strength. 
 
 When they reached the buff-coloured entrance with
 
 TRANSFORMATION 239 
 
 the narrow sign, UNDERGROUND, projecting above it, 
 Shaun said: "Good-bye, children, that 'bus will do for 
 me." But he stayed conversing and the 'bus went by. 
 
 ' ' I shall be late, ' ' said Peter, presently. He had begun 
 to fidget. 
 
 "Only tell me this," said Shaun. "Could either of 
 you describe the officials or the room? Did you notice 
 wall-paper or complexions or furniture or clothes? I 
 want to know for my work's sake." 
 
 "There was a tray on the desk with a whole lot of pens 
 on it," said Peter, vaguely. "That's all I remember! 
 Didn't we go up a lot of steps to enter the building?" 
 
 "Two," said Shaun. "Now, Cynthia!" 
 
 "I remember a dear old gentleman in dark grey with 
 a white beard. Oh, and he had a collar turned down 
 square at the points you know what I mean and a 
 navy blue tie. Hadn 't the other man a black moustache 
 and a big-jawed kind of look, like Rudyard Kipling? I 
 was much too alarmed to look at the furniture, but there 
 was a calendar on the wall behind the older man 's head. 
 He wasn't bald and his hair stood up against it!" 
 
 "Go up top," said Shaun, running round her to pur- 
 sue another 'bus. "Bless you both," was borne on the 
 winds towards them as they wheeled to look after him. 
 He leapt, caught at the rail, waved his arm in a gesture 
 conveying exultation and farewell, and darted inside. 
 The 1)us receded, disappeared. 
 
 Suddenly they felt an intolerable loneliness. They 
 belonged to each other and to no one else. They were 
 two waifs, alone in the world, homeless. Cynthia sig- 
 nalled to another 'bus. Separation was an agony, but 
 she feared that rising in her throat. . . . "For Peter's 
 sake. Oh, God, help me to be brave!" . . . She smiled 
 faintly. Peter muttered something, hurried away. The 
 'bus was slowing, the conductor held out his arm, mean- 
 ing to make the pretty girl mount running. She ran, 
 and baffled him by the agility of the leap which carried 
 her past his outstretched arm. She flew up the steps 
 without giving him opportunity to touch her. When she 
 looked round at the top Peter was gone. Seating her-
 
 240 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 self, she caught sight of her ring with a shock of terror 
 and hastily dragged it off. If she had forgotten 
 that! . . . "Peter, Peter, Peter, I want you so! It is 
 sweet to be yours at last. Oh, my own Peter, if you 
 knew how I love to belong to you ! " . . . 
 
 Home was strange; but her absence had gone un- 
 noticed. Her parents had chosen to breakfast in their 
 room. She thanked Providence for saving her from 
 the lie that she had ready, and discovered that she was 
 hungry. So she sent her things upstairs and sat down 
 behind the tea and coffee urns, trying to imagine Peter 
 at the opposite end of the table. When she was left 
 alone she slid her hand into the opening of her blouse 
 and drew out cautiously, with timid glances behind at 
 every sound, the thin gold chain she wore, and added to 
 it the circlet from her pocket, and slipped it in again. 
 Then as she felt the unwonted chill and lumpiness of two 
 rings nestling together between her breasts against the 
 soft bare skin under shelter of lace camisole and ninon 
 and scented sweet peas, she laughed out loud a peal of 
 childish laughter, and laughed again and again. "It 
 isn't every girl who wears both engagement and wedding 
 rings round her neck," she thought, overcome by the 
 ludicrousness of the idea. And then all at once she be- 
 came grave and sat meditative; no longer a girl, but 
 a very beautiful woman. 
 
 Peter arrived at the office three minutes late. "Missed 
 your train, Middleton?" blandly inquired the High 
 Official who guarded the attendance-book. He knew 
 perfectly well that Peter made the journey by tube, so 
 that this was the one excuse which was not available. 
 
 "I'm very sorry to be late, sir," answered Peter, who 
 would have been wiser had he satisfied Mr. Martin's 
 curiosity by inventing a chapter of accidents. Resent- 
 ment of the trap apparently laid for his unwariness 
 caused him to be gruff, which was another mistake. His 
 cue was to be alarmed and apologetic and voluble. 
 
 "Try not to be late, Middleton ! " said Mr. Martin with 
 elaborate gentleness. He meant: "Do not add the
 
 TRANSFORMATION 241 
 
 insult of a sullen demeanour towards your superior to 
 the offence of defrauding the Great Company of three 
 minutes of time which they have paid for! Cultivate 
 tact, as I do. Love, honour, and obey all High 
 Officials. Fear the Managing Director. Always answer 
 as you are expected to answer. Beware of independence 
 of mind. Young man, I begin to suspect you ! My feel- 
 ings are hurt because you did not understand the subtle 
 rebuke contained in my question about your train. I 
 am aggrieved, and I will pay you out for it." Accord- 
 ingly when Peter returned to ask where he was to work, 
 as his name did not appear in the usual place, Mr. 
 Martin, parting his thin lips, breathed in a benignant 
 manner the name of Mr. Lemon, "who commenced the 
 morning with a heavy day's work to dispose of, so you 
 had better hasten to Department B, Middleton ! ' ' 
 
 Cynthia was forgotten. Peter had been upon the 
 mountain tops, and the atmosphere of the Great Com- 
 pany enveloped him like a thick mist. He concentrated 
 his faculties on making a safe descent. "All the same 
 Brown has a great deal more to do than Lemon," he 
 thought. "Oh, lor, this place! I set my large flat foot 
 in it when I offended Martin ! Going to that old fiend 
 with a black mark against me means a jolly unpleasant 
 day. I won't think of anything but the work until I 
 get away." An excellent resolution, but not so easy 
 to keep when one has been married only one hour. 
 However, Peter's motto was, "Dogged does it." 
 
 "Come to join you, sir," he said as he entered a small 
 room the Great Company's offices consisting of a very 
 large number of intercommunicating small rooms, each 
 containing a separate department, amongst which the 
 staff was distributed as necessity arose and found him- 
 self in the presence of a large, clean-shaven man, with a 
 handsome, beaked, dead-white face, who was seated at a 
 roll-top desk by the window. This was' ' The Infamous John 
 Lemon," as Semple had christened him after the name 
 of a novel he had read ; a sneak, a liar, and a hypocrite ; 
 a drug-taker ; who was supporting a woman to whom he 
 was not married and for whom he was making provision
 
 242 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 by a determined series of self-sacrifices which came to 
 light three months later when he shot himself in the 
 lavatory of Department B. It was known to the staff 
 that "Infamous John" had a mistress. The existence of 
 a virtue in him remained unsuspected until he was dead. 
 
 "Come to join the busy B's?" rumbled Mr. Lemon, 
 opening a mouth like a fish's, and beaming with false 
 jocularity upon Peter. "Now we can look the whole 
 hive in the face. Make honey under Mulholland, my 
 dear Mr. Middleton! Make much honey!" 
 
 Peter disposed of his cap, and crossed the room to 
 a double row of desks topped by brass rails. Mulholland 
 was beckoning from the second row, the ' Cons. ' O 'Brien, 
 the countryman, instructor of youth in the domestic 
 habits of field-mice, was the only friend in sight. He 
 was in the middle of the ' Pros. ' Blotter was flattening 
 himself upon the second desk of the 'Cons': he was a 
 picture of industry, with tongue out and elbow working 
 convulsively as he wrote. The appalling Kilworth, a dis- 
 solute young man with a remarkable memory for dirty 
 stories and rhymes, was No. 3. Peter took his place as 
 No. 4, and Mulholland immediately came round to him. 
 
 "For the Lord's sake, Middleton, get on with it!" he 
 whispered. "We're behind already; from yesterday. 
 How Lemon expects me to keep things going I don't 
 know. That fellow Blotter they make such a fuss about 
 is little better than a shirk, and your neighbour is 
 worse. Dig into the contents of that basket, old man! 
 I rely on you to pull us through!" 
 
 That was the way to talk to Peter Middleton. He 
 dug furiously and cleared the basket in an hour, which 
 was quicker than Mulholland himself could have done 
 it a senior man drawing twice his salary. Like every- 
 one else outside the ranks of the High Officials he had 
 the greatest admiration and liking for Mulholland, who 
 was a gentleman, a famous amateur boxer, and a first- 
 rate man at his job, though now broken down through 
 ten years of subordination to 'Infamous John.' He 
 had seen himself passed over for promotion again and 
 again, had been spied upon, subjected to petty insult.
 
 TRANSFOEMATION 243 
 
 "He was too straight," the clerks said. He was. He 
 had differed in policy from Laurence Man, and told 
 Mr. Lemon the truth about himself. 
 
 Mr. Lemon retired about eleven o 'clock, and a babble 
 of conversation broke out. 
 
 "Shut up, you chaps!" said Mulholland. "The very 
 walls have ears here. Get on with the work, please." 
 
 "What's the origin of 'Pro' and 'Con'?" O'Brien 
 was asking in front. No one knew. He turned to 
 inquire of Mulholland. 
 
 "I daresay they knew a hundred years ago. I don't." 
 
 Kilworth began to chant: 
 
 "There was an old Bishop of Birmingham ..." 
 
 ' ' Shut up ! " said Mulholland. ' ' Not while I 'm here. ' ' 
 
 Blotter was arguing with a New Entrant, a rosy, 
 chubby-faced boy. "If we don't like it, why do we 
 stay?" he was demanding with the air of one giving 
 a triumphant display of intelligence. Mulholland inter- 
 posed "Because we are prisoners of our own folly or 
 greed or cowardice, I imagine," said he. "A few fel- 
 lows who have ties of marriage or filial affection might 
 be called prisoners of honour. Now you know, you 
 can get on with the work, Blotter. You're beastly 
 slow!" Blotter looked hurt. 
 
 Then Mulholland went to Peter. "Ledger Six wasn't 
 posted yesterday. I wish you'd do that for us next." 
 
 "What's the good of the thing?" grumbled Peter. 
 "All right. I suppose it must be done." A Ledger 
 Six was ordered to be kept in every office of the Great 
 Company as a duplicate record of the more important 
 transactions of the day. These ledgers were collected 
 every evening and wheeled across the street on a truck 
 to the Safe Deposit opposite. During a hundred and 
 fifty years there had been no fire in the buildings oc- 
 cupied by the Great Company and not a single Ledger 
 Six had ever been required for reference, which was 
 fortunate, as many of them were empty and certainly 
 not one properly posted. In fact, Ledger Six was a
 
 244 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 solemn farce. No High Official dreamed of opening 
 or checking one, and Ledger Six was the only book in 
 the office in which it was safe for a bad writer to work 
 rapidly. No clerk had ever been 'downed' on the evi- 
 dence of Ledger Six, not even by Mr. Lemon, with 
 whom it was a positive pleasure to get men into trouble. 
 Peter collected the slips and moved to the green-covered 
 book marked 'Six.' 
 
 ' ' Hullo, it 's a new one ! " he said. 
 
 "Three days old," said Mulholland. "They issued 
 new books all round, I believe. Be as quick as you can, 
 Peter, old man." 
 
 Blotter had opened the ledger, and had evidently made 
 it an excuse for 'hanging on,' for the entries were in 
 beautiful copperplate. Peter ran his eye down the 
 page and guessed that they would not bear close ex- 
 amination as to accuracy; still, regarded as an exercise 
 in handwriting, nothing could be prettier. He was 
 faced with a problem. If he imitated Blotter the work 
 of the 'Cons' would drift still farther behind and Mul- 
 holland, whom he liked, would get into trouble. He, 
 Peter, was supposed to be a ' quick man ' ; that is to say 
 a man who worked hard and swiftly, taking the at- 
 tendant risk of incorrectness. Now that he was mar- 
 ried it was clearly his duty to become a 'slow man.' 
 Besides, he was too clear-sighted to fail to recognise the 
 essential immorality of neglecting a duty because other 
 people had done so before him. Hay anyone save Mul- 
 holland been in question, he would not have hesitated ; 
 as it was, to write up that valueless ledger with honesty 
 seemed uncommonly like saving his own soul at the ex- 
 pense of someone else. That Mulholland would not re- 
 proach him for doing the work properly and so landing 
 the 'Cons' in still further arrears, was certain. That 
 he did not count on its happening, was equally sure. 
 
 It is probable that Peter's decision to be selfishly 
 honest was influenced also by distrust of Mr. Lemon, who 
 wore a particularly sly and greasy air that morning. 
 At any rate, he commenced to copy with correctness ; and 
 the first few entries were in the style of handwriting
 
 TRANSFORMATION 245 
 
 which the Great Company desired to impose upon its 
 clerical staff. A round, unformed hand was the ideal 
 of the Directorate. An e would have caused the High 
 Official who discovered it to have a fit upon the spot. 
 A handwriting with character in it except the char- 
 acter of a clerk was anathema, and its owner a thing 
 accursed. 
 
 Peter was beginning to write rapidly in his natural 
 hand, which was legible and ugly ; when O 'Brien turned 
 and placed on his desk an enormous bundle of vouchers. 
 
 "What's this?" asked Peter. 
 
 "You've got to post the 'Pros' work as well as your 
 own," said O'Brien. "It's a new rule, my boy." 
 
 "Is that right?" Peter called to Mulholland. 
 
 "I'm sorry to say it is." 
 
 "That's the limit!" thought Peter. "Holly will be 
 absolutely up a gum-tree if I spend the whole day over 
 these infernal vouchers. He increased his speed, albeit 
 with inward misgivings, and began to turn over five 
 or six at a time instead of one, and to leave out many 
 names from those he did copy. In another half hour 
 he was finishing, and still Lemon had not returned. It 
 was evident that Ledger Six had not been taken into 
 consideration when the work was shared out. Indeed 
 this did not happen in any office, which caused a con- 
 scientious person like Blotter to be a thorn in the flesh 
 of the Senior Clerk, who got most of the blame if the 
 work were behind ; the High Official usually managing 
 to shift his responsibility to the shoulders of his sub- 
 ordinate. 
 
 Now a pasty-faced, stout boy of eighteen came in from 
 the next room and called out, "Who's doing Ledger Six?" 
 
 "A badly bitten by a badger!" Kilworth 
 
 informed him, for this was the victim of the fieldmouse 
 hoax. "Sick 'em, Jones!" 
 
 "No, is it you?" inquired young Jones innocently of 
 O'Brien. 
 
 "I have indeed been bitten by a badger " began 
 
 O'Brien, with intense gravity; but Peter interrupted. 
 
 ' ' I 've just finished, ' ' he said. ' ' What is it, Billy ? ' '
 
 246 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "Semple told me to come, in case you hadn't heard." 
 
 "Heard what?" 
 
 "He said Lemon was such a mean old devil he might 
 not tell you. Did he?" 
 
 "Tell me what, you young ass?" 
 
 "Man is coming round to-day to inspect the Ledger 
 Sixes in every office." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " It 's a fact ! One of the Highos heard him arranging 
 it with Lemon." 
 
 "That simply isn't possible, Billy. You're having 
 me on." 
 
 " I 'm not, on my honour ! He walked in with Lemon 
 this morning, Man did, I mean. Anyway, however it 
 leaked out, he's coming!" 
 
 "What time?" 
 
 "How should I know, man?" 
 
 "Good Lord!" said Peter. 
 
 A big voice rumbled from the doorway. "Good- 
 morning, Master Jones! It's a pleasure to see you, 
 don't hurry away! He's gone! What a singular 
 .youngster!" Lemon panted to his desk and settled 
 there. He was very short of breath this morning. ' ' Mul- 
 holland ! Ledger Six and its vouchers, if you please. ' ' 
 
 "Not finished yet, sir," said Mulholland readily, with 
 a side-glance at dumbfounded Peter. 
 
 "Never mind, Mr. Mulholland, never mind! Let me 
 have them at once, please, finished or unfinished." 
 
 Peter had no choice but to carry them across. He 
 knew now that he was lost. 
 
 "Ah, it's Peter Middleton! Lay them down here, 
 Peter. Many thanks! Our Acting Managing Director, 
 Mr. Laurence Man ' ' he rolled the name on his tongue 
 "proposes to inspect Ledger Six this morning. He has 
 just told me so, and perhaps a little preliminary 
 examination on my part would be judicious. ... Go 
 back to your desk, Middleton," he concluded sharply. 
 
 Peter went. It was a dream that a few hours ago he 
 had been married to Cynthia. He did not see the 
 sympathetic faces of 'Pros' and 'Cons' as he passed
 
 TRANSFORMATION 247 
 
 by. He understood everything, saw that he was trapped. 
 He even knew where Laurence Man was at this moment. 
 He was in Department A, just far enough distant to 
 enable Mr. Lemon to check the Ledger before he should 
 arrive. 
 
 Mulholland acted promptly and with decision. He 
 took a paper for Mr. Lemon to sign, and asked a ques- 
 tion about the potting of fuchsias. The High Official 
 would not be drawn into conversation. He continued 
 to work with greedy swiftness. 
 
 "Your handwriting is disgraceful, Middleton," he 
 called across the room. 
 
 "Anything worse than handwriting?" whispered 
 Mulholland. 
 
 "Of course," said Peter. 
 
 "Sorry, old man! I'm beastly sorry." 
 
 "It wasn't your fault, Holly. Don't let yourself in, 
 for goodness' sake. One's enough for them to down. 
 Lemon knows now. Look at him grinning." 
 
 "Poor old !" said Kilworth, patting Peter on 
 
 the back. 
 
 ' ' Damn you, shut up ! " whispered Peter. 
 
 Laurence Man entered, in morning clothes with violets 
 in his buttonhole. He was tall, good-looking, and well- 
 made; but his impressiveness was marred by his thin, 
 uninspiring voice. He was frowning. "Good-morning, 
 gentlemen!" he said, irritably. "Ah, you are there, 
 Mr. Lemon!" Lemon rose and greeted him and spoke 
 rapidly in a low tone. "Certainly!" said Laurence, 
 with raised eyebrows. . . . "Yes, yes, by all means, Mr. 
 Lemon. I will deal with it at once. ' ' The audience with 
 one exception was affecting to be engrossed in work. 
 
 "You are not working, Middleton," remarked 
 Laurence, stopping on his way to the door in front 
 of the 'Pros,' who instantly lowered their eyes to their 
 books like a row of schoolboys surprised by the head- 
 master. 
 
 A slow fury was rising in Peter. "No," he acknowl- 
 edged in a dull voice. 
 
 Laurence nodded to Mulholland. "Give him some-
 
 248 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 thing to do!" he said, and went out. A moment later 
 Mr. Lemon followed with the ledger and vouchers. 
 
 "Sack for you, Peter!" said Kil worth. "I wouldn't 
 be in your shoes." 
 
 "Look at 'Old Them'!" said O'Brien. 
 
 Blotter was white and trembling. "What's the mat- 
 ter with you, you rabbit?" asked Kilworth. 
 
 "I hope they don't check mine!" quavered the 
 virtuous apprentice. 
 
 "You needn't be afraid!" said Peter, bitterly. 
 "They won't check back. They know too much for 
 that. It would let in too many people and make a 
 scandal. No, they'll pretend I'm the only villain in the 
 place if the other offices have got their ledgers right, 
 as they probably had time to do. Besides, they can't 
 check back! Yesterday's vouchers are all sorted up." 
 
 ' ' Much Man would care for that ! ' ' said Blotter. ' ' He 
 wouldn't mind how much work he gave!" He buried 
 himself disconsolately in his ledger. 
 
 "You're in charge while I'm away, Blotter," said 
 Mulholland in a brisk tone, taking off his office coat. 
 
 "I say, don't," begged Peter. "Really you can't do 
 any good, Holly ! It wasn 't your fault. Don 't you see 
 they've got me fixed? Besides, Man has got a grudge 
 against me, a private one." Mulholland whistled and 
 sat down. 
 
 "Sorry, Peter," he said, drawing on his coat. "He 
 won't listen to me, then." 
 
 Young Mainwaring, the bumptious youth whom Peter 
 had encountered in the courtyard on his return from 
 leave, now put in an appearance. 
 
 "The Managing Director wants specimens of Middle- 
 ton 's handwriting in the ordinary work of the office, ' ' he 
 said superciliously to Mulholland. ' ' I suppose you 're in 
 charge he-ah?" 
 
 "You'll have to go to Brown," said Mulholland. 
 "This is Middleton's first day in this office for months." 
 
 "Oh, all right!" said the youth, and vanished. 
 
 Half an hour passed, which Peter for Mulholland 's 
 sake spent in work. A quantity of people came in to
 
 TRANSFORMATION 249 
 
 sympathise and got short answers for their pains. Most 
 of them were only curious ; Semple was genuinely moved. 
 They discussed the probable punishment, congratulating 
 themselves on their own escape. O'Brien joined Mul- 
 holland in the task of disposing of them one by one. 
 It appeared that three more men had been 'run up' on 
 account of handwriting, two from D and one from H; 
 all had been reprimanded on the spot by 'Lordly 
 Laurence ' and told they would hear of it further. Peter 
 remained the principal scapegoat, and it was entirely a 
 matter for Laurence's generosity what should be done 
 with him. These well-meaning babblers intensified the 
 agony of the time of waiting. ' ' Get out, you inquisitive 
 fool," ordered Mulholland at regular intervals, and 
 
 'Brien went on saying, ' ' Leave Peter alone. Clear out 
 of the office at once," but they could not do more than 
 keep the procession on the move. 
 
 Semple returned at about twenty minutes after twelve 
 to give a message from Mr. Brown. ; ' You might slip in 
 and see Brown, ' ' he said to Peter. ' ' I 'd change my office 
 coat if I were you. I daresay he'll take you to the Man- 
 aging Director. I know he 's been speaking up for you. ' ' 
 
 Peter called to Mulholland. "Brown wants me!" 
 
 ' ' Good luck to you, Peter. Come back as soon as you 
 can." 
 
 Mr. Brown wore a sad and serious face. His short- 
 sighted blue eyes peered towards the door as the two 
 clerks entered his office. Then he beckoned, calling, 
 ' ' Mid-dleton. Come here, if you please!" Peter ap- 
 proached, and the kind old man said in a low voice, 
 "You have done very wrong, Mid-dleton; I am afraid 
 you will suffer for it very se-verely. I have done what I 
 could. I was able con-scientious-ly to speak most highly 
 of your, work and I know more of you than does Mr. 
 Lemon or Mr. Mar-tin. You will un-derstand how much 
 
 1 am trusting you when I say that I was asked to re- 
 consider my good report in view of others less favour- 
 able. I fear it is intended to make an ex-ample, Mid- 
 dleton. I wish to warn you not to at-tempt to ex-cuse 
 that for which there can be no excuse! Mr. Man is
 
 250 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 just; and he will be in-fluen-ced by your good record 
 if you ad-mit your fault." 
 
 ' ' There 's always been laxity in regard to Ledger Six, 
 sir!" said Peter. "It ought to have been checked. 
 Why should I be made a scapegoat for the whole staff ? 
 There's a chap in another Department who remembers 
 Mr. Man himself entering a lot of riddles in the ledger. ' ' 
 
 "That may or may not be so, Mid-dleton. I doubt it. 
 Mr. Man asked me whether I had ever neg-lected to post 
 Ledger Six either as a junior or in after-years, and I told 
 him no. He did not ask me my ex-perience of others. 
 Be warned by me, Mid-dleton, and do not attempt to give 
 yours. And, my boy, if your punishment is very hard, 
 re-member that there is One Above Who sees all things ; 
 Who is merciful and swift to for-give. You will find 
 corn-fort if you take your trouble to Him. Now go and 
 tell Mr. Mul-holland that Mr. Lemon is gone to Coutts' 
 Bank and will not be back until after lunch, and that 
 you are to re-port yourself at the Managing Di-rector's 
 office at one." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said Peter. 
 
 Laurence kept him waiting forty minutes in the lobby, 
 in the company of two gorgeously-liveried porters, while 
 Peter's mind whirled in unceasing, useless revolutions 
 like those of a squirrel within the wheel of its cage. He 
 was a prisoner like the squirrel. He was caught in a 
 trap from which there was no escape. He could only 
 defend himself by implicating others. His sole hope lay 
 in the generosity of Laurence Man, who did not know 
 the meaning of that quality. The most immoral part of 
 the whole business was its entire lack of necessity. 
 Laurence had only to say to the High Officials, ' ' See that 
 Ledger Six is carefully checked in future after being 
 written up. I remember when I was a junior it was not 
 properly kept and I intend to alter that. The re- 
 sponsibility is yours as Heads of Department. I shall 
 examine the books myself from time to time," and his 
 purpose would have been served. But what had hap- 
 pened was characteristic of the Great Company, whose 
 policy was to rule by terror. Peter could not believe that
 
 TRANSFORMATION 251 
 
 any of the High Officials had been unaware of the value- 
 lessness of Ledger Six as a record. Yet they had es- 
 caped, while he the most junior person involved (but, 
 as he was inclined to forget, the actual offender) was 
 about to endure the whole weight of the Company's 
 wrath. The injustice of it brought the blood to his 
 cheeks and for a moment made him feel physically sick. 
 As the long minutes ticked themselves away his resent- 
 ment grew side by side with his fears. At last Laurence 's 
 bell sounded within the great mahogany doors and one 
 of the porters hastened to answer it. 
 
 Peter rose, with a sense of bodily fatigue, when he 
 heard his name called, and passed through the doorway 
 feeling as though his footsteps stumbled. There was a 
 purring sound and a slight click behind him as the porter 
 shut him in with Laurence, and then ensued a long 
 silence while the latter stooped over page after page of a 
 stitched foolscap report which lay open in front of him. 
 
 The Managing Director's office was a large, square 
 room lighted by two very lofty windows ; it had massive 
 mahogany furniture and a Wilton carpet of deep sombre 
 purple, thick-piled, noiseless to the feet. Laurence was 
 seated at a writing-table whose polished rails began to 
 shine dazzlingly. Peter saw him now through a bar of 
 light filled with dancing motes and, thus lit, his regular 
 features had a saintly beauty until he raised his head and 
 the thinness of his lips became evident. 
 
 At length he sat back in his padded revolving-chair 
 and stared at Peter, who was standing beside a ' visitor 's ' 
 arm-chair covered with green pegamoid. The chair was 
 on Peter's right hand, slightly forward; his downcast 
 eyes were wearily examining the texture of the leather. 
 
 ' ' Middleton ! " said Laurence, sharply. Peter looked 
 up at him with set face. 
 
 "You were, I suppose, aware of the purpose for which 
 Ledger Six was ordered to be kept?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Laurence gave him no time to add to the simple affirma- 
 tive which was his condemnation. ' ' And therefore of its 
 importance and value. I find certain entries made in
 
 252 , THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 your handwriting under to-day 's date in the Ledger Six 
 belonging to B Department. Do you acknowledge 
 them?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "They are incorrect and incomplete. Do you admit 
 this?" 
 
 "I suppose I must." 
 
 "Do you or do you not admit it, Middleton?" 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 "It is clearly unnecessary to ask you whether your 
 fault was wilful, for unless it were so you would not be 
 able to make the admission you have just made. ' ' Peter 
 was silent. Laurence did not take his eyes from his face. 
 "Do you confess that you posted Ledger Six incor- 
 rectly and incompletely, knowing what you were doing, 
 intending your entries to be incorrect and incomplete ? ' ' 
 
 "I haven't denied it, have I?" 
 
 "I don't want to know whether you have denied it. 
 I want to know whether you acknowledge it." 
 
 "Well, I do, but " 
 
 "Stop, Middleton! You will not make things better 
 by attempting to excuse yourself. You have been false 
 to the trust which your employers put in you " 
 
 "Certainly not!" interrupted Peter, boldly. 
 Laurence's eyes narrowed to slits and then opened 
 wide ; he glanced down, picked up an ebony paper-knife 
 from the desk and twisted it about in his fingers. If 
 he was disappointed there was no sign of it in his 
 manner, which was bored and indifferent. 
 
 ' ' Worse and worse, ' ' said he. "I have warned you. ' ' 
 
 Peter hesitated, then he said in a bitter tone, "It's 
 no good. You've got me fairly trapped, sir. I can't 
 defend myself without letting someone else in." 
 
 "Do you allege that Mr. Mulholland instructed you 
 to falsify Ledger Six?" asked Laurence smoothly, with- 
 out looking up. 
 
 "No, I don't. I do say though that the Ledger ought 
 to have been checked and never was." 
 
 "So do I ! " said Laurence, sitting up and throwing 
 down the paper-knife. ' ' I have said it pretty emphatic-
 
 TRANSFORMATION 253 
 
 ally! But that is no defence to you. On the contrary, 
 it proves that great dependence was placed on your 
 honour. Others appear to have seen it in that light, for 
 I found no incorrectness in the Ledgers Six of the rest 
 of the Departments. What? What is that? Do you 
 wish to say anything?" 
 
 "No," said Peter, sullenly. 
 
 "You will understand of course that our private 
 acquaintanceship cannot stand in the way of my doing 
 my duty. I have examined your record. It is un- 
 satisfactory as to handwriting. I note that reports have 
 been called for on five occasions, and your writing in 
 this Ledger Six is a disgrace to the Company. Mr. 
 Brown alone among the High Officials speaks well of your 
 work. I am afraid it is my duty on behalf of the Director- 
 ate to give you a month's notice from this date. I am sorry 
 that this should have happened to you, Middleton " 
 
 "That's a lie!" said Peter, white and trembling. 
 "You're damned glad!" 
 
 Laurence broke into a smile, glaring at him. He 
 rang the bell on his desk. "Tell the Cashier," he said 
 to the porter who came in, "with my compliments, to 
 have Mr. Middleton 's salary calculated up to date ready 
 for him in ten minutes' time. That is all." When 
 the man was gone he said to Peter in a tone of rising 
 fury, "You are dismissed at once, with disgrace. You 
 don't give me credit for honesty. Your conceit won't 
 let you think I really disapprove of you as a clerk. 
 Why, you fool, I would stamp your type out of business 
 life altogether if I had the power to do it! I'd dis- 
 miss every solitary one of you without compunction. 
 From the point of view of the man who has to depend 
 on your work you 're all silly, sentimental incompetents ! 
 Even if you had not been Peter Middleton Peter Mid- 
 dleton ! ' ' his voice shook on the repetition of the hated 
 name ' ' I would have got rid of you for what you have 
 done to-day. Go ! Go ! " He pressed the bell again and 
 again, leaning forward over his desk with a face of 
 passion. Once more the door opened behind Peter and 
 this time he turned and stumbled out of the room.
 
 II 
 
 PETER stood in the corridor outside the entrance to the 
 Cashier's office, stood and shivered like a man in a 
 fever. He was seeing red, and all the time his under- 
 consciousness was reminding him that he alone was to 
 blame. He had chosen to take the risk and now he must 
 pay the penalty, though his accomplices numbering nine- 
 tenths of the staff of the Great Company escaped scot- 
 free. He had known perfectly well that the High 
 Officials whose connivance had rendered possible the gen- 
 eral neglect of Ledger Six did not possess the courage or 
 the honesty to take open responsibility for it if detected, 
 also that Mr. Lemon in particular was capable of the 
 meanest treachery to his staff, also that the Managing 
 Director's sense of fairness was not a highly developed 
 characteristic, all of which things had increased the risk 
 he was taking. Also he had known that his action in as- 
 sisting Mulholland at the expense of Ledger Six was 
 ethically indefensible in spite of the valuelessness of the 
 Ledger. He had sacrificed his own honesty for a man 
 who would never have asked for the sacrifice although 
 unable to conceal that he was hoping for it ; and no one in 
 the world would understand ! There was a vague impres- 
 sion in his mind that somewhere or other people existed 
 who might sympathise, but he could not remember who 
 they were. He was seeing red, longing to thrash Lemon 
 before leaving the building for the last time. The old 
 devil ! If only he were younger, younger, younger ! To 
 feel the crushing impact of one 's fist against the flesh and 
 bones of his face ; to see him falling in a heap, lying out- 
 stretched while someone counted . . . eight : nine : ten ! . . . 
 Semple passed by in a hurry ; but glancing round saw 
 Peter and turned. "Old chap!" he exclaimed. "You 
 
 look queer!" 
 
 254
 
 TRANSFORMATION 255 
 
 ' ' I 'm sacked ! ' ' said Peter. 
 
 "Poor old boy! I was afraid they had you fairly 
 caught! Really, I'm sorry, awfully sorry." 
 
 "Take the key of ray desk and give it to" he could 
 scarcely bring himself to say it "to Lemon, will you, 
 and get my hat. I 'm not going into the office. I should 
 tell him off if I did, and he wouldn't understand. . . . 
 He isn't worth it." 
 
 Semple would have liked to be present at a telling-off 
 of Lemon, but good feeling towards Peter prevailed and 
 he did the errand without making any attempt to alter 
 his decision. Also he was considerate enough not to 
 bring back with him a crowd of curious sympathisers. 
 When he returned Peter was inside drawing his salary. 
 He came out looking like a stone image, as Semple said 
 afterwards, took the hat, shook hands and went off 
 without a word. Semple watched him out of sight, then 
 went on up to lunch, whistling. 
 
 Meanwhile Peter had passed through the familiar 
 archway into the street and was walking steadily towards 
 the west, his mind benumbed. The circumstances of his 
 downfall were present in his sub-consciousness. He knew 
 of them but could not think about them. He turned 
 mechanically into an A.B.C. in Newgate Street and 
 ordered a cup of coffee, and having drunk it he was 
 conscious of hunger and asked for beef-steak pudding, 
 although there seemed to him something peculiarly 
 ludicrous and dreadful in eating beefsteak pudding after 
 what had happened. The natural actions of life were 
 no longer natural, he felt; with a sudden flow of self- 
 pity, followed by an aching need for sympathy. Who 
 would understand, forgive a man dismissed peremptorily, 
 turned out in disgrace as he was? Who? Who? 
 Quite automatically his mind told him Cynthia and 
 Shaun, two names without identity for an instant; and 
 then they became a single name which had identity and 
 Peter Middleton started back on the red plush seat, 
 thinking in horror of Cynthia, his wife. 
 
 Yes, Cynthia would understand, she loved him; his 
 first impulse was to telephone without delay and satisfy
 
 256 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 his agonised longing to hear her voice. One considera- 
 tion restrained him. The Bremners' telephone was in the 
 hall and the hour was nearly that of lunch, so Cynthia's 
 words might be overheard; moreover, it might be 
 difficult to get her to the instrument, as Lady Bremner 
 liked to answer telephone calls. Lady Bremner was 
 leaving London in the evening, she was travelling by the 
 night train to the north; late in the evening would be 
 the time to speak to Cynthia. A moment afterwards he 
 was thanking God that his first selfish instinct to share 
 his trouble had been checked; Cynthia must not know 
 until he had consulted Shaun. Now Peter began to 
 realise how what he had done had wronged her. He 
 paid his bill, passed out into the street, and went and 
 hid himself in the only place where a man may be 
 altogether alone in a city, and when the door was bolted 
 was shaken by a terrible sobbing which left him weak 
 and faint. As he went out the attendant stared at him, 
 following to the steps, but did not speak; and Peter 
 hurried at his best pace towards Shaun 's lodgings. 
 
 Shaun was not in, and Peter made his way through 
 the busy, sunshiny streets to the Adelphi and entered 
 the lobby of the Savage Club. The porter gave one 
 glance at him and said, "Mr. James has not been here 
 to-day, sir." Peter thanked him and went. It was 
 clear that all trace of Shaun was lost, and he could think 
 of nothing better to do than to go home and write to 
 Cynthia. Even though he did not send the letter the 
 writing, the pouring out of himself, would be a relief. 
 
 On the 'bus the beauty of the day seemed an irony, 
 the unfamiliar aspect of the pavements of Piccadilly 
 struck him with a kind of wonder. Outside St. George 's 
 Hospital a collision appeared inevitable and the passers- 
 by called out in alarm. Peter did not lean forward, 
 although it was his vehicle which was in peril and at 
 fault; he felt a dull disappointment when the crash did 
 not come, and had forgotten the incident before the 
 shouting ceased. 
 
 It was close on three o'clock when he dismounted in 
 front of Barker's and crossed the road to Church Street.
 
 TRANSFORMATION 257 
 
 The bells of St. Mary Abbot's were ringing; there 
 were carriages at the gate and a crowd gathered in the 
 churchyard and outside. He scarcely glanced at them, 
 and passed on towards his own tall house at the corner 
 of a side-turning on the left : his rooms were at the top 
 overlooking the Barracks, high above the traffic, giving 
 the occupant a delightful sense of space and seclusion. 
 He stared up at his window as though he expected to 
 see a face there, his own or Cynthia's, in his vague, 
 strange thoughts, and coming back to reason moved 
 to the front door, which was up the side-street, let 
 himself in and climbed the steep staircase, familiar and 
 yet oddly unfamiliar since he was looking at it with new 
 eyes. He noticed the dusty yellow and black of the oil- 
 cloth beneath his feet and could not concentrate enough 
 to form a clear impression of the pattern, which altered 
 on the top landing, or was it merely that the light 
 was brighter, or the linoleum newer and less worn? 
 Before he could decide he was in his sitting-room and 
 had become aware of a letter on the table. 
 
 He picked it up and held it in his hand a moment 
 before looking at it. Then, having opened it, he took off 
 and threw down his straw hat and seated himself before 
 the table. The letter was not from Cynthia. The type- 
 written address had told him that. 
 
 Dear Sir, it began. Peter glanced overleaf at the 
 signature. West, Hawkins and Bere told him nothing, 
 nor did the address of the firm, which was a street in 
 Bath. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 We are instructed by a client to place at your dis- 
 posal the sum of five hundred pounds sterling (500) on 
 receiving from you in writing an honourable undertak- 
 ing to comply with the following two conditions. 
 
 (1) Not to attempt to discover the name of the donor. 
 
 (2) Should the identity of the donor be guessed or ac- 
 cidentally revealed, not to express thanks and not to 
 refer to the gift directly or by implication. 
 
 On our receiving from you such an undertaking clear-
 
 258 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 ly expressed, property in the above named sum (five hun- 
 dred pounds) will become vested in you, and we shall be 
 glad if you will favour us with your instructions as to 
 disposal. 
 
 In conclusion, we beg to state that our client has en- 
 trusted us with a message, which we transmit verbatim. 
 'This gift may be regarded as an act of restitution and 
 does not call for gratitude. Nothing more is to be ex- 
 pected from the same quarter.' 
 
 Awaiting your instructions, which shall be promptly 
 carried out. 
 
 We remain, 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 West, Hawkins and Bere. 
 PETER MIDDLETON, ESQ., 
 1276, Church Street, 
 Kensington, W. 
 
 The walls swam round before Peter's eyes as he looked 
 up from the paper. His heart sang with joy. When he 
 had recovered his self-possession a little he heard him- 
 self repeating, "Joy cometh in the morning! Joy 
 cometh in the morning!" in a rush of happiness and 
 thanks to God which was almost terrible in its intensity, 
 conveying to his mind the measure of his former despair. 
 He did not doubt he had guessed the name of his bene- 
 factor, it could be no one but Aunt Janet, who alone 
 of his acquaintance lived at Bath. Moreover she had 
 not been on good terms with his father and Peter knew 
 that the disagreement between them had originated in 
 a matter of business. The recollection of this was fresh 
 in his memory because Shaun had questioned him fairly 
 closely about his rich aunt, and he had been careful to 
 withhold from his friend the fact that his father had 
 considered himself wronged, the knowledge of which 
 Major Middleton would have wished his son to keep to 
 himself. Peter knew no details of what had happened 
 in the past. 
 
 It was just possible that Shaun had written to Aunt 
 Janet to plead with her. He would ask him that, al- 
 though he was sure what the answer would be. Indeed
 
 TRANSFORMATION 259 
 
 Shaun did not know the old lady 's address in Bath. No, 
 Aunt Janet had done it of her own accord, and it was 
 splendid ! Peter felt as a man might who perceived the 
 sun burst out unnaturally in a stormy sky and flood the 
 world with light. He marvelled. And went on wonder- 
 ing for several minutes before it occurred to him that 
 the paper he was twisting between his fingers contained 
 power. Five hundred pounds! That was two hundred 
 pounds for two years and one hundred pounds over, 
 or one hundred and fifty for three years and fifty 
 pounds over, it meant Cynthia ! And full of joy, with- 
 out pausing to think, he rushed for writing materials 
 and wrote two letters. The first was addressed to West, 
 Hawkins and Bere, and the second ran as follows: 
 
 Darling, 
 
 I have got the sack from the Great Company, my 
 own fault and I can never forgive myself, but in a way it 
 does not matter, as Aunt Janet has sent five hundred 
 pounds. Darling I love you and I'm so excited I can't 
 write properly. Will you ~be at Waterloo under the 
 clock to-morrow with luggage at 10.45 a.m. to go to 
 Camelford to a place Shaun knows of, will you darling f 
 
 Peter. 
 
 Without re-reading it he sent this off by the hand of 
 his landlord's little son, entreating him to hurry, and 
 began to look for the memorandum which Shaun had 
 given of the address of the farm on the Cornish moor. 
 In vain he hunted in drawers and strong-box and writ- 
 ing-case, his confusion of mind being so great and the 
 events of the early morning so apparently distant that 
 moments passed before it occurred to him to search in 
 his own pockets, where the paper was immediately found. 
 "I was married to-day!" he said aloud in the shock of 
 his surprise, and then, attacked by sudden restlessness, 
 ran downstairs and out. After telegraphing to Cornwall 
 he rang up the Bremners from the Post Office, and a 
 feminine voice told him that Miss Bremner was not at 
 home. Recognising the mother's voice he trembled,
 
 260 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 thanked her and rang off. He felt relieved to remember 
 the disguised handwriting on the envelope of his letter. 
 Why had he been so impatient ? Why had he not waited 
 until Lady Bremner was gone? How horrible were 
 these disguises and subterfuges! He did not know 
 whether what he had done was bold and wise, or colos- 
 sally selfish. A legion of doubts assailed him. To escape 
 from them he taxied to Panton Street and was fortunate 
 enough to find Shaun in. 
 
 Shaun steadied him with a cup of tea, listening with a 
 very serious face. When Peter had talked himself to a 
 standstill, he said, "Man would have found an excuse 
 to sack you in any case sooner or later. That place 
 was no good, Peter. It's odd to think of that five hun- 
 dred lying at home all the while; rather an effective 
 situation, I think." 
 
 "I say, Shaun," interrupted Peter. "Did you ask 
 Aunt Janet to help me?" 
 
 "Should I tell you if I had? As a matter of fact I 
 did not, Peter, although I admit it has once or twice 
 occurred to me to do so. You are such a transparent 
 fellow that I guessed what you've just told me about 
 her relations with your father and argued that to expect 
 generosity from her would be a waste of time. So much 
 the better that I was wrong!" 
 
 Peter was satisfied, and Shaun went on, "As for the 
 Great Company I think you are well out of it. Your 
 position there was a false one. Of course the manner 
 of your exit was not the happiest ; but I doubt whether 
 Laurence Man will make much use of it with the Brem- 
 ners. I think you are foolish to blame yourself as much 
 as you do. By the way, were you in a state of uncer- 
 tainty for one instant whether Cynthia would immedi- 
 ately understand and never dream of thinking forgive- 
 ness needful, never doubt you, never blame you, only 
 love you the more ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' No. Though I knew I did not deserve it. ' ' 
 
 Shaun regarded him thoughtfully, with his head on 
 one side. "I think you two will be all right," he said 
 after a little consideration. "I won't interfere with
 
 TRANSFORMATION 261 
 
 i 
 
 this mad idea of cutting and running. But, Peter! 
 Have you realised what a shock you've given the girl? 
 She'll very likely get your letter while her mother is 
 still in the house!" 
 
 "She never opens letters in public, Shaun. I don't 
 know ! Now that I think of it, yes, it does seem rather 
 colossal cheek to ask her to come away with me at a 
 moment 's notice ! It seemed natural enough as I did 
 it. I can't imagine what I was thinking of. Dear old 
 Shaun, have I been a brute to her?" 
 
 "A husband!" 
 
 "I thought it would grow worse and worse for her. 
 They would never let her hear the end of this dismissal." 
 
 "Don't defend yourself, Peter. There's no need, to 
 me." 
 
 ' ' But ought I to telephone and get it back ? I won 't ! " 
 
 "You wouldn't?" 
 
 "No. I'm done with crooked ways." 
 
 "Good-bye," said Shaun, with the gentlest irony. 
 
 Peter seized his hand. "Shaun! Shaun! I didn't 
 mean that. Please, Shaun!" 
 
 "That's all right, Peter. I know what you meant; 
 and I'm glad, provided you don't run straightforward- 
 ness to death. You meant that you are an artist now, a 
 business man no longer and intend to behave with the 
 freedom and frankness natural to the part." 
 
 "Not quite that, you know," said Peter, puzzled. 
 Shaun laughed irrepressibly. The hand that Peter had 
 released he placed upon his shoulder, in one of his rare 
 caresses. 
 
 "It's better for you to be open, old chap," he said. 
 "It suits your genius. Now you must go and pack and 
 I '11 accompany you and take every drawing you Ve got. 
 There 11 be a reply from that wife of yours, perhaps ! ' ' 
 
 "I say!" cried Peter, springing to his feet. 
 
 They drove to Church Street. "Mine!" said Shaun, 
 stepping in front of Peter to pay the driver. Then they 
 tore upstairs, the landlady intercepting them on the 
 landing to say that Albert had not waited for no answer 
 but since then a boy in buttons had come and she had
 
 262 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 signed for the letter which there it was on that table. 
 Peter thanked her and ran. Shaun lingered to satisfy 
 his curiosity about the boy in buttons, who proved to 
 be a district messenger. He suspected aphasia, but could 
 extract no more from the landlady than, "My 'usbing 
 always calls 'em that." 
 
 "The husband must be a character," he remarked on 
 joining Peter, who with radiant face held out to him a 
 tiny sheet of notepaper. "Want me to read it? All 
 right." He took, and read in Cynthia's big clear hand- 
 writing. Will be there. C. 
 
 "Very much to the point, too!" said Shaun.
 
 Ill 
 
 IT was safe to rely on Cynthia's wits, even during an 
 elopement. Accordingly, when Peter was reminded of 
 the size of Waterloo station and recalled the indefinite- 
 ness of his direction ' under the clock, ' he made his way 
 to the one on the departure platform for main line trains, 
 and was unperturbed when he did not find her there. 
 He was some minutes early, and she might be late, for 
 she would not have begun to pack until Shaun's telegram 
 provided her with an excuse. Shaun had written and 
 begged her to deceive the servants; she might say she 
 was called into the country by the illness of a chum, he 
 would take care that a wire reached her after Sir Everard 
 had left. His plan was to visit the latter at the Colonial 
 Office and break the news himself. Peter, stalking to 
 and fro, mentally re-read the scrawl. . . . Kindly re- 
 member that you have written to tell me of your intention 
 without giving me your new address. I shall plead guilty 
 to having been present at the wedding and shall say that 
 I have long been expecting Peter's dismissal, in view of 
 his having come under the displeasure of L. M. (whom, 
 your father has never liked). In any case he would have 
 resigned soon. I can speak as to his future as a jour- 
 nalist. 
 
 You will leave a note for your father and mother, I ex- 
 pect. Dear girl, let it be firm as well as loving. Do not 
 write to them again or let them know your address until 
 I give the word. Nothing would do more harm than a 
 premature meeting or correspondence. In the first place 
 I have to prove to Sir Everard that Peter's dismissal in- 
 volved no personal disgrace, to do which I may approach 
 Mr. Mulholland and possibly Mr. Brown. I can fore- 
 stall L. M. who dare do nothing immediate, but I must 
 
 263
 
 264 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 not force this point, and to create the right impression in 
 Sir Everard's mind may take a couple of weeks. I shall 
 ask Mulholland to give me authority to say privately to 
 the father of Middleton's financee that Middleton's im- 
 mediate superior spoke strongly in his favour and does 
 not consider his honour touched ~by what has occurred, 
 and Brown I should ask to say frankly whether if he 
 were a private employer he would trust and employ 
 Peter Middleton. They won't refuse, I know. Keep 
 this for reference. Peter should have it. 
 
 Your parents' real and deep affection for you is my 
 strongest card, Cynthia, and I believe it will prevail, 
 though not immediately. My next strongest is their nat- 
 ural dislike of gossip about their daughter. My greatest 
 hope is that Sir Everard will consent to treat the secret 
 marriage to the world indulgently, as a romantic 
 whim. That would be his discreetest attitude. It is the 
 one to which I wish to lead him, for it would involve 
 his giving financial support! Complete friendliness 
 and forgiveness on his part would puzzle and baffle 
 the gossips. Nothing else would, as I trust he will 
 see. 
 
 Meanwhile lie low and enjoy your honeymoon, chil- 
 dren. You will never have another. Gather your roses! 
 
 Give my regards to Mr. and Mrs. Trerice and to the 
 wind on the heath. 
 
 So the letter had ended, and Peter recalled Shaun's 
 distress because there was not time to correct its prose. 
 He left his post to get the tickets and returned at the 
 exact quarter, thinking, ' ' Dear old Shaun certainly made 
 the best of things ! ' ' Cynthia was not there. Suddenly 
 Peter's heart began to thump in his breast and his cool- 
 ness entirely deserted him. He was waiting for his 
 wife ! It was Cynthia who had not come ! His wife ! His 
 wife! His wife! Five more minutes passed, bringing 
 him a cold fear lest Sir Everard had stayed at home. 
 Would she arrive or not, supposing her father were ill? 
 Impossible to say. The minute-hand seemed to be mov- 
 ing in quick jerks. 
 
 Well, they could not have caught the eleven o'clock
 
 TRANSFORMATION 265 
 
 express! Peter had decided upon the slower train at 
 11.10, because it might be emptier and would not be as 
 likely to contain friends of the Bremners. He did not 
 mind an hour more of travelling if they could get a com- 
 partment to themselves. It was five minutes past eleven, 
 and he sent a porter to secure places, keeping the luggage 
 by his side. The battered cabin trunk was already 
 labelled and the bag he would carry in his hand. There 
 was a tall girl in a purple coat over white and a hat with 
 a purple bow and a gleam of white, walking swiftly be- 
 hind a porter's barrow, approaching . . . now he lost 
 her ... it must be Cynthia! She emerged into view 
 again nearer ; she was looking for him. She smiled with 
 a face of relief. Peter waved and ran to her. They 
 shook hands, and she said, "Can my porter take your 
 luggage, or is it in ?" She wished to show the steadiness 
 of her nerves ; besides Peter was so distracted, he might 
 have done or left undone anything ! Very youthful and 
 grave, they proceeded side by side in pursuit of the first 
 .porter, who, having scented a tip of magnitude, had 
 struck a bargain with the guard, who alone has power 
 to succour honeymoon couples. He promptly locked them 
 in, and from that moment until the train started they 
 were kept hotly blushing. 
 
 As the coach drew clear of the long platform they 
 glanced timidly at each other; their hands had already 
 met. Cynthia's beautiful eyes did not drop before the 
 ardour of his, and in a moment she was in his arms, glad 
 to rest there, glad to find forgetfulness in the strength of 
 his clasp. "I'm so sorry to have let you in for this!" 
 he was murmuring, and she smiled adorably with closed 
 eyes at the dear, unconscious humour of the words. 
 "Were you dreadfully astonished, my brave, brave 
 Cynthia?" 
 
 "Girls aren't so easily startled," she whispered, re- 
 turning his kisses. "It's sweet to be here, Peter! You 
 are kind to me!" 
 
 "I was a brute to ask you to leave your home." 
 
 "No, no. A wife should follow her husband. It was 
 better that I should come. I felt you were in trouble
 
 266 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 and needed me more than they did. Do you need me, 
 Peter?" 
 
 Peter intimated that he did, in a manner that carried 
 conviction. Then he drew back and looked at her. As 
 Cynthia gazed her own eyes filled with tears. There was 
 no need for him to speak. She murmured : 
 
 "I hadn't guessed how much you wanted me, poor 
 Peter." 
 
 " I 've been lonely, ' ' he said. ' ' That's over now, thank 
 
 God. Darling! I " Her parted lips were curved 
 
 so sweetly, so adorably that they drew his gaze, which 
 travelled over her lifted, rounded chin down her white 
 throat to the lovely base of it left visible by the opening 
 of her blouse. He gave a sigh of happiness, and bent 
 to her. 
 
 The train rushed swiftly through the smiling summer 
 country under a deep blue sky. The joyful hours sped 
 with swallow flight by the lovers, darting into the eter- 
 nity of the past. . . .
 
 IV 
 
 THEY lunched in the stuffy, swaying saloon, the observed 
 of all observers, painfully self-conscious in spite of 
 Cynthia's dignified composure and Peter's stiff- 
 shouldered erectness. The girl glanced to left and right, 
 and leaning forward told him : "I put it on in the cab 
 my ring, Peter. It likes to be on. ' ' 
 
 A waiter plunged by with dishes of vegetables. Peter 
 said, ' ' It ought to feel jolly honoured at being round your 
 finger, kid! I'm thinking of Shaun I'm afraid your 
 father will simply bow him out! There's one thing 
 though, Shaun can be enormously reasonable and calm. " 
 
 ' ' He will slip in some useful things that Dad will not 
 forget. Has slipped in!" agreed the daughter. "I 
 wrote the shortest note, Peter ! Just telling what I had 
 done, asking them to forgive me, and saying how I loved 
 them. They can't doubt that I love them, can they? 
 Can they?" 
 
 "I shouldn't think it was humanly possible," said 
 Peter with seriousness. "They've known you all your 
 life, darling!" 
 
 "I began to speak about you to Mummy before she 
 went, and she cut me short, and in the evening during 
 dessert when the servants had gone I tried so hard to 
 pluck up courage to speak to Dad. Somehow I couldn't. 
 He was too unconscious! And none of us have ever 
 dared to defy him openly. I was afraid of breaking down, 
 and there was the habit of so many years against me ! " 
 
 "Look out, that chap across the way is listening." 
 
 The waiter whisked plates before them, and the con- 
 versation closed. 
 
 267
 
 THE only portion of the journey which reminded Peter 
 of the visit to Tintagel two years ago was the arrival at 
 Camelford station and long line of wagonettes outside. 
 The sun was shining as before, the fresh Cornish air was 
 blowing in gusts of fragrance, but there were no figures 
 waiting at the exit. He had looked for them in a sudden 
 rush of recollection; the stern-faced man in grey and 
 Joyce the cool study in browns from flowing hair to slim 
 legs he had looked, almost expecting to see ! 
 
 They drove inland in a silence which was partly the 
 result of fatigue, in part of a new shyness that had come 
 upon them ; but when they reached the long, sloping 
 street of Camelford questions began to flow, and the 
 driver leaned back to answer them. 
 
 " 'Tes the 'King's Arms,' the hotel on the right 
 that's a very good house, sir. You'd be comfortable 
 there ! The building in the market-place is the Guild 'all ; 
 see the golden Camel up over on the vane. Now we 
 cross the river Camel over this bridge " 
 
 ' ' Why, it 's a brook ! ' ' exclaimed Cynthia. 
 
 ' ' Of course 'tes, miss, but we call it a river. 'Tes filled 
 with trout, and salmon peal in the season. We don't 
 reckon to poach no trout, but the salmon we helps our- 
 selves to. 'Tes the finest trout-stream in all Cornwall, 
 the visitors say." 
 
 4 ' How far is Roughtor * from here ? ' ' Peter asked. 
 
 "Four mile and more. I can't take you beyond 
 Roughtor Bridge, sir ; that 's the beginning of the moor. 
 I expect Trerice will meet you with his cart for the 
 luggage. He's a hind, not a farmer you spoke of 
 Radgells Farm when you gave the direction ; 'tes not a 
 
 * Pronounced Routor, ou as in ' out. ' 
 
 268
 
 TRANSFORMATION 269 
 
 farm by rights, and by rights he 's got no license to carry 
 luggage or passengers in his cart, but I wouldn't say 
 nothing against him. He knows me and told me to 
 look out for you, sir. Radgells es between Roughtor 
 and Brown Willy. There's a London gentleman stays 
 there. For years he's been cominV 
 
 ' ' He 's a friend of ours. ' ' 
 
 "Is that so, sir? Well, now! Trerice is a stranger 
 too, for the matter of that. He comes from down Bodmin 
 way, and he hasn't been on the moor more'n ten years. 
 Here's a pretty bit, sir. Tregoodwell, they call this." 
 
 It was a beautiful little village at cross-roads ; beyond it 
 was a turn and sharp descent into a valley through which 
 flowed another stream, a shaded brook with high ferny 
 banks. They crossed and walked up the ascent beyond, 
 passing a cottage with its fowl-run completely sur- 
 rounded and covered in by thick wire netting. 
 
 "They hawks is a terrible nuisance hereabouts, and 
 the foxes too, ' ' said the driver. 
 
 ' ' What are those gates on the right, like park gates ? ' ' 
 asked Cynthia. "Is there a park there?" 
 
 "Never has been as I know of, miss. They call the 
 farm Parkwalls. Now you'd better get in, and thank 
 you for walking. 'Tes a terrible rough road for sure. ' ' 
 
 They were on the hill, at the beginning of a bare roll- 
 ing country of the nature of reclaimed moorland. Be- 
 hind, in the distance, was Camelford dropping into its 
 valley in the evening shadows. The air was clear, the 
 scene both wild and peaceful. Now the carriage clat- 
 tered down a stony slope and crossed a stream with 
 grassy banks, and stickles, and pools of clear, dark water, 
 and again they dismounted and walked up a steep rise. 
 
 ' ' Can we see the moor and Roughtor from up above ? ' ' 
 asked Cynthia eagerly of the driver. 
 
 "Yes, miss," he said. "Those crags you've been 
 catching sight of all along over the hills, they belong 
 to be on Roughtor, and we're close to the edge of the 
 moor now." 
 
 ' ' Come on, ' ' she cried to Peter, and off they ran ahead 
 up the road. Panting, they arrived on the brow of the
 
 270 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 hill and stood before a long declivity leading to a stream 
 crossed by a small, open bridge, round which splendid 
 cattle were watering and moorland ponies were lingering 
 with their foals. On the other side began the moor and 
 rose to a ridge, dusky and craggy a mile away against 
 the evening sky, with three summits; Showery Tor on 
 the left which could be approached by a gradual slope ; 
 the steeper Little Roughtor with strangely-balanced 
 rocks; and the great granite-piled Roughtor, bold as a 
 fortress, forming the end of the crest, which here 
 dropped precipitously to the moor. The flanks of 
 Roughtor were strewn with rocks. It lay bare but not 
 bleak, dominating the smaller, grass-topped hills and 
 downs that swept away into the distance on either hand, 
 and the last sunlight caressed its heaped-up summit, 
 gilding it like the crown on the head of a lion couchant 
 which brooded immemorially over the open moor. 
 
 "Oh, Roughtor, I love you!" called out Cynthia. 
 
 The wind drifted against their cheeks with a soft 
 chilliness that told of coming night. The mysterious 
 shadows lengthened. A lapwing cried plaintively, to 
 lure them from the neighbourhood of its nest. From 
 far away came the beautiful whistling note of a curlew. 
 Now the strange loveliness of the moor altered swiftly 
 as they watched ; and a gleam of pink, a reflection from 
 the western sky, appeared above the ridge, spreading 
 upon a feathery cloud which was trailing from Showery 
 Tor. Something moving drew down their gaze, and there 
 between Roughtor and the next rounded hill they saw a 
 speck that was a horse and cart. It approached, becom- 
 ing distinct, and the driver spoke to them from behind : 
 
 "Better get in, sir. I see Trerice yonder." 
 
 ' ' Thank you for letting us wait, ' ' said Cynthia. She 
 had no idea how long they had stood there gazing. 
 
 " 'Tes worth looking at, miss. I often come out of 
 a Sunday to sit here and smoke my pipe." 
 
 "Are they Hut Circles, those circles of stone just 
 visible there on the moor?" asked Peter, as they clat- 
 tered down the hill. 
 
 "That's what they call 'em, sir, and when you've seen
 
 TRANSFORMATION 271 
 
 one of the wish* things you've seen the lot; that's my 
 opinion. They'm old as the hills and 'tain't more than 
 guessing when a man says what was the use of them. 
 See that monument down under by the bridge, miss, 
 that monument is more interesting-like. A murdered 
 woman is buried there." 
 
 Cynthia uttered an exclamation, and the driver 
 touched his hat. "Beg pardon, miss, and you new- 
 married, too ! 'Twas thoughtless of me to talk of mur- 
 ders. But you see I remember the old people speakin' 
 of it and that makes a difference. It seems brave an' 
 sad to me, that monument does. Beg pardon, sir. I 
 ought to 'a remembered gentlefolks don't care to hear 
 of murders. I 've bached for myself f all these years, 
 and I haven't any sense. Here we are at Roughtor 
 Bridge. I can't go no further. We must wait till 
 Trerice comes up. ' ' 
 
 "The foals are so pretty," said Cynthia. "Look, 
 Peter!" 
 
 Soon the little cart drove up and Mr. Trerice de- 
 scended. He was a small, dark man with a ragged black 
 moustache and the kindly, mild and reserved expression 
 that is characteristically Cornish. "Pleased to meet you, 
 sir, pleased to meet you, ma 'am, ' ' he said gently, looking 
 up with very bright blue eyes which were secret and 
 somewhat timid until he smiled and then became sudden- 
 ly frank and clear. ' ' Any friends of Mr. James are wel- 
 come. ' ' The transfer of luggage was soon accomplished, 
 after which their host looked confused. "Ef you don't 
 mind following the cart for a couple of miles, sir, the 
 lady could drive, and I '11 walk with the horse 
 
 "Let me walk, Peter," said Cynthia. "Mr. Trerice, 
 please go on and we'll keep you in sight. We can't lose 
 our way then." 
 
 "Thank you, ma'am," said Trerice, looking relieved. 
 " 'Tes jolty in this cart, and the moor's wonderful dry 
 underfoot. 'Tes scarcely soft anywhere now. We go 
 under Roughtor, between that and Louden Hill and bear 
 
 * Weird, strange. 
 
 t Kept house by myself, been a bachelor.
 
 272 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 to the left then, for Brown Willy lies at the back of 
 Roughtor, and Radgells es between the two. 'Tes only 
 a step." 
 
 "It's a matter of two mile!" commented the driver, 
 who had turned the carriage and was waiting interestedly 
 to see them start. 
 
 "That's only a step!" cried Cynthia. 
 
 "Bravo, miss, and a happy life to 'ee! Good night, 
 sir!" 
 
 Both vehicles started, and the last link with London 
 seemed broken. Henceforward they moved as new 
 people in a magic land of purity and distances, where 
 was pale sunlight and long purple shadows drifting and 
 springy turf underfoot and a scented wind musical in 
 their ears; where the strength of their youth was 
 doubled and they felt as though they could walk for ever 
 in a rapture of exhilaration and happy relief. They 
 looked at each other and smiled. They laughed aloud, 
 with clasped hands swinging, and were suddenly silent, 
 conscious of the warmth of palm in palm. Their hands 
 clung like friends, their hands clung like lovers. Great 
 Roughtor shook his granite mane against the sky. He 
 blessed them, saying, ' ' Mine is the glory of the ages that 
 are past; in the beating of your pulses, O mortals, is 
 the promise of aeons yet to come ! I, who am immortal 
 Death, salute Life. Ye shall love me, and I will make 
 you wise. For Love that fears not is free as Death, 
 and we are equals, ye and I!" 
 
 As they came close beneath his grandeur they trembled 
 and their hands fell apart. ' ' He 's like a sphinx, ' ' said 
 Cynthia, her sweet voice hushed, ' ' but still he 's friendly. 
 We 're going to be so happy on the moor, Peter ! ' ' 
 
 Then Trerice looked back, pointing to a short cut, 
 and presently the roof of Radgells appeared below them ; 
 beyond, began the slopes of Brown Willy. It was 
 shadowy here among the hills, but behind them in the sky 
 glowed red above Louden, and the craggy precipitous 
 head of Roughtor was dark against red sky. Above Brown 
 Willy 's cairn sparkled a single star. The moor was quiet. 
 
 A stony track led downward to the open door of the
 
 TRANSFORMATION 273 
 
 house, from which came a beam of light. They saw an 
 outside staircase leading to a loft, a porch rose-covered, 
 a big window beside it at which a woman's figure ap- 
 peared carrying a lamp ; she put it down and looked out 
 as Trerice staggered round the side of the building, bent 
 beneath one of Cynthia's trunks. 
 
 "Hallo, Mother," he called. "They'm coming!" 
 The woman vanished from the window and met Trerice 
 entering. He had not perceived Peter and Cynthia, 
 but Mrs. Trerice did. "Get on in with 'ee, Will!" she 
 said, making way. He stumbled forward and disappeared. 
 Mrs. Trerice slipped back and greeted the travellers upon 
 the threshold with a shy, "Good evening"; she seemed 
 astonished by Cynthia's beauty. Then she led them in. 
 She was a very broad-shouldered woman with a thin 
 face and large, dark eyes, and brown hair combed back. 
 Her expression was intelligent and kind; intensely self- 
 reliant without the smallest trace of conceit. 
 
 She wished to take them through the kitchen into the 
 parlour while the luggage was being carried upstairs, 
 but Peter insisted on helping Mr. Trerice, and Cynthia 
 begged to be allowed to stay where she was. "If you 
 don't mind!" said Mrs. Trerice, visibly pleased. 
 Cynthia addressed a little girl of nine or ten who was 
 playing by the hearth. She was awed by the clothes 
 of the London lady and would not answer. "She 
 doesn't see many strangers out here on the moor," her 
 mother apologised for her. "Speak up, Gwenneth! 
 Tell the lady the kittens' names. We call them 'Blue' 
 and 'Smoke,' miss. Mr. James gave us the mother- 
 cat. He brought her all the way from London. It's 
 odd . . . Gwenneth will chatter away to Mr. James. '" 
 "She will to me in a day or two," promised Cynthia. 
 
 Mrs. Trerice, busy at the stove, had still found time 
 for many an anxious glance at Cynthia's attire, the 
 simplicity of which did not by any means conceal its 
 expensiveness, and now she said: "I do hope you'll be 
 comfortable here. I'm afraid you'll find it very rough 
 after what you've been used to, miss." Cynthia noted 
 the pretty singsong lilt of her voice.
 
 274 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "I'm sure I shall be comfortable!" she said quickly, 
 and indeed the clean lime-washed walls and stone floor, 
 the grandfather clock, the scrubbed table and painted 
 round-backed wooden chairs, the pots simmering 
 pleasantly on the stove, the winding staircase up which 
 Peter had just vanished with a brown leather bag, the 
 geraniums in the window and the great silence outside 
 gave the cheerful interior an air of peace and home. 
 Her impulsiveness lent her the last charm necessary to 
 captivate the Cornishwoman, already predisposed to 
 like the friend of ' Mr. James. ' "I wish you happiness, ' ' 
 she said with her face turned away as she stood at 
 the fire. "And I ought not to be calling you 'miss.' 
 We'll do our best for you here." 
 
 ' ' Thank you, ' ' said Cynthia. 
 
 "You'm walcome!" And the two women were 
 friends. 
 
 The moment of going up to wash hands was embarrass- 
 ing to Cynthia, for the small interval of settling-down 
 in the kitchen had made Peter seem suddenly far away. 
 She felt shy as she went up the winding, narrow stair- 
 case. Also she hated the idea of appearing at a disadvan- 
 tage. Sponging one 's face was such a prosaic thing after 
 being admitted to the friendship of Roughtor, the Spirit 
 of the Moor. Oh, there were many reasons ! She would 
 not admit that she was in the least afraid of entering 
 their common room; but should it not be a place apart 
 and holy? She longed petulantly for a private suite 
 and her own maid, then naming herself a cowardly fool 
 moved into their bedroom with dragging footsteps. He 
 had called to her from within, whence came the sound 
 of pouring water. With just a glance at her drooping 
 flower countenance, her lowered eyes, he moved past 
 her and went out. The instant he was gone she became 
 ashamed and called, "Peter," impulsively. He heard 
 and returned. Then she held out her arms. 
 
 In the parlour they found cream and many cakes, 
 home-made bread, both white and saffron, ham and 
 eggs, and tea; and ate hungrily. Her hair looked 
 fairer than usual in the lamplight. Her bare throat
 
 TRANSFORMATION 275 
 
 was very white. He remembered how he had kissed it 
 in the train. Her eyes were still shy and wild. She 
 was a lovely girl; anyone would have said she was a 
 lovely girl, but to him she was precious above words, 
 above thoughts. He kissed her finger with the ring on 
 it, slipping instinctively to his knees by her chair and 
 then as she uttered a sweet, little startled cry he buried 
 his face upon her knees, sobbed out that he was unworthy 
 and would make her unhappy, he was so selfish. He 
 would try not to be a beast to her, try to be kind, she 
 had given up so much, he did not deserve her, did not 
 know why she loved him. "Oh, Peter," she said, strok- 
 ing his hair gently, "I can't think why you love me!" 
 She comforted him, and all at once they were merry. 
 When the meal was over they started to clear away, 
 but Mrs. Trerice came in and would not let them touch 
 a thing. She brought them 'Blue' and 'Smoke' to play 
 with and told them how their sheets were bleached in 
 the brightest sunshine and how Mr. James had given 
 her most of the furniture of this room, he did his kind- 
 nesses in such a way you couldn't say no. 
 
 Then she left them and Cynthia went upstairs to 
 unpack. Peter had already thrown out the things he 
 needed; which was a pity, he felt now, for he would 
 have liked to work side by side with her. He would 
 have boldly followed her, but somehow he could not stir. 
 His feet seemed weighted with lead. He was over- 
 whelmed by the most complete shyness. She was like a 
 mystery, a spirit moving overhead. The plancheon the 
 plank ceiling communicated her presence as she stirred, 
 light-foot. The soft noises and whispering sounds fright- 
 ened him. She was no longer merely beautiful in his 
 thoughts, she was All-Beauty, no longer a girl, but the 
 Secret of Maidenhood, no longer a woman, but the Soul 
 of Womanliness, she was God's messenger to him and 
 a human, passionate lover like himself. He murmured 
 her name, "Cynthia!" It was as though she had sud- 
 denly outgrown it, she was too great and wondrous to 
 be named any more. 
 
 And then she came down and sat opposite him with a
 
 276 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 book, and there was a silence between them, and they 
 peeped at one another with hot cheeks while it seemed 
 to each that the other's eyes shone and were very bril- 
 liant and that his own eyes on the contrary were dim. 
 They were tingling with excitement. After a while she 
 rose to her feet with a dignity which concealed her 
 nervous trembling, and he rose too and lighted the 
 candle that Mrs. Trerice had put ready, and gave it her. 
 She took it in her left hand and held out her right in a 
 frank gesture. Gravely they clasped hands and met each 
 other's gaze. It was a sacrament of friendship which 
 altered after a second to the challenge of youth, of sex. 
 Their eyes dropped, their hands dropped, and she turned 
 away, saying strangely, "I do love you, Peter, after 
 all, ' ' and moved to the door, a young, girlish figure, and 
 went out. Through the open door he could see the flame 
 flickering with the trembling of her hand, and her voice 
 said, ' ' Good night, ' ' steadily to the inmates of the kitchen 
 who chorussed a reply, and then she passed up the stairs 
 and out of sight. 
 
 The beating of Peter's heart would not let him listen 
 for the ceasing of the dim sounds overhead. The Tre- 
 rices went up. A night-wind murmured about the win- 
 dows. He had an odd fancy that he heard Roughtor 
 stir outside, rising to his feet in order to pace the moor, 
 a watchful friendly presence, the Past guarding the 
 Future. The thought of the future caused Peter to 
 shake from head to foot. He prayed in an agony of 
 humility, "Make me worthy, God!" In a fever of 
 happiness he thanked God for giving him Cynthia. 
 
 Yes, there was silence above. With a steady hand and 
 breath he extinguished the lamp. He felt his way out of 
 the room, Youth singing in his heart. Swiftly he ascended 
 the stairs. He saw light through the keyhole, like a faint 
 melodious whisper of his name, bidding him enter. For 
 a moment he stood still, awed on the threshold of the new 
 life, then clutched at the handle of the door with eager 
 fingers, knowing that he loved her, that she was near. . . . 
 
 The door opened ; and closed behind him.
 
 VI 
 
 THEIR window, wide open, looked upon the east, but the 
 early sunshine did not awaken them, nor did the fresh 
 wind of the morning, stirring the coverlet and the soft 
 strands of Cynthia's tumbled hair. They slept like two 
 children, his head nursed against her white breast, his 
 arm flung about her; each clasped his treasure, smiling 
 peacefully. The clatter of milk-buckets aroused them 
 and drew them to the window. "Let's only be happy 
 to-day ! ' ' said Cynthia. ' ' There 's nowhere but here and 
 no one but us in the whole, wide world." She put up 
 her lips innocently to be kissed, as they leaned out, el- 
 bows on the sill, and nestled into his embrace with a 
 little sigh of happiness. "I love you, dear Peter," she 
 said. Mrs. Trerice appeared below and they slipped 
 back into the shadow of the room. Out of his arms she 
 flew to the washstand and poured out water. "Let's get 
 up quickly and be fearfully athletic!" she cried. 
 "Please, Peter, set up the screen for me. I feel as 
 though I could run twice round the world!" 
 
 ' ' We 're too late to see the sunrise from Brown Willy, ' ' 
 said Peter. 
 
 "Another morning we will. Who'll be first on the 
 topmost top of Roughtor? I, Cynthia, will be. We'll 
 climb the steepest face." 
 
 "The end of the ridge is a precipice, darling. We 
 can't manage that." 
 
 "I could with ropes. I'm a mountaineer (splash), 
 a horrid boastful pig of a mountaineer (loud splash- 
 ing). But we'll go up the Camelford side. That's 
 steeper and jollier than this side, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes. This is bare and stony and the other is grown 
 with furze and bushes, with big blocks of granite tum- 
 bled about. Right as usual, Cyn." 
 
 277
 
 278 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "Don't call me Cyn, call me Star, Peter. No, you 
 mustn 't look round yet. I like to be called Star because 
 it makes me feel vain." 
 
 "You'd better not talk if you want me not to look 
 round," said Peter reprovingly. Cynthia laughed. 
 
 When they came down for breakfast Mrs. Trerice 
 addressed them as "My dear souls" in her surprise. 
 ' ' Mr. James was never afoot so early as this, ' ' she said. 
 She could not take her eyes off Cynthia; there was a 
 tenderness, a touching softness and radiance about the 
 girl's beauty and grace which melted the heart. So 
 while the kettle was boiling she led them into the flower 
 garden at the back of the house, where fuchsias and 
 wallflowers bloomed, and rose bushes scrambled about 
 the walls, laden with great pink blossoms ; and she dis- 
 coursed as freely as she would have to her favourite, Mr. 
 James. When she had come here fourteen years ago this 
 garden was all choked with nettles, which she and her 
 husband had killed by pouring on them pailfuls of boil- 
 ing water. Turrible thick they were. And the adders 
 used to come into the parlour through a hole in the wall, 
 and get into the kitchen at night and steal food. They 
 had killed twelve or fifteen adders while they were 
 cleansing the house, and once she had met one wriggling 
 downstairs. "In another moment he was dead as a 
 dish ! ' ' She had not seen an adder for a month or two 
 now, but there were plenty up over in the clitter below 
 Brown Willy, adders and foxes and badgers and town- 
 crows too, turrible nuisance among the fowls, my dear 
 turrible ! 
 
 "What's a clitter, please, Mrs. Trerice?" asked 
 Cynthia. "Is it that long, sloping down, brackeny 
 bit?" 
 
 "Yes, all that bracken grows over piled-up rocks, and 
 there are deep holes there. That's a clitter; and that's 
 where the foxes and adders live. The hunt's a pretty 
 sight streamin' over Brown Willy. I like to come out 
 and watch 'em, but they don't pay more'n a shillun a 
 head for the fowls the foxes kill, and 'tesn 't enough. We 
 lose heavy by the foxes and towncrows."
 
 TRANSFORMATION 279 
 
 "Are they what we should call carrion-crows?" asked 
 Peter. 
 
 ' ' I don 't know, sir. I suppose they are. We call 'era 
 towncrows because they're such thieves. Now I'll set 
 your breakfast ready and put out the pasties and cakes 
 for you to take for your lunch, ef you're sure you won't 
 come back to the house. 'Tesn 't no trouble to me, either 
 way. ' ' 
 
 "Are you afraid of snakes, dear?" asked Peter, confi- 
 dentially, as he and Cynthia strolled after Mrs. Trerice. 
 
 "Not a bit. But I am afraid of mice." 
 
 He called, "Are there any mice here, Mrs. Trerice?" 
 
 She stopped in surprise. "Oh no, sir. The adders 
 see to that." 
 
 ' ' Well, one of us is happy, ' ' remarked Peter. ' ' I am 
 afraid of snakes. My wife (how splendid it sounded !) 
 hates mice. What are you afraid of?" 
 
 Mrs. Trerice considered. " 'Tes a lonely place this, a 
 bra' lonely spot, and I tell 'ee what I'm afraid of. I'm 
 mortal afraid of scalding myself, for what I 'd do then I 
 can 't tell ! ' ' She hurried on into the kitchen. 
 
 At the end of breakfast Peter said that if their landlady 
 had provided enough for six, anyhow they had eaten 
 enough for four. "You aren't very shocked at me for 
 being greedy?" inquired Cynthia. "Are you?" He 
 reassured her, and she withdrew to make herself ready 
 for going out. Cynthia was conscious of an extraordinary 
 sense of freedom since yesterday, a new breadth of happi- 
 ness, a feeling of naturalness. She did not appear to 
 herself to have changed suddenly from a girl into a 
 woman. She felt herself if possible more girlish than ever, 
 but a natural person instead of a conventionally civilised 
 one. Her love was right; it had completed her. She 
 came back singing with a careless joy, head bare, all in 
 white down to stockings and shoes, the sleeves of her 
 blouse rolled up to her shoulders, a walking-stick in her 
 hand, a bunch of wallflowers at her breast. She was a 
 gay, athletic figure of Spring, as unlike the conventional 
 Rosemary of the drawing-room as could be imagined. 
 
 "I say!" exclaimed Peter. "You darling!"
 
 280 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Cynthia guilelessly 
 but she blushed. 
 
 "You! You're just perfect for the moor. It's so 
 jolly to see your arms. They 're as good as any statue 's 
 Shaun says so, too." 
 
 ' ' I don 't care what Shaun says ! ' ' said Cynthia, heart- 
 lessly. "Thank you for liking them, Peter. I want to 
 get them sun-browned." 
 
 "Sun-browned!" 
 
 "Yes. They are too white." Peter would have ap- 
 proved if she had wanted to have them black. He did 
 not understand, but he said cheerfully yes. His young 
 wife should have her wish. 
 
 Then they went side by side through the rose-covered 
 porch, their elbows touching with the blissfullest thrill of 
 contact, and fell apart when they saw Mr. Trerice ap- 
 proaching on a pony. He had led the beast with Gwen- 
 neth on its back as far as the edge of the moor, and now 
 was riding home. They learnt that the little girl had 
 five miles to go to attend school at St. Breward's, and 
 the same distance to return by herself every evening; 
 if she got wet on the way out schoolmaster would send 
 her home to once, but of course she did not go in the 
 roughest weather. "There's no fear of rain to-day. 
 They big, white clouds mean nothing and the king- 
 crowners are abroad." 
 
 When Trerice had passed on, Peter asked, "What are 
 kingcrowners ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Red Admiral or Peacock butterflies. ' ' 
 
 "Why, I thought they were probably eagles!" 
 
 She laughed at him very sweetly, and after that they 
 walked for a while hand in hand. Close to the house 
 they passed a stone circle, a ring of upright slabs a 
 couple of feet in height marking the position of some- 
 thing, but he would be a bold man who was certain what. 
 Thus, Peter ; and then they proceeded along the way they 
 had come last night, in order to pass under Roughtor and 
 attack him from the wilder Camelford side. Wheatears 
 and meadow-pipits scolded them daintily forward, pur- 
 suing them from nest to nest.
 
 TRANSFORMATION 281 
 
 Now they were beneath the precipitous head of the lion 
 of the moor, at the edge of the clitter of stones and 
 bracken which outstretching formed his paws. They 
 skirted the clitter and rounded the head to where grass 
 and heather gave access to a stiff slope, strown with 
 granite blocks amongst which grew whortle bushes and 
 clumps of bracken, leading up to the summit where the 
 granite outcrop was bare and exposed and enormous 
 rocks were piled one upon the other smooth and dusky 
 and weatherworn, their lower masses overgrown with 
 lichen, the upper surfaces wind-swept and naked. The 
 top of Roughtor looked some five hundred feet above the 
 level of the moor where they stood, and to race up it 
 called for young breath and young, strong limbs. 
 
 Peter and Cynthia were discussing where the race 
 should end. "I don't know that we can climb that sort 
 of cairn upon the very top," said Peter, fearing for 
 Cynthia. "Let's make it that the first who sees over to 
 the other side wins." 
 
 Cynthia, confident of her climbing, was afraid for 
 Peter. "The first to see Brown Willy," she agreed. 
 ' ' Don 't drop off your knapsack, Boy ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' There, you are stooping like a sprinter ! ' ' said Peter. 
 "We're not off yet. You must have a start, Girl. Go 
 on ahead twenty yards." 
 
 "I'm sure I've gone more than twenty yards," cried 
 Cynthia indignantly, turning round. "Why didn't you 
 stop me, Peter?" 
 
 "I was watching you, darling. You are so sweet, 
 Cynthia ! Now ready. Off ! " 
 
 Cynthia found herself running. She did not remember 
 starting, but she was running as she had never run before. 
 Now came the rise she had barely time to choose her 
 course, but pressed on up as best she could, round rocks, 
 over more rocks, now scrambling on hands and knees, 
 now creeping sideways, now swinging herself up by the 
 help of bushes, going as straight as she could. "I've 
 never been so happy, " she thought, rushing a steep patch 
 of moss and turf over which a less agile young animal 
 would have had to crawl. A great ram blundered to his
 
 282 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 feet, startling her, and crashed away through bracken. 
 The girl with a little cry raced on. Her mind cleared, and 
 a recollection flew across its surface like sunshine over 
 water. How often she had wondered whether she could 
 abandon her individuality and just be Peter's which 
 was precisely what was giving her happiness now ! She 
 loved him ! She loved him ! Flying forward with beat- 
 ing heart to the crest of the rise, glorying in her youthful 
 strength and deep-lunged fleetness, she could still rejoice 
 to hear his footsteps close ... at her side ... to see 
 him win by only a yard. And she had breath enough left 
 to cry out, flinging herself down, "Oh, the valley and 
 Brown Willy! Look at the little stream in the valley, 
 running below Radgells! I'm glad you won, Peter." 
 
 Peter once started on an idea was not to be diverted. 
 "Up on that pile of rocks is the topmost top," he said. 
 "I wonder how many tons each of them weighs! I 
 wonder whether it's wind or water that wears them 
 so smooth. They're granite, you know, Starry One. 
 Fifteen feet, twenty feet to go and six footholds. I '11 go 
 first. Mind, you must not come unless I find it easy." 
 
 The slabs thinned away to narrow edges affording a 
 foothold, but rose steeply one above the other. Peter 
 blundered and slid down. The other faces were abrupt, 
 unapproachable; only this side turned towards Brown 
 Willy was possible of conquest. 
 
 Cynthia had been watching from the ground. She 
 stooped and drew off shoes and stockings. Her skirts 
 were short and gave her free action of the limbs. "Let 
 me try," she said. "You need rubber shoes, Peter. 
 Your boots are too slippery." 
 
 "You've got rubbers, haven't you, kid?" said Peter, 
 without looking round : still dogged. 
 
 "Mine are my old lacrosse shoes, with studs," ex- 
 plained Cynthia. 'They are no good. Do let me try, 
 Peter." 
 
 "Oh, I say! That's the notion, of course." 
 
 He made way for her, and the girl went up lithely, 
 bare arms reaching overhead, supple body balanced, and 
 her feet easily maintaining their hold on the smooth
 
 TRANSFORMATION 283 
 
 stone. Up she went ! Now she had a hand on the top- 
 most slab of granite, now her head rose above it, shoul- 
 ders followed ; she bent over it and, lifting herself with 
 her arms, raised a knee and got it over the edge; then 
 brought up a bare foot, and was stooping on one knee 
 upon the brink. He saw her suddenly rise lightly and 
 stand. 
 
 "Hurry up," she called. "The stone is warm and 
 pleasant to one 's toes climbing, and it 's more than warm 
 on top, I can tell you ! Too hot to keep still. I 'm going 
 to dance!" Gracefully she sketched a few steps; then, 
 as Peter joined her, pointed down to round, symmetrical 
 hollows in the granite on which they stood. "Don't 
 fall in!" she said. "They call these sacrificial basins, 
 and talk of druids, but don't you think they are rather 
 obviously water-worn ! This big one has got a channel 
 running from its edge. I 'm sure they are. Oh ! " Two 
 great birds mounted majestically from below, passing 
 close, and then, sweeping away from the humans, sailed 
 in great curves higher and higher until they became 
 mere specks against the blue sky. 
 
 "Buzzards!" she told him. 
 
 "I recognise their flight," said Peter. "I must have 
 seen some before. They're like aeroplanes." 
 
 "Isn't it a view? Just look at it!" 
 
 Below them was the slope they had ascended, and the 
 moor, and Roughtor Bridge, and the hill they had 
 driven down as they came from Camelford, and ridge 
 after ridge of green, stretching away to the horizon 
 beyond which were hidden the dark cliffs of Tintagel 
 and Boscastle. The houses of Delabole and its queer, 
 short-spired church were outlined against the sky in 
 the distance. The roofs of Camelford were visible, 
 trooping into the valley of the Camel. With interlocked 
 arms the two pressed close to each other and gazed in 
 speechless happiness. On their right was the emerald-* 
 hued turf of the summit of the ridge and the cairn of 
 Little Roughtor, almost as lofty as that on which they 
 stood ; and, showing perceptible traces of artificial work, 
 the ruins of an ancient hill-fortress. On their left, far
 
 284 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 below, stretched a wide moor, with clay-workings on its 
 distant edge, shining white in the sunlight. Garrow 
 and Butters Tor rose from this moorland, the former 
 with a solitary pine-tree on its side. Out beyond 
 stretched hill after hill, past Hawk's Tor; and, yet 
 farther, more green and rounded hills ; and, farther 
 still, a well-wooded country and the obelisk called Bod- 
 min Monument, with fainter and bluer hills melting into 
 the turquoise sky. As they turned Brown Willy towered 
 before them; and between the two mountains ran a 
 slender stream which issued from a marsh and flowed 
 down past Radgells, after which it bent away towards 
 the heart of the moor and was lost from sight beyond 
 two pools, where it curved behind Brown Willy. 
 
 Their backs were now towards Camelf ord and the sea ; 
 they were facing south-west. Cynthia 's pretty toes were 
 over the edge of the wall up which they had climbed. 
 She seemed to hover, as though she might leap down 
 twenty feet to the earth below. 
 
 Peter noticed the toes. ' ' Do all girls have pink, shin- 
 ing nails, and dainty feet and slender ankles like yours ? ' ' 
 he asked. "I'm sure they can't have." 
 
 ''Mine are supposed to be rather nice," Cynthia ad- 
 mitted. "If you like them I might become conceited; 
 so help me down, Peter, and don't make me a com- 
 placent wife." 
 
 They clambered down and stretched themselves hap- 
 pily in the sun. Cynthia remembered that she loved 
 having the soles of her feet tickled, a recollection from 
 a time of sleeping with Joyce, and demanded the lux- 
 ury. Peter took the beautiful things into his lap, and 
 presently the girl's long lids drooped and rose, she 
 smiled an exquisite, drowsy smile, which said, "I love 
 you. ' ' The stars of her eyes were veiled, and she slept. 
 
 He watched by her fragrant young body, scented with 
 heather scents by sun and air. The sunshine beat upon 
 them, the fresh, sparkling air blew over them, the blue 
 sky arched overhead. Youth and love existed. London 
 had never been. Shaun was a small, distant figure in 
 the memory the friend who was scheming to help, who
 
 TEANSFOEMATION 285 
 
 was following at that moment a uniformed messenger 
 into Sir Everard's office for the second consultation, 
 even this friend was dreamlike. ' ' But we do love him, ' ' 
 Peter thought, and in her sleep Cynthia smiled. "She's 
 loving him, too," he hoped, gazing deeply. Her flushed 
 cheek was pillowed on the white beauty of an out- 
 stretched arm. Curls were straying upon her neck. 
 The sun glinted on her chestnut hair whose masses gained 
 in splendour by their slight disorder. The sleeve of her 
 other arm had become unrolled to within a few inches 
 of her elbow. She raised this hand in a beckoning ges- 
 ture, again with that mysterious smile, and he trembled 
 with awe, then stooping caught the whisper of his name, 
 and kissed her wrist. She woke with such happy eyes! 
 
 When the sun had passed overhead, when they had 
 eaten and again were hungry, they made their way 
 down Roughtor to the cold and amber stream with rocks, 
 black-lichened, in deep pools, and peat-stained rocks ; 
 where the dragonfly shot over the surface of the water 
 and a vole lifted his sleek head, only to dive at Cynthia's 
 cry of joy. And they played with the stream. A dipper 
 darted. They followed the flash of his wings. 
 
 It led them back to Radgells and the delights of tea. 
 And so the too short day wore swiftly to a close. Again 
 they climbed high Roughtor to watch the afterglow, and 
 saw ragged and heavy low-piled clouds over the line of 
 the horizon, like hills or distant islands seen across fairy 
 seas, and above them a clear orange sky, flecked by char- 
 coal-shadowed smudges that turned to roseate as the 
 orange faded. All the sky grew rose, delicate tinted and 
 ethereal, and slowly paled.
 
 VII 
 
 His lips were upon her hair, her cheek warm on his 
 shoulder, and she murmured in a very little voice, "I 
 would like to write again to Mummy, but Shaun said 
 not. I suppose I mustn't, and I will be good, but oh 
 I do hope she'll love me again soon." 
 
 He clasped her: "Cynthia, Cynthia!" 
 
 "You are first, Peter. Always. My darling!" 
 
 "Wife!" 
 
 "Husband!" 
 
 286
 
 VIII 
 
 BECAUSE Cynthia was a conventional girl she intended 
 to take with her to Dozmary Pool a copy of The Passing 
 of Arthur, but Shaun would have been horrified at what 
 she did, she tore out the pages from the bound volume. 
 She would not have dreamt of doing this in the days of 
 Shaun ! 
 
 Dozmary lay beyond Bolventor village, which is the 
 centre of the moor and the only village thereon, about 
 six miles from Radgells. The direct path to it led 
 across the stream, between Brown Willy and Butters 
 Tor, past the disused tin-streaming sheds and pump and 
 the two pools that lay desolately at the foot of Brown- 
 willy Downs, and vanished out of sight past a moor- 
 man's cottage. Mrs. Trerice pointed out the track. Yes, 
 she walked there once a year for the chapel outing, and 
 went on the lake in a boat; twopence each for adults 
 and children free. No, she did not feel tired after the 
 twelve mile walk. She wasn't young any longer, but 
 she was still brave and brisk. Peter and Cynthia decided 
 to climb Brown Willy and then go on to the Pool. Fif- 
 teen miles, including a mountain, should be nothing to 
 youth, if ' no longer young ' ' could manage twelve and a 
 jollification. 
 
 "Not that Brown Willy is a very lofty mountain!" 
 commented Cynthia, "at least compared with Switzer- 
 land, or even Wales! Is it higher than Roughtor? 
 Dear Brown Willy, I don 't want to disparage you ! ' ' 
 
 "It's the best Cornwall can do," said Peter, labouring 
 over a guidebook. ' ' And I say ! Those piles of rock, 
 you know, the one we climbed on Roughtor yesterday, 
 piles of rock like that are called 'radgells' when they 
 aren't 'tors.' A cairn is an artificial heap, usually over 
 
 287
 
 288 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 the grave of a warrior, but the one on the summit of 
 Brown Willy was placed there by the Ordnance Survey. 
 I wonder what on earth for ! There are barrows and hut 
 circles and stone circles and fogous all over the place. 
 It 's what they call a ' wish ' kind of a place, this moor ! ' ' 
 
 "I think they're friendly, though," said Cynthia. 
 "Everything is, here." 
 
 "I daresay they don't like people who poke about 
 and make theories," Peter suggested. "Come along, 
 the sun's out now." They crossed the stream and went 
 first to examine the long bricks of peats set out to dry. 
 Trerice was busy with the peat-spade, slicing away at 
 the edge of a round black pit some two or three feet 
 deep, into which the clods fell down. The next process 
 would be to lift them out and strew them on the drying- 
 ground, and finally after many days they would be piled 
 carefully in stacks to form the winter's fuel. As hind 
 he possessed the right of turbary and he was working 
 now for his own hand. 
 
 "Did you notice his eyes?" said Peter, as the two 
 strode away uphill. "They're not exactly dreamy, but 
 he always looks as though he were seeing something a 
 long way off. ' ' 
 
 "I suppose it comes from doing just that very thing. 
 Mountaineers and moormen have the same sort of look, 
 I think." 
 
 "Yes, and sailors!" 
 
 "They're windy, rolling people. The others step 
 smoothly. I 'm not clever, Peter ! Shaun pointed it out 
 to me." 
 
 Their rush to the summit of Brown Willy substan- 
 tiated his claim to be a mountain! They found he 
 possessed the gifts of deceptive distances and of false 
 peaks, characteristic of all mountains, and that there 
 was stiff climbing to be done. They went straight and 
 side by side, helping each other as comrades. What a 
 splendid comrade this girl made, thought breathless 
 Peter; while Cynthia, exulting in her agility and activ- 
 ity, was yet generously glad when he outstripped her and 
 felt delicious thrills of joy at being assisted by him.
 
 TRANSFORMATION 289 
 
 She loved the grip of his hand and the straining pull at 
 her arm up a steep place. Accustomed as she was from 
 childhood to have her looks admired, and conscious as 
 she was of their distinction, she could not repress a 
 happy triumph at the involuntary glance he always cast 
 at the beauty of the bare, flexing arm. The unconscious- 
 ness of the tribute increased its value, which she ap- 
 praised with joy and a certain childish vanity new to 
 her own knowledge of herself. But it was sweet to be 
 admired by Peter, to sway him and then to tremble 
 into submission! She longed that he should give her 
 a sharp word, a command, or even a blow. Bracing 
 herself, defiant at the thought, she withheld the hand 
 that he reached for, her pride awakened and eager for 
 conflict; then collapsed at his first glance of surprise, 
 beguiled by the sweetness of surrender. He snatched 
 her wrist almost with roughness and drew her to him, 
 clasping her waist; then swung her up in his strong 
 arms and carried her bodily up the last few steps to the 
 summit of Brown Willy. He set her gently down beside 
 the cairn, and stood with downcast look, a trifle ashamed 
 of his violence. 
 
 "I don't know why I did that!" he said. "I hope 
 I didn't hurt you, Star!" 
 
 Cynthia looked away. "I should have liked to be 
 hurt by you," she said with abandonment. She inno- 
 cently nestled to him; then shrank away, suddenly shy. 
 As always, he respected her mood, and let her go. 
 
 They climbed the cairn and sat side by side, a puzzle 
 to each other and to themselves. They were not yet 
 completely in accord, were still somewhat wild and 
 strange in their new relationship. The comrades were 
 also lovers, and the lovers had not learnt to be comrades. 
 Shaun would have found this stage in their development 
 intensely interesting, for he held that the happiest 
 marriages are those in which a community of frankness 
 is established during the first few days of the honeymoon. 
 He had foreseen the danger of this couple falling short 
 of perfect happiness. Peter was a reserved boy, Cynthia 
 had a Rosemary side to her character which might lead
 
 290 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 to a shrinking back after a first impulsive surrender: 
 when Peter's reserve and his sympathy combined might 
 well set up a small, unsurmountable barrier between 
 them. Such a barrier sometimes grows with the months 
 and grows with the years until from being scarcely per- 
 ceptible it blots out the sun and separates the courses 
 of two lives. 
 
 But as they perched there, with dangling feet, high 
 above the green world of plains and hills rolling away to 
 a craggy horizon, the beauty of the scene caused them 
 to forget their own selves, their difficulties and troubles ; 
 and their minds cleared as the downs to sunshine behind 
 the chasing shadows. They pointed out to each other 
 the blackness of Kilmaur, a wild hill across the moor, 
 and were trying to guess where the Cheesewring stood 
 upon the horizon-range, when Peter caught a glint of 
 light beyond the only wood visible in that wide sweep 
 of country, and hailed it as distant Dozmary. They 
 scarcely turned to look at Roughtor; the future, the 
 unexplored held all their interest. Somewhere below, 
 at the foot of lofty Brown Willy, was Fowey Well, the 
 source of the Fowey River, whose banks they could see 
 twisting across the moor. The water ran too low be- 
 tween to be discernible, and the banks at this distance 
 had the appearance of stone hedges, so that the river van- 
 ished in the guise of a lane behind Codda Tor. 
 
 Suddenly Cynthia stretched out a lovely arm, sun- 
 kissed, bare to the shoulder, and pointed leftward to a 
 haze in the middle sky. "Look!" she cried. Dark 
 land was piercing the far-off greyness like an island ris- 
 ing from the midst of a sea, and as the mist cleared away 
 a plateau was revealed, descending, dropping from the 
 sky to touch the horizon. That which had seemed poised 
 in the air was now a tableland, higher than Brown Willy, 
 serrated dimly with faint peaks, and swiftly it vanished 
 as it had come. Now he was caught by the gaze of her 
 wondering eyes, wide-lidded, and she breathed "Dart- 
 moor!" with a soft amazement. He was lost in the 
 mystery of her eyes. Laughing, she started forward, 
 rising with outflung arms and springing from the side of
 
 TRANSFORMATION 291 
 
 the cairn to the ground, on which she swayed upright 
 with easy grace. "Come, Peter!" cried the sweet, 
 soprano voice as he stared. She beckoned him with 
 voice and finger pointing in a lovely, theatrical gesture 
 along the ridge. ' ' I thought I was in fairyland ! ' ' she 
 cried. "But, oh, it's jolly to be a girl alive!" As- 
 tonished at her changes, Peter jumped down and followed. 
 He had a vague idea that he was learning to know woman. 
 
 Her white-clad figure ran on ahead. She was wearing 
 a blue scarf to-day in place of a belt, and he caught her 
 by it and it came undone. Then he bound her wrists 
 and led her captive to where his knapsack had been 
 thrown off ; and they played hide-and-seek on the rocky 
 ridge, making themselves as hungry as hunters, and sat 
 down and ate a solemn sandwich each. Whortleberry 
 bushes grew round about, Cornish heath not yet in flower 
 was below them as they lay a springy carpet; stone- 
 crop starred the chinks of granite. Sunshine and shadow 
 swept across the moor. Great white clouds sailed stately 
 over the sky, and the wind made whispered promises, 
 lisping in broken gusts of secrets to be revealed ; while 
 the heat of the sun was scorching. They removed into 
 shadow and sat cross-legged, packing the parcel as slowly 
 as they could. 
 
 ' ' I wish the wind would tell, instead of dying away, ' ' 
 chattered the girl. "You are exasperating, wind! 
 Peter, the string, please! Thank you, dear. Have you 
 noticed how different Brown Willy is from Roughtor 
 no great boulders strewn, just a projecting edge of 
 granite like a wall, as far as the clitter they call Brown- 
 willy Downs?" 
 
 "Yes, and the rock is in thinner slices." 
 
 "Slices, Best One?" 
 
 "I don't mean strata. Don't you see it's worn hori- 
 zontally in parallel lines?" 
 
 "Of course it is, impossibly attractive Peter! I like 
 you, Peter. You are nice. Now we ought to get on or 
 we shall never reach Dozmary ! ' ' 
 
 But the recesses where rushes grew; the wet patches; 
 the tracts of deep moss; the shady angles and caverns
 
 292 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 inviting rest; the sunshiny rock faces challenging to a 
 climb ; the bracken at the edge of the clitter, where they 
 found the skeleton of a ram picked clean by the buzzards 
 and towncrows, its ribs gnawed short by the foxes, then 
 at some distance away his curved horns, which they took 
 as a memento; the fascination of the cloud-shadows, 
 coursing over the billowing plain below ; the beguilements 
 of their playfellow, wind, all these things held them 
 back. It was noon when they raced down the hillside, 
 first walking with balanced care, then leaping with ex- 
 cited shouts from rock to rock over a rough piece of 
 ground that did not descend so sheer, and ending with 
 a wild scamper down a stretch of turf. Cynthia won this 
 time. 
 
 "It's a wonder we haven't broken our necks!" ex- 
 claimed she, breathless, busy with her hair, while Peter, 
 looking back, registered a mental vow not to risk her 
 precious limbs again. 
 
 They picked up the path beyond the turbary and 
 walked steadily, crossing the stream at Butters Tor by 
 the disused tin-streaming works, passing a farmstead 
 and easily finding the path up Pridacoombe Downs. On 
 the top they lost it, through skirting another turbary 
 where there was soft ground or else it had ended at the 
 turf-stacks : at any rate they did not cross Pridacoombe 
 on a path, and a swampy way they found it, especially 
 when they dropped into a valley and made for the land- 
 mark of an apparent cart-track leading up a hill. This 
 track led them through devious ways to Tolborough 
 Farm, after giving them a view from the hill top of 
 Bolventor's little copse and church and a few houses, 
 only a mile or so away. At Tolborough Cynthia was 
 frightened by a ferocious watchdog, whose master luckily 
 was at hand to call him off. Whereupon Peter replaced 
 in the hedge the mighty stone he had plucked forth, and 
 all was peace. 
 
 The path led through the green wood, in whose borders 
 a few anemones and foxgloves were growing, to Bol- 
 ventor and the great high-road which they now suddenly 
 perceived running right and left. This road pierced the
 
 TRANSFORMATION 293 
 
 moor, joining Launceston and Bodmin. They were glad 
 that it soon fled out of sight over the brows of low hills. 
 Here in the centre of the moor, standing back from 
 the white road behind a square courtyard which had 
 Avelcomed many a weary traveller by coach or on foot, 
 was the broad, squat building known as the famous 
 'Jamaica Inn,' of which many a smuggling story might 
 be told and many a tale of highwaymen also. Peter 
 found it with regret to be now a temperance hotel. 
 He and Cynthia rested in the low-roofed parlour and 
 admired the stuffed trout therein; it appeared that the 
 hostelry was the resort of fishermen, and that the Fowey 
 River, the source of which they had seen from Brown 
 Willy, flowed near by. 
 
 Although in the centre of the moor, it was evident that 
 Bolventor was buffeted by the winds, for the houses by 
 the side of the road were slated in front as well as on 
 their roofs. Peter was curious to know where the slates 
 came from, but he did not stay to inquire, as on leaving 
 the inn they had noticed storm-clouds advancing against 
 the wind. Dozmary was still a moorland mile away. 
 They shrewdly guessed that the distance would turn out 
 double, and hurried on along a winding, open cart-road 
 which was cut through rough heath and led steadily 
 downhill. Just as they were making certain that they 
 were lost they came suddenly upon the magic lake, low- 
 banked, set plainly in the sloping, shadowy moors. The 
 track brought them out upon the edge by the side of a 
 single-storied cottage in front of which was a small 
 landing-stage and boatshed. Now they could see the 
 whole circle of the lake. They were standing on the 
 pebbly strand at the edge of the clear, dark water under 
 which a pebbly bottom shelved gradually away. Where 
 were the 'bulrush beds' through which Sir Bedivere had 
 thrashed to hurl Excalibur? They could not find them, 
 and then their keen, young eyes discerned far across 
 upon the right a patch of brighter green which told of 
 reeds. So they were satisfied. 
 
 "But how wide the lake is!" exclaimed Cynthia. "I 
 never thought it would be as big as this."
 
 294 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Peter measured it with a swimmer's eyes. "A quar- 
 ter of a mile across, ' ' he said decisively. 
 
 "Arthur put out in this boat to get Excalibur." She 
 had seated herself, and was reading. 
 
 ' ' The Lady of the Lake lived in the middle, I suppose, ' ' 
 said Peter, opening the packet of sandwiches. "Doesn't 
 the guidebook say that the lake is bottomless?" 
 'I believe it does." 
 
 'I'd like to have a swim out there and see." 
 'Why don't you?" 
 'Will you wait?" 
 
 'Of course." So Peter, after finishing the sandwich 
 he held in his hand, went to the house. He found that 
 he could have the boat, but that they could not lend him 
 a bathing costume, and he was too shy to proceed. He 
 returned to Cynthia and made an excuse. 
 
 "We'll come again," he said. 
 
 "And then I'd like a swim. I want to look for the 
 bottom, too." 
 
 ' ' Have you got bathing things at home, Star ? ' ' 
 
 "No, but couldn't we go in to Camelford one 
 morning ? I must have a swim in the shining, enchanted 
 lake. I'm hot as anything, now. King Arthur would 
 have been simply baked in his armour on a day like 
 this." 
 
 "There goes the merry old sun in again, and here's 
 the first drop of rain. Shall we shelter or shall we 
 start home?" 
 
 "Is that thunder rumbling? No, I'm not afraid of 
 thunder. Peter, you are sweet to me always. You 
 never think of yourself ! We 'd better start back I should 
 say. Gracious! I never remembered that my sleeves 
 were rolled up when I went into the inn. Well, it 
 can't be helped now. Let's finish the sandwiches as 
 we go." 
 
 Before they reached Bolventor they were both soaked 
 to the skin. The raindrops were running down the 
 girl's bare arms, her thin blouse clung to her, her 
 masses of hair were damp and sleek. "I do hate look- 
 ing like this before you," she said, and laughed from
 
 TRANSFORMATION 295 
 
 sheer high spirits. "But the rain is awfully jolly. I 
 don't often get a chance of a thorough wetting, I can 
 tell you, Peter." 
 
 "You aren't a bit what I thought you when I met 
 you in drawing-rooms," he said, admiringly. "You're 
 such an open-air girl. I love your courage." 
 
 ' ' Courage ! I 'm enjoying myself tremendously. But 
 I 'm lots of girls, Peter dear. There are twenty Cynthias 
 and dozens of Rosemaries, all belonging to Peter. ' ' 
 
 "And Stars?" 
 
 "Only one." She put up her face to be kissed, but 
 started from his side at the apparition of a cyclist clad 
 in blue jeans, who emerged suddenly from a shed. 
 On the instant his blue jeans became indigo-streaked 
 with wet, and before he had mounted they were black 
 and sopping. 
 
 "Have you ever noticed what silly things one says 
 in ordinary conversation?" asked Cynthia, after a while. 
 "I was just going to remark, 'It can rain on the moor 
 when it does rain, can't it?' ' 
 
 ' ' It can, ' ' replied Peter, soberly ; and then going up 
 past Tolborough they were overtaken by a very cheerful 
 youth with a sack upon his shoulder and a fork in his 
 hand, on the way to spread top-dressing. He gave them 
 the pleasantest possible grin and hurried ahead, singing 
 out of tune. 
 
 By the time they had walked a mile further their shoes 
 were squelching, black with peat-mud, and heavy. Prog- 
 ress was difficult on the open moor, where marshy 
 patches had to be carefully watched for and avoided by 
 means of detours. It was wonderful how quickly dry 
 ground had changed into a swamp. 
 
 And as they plodded they found themselves discussing 
 what Shaun would have said to their parents ("They 
 are yours now, as well as mine!" said Cynthia). The 
 girl was sure that Lady Bremner would return at once 
 when she heard the news, and it was at least probable 
 that she would send for Shaun. Peter thought it certain 
 and expected to find a letter on their return with an 
 account of the interview. Cynthia, however, was fearful
 
 296 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 lest her father should have disposed of Shaun altogether. 
 She did not in her heart of hearts take it for granted 
 as Peter did that she would be forgiven almost im- 
 mediately, and that all the anger would be directed 
 against her young husband ; therefore if Shaun were 
 once eliminated from the affair there was a dreadful 
 possibility especially if the elopement became public 
 before she met her people that the breach might be- 
 come absolute. All depended on Shaun 's tact in a 
 singularly difficult situation. She did not doubt Shaun, 
 but she knew Sir Everard's habit of listening to the 
 teller of a story without assisting him by questions, she 
 knew the relentlessness of his cross-examination when 
 the story was complete. It seemed well-nigh impossible 
 that Shaun should say what he had to say without 
 incriminating himself beyond the bounds of forgive- 
 ness, and then who would intervene? Not Alan, not 
 her brother. He would cry out for punishment. Not 
 her mother, who would be too shocked and overcome 
 at the girl's disobedience. Cynthia felt sadly that only 
 the fear of scandal would have much influence over 
 Lady Bremner if Shaun failed; yet were Daddy to de- 
 cide upon an attitude of hostility, she would follow him 
 with scarcely a protest. She would not be conscious of 
 her affection for Cynthia while Daddy remained angry 
 and distressed. And he might cease to be angry and 
 distressed too late! 
 
 Peter repeated over and over again that he was sure 
 there would be a letter, but when they reached home 
 Radgells already was home they found nothing await- 
 ing them except a hearty welcome, and garments airing 
 before the kitchen fire. There was no letter; and he 
 was more greatly alarmed than he cared to say, for his 
 hopes had been higher than Cynthia's, and he had ex- 
 pected Shaun to be frank. She read his mind, and 
 cried, "He told us to enjoy our honeymoon, Peter! He 
 won't write until it is all, all settled. Then Father and 
 Mother will write as well." He prayed that she might 
 be as hopeful as her words sounded, then proceeded 
 to put aside his anxiety for her sake.
 
 IX 
 
 THE days now were followed by white, moonlight nights. 
 After they had been lying awake listening to a fox 
 barking on Brown Willy they rose to see the sun mount 
 from behind the eastern hills. There was a dimness 
 in the valley and the stream ran silently. They stole 
 along it walking barefoot in dew, shoes and towels in 
 their hands, in search of a pool wherein they might 
 bathe their bodies. They moved in silence, awed by the 
 hush of night. 
 
 An owl hooted and they thrilled! The dusky scents 
 of night rose to their nostrils. The young blood sang 
 in their veins. They felt in themselves the mysterious 
 stirring that runs through nature before the dawn. 
 They were a part of nature and the great moon was 
 paling overhead. 
 
 ' ' The brook is too narrow, ' ' whispered Cynthia. ' ' We 
 shall not find a deeper place than this." Lightly clad, 
 she knelt down before a pool into which a water rat 
 had dived. His ripples vanished and her lovely image 
 floated indistinctly beneath the silver surface, as she 
 curved herself with palms upon the brink and bending 
 white arms; her hair was upon her shoulders, tresses 
 streamed below her rounded elbows. She stooped to the 
 smiling eyes and her hair fell forward, drifting, and 
 swiftly she dipped her head under, and started up- 
 right; then, gliding to a sitting posture, throwing back 
 her dripping locks, began to bathe her slender white 
 feet. 
 
 The round moon hid behind a cloud ; face and limbs 
 gleamed in the darkness. When it issued forth in 
 glory, she was standing erect, a fair young Naiad 
 or the bright goddess Cynthia ! And so did Peter name 
 
 297
 
 298 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 her from the rock-rimmed basin where, stripped to the 
 waist, he was performing the ritual of his ablutions. 
 Moon-lit, in the warm air of the summer night, he, too, 
 appeared a god. . . . 
 
 The two young lovers were running together up the 
 mountain slope. 
 
 Now they leaned, panting, against the cairn, their 
 backs toward Roughtor, gazing down upon the moor. He 
 held a small, smooth hand in his and their shoulders 
 were touching. Once he heard her murmur, ' ' Happy . . . 
 Happy!" at his side. The moonlight was fading. The 
 sharpness of its silver on the distant hills was beginning 
 to melt into gold, and now a pale streak of rose bright- 
 ened above, outlining the craggy summits as though a 
 jagged black line had been drawn against the sky. From 
 the horizon pearly light soared upward, like the out- 
 spreading of hands that were lifting the veil of dark- 
 ness. A lofty cloud grew pink. 
 
 The dawn wind was stirring; it flickered upon the 
 cheeks of the watchers, and died away. Towards them, 
 over the grassy downs, over the broad, turbulent bosom 
 of the moor crept a quiet radiance. Now the hills stood 
 out motionless and familiar; light began to flow over 
 the ridges into the valleys. A lark shot up, triumphant ; 
 and the rim of the golden sun emerged, sparkling flames 
 into the sky, flames which swept across overhead, leaped 
 into all the world, and dazzled the lovers' eyes. 
 
 The sun mounted, a splendid conqueror. His disk 
 almost cleared the distant hills as they turned reluctantly 
 to go. Steadily he shone, and it was soft and dewy day.
 
 "!F you are expecting anything," said Cynthia, "you 
 may be sure it will take good care not to fetch up until 
 you've forgotten it." They were returning from an 
 expedition to Camelford, and had just met Mr. Trerice 
 upon the road driving an enormous sow. He had told 
 them that a letter had come at last and beaming had 
 passed along. They quickened their footsteps down the 
 hill which leads to the border of the moor. Roughtor lay 
 dark to-day with grey mist at his foot and a cloud streak- 
 ing from his summit under a low and threatening sky. 
 
 "He knows!" said Peter. "The old lion knows our 
 fate." His tone was very anxious, for he did not augur 
 good from the long delay. Eight days had fled since they 
 left London. 
 
 "Well, he wonl tell. I had forgotten for a moment, 
 that's why it's come." 
 
 "The woman is always the brave one. Though it 
 means everything to you, your voice is firm and mine 
 trembles. I wish I could take some of this anxiety away 
 from you, darling." 
 
 ' ' It seems to me you bear more than your fair share as 
 it is! I'm not brave." 
 
 ' ' Oh, you are ! ' ' His voice sounded quite reproachful. 
 Not even Cynthia should dispraise Cynthia. 
 
 ' ' I must say I should like a pair of seven-league boots. 
 I wonder whether there could be a message from 
 Mother!" 
 
 That day after shopping in Camelford they had walked 
 up the valley along the swift-running trout-stream, 
 through peaceful meadows and under shady trees. At 
 last they had come to a clapper bridge where a road 
 
 299
 
 300 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 crossed the Camel upon slabs of granite supported by 
 piers of piled single stones without mortar, two piers 
 being built into the banks, the inner two resting in the 
 bed of the ^stream. On either side lanes dipped sharply 
 to the level of the valley, which on ahead curved to the 
 left, forming there a woody background to the old, primi- 
 tive bridge. Ferns grew thick ; ripples of reflected light 
 quivered beautifully through the centre opening; the 
 stones were grey and ancient, and the form of the struc- 
 ture, unspoilt by parapets, was satisfying and right in 
 its graceful simplicity. The noise of the water rose like 
 a song. 
 
 A chiff-chaff whistled from the trees as they turned to 
 go. His call followed them monotonously, fainter and 
 fainter, until it was not. Then a blackbird piped, and 
 they met a tall fisherman trying the dark pools under the 
 bank, casting lightly over a bramble bush. When they 
 had left behind both him and the thrilling music of the 
 bird, a thought had struck Peter and he had said 
 wrongly; but this they never knew "Why, that was 
 Slaughter Bridge ! * Perhaps King Arthur and Modred 
 fought across it. ' ' 
 
 Now as they hurried past the hut circles marked by a 
 round of stones, almost running in their haste and pur- 
 sued from point to point by the angry pipits and wheat- 
 ears, the picture of the bridge danced before their eyes ; 
 while Cynthia saw behind it the face of her father frown- 
 ing, and to Peter came glimpses of Department B that 
 fitted in curiously with the gentler vision. The sinister 
 figure of Mr. Lemon loomed in a corner, crouched massive 
 over his roll-top desk ; it was singular that while memory 
 drew the desk sharp and clear, already the countenance 
 of his foe was indistinct. Ghostly forms turned pitying 
 looks upon Peter. He wrenched his mind away by an 
 effort of the will, walking faster, outstripping the girl. . . . 
 
 Peter gave the envelope to Cynthia, who clutched it. 
 She hesitated, pale beneath her sun-tan, standing with 
 
 * The real Slaughter Bridge lies in the opposite direction from 
 Camelford, northward. It has been strengthened and modernised, 
 and its beauty is spoilt.
 
 TRANSFORMATION 301 
 
 parted lips, frowning, then returned it to Peter. In the 
 end they read it together, heads close. 
 
 Children, 
 
 Up to the present they are keeping it secret 
 partly my effort, partly their own unusual good sense. 
 
 Believe they are trying behind my back to find runa- 
 ways' address, which I have of course denied having (so 
 I can always call to ask for it!). Alan is the foe. Do 
 not let anyone hear of you, until I give the word. This 
 is important. You must not meet them yet. 
 
 / am assuring them I daily expect to receive address. 
 If time were increasing their anger I might give this, but 
 I believe it is only increasing their anxiety a good sign. 
 Sir E. inscrutable. First interview hung in the balance. 
 I just managed to maintain my hold on the tails of the 
 acquaintanceship, and since then have gained ground. 
 But he almost trapped me to-day by handing a letter and 
 saying quite naturally, "This is to be forwarded. It is 
 from her cousin, Joyce." I nearly betrayed myself 
 through taking it without surprise, and had to feign 
 stupidity. "It isn't so marked!" I exclaimed, as I 
 handed it back. I could think of nothing better in the 
 instant I had in which to recover myself and finished 
 under his stare: "She doesn't know anything then. She 
 hasn't even heard that Cynthia is away from home. 
 What makes you think she expected it to be sent on any- 
 where, Sir Everardf" I thought I had got him, and did 
 the last bit well, but no! He only replied gravely, 
 "Joyce always writes to this address." 
 
 Lady B. is well, and very self-controlled. I learn prac- 
 tically nothing of their intentions or points of view 
 supposing they have formulated either, which is uncer- 
 tain. On the other hand I have managed to get through 
 to both most that I wanted to convey. 
 
 Both seem indifferent to 'Great Company' incident. If 
 Man has given his own account it has not succeeded. On 
 other hand they are not great believers in Peter's future 
 in journalism! I enclose seven guineas and will register 
 this. Send me some more political caricatures, Home
 
 302 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Rule or Anti, in what I call the 'cat' style, but using any 
 animal type. I must have them regularly now. I'm 
 keeping copies of the last lot in case you did not see 
 them when they came out. But you must keep an eye 
 on The Times. / have suggested ad. in Agony Column, 
 forgiveness 'ad.,' to Lady B. 
 
 When I think it wise to admit possession of address 1 
 will wire full instructions. 
 
 Wait and be patient. Be happy, you children, while 
 you may (not ironic, this!). I believe all is going well; 
 and remember your Mother is not ill. 
 
 S. 
 
 "All this can't last!" exclaimed Peter. 
 
 ' ' He isn 't a good letter-writer, ' ' sighed the girl. ' ' He 
 doesn't tell me any of the things I want to know." She 
 was exceedingly disappointed. 
 
 So was Peter, but he began to defend Shaun. "He 
 says that if he tries to make a letter literary he invariably 
 finds himself embroidering facts, so that when he wants 
 to tell the truth he just scrabbles!" 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 "Of course you do, darling; I'm sorry!" 
 
 "No, don't be sorry. I was a pig. But I mean this. 
 His letter may not be literary, but it 's thoroughly artistic 
 and really not much concerned with truth. He conceals 
 all sorts of things, and is busy all the time giving the 
 impression that he wants to give. Granted that he had 
 to really, he isn't scrabbling, Peter; he is being clever 
 still, there are heaps of little things he might have 
 told me about Mother if he'd been what I call a good 
 letter-writer, small gossipy things, how she looked and so 
 on, things that mean an awful lot to me, which he might 
 have included without betraying the things he wants to 
 conceal!" 
 
 "Why, what do you think he wants to conceal?" 
 expostulated Peter. 
 
 "That they're beastly about you, especially Mother." 
 Peter saw her dear, dear face twitch pitifully like a 
 child 's with the effort to keep back tears. She was f urn-
 
 TRANSFORMATION 303 
 
 bling at her pocket. She sobbed into her handkerchief, 
 sniffing unromantically ; he had never loved her more. 
 ' ' I did . . . want ... to hear . . . what Mummy said . . . 
 about the letter I wrote her," she said, in little bursts. 
 He pressed her disconsolate head against his waistcoat; 
 he was almost as anguished as she, and she was the 
 saddest girl ! It seemed to her that even Peter did not 
 altogether understand; and that Shaun did not know 
 women at all or he must have told her. Shaun must have 
 asked, ' ' Did she leave no letter, then ? ' ' and even though 
 Mummy had answered unkindly, still how much better 
 it would have been to tell her outright. She wanted to 
 hear any words that Mummy had spoken, any words; 
 she must have said something kind, and if not, then 
 something unkind would be easier to bear than this 
 seeming to have no mother at all ! 
 
 So sobbed the young wife on her husband's shoulder. 
 Peter was distraught. He promised to take her home, 
 to write to Sir Everard, to write to Shaun, and after a 
 while Cynthia grew calm. They walked out in the even- 
 ing and ordered The Times to be sent by post from 
 Camelford; there was no message in that day's copy. 
 Cynthia now declared her trust in Shaun, refusing to let 
 Peter take desperate action. She seemed ashamed of her- 
 self he did not know what for! and on the whole 
 cheerful. Next morning she was laughing again.
 
 XI 
 
 SHE was laughing again, but usually after Peter had 
 been caught gazing at her apprehensively, and her pallor 
 made Mrs. Trerice exclaim, ' ' My dear soul ! ' ' However 
 Peter really trusted Shaun, and her faith in Peter was 
 absolute, which he had not at present taken in, being 
 modest by nature. After one more day she recovered her 
 colour and became serene, outwardly free from care. 
 
 The wind was blustering and yelling about the house ; 
 and Mrs. Trerice was telling Peter the story of the big 
 billy-goat horns over the door of the parlour. He had 
 just shown her the twisted ram's horns which they had 
 picked up on Brown Willy. She was saying: "When 
 the cows are driven out on the moor a billy-goat goes up 
 along with them, for 'tes said that a goat with the herd 
 will keep the cows from slipping their calves. I can't 
 tell whether 'tes true or no, but they hold to it here- 
 abouts. Gwenneth and I found those horns on Brown 
 Willy on the edge of the clitter where you found yours. 
 We've found a bra' lot of horns there from time to 
 time." 
 
 Now Cynthia joined them. She refused with grace to 
 accept the gift of a pair, delicately offered. The woman 
 and the girl had become close friends, for Cynthia under- 
 stood her hostess 's dearest wish and ambition, which was 
 to live ' come by ' * at the seaside town of Newquay. ' ' I 
 comprehend you without sympathy, ' ' Mr. James used to 
 say about this ; but from the beautiful, fascinating young 
 lady Mrs. Trerice received the fullest sympathy and 
 understanding. She loved the moor, and when she had 
 had a homeful of children the loneliness had not seemed 
 quite so complete. One after another they had grown 
 
 * By and by. 
 
 304
 
 TRANSFORMATION 305 
 
 up and gone out to service or emigrated or enlisted. 
 Gwenneth was the last; and she spent almost the whole 
 of the day at school. Newquay was Mrs. Trerice 's dream 
 in the same way as in years to come the Moor might be 
 Cynthia's. It appeared to her a place of peace and 
 friendliness, from the recollections of a fortnight's visit. 
 She loved, on the long winter nights when storms raved 
 down the long slopes of Brown Willy and enveloped the 
 house as in a whirlwind, dashing ceaselessly against the 
 ramparts of bold Roughtor only to fall back baffled with 
 howls of anguish, she loved then to think of the summer 
 seas and of rows of little houses all containing people who 
 would be kind and neighbourly : she loved to think that 
 some day she might live there. And Cynthia had divined 
 this from the way in which she said the name ' Newquay. ' 
 
 Trerice would have pined in Newquay; there Gwen- 
 neth would no longer have loved school. For these rea- 
 sons Mrs. Trerice kept silent. She was a happy-tempered, 
 active person; no grumbler or nurser of grievances. 
 Cynthia was proud of her friendship, and Peter learnt 
 much about the girl he had married by watching her with 
 the older woman, being instructed in the making of but- 
 ter or in the mysteries of ' plain sewing. ' Cynthia set to 
 work to acquire these crafts in a practical manner, as 
 though she meant to make use of them in the future. 
 She was determined to fit herself to be a poor man 's wife ; 
 and it was hardly the measure of her intellectual success 
 in this direction that dressmaking and buttermaking 
 ranked in her mind as weapons of equal value against the 
 wolf which howls outside the doors of artists. Not that 
 she saw herself churning in a little attic in Soho as part 
 of the routine of housekeeping Cynthia was not so 
 ignorant. But she certainly had a romantic notion of 
 some day earning money as a dairymaid to save Peter 
 from starvation, which appeared almost as probable at 
 least almost as realisable as that she would have to 
 make her own blouses and skirts! 
 
 Now Peter was a careful soul who gazed into the future 
 before dirtying his boots unnecessarily. Cynthia puzzled 
 him by bringing out pair after pair of white shoes. One
 
 306 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 day they were on Roughtor soon after sunrise, watching 
 the light in a white sheet behind falling rain. The 
 shower was approaching them, and they were in shelter. 
 Said Peter, "Why do you always wear white shoes, 
 Starry dear?" 
 
 Cynthia glanced first at her shoes and then at him, 
 diffidently. 
 
 "Don't you think I can wear them? I won't if you 
 don't like, Peter. I always thought my feet were small 
 enough, but I daresay I was conceited. ' ' 
 
 Gulfs yawned before Peter. They closed, and he 
 suddenly felt a very great responsibility. 
 
 "Of course you can, in that sense, Starry. No girl in 
 the world has got such pretty feet as you. But who will 
 clean them?" 
 
 "I was going to use them all up and then ask Mrs. 
 Trerice for some pipeclay and do them myself." 
 
 "You are a darling!" said Peter, betraying that he 
 had not thought of that solution of the matter. "But 
 she won't have any pipeclay, you know." 
 
 "No more she will! We must get some when we go 
 next into Camelford." 
 
 "And it's a tiring job. Have you ever tried it, 
 Starry?" 
 
 "No. Now remember our compact, and don't ask me 
 to let you do it for me, because I won't." 
 
 ' ' I shouldn 't have agreed to let you help in the house- 
 work, and do your share, and all the rest of it, if I'd 
 imagined you meant to start by pipeclaying six pairs of 
 shoes. ' ' 
 
 " I 'm going to wash my clothes, too. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Starry, you '11 kill yourself ! You always wear white. 
 People who wash their own clothes don 't wear white ! ' ' 
 
 "It's practice. I mean the washing. And I'm sure 
 you are going to be successful, so I shan't have to do it 
 always!" 
 
 Peter had a very shrewd idea that Mrs. Trerice would 
 not allow her to do it once. He perceived dimly the 
 extent of his young wife 's inexperience and most clearly 
 her courage. A problem was foreshadowed by his im-
 
 TRANSFORMATION 307 
 
 mediate resolve to work on a political cartoon that day 
 instead of drawing the scene which was before them. 
 Peter had brought his water-colours to Cornwall, and 
 found himself spending more and more hours in painting 
 a tor seen uphill against the sky, or the view downward 
 from a precipice, or grass blades waving against a blue 
 vault as you see them when lying supine in a meadow. 
 The obvious in composition did not appeal to him. And 
 one day he was sketching in line after line of rounded, 
 heather hills, backed by black lightning- jagged Kilmaur 
 and Cheesewring, when a tourist with knapsack on back 
 came silently and unperceived for Cynthia was asleep 
 and looked over the artist's shoulder. All at once he 
 tapped Peter on the arm, startling him so that he nearly 
 fell off his campstool, and demanded in a deep, rough 
 voice, "Who told you to do it that way, my boy?" 
 Cynthia sat up with a jump. 
 
 Peter did not appreciate being called ' my boy. ' Glanc- 
 ing round and up he saw an extremely insignificant 
 elderly face, quite out of keeping with the powerful voice 
 of the stranger. "No one," he said, civilly. 
 
 ' ' The devil he did ! ' ' exclaimed the tourist. 
 
 "You've awakened my wife," said Peter, in a tone of 
 dignified reproof. 
 
 "I'm not interested in your wife, sir!" retorted the 
 other. ' ' I am interested in your work. Call upon me in 
 town in four weeks' time. I beg your pardon, madam." 
 This to Cynthia who was still seated rubbing her eyes. 
 ' ' Have you got a pencil in your pocket, boy ? ' ' 
 
 "Do you mean me?" demanded Peter angrily. 
 
 "I see no other boy in the landscape." 
 
 Peter produced the pencil, just as Cynthia scrambled 
 to her knees and sprang up with a little cry. The 
 stranger grinned. "Don't give me away," he said to 
 her ; " I don 't want to be bothered now. ' ' He snatched 
 the block from Peter's knee to use as a pad, and wrote a 
 name and address on a cigarette paper which he took out 
 of the pocket of his Norfolk coat in company with a quan- 
 tity of others loose amongst a tangled mass of string, 
 bootlaces, coins, buttons, and fluff. "Your sketch hasn't
 
 308 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 any value," he said to Peter soothingly, as the latter 
 sprang up in a fury ; adding in a businesslike voice, ' ' But 
 I think I '11 teach you. Now be a sensible chap when you 
 come, and don't offer me money. I couldn't stand that 
 from a youngster. Ought I to remember you, madam ? ' ' 
 
 "You've never been introduced to me," Cynthia re- 
 assured him. 
 
 "Ah! I trust to have that pleasure later on." His 
 tone had altered to a very charming, old-fashioned for- 
 mality. "Good morning!" He bowed, pulled his bat- 
 tered slouch hat tighter on his head by way of a farewell 
 salute, and marched swaggering down the hill. 
 
 "He doesn't take pupils as a rule!" said Cynthia, 
 excitedly, when he had passed out of hearing. 
 
 ' ' He won 't take this one ! ' ' declared Peter, very indig- 
 nant; but on reading the name on the paper which he 
 held in his hand he turned all colours and cried out, 
 "Jove!" Then he stared at his sketching block as 
 though it contained the secret of life and death. "He 
 said it has no value, and it can't have if he says so. I 
 don't understand ! " 
 
 "Well, he liked it and he liked you!" 
 
 "I'd have been off my stool and kneeling if I had 
 known who he was! Cynthia, it's the most wonderful 
 thing that ever happened to a man. Now that I come 
 to think, of course he 's the very chap to sympathise with 
 what I was trying to do. Only I shouldn 't have thought 
 my colour was good enough to let him see." 
 
 "I should," said the girl, eyes bright and dancing. 
 
 He was caught by her loveliness, and stood gazing. 
 "You are the most brilliant creature, Starry dearest. I 
 wish I were a portrait painter." 
 
 She challenged this. "You don't." 
 
 "No, I don't really. Not to-day. But I say, I wish I 
 wasn't going to be a cartoonist, then. After all I ... 
 How did you know? I've always loved landscape work 
 best, but I don't see how you knew! Because I've 
 bucked into this caricature job as hard as ever I could. 
 I 've tried to put every ounce of me into it. I had to take 
 to portraiture more or less because I never got a chance
 
 TRANSFORMATION 309 
 
 to use colours while I was in the Great Company at 
 least only frightfully seldom; and then Shaun said I 
 could make money by developing a particular line, and 
 how did you know? You've never seen my old land- 
 scape portfolios, and I never showed them to Shaun, 
 because they are kiddish and rotten, most of them." 
 Peter had never made so long a speech in his life before. 
 
 She came and laid her cheek against his, murmuring, 
 "I noticed things." 
 
 ' ' What things ? " He was still mystified. 
 
 "Darling, you've painted the moor, but never me; 
 and a real portrait painter would have done just the 
 reverse. ' ' 
 
 ' ' But who could paint you, you Beautiful Thing ? ' ' 
 
 "You used to draw me, when you couldn't get land- 
 scapes. Who could paint the moor?" 
 
 "He can." 
 
 "Oh, well; you know what I mean." 
 
 "Yes, I do, and you are the cleverest!" 
 
 It will be observed that neither was Cynthia jealous of 
 his work nor did Peter consider the possibility of her 
 being so ; he was more of an artist than he knew. Shaun 
 would have rejoiced whole-heartedly at the little scene as 
 a proof that they were suited to each other. They both 
 wrote a long account to him, Cynthia 's conclusion being, 
 I will try to be sensible, Shaun, but I would sooner go 
 and be a lady's maid than spoil Peter's real work. He 
 is sending you several cartoons. Peter ended with, Don't 
 be too much afraid I'll be a beast. It was after a talk 
 with her about white shoes that I became unselfish for 
 about five minutes, and tackled the stuff for the weeklies. 
 Neither of them said much about the Bremners, only a 
 few words of confidence in their friend. 
 
 All this time they were learning each other's small 
 personal habits, tastes, and failings. Peter had a way of 
 spilling the salt ; he preferred mutton to beef and would 
 not eat eggs if he could help it; he seemed to Cynthia 
 extraordinarily sweet-tempered unless disturbed while 
 smoking his after-dinner pipe, in which case he showed 
 faint signs of irritation. By refraining from interferen<L
 
 310 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 with this sacred ceremony it appeared she might be 
 provoking as she pleased. She tried once or twice, just 
 to see, and it was so. Moreover he never minded waiting 
 while she changed, however long she took; nor did he 
 object to giving his opinion to an unlimited extent on the 
 becomingness of hats, though she had a way of flitting 
 undecidedly from one to the other which Joyce had once 
 warned her would bore her husband very much ! ' ' I 'm 
 not dressing for Camelford, exactly," she told him one 
 morning, "but I want the Camelfordians to envy my 
 husband. It seems much more difficult to make up one's 
 mind when one has only four hats to choose from ! " "I 
 think them all equally jolly," he assured her gravely. 
 He discovered to his surprise that it mattered how a 
 hat was put on, and that the curve of a brim might be 
 an affair of the deepest consideration. On the other 
 hand, he found her a sporting girl, who would always 
 dress in a hurry if there was need. When they saw a 
 badger from their bedroom window in the early morning, 
 she did not mind running out 'anyhow.' In her des- 
 habille Cynthia could be artistic without effort. She 
 had a natural instinct for dress. Peter noticed in fact 
 that when attiring herself most carefully she generally 
 returned to her first choice. After he had once remarked 
 upon this the conferences before the looking-glass became 
 much shorter, as Cynthia took the hint that he had not 
 intended. 
 
 Also their personal and intimate relations, which at 
 first had been far less embarrassing than either had 
 dared to hope, but later had become subject to many 
 reactions of cruel and perplexing shyness, recovered by 
 degrees the quality of simple naturalness.
 
 XII 
 
 THEY had crossed Roughtor Bridge and turned to the 
 left through Watergate to Advent Church, intending to 
 strike in to the moor again at the Devil's Jump Gorge 
 and, making a round by King Arthur 's Hall, go home by 
 Garrow, which would be a walk of eleven or twelve miles 
 unless they lost their way; and with so short a day's 
 tramp before them they could afford to go leisurely 
 through the summer lanes and halt at every stile. The 
 green hedges were moist from a shower, and the sun drew 
 out the fresh scents of honeysuckle and dog-rose and 
 sweetbrier. Here and there a clump of gorse was flaming, 
 and tall foxgloves were ringing their purple bells which 
 only the fairies and true lovers can hear, scarcely praised 
 by Peter and Cynthia, who were absorbed in each other 
 and a thrilling discussion of where they should live in the 
 future, which brought echoes of rattling London streets 
 and visions of Hampstead and Soho. They came to a 
 mill, where the song of a thrush above the laughing water 
 won them back to the present of quiet places and golden 
 sunshine and pale-blue sky. 
 
 On consulting the map they found they had overshot 
 the path, but this was the Camel River ; if they went to 
 the left, down stream, they would reach a tributary 
 which flowed from the Devil's Jump Gorge. So they 
 scrambled over the parapet of the stone bridge and 
 dropped into the meadow, and pursued their way, tres- 
 passing, along the clucking, singing, hurrying water ; past 
 lofty flags and bulrushes, and dark trout-pools, and 
 swirls round the corners of curving banks; through 
 hedges, and over them sometimes by the help of a 
 friendly tree, anyhow, any way to avoid turning back. 
 Once they crossed a narrow field in the middle of which 
 
 311
 
 312 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 a great bull was grazing. He raised his head and looked 
 at them wickedly and snorted, then bent to his meal 
 again. And they caught a glimpse between two willow- 
 bushes of the blue flash of a kingfisher's flight, and 
 startled a brace of mallards, which broke away whirring ; 
 but they saw no otter, although they watched for him, 
 moving craftily. Neither did they meet a man who 
 might reprove their trespass. 
 
 After half a mile they arrived at the junction of the 
 streams and, following the tributary, came almost im- 
 mediately to a farm track and the crossing; thence, 
 bearing wide of marshy ground overgrown with rank 
 vegetation, reeds and willow-shrubs, took a path that led 
 towards the mouth of the gorge. The song of the water 
 came to them louder and more rapid, and now they had 
 a full view of the great crags facing each other on high 
 across the ravine; one, which jutted out from black, 
 waste earth, was poised castle-like on the brow of a preci- 
 pice; the other that on the slope which they were 
 approaching emerged, like a wall of granite piled by 
 giant hands, from among rich, green bracken and pro- 
 jected above the almost sheer descent to the torrent. 
 This side of the gorge was well wooded below, with oak 
 and mountain ash and sycamore and dense-growing 
 withies and tangled bush, under which the bracken was 
 spreading waist-high. They found the thicket impassable 
 in the shadow by the water and struck upward, away 
 from the taller trees, clambering with difficulty into sun- 
 light up an incline as steep as the roof of a house and 
 clittered with moss-hidden boulders beneath the green, 
 branching fronds of the bracken. Slowly they ascended 
 to the level of the mighty mass of granite, and when 
 they had attained it at last, Cynthia would not be satis- 
 fied without climbing on the rock. She balanced her way 
 airily out onto the overhanging crag at the end, while Pe- 
 ter, his heart in his mouth, edged cautiously behind her. 
 
 Over their heads a heron sailed majestically. Opposite 
 was the castle-crag, and below rushed the stream, looking 
 like cotton-wool, so far down it was; seeming motion- 
 less, but clattering with a steady uproar over its stony
 
 TRANSFORMATION 313 
 
 bottom. For half a mile the gorge ran straight, then 
 curved sharply away at a point where it was still cleft 
 deep into the moor. The sky was grey, shadows brooded 
 over the glen, for the last, fitful gleam of sunshine had 
 departed. The tops of the birches and sycamores, below 
 to the left whence they had come, were shivering mistily. 
 As they had climbed they had left behind them the 
 cooing of wood-pigeons and the harsh, distinctive cry 
 of the woodpecker; here was no sound save the rattle 
 of the torrent, which ascended to their ears in a musical 
 and threatening murmur. "It's going to rain," said 
 Cynthia, prosaically. Turning, she saw that Peter had 
 crawled back on hands and knees, and was about to 
 imitate him when she glanced at her skirt and hesitated, 
 then walked beautifully back. After all, she knew that 
 Peter was not jealous! 
 
 Then they broke their way through the bracken to a 
 rock where a great crevice promised shelter, and in front 
 of it crushed down a carpet of bracken with their sticks, 
 so that the scent of the sap rose strong. And there 
 they took their meal, startled once by the sudden, noise- 
 less flight of a goatsucker from near by, and there they 
 fell to talking. 
 
 First Peter discovered that Cynthia had always 
 wanted a fox-terrier, but no dogs had been allowed in 
 the Bremner household since one had bitten Alan when 
 he was a little baby. The subject was full of interest. 
 
 Then the nature of the prohibition emerged. Sir 
 Everard had given an order, which through lapse of time 
 had acquired the force of a moral law. "I think you 
 know, about us, that Daddy might give in, if only 
 Mummy doesn 't take it for granted he won't. ' ' She said 
 this sadly, for she knew how often parents and hers in 
 particular harden each other 's resolves in this manner. 
 From that, easily, they found themselves discussing 
 Shaun. 
 
 Now, during the past fortnight, in the peace of their 
 moorland life, and with their new knowledge of each 
 other's natures, for Peter had by this time learnt the 
 underlying simplicity of his wife's character and loved
 
 314 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 her the more for it, they had both begun to criticise the 
 subtle methods of Shaun. Cynthia was open and candid 
 now, with her back to the world, her hand in Peter 's and 
 her face towards Paradise ; she felt within her courage to 
 stand against her parents and wondered why she had 
 feared to confront them before. She longed for the 
 sound of their voices; yet she did not think that they 
 were friendly towards her, and when Peter said, "I 
 notice you do not rush for The Times," she answered 
 without hesitation : 
 
 ' ' They won 't advertise in The Times I Shaun doesn 't 
 understand them, and I don't believe they forgive me 
 a bit. Anyhow they wouldn 't use the Agony Column of 
 The Times. It isn't like them." 
 
 Peter was given a shock by this outspokenness. He 
 had first of all accepted Shaun at Cynthia 's high valua- 
 tion, but whereas the girl had learnt to disparage Shaun 's 
 cleverness by contrasting it with Peter's straightforward- 
 ness (aided thereto largely by Shaun 's own self-sacrific- 
 ing efforts) Peter himself with greater knowledge of the 
 man had gained increased respect for his character. He 
 did not attempt to make any comparison between his 
 friend and his wife. 
 
 "I think he's clever enough," he answered, "don't 
 you? That is only some game of his, which we don't 
 understand. What I feel is, first that it is horribly rough 
 on you not to give you news of your Mother, and sec- 
 ondly that I ought to be there in his place. Now that 
 the Great Company is left behind I'd like to be abso- 
 lutely straight about every mortal thing until the end of 
 my life." 
 
 "Exactly!" said Cynthia. "The last thing, I mean. 
 I don't care about myself so much, Peter; but I've 
 watched you being worried, and I hate it. ' ' 
 
 "And I've seen you." 
 
 "Well, he oughtn't to. Shaun likes intrigue for its 
 own sake. I believe he 's going too far. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Starry, you 're a bit cruel ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' Oh, Peter, I 'm not ! But since I 've known you, and 
 his personality hasn't dominated me in the way it used
 
 TRANSFORMATION 315 
 
 to do, I 've got a higher standard of behaviour, I think. 
 Don't imagine I'm blaming Shaun! I'm not such a 
 beast quite for we owe him everything. But I see 
 things differently from him. Anything that happens 
 wrong now is my fault for being such a coward." 
 
 " It 's mine for leading you wrong ! ' ' 
 
 She nestled to him. ' ' I 've been talking like an awful 
 prig," she whispered. "I expect I'd be a coward again 
 if I were back. But I don't feel so, Peter. You've 
 taught me better. ' ' 
 
 "I! . . . Darling! . . . Darling! You mustn't say 
 things like that. It's you who teach me." 
 
 While they were talking the rain had begun to fall, 
 pittering on the crushed stems of the bracken which lay 
 before the great cleft, in which they were seated as in 
 the entrance to a cave ; when they leaned back, stooping 
 their heads to avoid the overhanging rock, they were 
 sheltered. They could see a slope of wet, shining 
 bracken, and then the gulf, and beyond, black cliff ; from 
 below mounted the noise of the torrent, seeming now 
 more distant. And as they were digging a hole to bury 
 the paper from their lunch the sound abruptly ceased; 
 they looked up and saw that a curtain of thick white 
 mist had fallen before their hiding-place, shutting them 
 off from the world completely. The raindrops no longer 
 pattered upon the bracken, and they were alone. 
 
 The dew pearled on Cynthia's silken hair, her cheeks 
 were cold but rosy, the muslin of her blouse clung damply 
 to her arms, and when, too late, she rolled her sleeves 
 high, they were sodden and dripped long drops down her 
 lovely, rounded upper arms, drops that ran over her bent 
 elbows (her hands were joined upon her lap) and slowly 
 crept to her slender wrists. "We're getting soaked!" 
 said Peter, and they were about to go, when they heard 
 behind them a musical, sustained cheeping and chipper- 
 ing like the sound of water gurgling out of a narrow- 
 necked jug, on two high notes with occasionally others 
 interjected, in a way that gave the song a peculiar 
 rippling quality. Cynthia turned and slipped to her 
 knees, reckless of her dress. "There must be a little
 
 316 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 bird inside, ' ' she whispered, searching the crannies with 
 her eyes, and then they saw, running to and fro in a 
 desolate way, a tiny field mouse, who was flicking his 
 whiskers agitatedly as though he knew they had wronged 
 him. "Oh, pretty!" cried the girl, and he seemed 
 so tame that she put out her hand to stroke him, when in 
 a brown flash he went, and his tail hung outside a cranny 
 and twitched and was gone. 
 
 "I wish he would have stayed!" cried she, woe in 
 her grey eyes as Peter saw, looking down at the beautiful, 
 upturned face. "We must get on," he answered, for 
 he saw that her cheeks were white as her forehead and 
 only her lips retained their colour. She rose obediently 
 and they hurried out into the mist. 
 
 Four times they turned their backs on the gorge and 
 returned to it again, thrashing their way through the 
 bracken, having unconsciously moved in a circle, but on 
 the fifth attempt they found the open moor. He was 
 loving her more than ever. What a comrade she was! 
 Laughing although soaked to the skin, and even stopping 
 to dig up groundnuts ; which she recognised by the white 
 circle of flowers on the single stem, and pointed out to 
 him joyously ! 
 
 They had three miles to go across wild country, follow- 
 ing cart-tracks and making short cuts through the whins 
 and over desolate stretches of tussocky heathland where 
 they took the risk of encountering bog. The mist ap- 
 peared again and again to be on the point of lifting. It 
 swirled by ; it vanished before them, giving a glimpse of 
 the track ahead ; it wrapped itself about their shoulders, 
 settling close as a cloak, muffling them in a sheet of 
 vapour from head to foot so that they felt cut off from 
 each other and from the world; and then it would 
 brighten from grey to whiteness with a promise of sun- 
 shine. Once it lifted above the outstretched necks of a 
 noble string of geese, waddling across the path with gap- 
 ing bills. The sullen bark of a watchdog came from near 
 by, where farm buildings gloomed and suddenly disap- 
 peared. " Treswallock ! " said Peter, bending over the 
 map. He was wrong, and they found themselves climb-
 
 TRANSFORMATION 317 
 
 ing Alex Tor, a mile too far to the left. Then, turning 
 to the right across Treswallock Downs, they overshot the 
 mark again and lost themselves in avoiding a herd of 
 bullocks which thundered past in the greyness, and came 
 at last to Irishes where they were directed back to the 
 brow of the hill. As they reached it, the sunlight de- 
 scended in flashing splendour, and there below them lay 
 Candra Farm, its front garden aflame with yellow roses 
 and gay fuchsias, with a white climbing passion-flower 
 over the porch and a side garden radiant with damask 
 roses and sweet, old-fashioned flowers ; and at the foot of 
 the rise beyond it moved a gentle brook. So the way was 
 clear and they marched on into the heart of the moor. 
 
 From the next rise King Arthur's Down lay out- 
 stretched, broad and flat, and in places marshy, and 
 beyond rose Hawkstor and Garrow Tor. Far away on 
 the left the head of Roughtor frowned : hills ringed the 
 plain, with the mist still caught from their craggy sum- 
 mits and the sunshine hiding itself again behind them. 
 Peter and Cynthia walked straight on, passing a tumulus, 
 towards a long low mound in the very centre of the green 
 expanse, a line of darker colour in the distance, from 
 which an edging of white stones seemed to project. "It 
 must be King Arthur's Hall!" said Cynthia, as they 
 approached it, and Peter spelled out from a rain-washed 
 slip of paper the information he had copied from an old 
 Parish Guide belonging to Mrs. Trerice. ' ' Supposed to 
 have been a hunting-hall ; undoubtedly was once roofed 
 over. Has been used of late years as a shelter for cattle. ' ' 
 
 "Mrs. Trerice said that was wrong." 
 
 "What was wrong?" 
 
 "She said the place filled with water in winter, and 
 until the farmer had it drained cattle used to get 
 drowned there sometimes." 
 
 Now they climbed the side of the apparent mound 
 and looked down into a hollowed place about thirty 
 feet by eighteen, with a soft bottom and a pool of water 
 at one end. The slabs of stone they had seen formed 
 supports to the sides and might have once held up a 
 light plank-roofing.
 
 318 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "How King Arthur avoided being swamped out every 
 time it rained, I can 't imagine, ' ' was Cynthia 's practical 
 comment. "I really cannot believe that his hunting- 
 parties ever dined here." 
 
 ' ' A stone floor and very elaborate roof would do won- 
 ders," said Peter in a doubtful tone. 
 
 "I expect it was a swimming-pool!" laughed Cynthia. 
 
 "What makes you call it swimming-pool instead of 
 swimming-bath?" asked Peter, curiously. "Isn't that 
 American ? ' ' They had turned away from the Hall and 
 set their faces in the direction of home. 
 
 Now Cynthia's Welsh friends had testified to her 
 power of being cattish in a nice way, which included the 
 faculty, in certain humours, of teasing; and it is a fact 
 that a thoroughly wet girl is not usually a normal girl. 
 She may be cross, or she may be hilarious, or she may 
 be depressed, but certainly she will be exposed to the 
 influence of moods. Cynthia, for no reason at all, 
 replied archly, ' ' Somebody taught me, ' ' and immediately 
 regretted it; then Peter's astonished look amused her 
 so much that instead of apologising she teased on very 
 daintily and not in the least in the style of Phyllis Peto, 
 but still in a manner foreign to his experience of her. 
 She did not coquet with his jealousy ; there was no depth 
 in her play, which was entirely a matter of words. She 
 was neither rude nor tactless; yet the novelty startled 
 Peter. He was tired, and he answered clumsily; and 
 so all of a sudden uprose a flare of quarrel beginning with 
 "I will!" and "You won't!" and mounting rapidly to 
 "tragic airs and ' ' Please let me walk by myself, Peter ! ' ' 
 
 At first she meant only half of what she said, and he 
 ipepented all he said. They wound up with silence and 
 -despair in their hearts and a kind of bitterness which did 
 not seem real except when directed against themselves. 
 And yet they tramped on obstinately, with chins held 
 high; and two broad lines marred Cynthia's forehead 
 and Peter's frown brought two upright furrows above 
 his nose. Then Cynthia slipped into green bog-water 
 over her ankles and Peter came to pull her out ; suddenly 
 she laughed with a tremor of tears in her voice and when
 
 TRANSFORMATION 319 
 
 he had helped her to firm ground clung to him with her 
 head hent low and by the droop of her neck he knew 
 she was ashamed. He wished to drop at her feet, but 
 she held to him and for one moment they were clasped 
 like wrestlers, he wondering at her supple strength ; and 
 then they fell apart, laughing hysterically and under- 
 standing each other. "My dear!" "My dear!" They 
 stood upright, lips on lips.
 
 XIII 
 
 ON reaching home they found a scribbled note from 
 Shaun, of the most disquieting nature, containing a split 
 infinitive and two errors in punctuation. He referred 
 to Providence as a Character, himself as a poor ass, and 
 apostrophised the misfortune of having to trust to two 
 such broken reeds. Sir Everard is on your track, 
 through young Alan. I found him (the latter) nosing at 
 Waterloo. Qu'il nose! They are searching, but they 
 must not find. Remember must not! I will take all 
 blame. If they should unexpectedly arrive do not fail to 
 let them damn me utterly. You will not know what has 
 happened so keep a still tongue and listen. I am not 
 done. I will turn defeat to victory! Be prepared to 
 glide away. Keep your tents folded, and buy mttk choco- 
 late, and set a skin-clad watcher peering from the rocks 
 of Roughtor! 
 
 Your old, desperate 
 
 Shaun. 
 
 Afterthought: Pat Gwenneth on the head. My re- 
 spects to Mrs. Trerice and tell Trerice I have inquired 
 what price the brindled sow did fetch. 
 
 "Brindled sow!" exclaimed Peter. "Trerice hasn't 
 a brindled sow! I wish he would think a bit more of 
 what you are going through and write a decent letter for 
 once." He was almost shaken in his allegiance, pre- 
 cisely the effect which Shaun had intended. 
 
 Cynthia showed deeper insight. She shook her head, 
 saying, "He's clever. He isn't really careless." But 
 then and there, in her sopping wet clothes, she sat down 
 and wrote to Shaun asking him to let her go straight to 
 her mother or else write to her father. Peter signed the 
 
 320
 
 TRANSFORMATION 321 
 
 letter too, after he had added in a postscript, "It would 
 be I who would see Sir Everard, of course." Mr. Trerice, 
 who happened to be going to the station, undertook to 
 post it. " 'Twill go off come by," he said, ''not to-day 
 likely, but fust train to-morrow. You shouldn 't sit about 
 in they wet things of yourn, miss, if you'll forgive me 
 saying so. Gwen was terrible slight with a cold she 
 caught that way." And Mrs. Trerice, coming in from 
 the fowl-run, rushed Cynthia off to bed. 
 
 Next morning troubles seemed small things, unworthy 
 of attention in a sunny world. They settled to take no 
 decisive step until they had heard from Shaun, and after 
 helping Mrs. Trerice and Gwenneth, who was on holiday, 
 to fork over the ground where the new potatoes had been 
 dug, they thought they would have a swim in Dozmary. 
 The walk was a hot one under a fair, cloudless sky of 
 deep and tender blue. The moor faded serene into hazy 
 distances; underfoot, the grass was emerald-green after 
 yesterday 's rain ; larks were carolling, filling the air with 
 song and the lovers' hearts with lightness. 
 
 They secured the boat, by arrangement with the people 
 of the cottage which faced the lake. Peter put in the 
 bundle of towels and handed the girl aboard ; as he did 
 so, observing her immaculate white shoes. ' ' She wouldn 't 
 let you clean them, would she?" he asked, referring to 
 Mrs. Trerice of course, and Cynthia had to acknowledge 
 no, but she said that she had done two pairs before Mrs. 
 Trerice detected her. "They aren't so good!" said 
 rueful Cynthia. Then the couple rowed out to the centre 
 of wide Dozmary where the water was clear and very 
 deep. Looking over they could see no bottom, and they 
 shipped their oars, and managed to undress, with their 
 backs to each other; and when they turned, the girl 
 was slim in dark blue and Peter mighty in a brown 
 costume. Cynthia was feeling shy in hers, which was 
 scantier than she had worn before; she had chosen it 
 because it was easy to carry. 
 
 "Can you dive?" asked Peter. 
 
 ' ' Can 't I ! " cried Cynthia, joining finger tips on high 
 and taking an expert header. She rose, swam a few
 
 322 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 strokes with effortless grace, and turned on her back. 
 "It's cold!" she said, but Peter was in mid-air. "Is 
 anyone about?" she inquired anxiously when his head 
 appeared above water. ' ' I didn 't dare to look. ' ' 
 
 "Not a soul," he gasped. "Besides, what does it 
 matter? I say, you can swim well, Star!" 
 
 "Don't you think it's awfully impudent of us to bathe 
 in King Arthur's pool?" exclaimed Cynthia. "Won't 
 the Lady of the Lake be angry with us ? " 
 
 ' ' She 's made the water cold enough ! ' ' said Peter. 
 
 He ordered a race, gave her too long a start and lost. 
 "Out quick, now! Into the boat, darling!" 
 
 "Yes, but how?" wailed Cynthia, clinging to the 
 thwart and trying to raise herself high enough to vault 
 over the side. 
 
 "Try the stern," said Peter, who was already across 
 it, and he lent her a hand and helped her to clamber in 
 and swathed her in an enormous towel. 
 
 As he had expected they were fully dressed before they 
 saw the people of the house again, and then having 
 made the boat fast and thanked them, they set out, 
 munching sandwiches. They rested not far from the 
 pool, looking up to the heights of Browngelly. Peter sat 
 down and drew off his coat to serve as a pillow, for he 
 was drowsy. Cynthia, too, made preparations for repose 
 and coolness. She slipped off shoes and stockings, rolled 
 up her sleeves to the shoulders and, elbows upflung, sank 
 back in the long, dry grass, clasping her naked arms be- 
 hind her head. The sun beat down with a savage glare 
 of heat. Grasshoppers chirped. The air was still; and 
 out of sight on the moor cattle were lowing. 
 
 "I'm so happy I can't get to sleep," said Peter, turn- 
 ing over to the other side to look at his young wife. 
 
 Cynthia raised her face all flushed with slumber, like a 
 child awaked, and began to rub her blinking eyes. She 
 sat up. 
 
 " I '11 talk to you, ' ' she said teasingly, ' ' and then you '11 
 have no difficulty!" 
 
 "Where did you learn to swim, you clever girl? Tell 
 me that."
 
 TRANSFORMATION 323 
 
 "We had a teacher at school Joyce's school, you 
 know. She was a Swede. I learnt from her. I can't 
 swim much." 
 
 They were within sight of the road which led to the 
 pool and from the distance came the humming of a motor. 
 Peter also was sitting up, as he said: "You jolly well 
 can! I remember Joyce telling me and I thought she 
 was piling it on. Why on earth didn't you bathe with 
 Alan and me at Tintagel, when we asked you?" 
 
 The purring sound was nearer. Cynthia sank back 
 and answered, "I should have, if Mother would have let 
 me. But I'm nothing out of the ordinary, Peter! You 
 can't have seen a good girl swimmer before, or you 
 wouldn 't be surprised at me. I '11 tell you about the best 
 I ever met, and then you'll understand I'm nothing at 
 all ! I can, because I wrote about her to Shaun and tried 
 to make the description literary." , 
 
 "Go ahead!" said Peter, lazily. He lay back re- 
 cumbent, an instant before the car whirred over the hill. 
 They were stretched invisible as it passed by. 
 
 "You must not interrupt now, please!" began Cyn- 
 thia. "I call her 
 
 THE LADY OP FOWEY, 
 
 where we were yachting. She was a tallish girl, who was 
 married, I think, for I saw a man walking with her once 
 lanky and happy with a clever face ; altogether rather 
 nice who was behaving like a husband. She was about 
 my age, good-looking, and not very well dressed when I 
 met them out. I daresay she had made her skirt herself. 
 I only got a glimpse of her, as they passed me quickly, 
 coming round a corner, and she had a sunbonnet on. 
 
 "This girl was staying at one of those nice houses on 
 the cliff; one which had steps at the end of its garden 
 down the rocks to a diving-board projecting at a con- 
 siderable height above the water from a kind of stage, 
 and on to a concrete landing-platform at the bottom. 
 Now Alan and I used to fish in the early mornings from 
 a boat which we sculled along the shore, and we were out
 
 324 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 one day just after sunrise, and saw her come in a long 
 cloak and barefoot through the wicket gate at the top, 
 and spring headlong down those steps as though she 
 wanted to break her neck; but she was so sure-footed 
 she arrived safe at the diving-stage, and then she threw 
 off her cloak and stood with only a short scarlet costume 
 on. I did envy her when she ran out on to the plank, 
 gave a tremendous leap into the air, turned a somersault 
 gracefully and easily, her body revolving upon her 
 shoulders and arms as on a pivot, and with another half 
 turn shot headforemost into the water without a splash. 
 And she swam, oh so powerfully! She was wearing a 
 scarlet cloth knotted over her hair, which was yellow, 
 much fairer than mine and very curly. We could see the 
 scarlet, bobbing thing, one white arm after the other 
 rising beside it, pass far into the rough sea beyond the 
 harbour mouth. What do you think of my narrative 
 style, Peter? 
 
 "We saw her several mornings running, and one day 
 when she swam close 1 called her, inviting her to dive 
 from our boat. She thanked me and swung herself in as 
 lightly as possible without looking at Alan's hand out- 
 stretched to help her. Not like me just now! Up she 
 came over the side and, oh Peter, she was beautiful ! I 
 did envy her again. She had sweet, brown eyes and a 
 very candid, attractive face, and she was absolutely 
 perfectly made, muscular as anything, but with lovely 
 slidey slippery muscle that didn 't cause her to look big or 
 ungraceful. Her arms were as rounded and smooth as a 
 statue's, and her legs and feet perfect too, and her skin 
 snowy white, and all her movements easy and supple. 
 She could be deliberate or ever so swift and it was 
 equally beautiful to watch. 
 
 ' ' She sprang on the bow seat, and balanced herself on 
 her toes, raising her wet, gleaming arms; I noticed she 
 looked slender, standing up: then she leapt backwards 
 and curved herself in the air, how shall I say? like a 
 whip-lash, it was so quick, and went in headforemost, 
 without a splash. You know how clear the water is at 
 Fowey. We looked over and saw her dart underneath
 
 TRANSFORMATION 325 
 
 our boat and rise on the other side with her hands in 
 front of her. When I said something in praise of her 
 swimming she just laughed and said she'd had a lot of 
 practice; and then up went her white heels again and 
 down she shot to the bottom, tremendously far under. 
 We could see her clinging there to a rock, head down- 
 ward, legs above her; she relaxed her hold and slipping 
 over on her back swam slowly up towards the surface. 
 Peter, she was as at home in the water as a fish ! She 
 could shoot in any direction under water with her hands 
 behind her back, and she turned somersaults with her 
 knees up to her chin, swimming with her hands with 
 arms outstretched, and she extended her limbs and 
 turned more somersaults head over heels and heels over 
 head, and did what they call the 'rolling log,' floating 
 and revolving herself on her own axis rapidly and easily, 
 and then she came up to take breath. 'Good-bye,' she 
 said. 'Thank you so much for letting me dive.' And 
 off she swam, arm after arm over her head, at a tre- 
 mendous speed. You wouldn't think much of me if 
 you'd seen her, Peter, really!" 
 
 The car had just passed back and Cynthia sat up to 
 look after it. 
 
 "Wasn't she a professional?" asked Peter. "It's a 
 ripping description of yours. ' ' 
 
 ' ' She was a lady. She seemed awfully nice. ' ' 
 
 She failed however to retain Peter's interest. He 
 preferred to play with his wife's hair, which was hang- 
 ing down her back to dry. ' ' It 's pretty ! " he murmured 
 admiringly. "You ought always to wear it like that, 
 Star." 
 
 "Oh, silly, silly Peter," laughed Cynthia, bright- 
 cheeked, and then he kissed her and they were very 
 youthful and happy and played with a grasshopper who 
 came to rebuke them. Oh, the joyful hours! 
 
 Soon, in a moment it seemed, the time was come to 
 start home. The shadows were beginning to lengthen 
 upon Minzies Downs. Reluctantly they dragged their 
 footsteps from the enchanted spot. ' ' What a holiday ! ' ' 
 sighed Peter. "You took it for granted that I knew
 
 326 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Fowey, but I Ve hardly been away from London for years 
 and years." 
 
 She stroked his arm in sympathy. "Poor Peter!" 
 
 And then they came to Jamaica Inn and Cynthia asked 
 her kind husband to buy her a glass of lemonade. Peter 
 in a large spirit of generosity offered her a barrelful, and 
 they entered the parlour laughing. The girl who came 
 to take their order exclaimed when she saw them, "Did 
 you meet the gentleman, sir?" The laughter died on 
 their lips. 
 
 ' ' What gentleman ? ' ' demanded Peter. 
 
 ' ' The gentleman in the motor, mum, ' ' the girl replied 
 to Cynthia's frightened, questioning gaze. 
 
 "I thought I heard a car go by. Was he driving 
 himself?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, he must have passed close to, but I didn't 
 notice him. Did you, Cynthia?" 
 
 ' ' I was telling you about the Lady of Powey. ' ' Cyn- 
 thia had expected to hear a hoarse croak, but her voice 
 was as silvery as ever. Almost for the first time in her 
 life she heard it self-consciously, and realised that it was 
 beautiful. 
 
 "Luckily I knew you were Mr. and Mrs. Middleton 
 and I told him you had gone down to the Pool, for John 
 had seen you go by. ' ' 
 
 "Who was he, and what did he want?" asked Peter. 
 "Was he a youngish, clean-shaven chap with sandy 
 hair?" 
 
 "Shaun isn't exactly youngish," said Cynthia under 
 her breath, though she knew all the time it was not Shaun. 
 
 "He didn't tell his name, sir," explained the girl. 
 "He was a stranger to me; an old gentleman with big 
 eyebrows, not so old perhaps, but getting on in years. 
 He was tall and spare and had a quiet commanding sort 
 of way with him and took an interest in the cases of 
 stuffed trout in the hall." 
 
 "Yes, but what did he want with us?" persisted Peter. 
 
 The girl seemed surprised. "I can't tell, sir, I'm 
 sure! But he wanted to know where you was staying
 
 TRANSFORMATION 327 
 
 and I told him Radgells and I hope I did right, mum. 
 He looked such a gentleman, sir, and I'm sure I didn't 
 mean no 'arm ! ' ' 
 
 "No, no, of course!" said Peter, as heartily as he 
 could. ' ' Is he driving round to Roughtor Bridge, do you 
 suppose ? ' ' 
 
 "He didn't say, sir. I didn't see him when he came 
 back." 
 
 "We'd better get home at once," said Peter to Cyn- 
 thia, ' ' and wait for him. No time for ginger beer ! " "I 
 had to get you out of it, ' ' he went on as soon as they were 
 in the open air, where the sunshine came as a surprise 
 and its friendly warmth astonished them because it was 
 unchanged. "Your eyes are like two saucers, darling! 
 They are blue-grey like the sea. ' ' 
 
 They got into the little copse below Bolventor and sat 
 down to talk it over. Cynthia was trembling. 
 
 "That swimming girl may have changed the whole of 
 our lives!" she said. "It would have been awful if 
 Dad had caught us, all unprepared as we were. ' ' 
 
 "Are we going to meet him, that's the point," said 
 Peter. "We both wanted to, yesterday." 
 
 " It 's quite different, his catching us, from my writing 
 or going to Mother, isn't it, dear?" 
 
 She was pitifully afraid and anxious to convince her- 
 self, he could see. Nor did he himself feel much bolder. 
 It certainly was awkward that they had heard so little 
 news from Shaun, who would only get their letter in the 
 evening. Suddenly Peter remembered that they did not 
 know where Sir Everard was staying, and he ran back to 
 inquire whether the gentleman had left an address. He 
 had not, but the girl had recognised the car as a hire-car 
 from the King's Arms at Camelford, and with this in- 
 formation Peter hastened back to Cynthia. 
 
 Finally they decided to hurry to Radgells and, after 
 assuring themselves by means of a detour that no car was 
 waiting at Roughtor Bridge, to snatch a meal and secure 
 a respite by telling Mrs. Trerice they would be out until 
 after midnight. The worst of it was that Sir Everard, 
 having had nearly an hour's start, would be at Camel-
 
 328 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 ford by this time, and if he went straight on to Radgells 
 he might arrive before them, in which case they would 
 be compelled to lurk and watch him off the premises. 
 Mrs. Trerice would offer him tea no doubt, which he 
 might or might not accept ; Cynthia thought it far more 
 likely that he would have a cup of tea at the King's 
 Arms before going on. 
 
 Fear lent them wings. They covered four miles in 
 five and thirty minutes and won the race. Hardly had 
 they reached the watch-tower of Roughtor, bearing with 
 them their tea and supper, both in one, with a jug of 
 cider, than a car rushed down the straight road to 
 Roughtor Bridge, scattering the cattle and ponies which 
 were watering at the ford. A figure emerged from the 
 tonneau, and appeared to give instructions to the 
 chauffeur. "Can it be Daddy?" Cynthia whispered as 
 though the small, black speck might overhear. 
 
 Peter's voice sounded extraordinarily loud. "He was 
 driving himself this morning." He lowered his tone to 
 a murmur. "I believe that's a bigger car." 
 
 "He's coming across the bridge. How long will it be 
 before we can be sure ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' A quarter of an hour perhaps, ' ' said Peter, ' ' unless 
 you are able to recognise his walk a very long way 
 off." 
 
 "There goes the car!" exclaimed Cynthia, clutching 
 him. But it only backed and turned and stood waiting. 
 Peter felt how she began to tremble. 
 
 "We won't go down," he said comfortingly, having 
 been on the point of proposing to go, in obedience to 
 the natural impulse which leads a man to confront a 
 visible danger. He had little doubt that it was Sir 
 Everard. 
 
 "It might be Shaun," said Cynthia. "It might. 
 Even though the car's still there " 
 
 "Shaun!" 
 
 "It might be." 
 
 Peter had not considered the possibility and he stared 
 at the small figure slowly approaching across the moor, 
 until it danced before his eyes. Cynthia's sight was finer
 
 TRANSFORMATION 329 
 
 than his and she cried out "It isn't Shaun," when the 
 distance had been half covered. "I believe . . . I think 
 it's Alan," she said a moment later in a tone of sheer 
 wrath, which caused Peter, although he was a peaceable 
 individual, suddenly to feel pugnacious. 
 
 "Oh, I say, the muscle on your arm!" The girl's 
 hand which had been gripping it unconsciously withdrew 
 startled, and she turned wide eyes on him. 
 
 She was peeping round the corner of rock. She held 
 her breath, crouching stiff. "It's Father!" she said, 
 relaxing, and again she spoke in a whisper, shaken by 
 something between a sigh and a sob. 
 
 "Yes." Peter, too, was intent on the plain and the 
 solitary approaching figure. It was Sir Everard without 
 a doubt, and he would pass directly below them, as he 
 was bearing close in under the head of Roughtor, having 
 left the track. 
 
 ' ' Will he come up ? " asked Cynthia. 
 
 "He must have been told to go round. He must. 
 Yes, there he turns! He's found the going too rough 
 and is striking outward. By Jove! Here's Trerice!" 
 
 The short broad form of Mr. Trerice, in his best 
 clothes, with Gwenneth frolicking about him, had come 
 into sight round the Tor. High above, hasty whispers 
 were exchanged. "Can he guess where we are, dar- 
 ling?" "No, I only said we were going out to see the 
 moon rise." "Starry, there isn't any moon to-night." 
 "That doesn't matter, surely!" "Yes, it does. They 
 may think we 11 find out our mistake and come in early. ' ' 
 ..." No, no. Daddy won 't wait so long, I 'm sure. The 
 sun hasn't set yet." 
 
 The sun was descending magnificently upon the west- 
 ern hills, flooding the world with soft light; and in the 
 foreground of the landscape Mr. Trerice and Sir Everard 
 steadily approached one another. Would they pass? 
 No, they stopped, and in the still air faint sounds of 
 conversation mounted to the watchers on the crag. Sir 
 Everard had hailed Trerice: he stayed talking a long 
 time and Gwenneth crept close and stood at gaze. Now 
 Sir Everard took something from his pocket, and
 
 330 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Trerice's hand went up in salutation towards the brim 
 of his hat. Sir Everard was turning back. He swung 
 round on his heel, and Trerice and Gwenneth also 
 turned, retracing their steps, and disappeared soon in the 
 direction of Radgells. 
 
 When the motor-car had vanished over Poldue, Peter 
 and Cynthia sat up and looked at each other with set 
 and blanched faces. Now that the danger was over 
 for the time, they became aware of the full weight of 
 their responsibility and misliked it sadly. . . . But before 
 they stole back under a deep and starry sky they had 
 decided, from loyalty to Shaun, to flee upon the morrow. 
 The scents of the garden crowded thick upon them like 
 memories; the latch clicked and they moved out of the 
 dark and solemn mystery of the -night and entered the 
 blacker, narrower mystery of the house. They tiptoed 
 into their sitting-room. Peter struck a match, trem- 
 bling; but set a flame to the candle with steady fingers, 
 for he had caught sight of what was to be feared. 
 
 In the centre of the striped tablecloth lay a small, 
 white card, on the back of which were scrawled in an un- 
 formed hand the following words, which Cynthia read 
 looking over Peter's shoulder This gentellman came 
 when you were out. He is at the King's Arms. She 
 happened to glance up at the mirror above the mantel- 
 piece and saw ghostly therein her grave and tender 
 beauty with Peter's dark head beside, and the thought 
 crossed her mind, "This is the end of my youth." She 
 was too young to know that it was nothing more than 
 the end of her honeymoon.
 
 XIV 
 
 THEY were up by six o'clock, resolved to abandon their 
 heavy baggage to the enemy and to flee to some town 
 from which they could keep him under observation while 
 they communicated with Shaun, but they had been dis- 
 cussing morals and 'what is best for you, darling' and 
 therefore were still without a definite plan, except that 
 they would tell Mrs. Trerice they were going on tramp 
 for a short time. Luckily the day, though blusterous, 
 was fine and warm. 
 
 With large natural genius they bustled Mrs. Trerice 
 so that she had not time to ask about the strange gentle- 
 man, and what she should say to him if he called again ; 
 and Trerice was out at work when they came down. 
 They were clever enough to guess that Sir Everard had 
 said little in order that he might not afterwards seem 
 to have made a secret of the relationship. There was in 
 the mind of Mrs. Trerice no suspicion that his arrival 
 accounted for the departure of her guests. Indeed they 
 escaped without one mention of him, by eating in the 
 kitchen with haste, and avoiding the necessity to enter 
 the sitting-room. In their innocence of intrigue, how- 
 ever, they overlooked two points of importance, the first 
 being that they would lose Shaun 's reply, which would 
 probably have been posted the night before, and the 
 second, that Sir Everard 's visiting card was now re- 
 posing in Peter's pocket. If the latter could have fore- 
 seen their success in directing the thoughts of Mrs. 
 Trerice solely upon matters of food and raiment, their 
 evasion without a single word that referred to the 
 strange visitor, of course he would have left it upon the 
 table. Both these oversights they discovered in the 
 afternoon, near to the peculiarly-balanced pile of rocks 
 
 331
 
 332 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 called The Cheesewring, ascribed with equal justice to 
 Satan or King Arthur by the older dwellers on the moor. 
 
 They had walked a good ten miles to see The Cheese- 
 wring before they left the neighbourhood, and it was 
 worth while, they decided ; but what to do next was not 
 so easy to settle. They were naturally ignorant that 
 Shaun had wired to them since their departure and that 
 Sir Everard was in possession of the telegram, which he 
 had secured from Mrs. Trerice. On the contrary, they 
 were expecting no reply until next day. Nor in their 
 wildest imaginings would they have guessed the contents 
 of the telegram, nor that Shaun had written to Sir 
 Everard giving him their address at Radgells. The 
 tangle was complete ; and it had arisen because they did 
 not foresee at the beginning that Shaun might learn of 
 Sir Everard 's arrival at Camelford from Lady Bremner 
 before any announcement of theirs (and they had sent 
 none as yet) could get to him; otherwise they would have 
 confided in Mrs. Trerice, and taken measures for the for- 
 warding of correspondence. For the time being they 
 were to be the sport of chance, but their object was still 
 the right one, namely to get into touch with Shaun again 
 at the earliest possible opportunity without placing 
 themselves too far away from Sir Everard. They were 
 as eager to do this as though they had been aware of the 
 full urgency of it. Only, how it was to be achieved was 
 not evident at first. 
 
 There were two places where they could hope to hear 
 news of visitors at the King's Arms at Camelford, namely 
 Tintagel and Boscastle. The drivers of the brakes which 
 met daily at Camelford Station would be safe to gossip, 
 they thought, and if they themselves took up their quar- 
 ters at a big hotel under an assumed name it would be 
 surely possible to find out when Sir Everard left. If he 
 left before they heard from Shaun they were quite deter- 
 mined to go at once to town. An address was the essen- 
 tial meanwhile, not too distant from Camelford, and 
 although they racked their brains, with the map spread 
 out before them, nowhere appeared more suitable than 
 the two seaside places. The little fishing town of Port
 
 TRANSFORMATION 333 
 
 Isaac, which both of them longed to see (it is one of the 
 loveliest things in all Cornwall) was too distant from 
 Camelford; St. Breward and St. Teath were so small 
 that they would be the only visitors and would be de- 
 tected immediately by the first inquirer. At Tintagel or 
 Boscastle they would not be altogether secure, for Cyn- 
 thia was not in the habit of being overlooked when she 
 stayed at an hotel. She was usually the most stared at, 
 admired, and criticised person there, however quietly she 
 might dress herself; which was one of the reasons why 
 she disliked hotels. She could not flatter herself that 
 her manner had entirely ceased to be bridal; she was 
 too sensible to think that they would not be recognised 
 by the observant to be on their honeymoon tour. But 
 at the big caravanserais that are springing up all along 
 the Cornish coast honeymoon couples are an everyday 
 sight, and Cynthia was of the opinion that this time 
 she might not excite attention. She would not dress for 
 dinner, would be nobody, arriving as she did without a 
 retinue, without a fashionably dressed mother and smart 
 maid. Moreover, she argued, there were such a lot of 
 nice-looking girls in the world that Sir Everard could 
 not possibly be sure that one with a totally unknown 
 name belonged to him. 
 
 Peter revolved this with an air of doubt. . . . "You 
 aren't exactly nice-looking," he objected, at length. 
 ' ' Especially after three weeks of the moor. ' ' He added, 
 "Though I didn't think that possible." 
 
 Cynthia did not profess misunderstanding. It was 
 not her way. Besides, though an unself-conscious girl, 
 she was perfectly well aware that her looks had im- 
 proved, and she followed his confused thoughts clearly. 
 "If I'm beautiful," she said "and pretty people are 
 often much more striking " 
 
 "They aren't more striking now," interrupted Peter, 
 and this time he spoke decisively. 
 
 "It doesn't make much difference," said the girl, 
 colouring with happiness. "We must take some risks 
 whatever we do." 
 
 "Unless we went straight back to London."
 
 334 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "That's been ruled out," said she, rather regretfully. 
 Indeed, it was Peter who had ruled it out. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose we can't do that. Tintagel's no 
 good, don't you think, Starry?" 
 
 Cynthia was wistful. "If only Mother were here 
 with him!" she said. "It would be such a good sign, 
 too. What did you say, Peterest ? Oh ! I agree. They 
 are sure to search Tintagel. I daresay Daddy is there 
 now." Alan was, while Sir Everard peacefully fished 
 the Camel. After his second expedition to Radgells 
 fruitless save for the capture of Shaun's telegram 
 Sir Everard felt that he owed himself a few days' fishing, 
 and also he wished to regain his self-control. He had 
 been very angry that morning. 
 
 "Boscastle has it, then, and I'm jolly glad, for if you 
 remember somehow we never got there the year before 
 last ; at least you didn 't while I was down. It must be 
 eighteen miles from here, and I don't want you to get 
 over- tired ; what do you say to driving from Altarnun ? ' ' 
 
 "Thank you. Let's. And could we have tea at 
 Altarnun?" 
 
 "We shall need it, dear. Altarnun is six miles away 
 across the moor. Can you manage that?" 
 
 "Rather!" said Cynthia, who had plenty of courage 
 and never gave up. She was equal to five and twenty 
 miles without undue fatigue on a day when she had no 
 anxieties. "I'm glad I'm not in white to-day. By the 
 map I see we shall have to go straight. ' ' 
 
 'Going straight' meant crossing the brooks by jump- 
 ing or by wading. Cynthia, who had dressed herself in 
 freshest green, the cool tint of young leaves in May, 
 was secretly anxious lest she should reach Boscastle 
 untidy. 
 
 " I '11 take care of you ! ' ' said Peter, who was gaining 
 more insight into the feminine mind every day and had 
 already made surprising progress. And he did, for he 
 carried her over. 
 
 The only conveyance to be obtained on that occasion 
 in Altarnun was an ancient and dilapidated jingle, in
 
 TRANSFORMATION . 335 
 
 which they sat like people half buried in a deep tub: 
 harnessed to it was a very fiery and stalwart pony, of a 
 bright roan colour. Cynthia elected to drive until the 
 spirit was out of this animal; then she handed over 
 the reins to the small boy who had been sent to bring 
 the vehicle home. She was tired, although outwardly 
 she had not turned a hair, and was not sorry to lean 
 back and lose herself in daydreams. 
 
 Now Peter found the urchin's remarks difficult to 
 understand, for like many Cornish people north of the 
 moor he spoke a dialect similar to that of Devonshire. 
 Therefore conversation between them languished. He 
 thought that the boy knew his way, and that was enough. 
 So neither he nor Cynthia noticed how three times they 
 turned to the left, at Grigg's Down, where the Boscastle 
 road branches from the road to Camelford, then at Cross- 
 ways where the first error might have been retrieved, 
 and finally at Collan's Cross, from which a side lane 
 turns towards Slaughter Bridge and the scene of 
 Arthur's last battle. The evening air was hot and still 
 and the road was dusty. All unconscious, the fugitives 
 were being borne at a quiet pace towards Camelford 
 which they most wished to avoid, at the very time when 
 the postman was walking about that little market town 
 with a letter in his pouch from Shaun James to Sir 
 Everard Bremner, of the existence of which they were as 
 unsuspicious as they were of the direction in which they 
 were bound. And the key to the contents of that letter 
 lay in a telegram in Sir Everard 's possession and a note 
 which would not be delivered at Radgells until the mor- 
 row, wherein Shaun had slightly amplified the astonish- 
 ing news contained in his wire. Their danger of capture 
 was almost as great as at Dozmary, and the result would 
 probably be as fatal unless Sir Everard had time to 
 digest Shaun 's confession properly before they arrived 
 even then it must be full of doubt. 
 
 As they jogged down the hill into Camelford, Sir 
 Everard was slitting open the envelope with his pen- 
 knife, seated in the lounge of the King's Arms, which 
 looks pleasantly over the tops of trees across the deep,
 
 330 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 green valley through which the Camel flows; and rooks 
 were exchanging their opinions in the elms and a thrush 
 was singing sweetly shrill in the garden below the win- 
 dow. He heard at this moment the distant music of a 
 band break out amidst cheering, and thought little of it ; 
 but the outburst had startled the occupants of the jingle 
 from their dreams. It came from the neighbourhood of 
 the bridge, immediately in front of them, and there 
 beyond was the familiar street leading up the hill, past 
 the front of the King's Arms, and as far as they could 
 see the paths were lined with people. 
 
 "Stop!" cried Peter, so commandingly that the boy 
 drew rein with a jerk and the roan pony started side- 
 ways, its hind hoofs slithering on the hard, steep road. 
 ' ' What on earth are we doing here ? ' ' 
 
 "And what's happening here?" asked Cynthia, too 
 tired to be much alarmed or even surprised, but noticing 
 the crowd. 
 
 The urchin said, " 'Tes Camelford, not much out of 
 our way, mister. Father gave me something for a gentle- 
 man as lives at the top of the town. 'Tes money, madam, 
 that he didn't like for to put in the post. And he said 
 as how you wouldn't mind payin' a bit extra, though I 
 warn 't to press for it, like ; seein ' as they was dancing 
 the Furry Dance in Camelford to-night." 
 
 "Of course, that's the Flora Dance music!" said 
 Cynthia. "I've heard it at Helston. Oh, Peter, what 
 shall we do now?" 
 
 ' ' I 've a good mind to pay your father with my walking 
 stick across his back," cried Peter in a fury. "You'd 
 better turn at once." 
 
 ' ' Quicker way be to goo aun now, zur ! ' ' lied the boy, 
 relapsing into broad dialect as a refuge. ' ' Didn 't knaw 
 you was in zuch a 'urry, zur!" 
 
 Peter pulled himself up. Could he afford to arouse 
 the kid 's curiosity ? No, he could not. Besides, the boy 
 would drive back through Camelford and have as long 
 as he pleased for gossip. 
 
 "Sorry!" he said shortly. "Get on then, as you're 
 here ; but I wanted to reach Boscastle by dinner time. ' '
 
 TRANSFORMATION 
 
 337 
 
 Cynthia crouched low as they fell in at the tail of the 
 procession, which stretched up the long street, steadily 
 progressing under a thin cloud of dust raised by the 
 feet of the jigging dancers. First, there marched the 
 band, blaring lustily the Furry Tune, above all other 
 the best to set the legs in motion up a long, stiff hill; 
 
 then came the strongest of the lads and maidens stepping 
 it, and a line of children all in white twirling and shuf- 
 fling, and grown-ups next with a bright Temperance 
 banner and proud to carry it, while behind a few carts 
 brought up the rear, moving slowly, blocked in the 
 narrow street by the crowd of shouting people that 
 pressed on the footsteps of the dancers. For even the 
 banner-bearers were tripping to and fro in time, and 
 every moment more onlookers ran ahead and joined in, 
 or shot out of the houses with laughter, pursued by chaff 
 from the elders, while only a few fell from the ranks to 
 lean panting against the nearest window-sill, so that 
 the throng ahead was continually augmenting and 
 progress grew slower and slower till the jingle was 
 forced to stop, which happened in sight of the King's 
 Arms. They saw Sir Everard in the doorway with 
 something white in his hand. They could not take their 
 eyes off him and the proprietress, respectful and respect-
 
 338 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 able in black silk, and then the jingle gave a jerk be- 
 neath them and they were moving forward again; and 
 in the hearts of neither there was fear, but Cynthia had 
 a yearning towards her father and at the same moment 
 she was wishing she could get out and dance. And 
 Peter squared his shoulders and threw back his head. 
 So they passed by, it seemed under his very gaze, but 
 unseen, and breathed deeply like swimmers emerging 
 from a dive, as they moved out of sight and danger. 
 They felt a sensation of coming back to life.
 
 XV 
 
 BY the time they reached Boscastle it was past the hour 
 for telegraphing, and fatigue and over-excitement led 
 them to commit another mistake. They wrote to Shaun, 
 and posted the letter with relief, when they ought to 
 have made provision for the despatch of a telegram in 
 the morning as soon as the office opened, which they 
 could easily have done from the Wellington Hotel. The 
 letter that they had sent could not arrive till the 
 following evening at the earliest, and the clear 
 day thus gained for holiday and peace might cost them 
 much. 
 
 After a late breakfast, they wandered out along the 
 cut, with cottages on either side, down which the brook 
 ran to the winding gash between cliffs called the Har- 
 bour. High downs rose from directly behind the houses 
 to the tower-topped summit of Willapark on their left 
 hand and Penally on their right, while at their back was 
 Forrabury Hill, up which the road mounted past the 
 hotel out of sight to the long, steep street of Boscastle 
 village. They kept to the left bank of the stream, and 
 passed the old Quay sheltered from sea winds, and 
 climbed until they could look down upon the bend of 
 the Harbour, where the water lay black and deep at 
 the foot of the rocks below them, and across was a high, 
 grim breakwater, like the beginning of a wall built from 
 the opposite cliff. Beyond them was the mouth of the 
 gulf, opening narrowly to the Atlantic Ocean between 
 precipices. In this winding gully there was a great 
 depth of water immediately off the rocks, but ships could 
 only come in by warping, and then could only reach the 
 Quay itself on the top of the tide. Moreover the place 
 would be a death-trap in a swell or with a westerly wind 
 
 339
 
 340 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 blowing. The cliff on the right-hand side of its entrance 
 was edged fantastically and showed a dark outline 
 against blue sky, while to the left in the far loftier head- 
 land of Willapark was a great chasm into which the sea 
 boiled and murmured incessantly. And for ever the 
 foam rippled white and clinging around the Meachard 
 Rock outside, where the gulls shrieked and circled. They 
 stood a long time watching. 
 
 And now appeared a middle-aged German gentleman, 
 towel-laden, who showed them steps down the cliff to a 
 cleverly hidden dressing shed, and a tiny bath, hollowed 
 from the rock, and a place where bolder swimmers might 
 dive into the waters of the harbour. The rock basin 
 was green and cool and limpid, a pool for merbabies to 
 play in, and the lapping waters of the harbour lay black 
 and threatening between dark cliffs. The German, who 
 was of a military aspect, skilled in all knowledge of the 
 coast of Cornwall, said that no one came here at this 
 time but himself and in half an hour he would be gone, 
 so they sauntered back to the hotel and changed into 
 bathing clothes and Cynthia borrowed a cloak from the 
 chambermaid, who brought also many towels. For the 
 sea was irresistible and the sun was blazing overhead 
 with obdurate wrath from a sky of brassy splendour. 
 
 Now Cynthia after daring climbing, clever with bare 
 feet and white arms grasping and gradual ascent to a 
 ledge up high, showed herself a bold and graceful diver. 
 She was not an acrobat, that is to say she dived straight- 
 forwardly, shooting headforemost without somersaults ; 
 but while she lamented their absence and invoked the 
 memory of the Lady of Fowey, Peter was glad not to see 
 his Cynthia turning head over heels, which seemed to 
 him not wholly a proper or suitable thing for a lady to 
 do. Although he performed the feat himself without 
 conscious loss of dignity. 
 
 When they reached the top of the steps again, she 
 cloaked for the return journey, he in coat and trousers 
 as he had come, they found the anxious German standing 
 guard for them: he was telling a youth that he must 
 not go down yet for there was a lady bathing below.
 
 TRANSFORMATION 341 
 
 Cynthia blushed at the narrowness of her escape and 
 thanked them both with confusion and hurried on. So 
 the German waved his straw hat in the air, for he was 
 a courteous individual, and Peter pulled at a wet fore- 
 lock with a friendly grin and they never saw each other 
 again, although they came close. It was not Peter's 
 bayonet which struck him down. . . . 
 
 In the afternoon the Middletons walked a little way 
 up the beautiful Valency valley, and on their return 
 they were standing looking from the main entrance of 
 the hotel towards the bridge when they suddenly be- 
 came aware of a familiar form moving away from them. 
 ' ' Alan ! ' ' cried Cynthia to Peter, and ' ' Alan ! ' ' repeated 
 Peter with the most absolute surprise. It was she who 
 drew him back into safety. Somehow happiness seemed 
 to have blunted Peter's wits and Cynthia felt the same 
 about her own, only hers had chanced to be the quicker 
 this time. She would never have admitted that she 
 was usually the readier of the two. 
 
 "He would have noticed us if it hadn't been for the 
 coach," she said excitedly. "He must have been watch- 
 ing the coach just as we were ! ' ' She ran out and ascer- 
 tained that Alan was crossing the bridge, and darted 
 back into the porch. "Oh, Peter! What an escape! 
 What shall we do?" 
 
 "Why didn't he see us come up?" 
 
 ' ' We didn 't see him ; why should he see us ? It was 
 just accident. But, Peter, Peter, let's do something! 
 What shall we do? He's gone over the bridge." 
 
 "Well go the way he came." So up the hill they 
 started, at racing pace, without clear idea of what they 
 were going to do with themselves all the afternoon or 
 how they were to get back to the hotel. Presently they 
 found themselves opposite an old man who had been 
 working at the side of the road. The old man stood 
 up straight and looked at them out of piercing blue 
 eyes; he was tall and broad with a great handsome 
 head, jutting chin fringed with white beard, a firm 
 mouth, a wise forehead above his bright, shrewd eyes; 
 and his look made two friends for him. Cynthia
 
 342 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 recognised his face, which was not one that would easily 
 be forgotten no doubt he had served as model to many 
 a painter. "Aren't you a sailor?" she asked, involun- 
 tarily. ' ' Haven 't I seen your picture in the Academy ? ' ' 
 
 He answered in a strong, free voice: "I'm a sailor 
 when there's work for seamen down along, but the 
 harbour is not what it was. I've a message for ye, 
 miss. ' ' 
 
 "From whom?" His eyes were intent upon her 
 face; kind and admiring, in an old man's way towards 
 young beauty. 
 
 "From the Lord, miss. It was given to me as I saw 
 ye breasting the steep slope of the hill like a wild 
 thing hunted. Ye may run a bra' distance afore ye 
 leave trouble behind, but the Lord said to me, 'John 
 Penolver, trouble that ye set out to face with prayer 
 will flee like the rainbow-foot. 'Tes farther away nor a 
 man can tell.' Go back to it, missy. Anger couldn't 
 never stand against that look o' yourn. " 
 
 "Thank you, John Penolver," she said gently, and 
 passed on. 
 
 They walked to the head of the long street of white 
 cottages with bright bits of garden in front; because of 
 the steepness of the road the gutters were made wide 
 and deep on either hand and slabs of slate formed bridges 
 to the gates of the dwellings ; and then they turned and 
 went downhill to face Alan. As they passed the old 
 man he waved a greeting and cried to Peter, "Take 
 fisties to 'un ! ' ' The jolly call told them that the Spirit 
 had departed. 
 
 "Talking to Alan needn't compromise Shaun!" said 
 Peter, though he might have known that it would be 
 bound to do so. They had crossed the bridge and were 
 hesitating whether to turn to the sea or the Valency 
 valley. Cynthia started. She had forgotten Shaun, and 
 here was actually Alan ahead, appearing from the foot- 
 path to the valley. He waved to them and stopped. 
 
 "Where might you spring from?" inquired Cynthia, 
 airily, as they came up. She would have died sooner 
 than reveal her trepidation to this enemy brother.
 
 TRANSFORMATION 343 
 
 "I come from Tintagel, Sissy," said Alan, in a tone 
 that betrayed equally little. He barely nodded to Peter. 
 "And I'm. leaving for the East to-morrow. Let's turn 
 back along this path. It's quiet." 
 
 "What do you mean by the East?" she demanded, 
 puzzled and watchful. 
 
 "Tokyo. I believe it's a very pleasant Legation, and 
 plenty of opportunities if one's good at languages." 
 
 "Why, Alan!" 
 
 "You are looking very well, Sis, but you haven't 
 grown quick-witted! You knew I was expecting an 
 attache-ship. ' ' 
 
 "I didn't know you were going right off like this! 
 Shaun hasn't said a word about it!" 
 
 "Shaun!" said Alan, with bitterness: "you've given 
 it away, Sis, haven't you? Not that I ever believed 
 in the fellow. I always knew he was a lying hound 
 from the first moment I set eyes on him." 
 
 Peter, who was walking on the other side of Cynthia, 
 interfered before she could speak, and it was well, for 
 she would have answered hotly. "He's a friend of 
 ours. You won't make matters better by abusing him, 
 Alan." 
 
 "It's difficult to describe what you've done without 
 appearing to abuse. Can you deny that James is a liar ? 
 Can you deny that he has been treacherous to us from 
 the first? You've just admitted, Sis, that he has known 
 your address and been in communication with you. I 
 suspected it after the first five days and set to work 
 on my own account. And here I am, using up my last 
 days at home in search of my only sister who's made a 
 runaway match of it ! I haven 't seen Dad since yester- 
 day morning. I 've just time to drive over to Camelford 
 to-night and motor to Plymouth and catch the mail, and 
 I shall have an hour with Mother to-morrow 
 
 ' ' How is Mummy ? ' ' interrupted Cynthia. 
 
 "No thanks to you, she is well. Hadn't your go- 
 between told you? Haven't you bothered to inquire? 
 That fellow has bewitched you, Rose. You aren't your- 
 self "
 
 344 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "Shut up!" interposed Peter again. "Don't speak 
 to her in that tone." 
 
 ' ' I will not shut up ! I will speak to her as I please 
 and as she deserves. Nelly told me what to think of 
 you, Middleton. She told me there was nothing in 
 you. She told me " 
 
 "Peter! Don't hit him," cried Cynthia, dismayed. 
 She forced herself between the two men and pushed them 
 both off with more strength than she had imagined she 
 possessed. They stood glaring. 
 
 "I lose my chance of saying goodbye to Nelly through 
 you!" said Alan. 
 
 "Who's Nelly, then?" demanded Cynthia. 
 
 "You've never heard of Helen Taliesin? My Nelly! 
 I asked her fifty times to marry me and she wouldn't 
 because she would have injured my career. She's a 
 straight girl! She would not go back on what she 
 believed or be silent about her opinions, and she knew 
 that as my wife she would have stood in my way. I 
 offered to give up my work; but no, she wouldn't take 
 that sacrifice. She knew that I loved my work. She 
 gave me up. And I gave her up. Dad and Mum asked 
 her to Tintagel last year in order to see if they couldn't 
 patch it together somehow, they respected her so much. 
 There's nothing underhand about Nell." He stood, 
 breathing heavily, looking at the ground. 
 
 "Don't sneer at me!" exclaimed Cynthia. "You've 
 been underhand enough! Why did you not tell me 
 all that at the time?" 
 
 "Was it your business?" retorted Alan, coldly, look- 
 ing at her. ' ' You were only a child last year. ' ' 
 
 "I'm glad you recognise I'm not a child any longer. 
 You've never trusted me, any of you, never given 
 me your confidence nor deserved any of mine. That's 
 been the trouble always, always! But I'm sorry about 
 Helen Taliesin, Alan! I should have liked her for a 
 sister. I'm sorry for you, frightfully . . . dear old 
 Alan." 
 
 "I've been sorry for you now and then," admitted 
 Alan. "I suppose you're all right, Middleton. Only
 
 TRANSFORMATION 345 
 
 you choose your friends badly. That hypocritical, 
 grinning fool " 
 
 "You shan't abuse Shaun!" 
 
 "I lose patience when I think of him, Rose. You 
 don't know how he has played with us this last fort- 
 night. It makes one talk like a literary chap oneself 
 and say he's been your evil genius from the first! I 
 believe it would have been all right about your marriage 
 even, without his interference. All of us understood 
 about the Great Company. You see Dad and I never 
 liked that fellow, Man, and I must say James explained 
 it very well, and then I got hold of one of your chaps, 
 Middleton, a fellow called Mulholland very decent sort 
 and he threw a great deal of light on it, but my gad ! 
 your running away and staying away, Thank the Lord, 
 it was all James 's doing ! ' ' 
 
 "Then you are friendly now?" said Cynthia impul- 
 sively, with a light in her eyes. 
 
 "If you'd spoken sweetly like that to me a year ago, 
 Sis, could I have resisted you? Thank you for your 
 admission that it was all James's doing." 
 
 "It's a good job you are going to be a diplomatist!" 
 exclaimed Peter, angered. "You are about cut out for 
 it!" 
 
 "Come now, brother-in-law, don 't bear malice ! Shake 
 hands, Peter Middleton; and let's make the best of it 
 and keep our own opinions. Only you must make it 
 up with Dad yourselves. I'll not say a word for you, 
 except on the score of your looks, Rose. You are a 
 rose softly blooming, and no mistake. Marriage agrees 
 with you." Alan glanced at his watch. "I must go 
 back. My car's ordered. I think I was lucky to have 
 run across you. Confound that fellow's knavish tricks. 
 How he's made me waste this last fortnight!" 
 
 "We'll walk back with you," offered Cynthia. 
 
 "No, you don't! Well part while I feel compara- 
 tively good-natured. I suppose you won't be here to- 
 morrow ? ' ' 
 
 "We may not," Peter answered cautiously, in reply 
 to a glance from Cynthia.
 
 346 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "Ah! I'll tell the Dad. He'll probably stay a few 
 days more at Camelford, as they tell me fishing's to be 
 had. It's one to me that I've found you. I swore you 
 were at Tintagel!" 
 
 "What did your detectives swear?" she slyly asked. 
 
 ' ' I wonder what you mean ! ' ' remarked Alan. ' ' How- 
 ever there's no leisure to inquire now." He took their 
 right hands, swung them together and shook them 
 heartily. ' ' Be good ! ' ' cried Alan Bremner, and walked 
 swiftly away.
 
 XVI 
 
 SHAUN 's long silence during their moorland days at 
 Radgells had induced more irritation than they had 
 ever talked out. He had intended it to do so. Their 
 strict duty to him was to remain where they were 
 until they had heard from him. This could be in the 
 morning, for the letter they had written describing 
 the meeting with Alan had caught the post from Bos- 
 castle and Shaun might wire in answer to it. In any 
 case they were expecting a letter to arrive from him 
 next day. But they felt a strong impulse to end the 
 suspense by seeking out Sir Everard. 
 
 All Cynthia's loyalty could not prevent her feeling 
 deeply hurt because she had not been told of Alan's 
 appointment abroad. She was compelled to blame her 
 father as well as Shaun, for he could easily have an- 
 nounced the news in the Agony Column of The Times. 
 And she puzzled over his silence. Later in the evening 
 the true solution occurred to her. Sir Everard had re- 
 ceived and dismissed Shaun 's suggestion as to the use 
 of an advertisement at a time when he still believed 
 in his good faith; and had forgotten it before the date 
 when the appointment, which must have been sudden, 
 had become known to him. Sir Everard was therefore 
 cleared. She did not think it possible, however, that 
 Alan's approaching departure had been concealed from 
 Shaun. 
 
 After dinner they talked to a charming Boston lady 
 who was staying at the hotel. Like most Americans 
 she was very willing to converse, and like most in- 
 habitants of Boston, especially those who are feminine 
 and highly educated, she was ready and able to discuss 
 abstract questions. Peter and Cynthia were young peo- 
 
 347
 
 348 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 pie who resembled others of their age in that they 
 enjoyed talking about themselves, but they did this in 
 a manner that was discreet, so that the lady was un- 
 able to offer them counsel. But she said one thing which 
 stuck in their minds, partly because she seemed kind and 
 sagacious and partly because it had a sibylline ring. ' ' I 
 guess if I had two courses open to me, about which I 
 was hesitating, I 'd surely choose the simpler ! " It would 
 be simpler far to go straight to Sir Everard to-morrow. 
 They lay awake all night and tossed, considering it.
 
 XVII 
 
 ' ' FATHER will leave the house by ten, ' ' declared Cynthia, 
 and she slipped out of her shoes and threw off her 
 cloak as she did so. "Ough! The water looks cold. 
 Peter, can't you warm it for me?" She tiptoed down 
 the steps to a ledge beneath which the deep, green 
 water swirled and broke occasionally into white lapping 
 waves upon the dark rock, for the tide was flowing 
 into the cleft between the grim cliffs, and bathing was 
 no longer safe there for any but strong swimmers. These 
 two were safe enough. 
 
 "The sun's been shining ever since five o'clock!" 
 said Peter, indignantly. He was wrestling with a knot 
 in his bootlace. 
 
 "It doesn't shine in here," said Cynthia. Her body 
 curved over the water and her small, bare feet gripped 
 the rock, while her knees were already bending for the 
 leap. She straightened herself, dropping her arms, and 
 expanded her chest, gliding naturally from one graceful 
 attitude into the other. With raised elbows, her hands 
 became busy above her slender neck where the great 
 ropes of hair were coiled. Her hair shone like the 
 polished kernel of a horse-chestnut of the richest brown. 
 There seemed red lights in it as well as gold, and the 
 skin of her neck and shoulders was milk-white above 
 the dark-blue of her swimming-suit. She turned her 
 head, and said, "We must start at oh, whenever the 
 'bus for the 9.15 goes, because we must not reach Daddy 
 dusty and hot. I mayn't have time to dry my hair 
 properly ! ' ' 
 
 "That can't be helped," said Peter, who was now 
 ready. 
 
 349
 
 350 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Again she bent forward for the dive. "It's a serious 
 matter!" she said, glancing over her shoulder. "I 
 ought to look my best for him and he likes people 
 unruffled. I shouldn 't swim, I suppose, or else we should 
 start later! But we must catch him before he sets out 
 to fish!" "With a light spring her heels flew up and 
 down she shot headlong. The sound of a clean splash 
 came from below and, as Peter stepped to the edge, her 
 head rose, and a white arm above it, outstretched gleam- 
 ing, dripping, struck boldly, and he saw her legs come 
 together in a noble kick. As she sped away her clear 
 voice came ringing. "Oh, it's cold, cold as it looked, 
 but lovely! Is that settled, Peter? The 'bus?" 
 
 "Yes," he called as he plunged. And that was how 
 they missed Shaun's telegram. 
 
 The King's Arms at Camelford had a flat front and 
 was placed some way back from the street so that 
 vehicles could wait conveniently before the door. They 
 were both of them terrified when they came with sudden- 
 ness upon it, down the sloping, narrow street in hot 
 sunshine. Cynthia in spite of her fears looked a picture 
 of cool self-possession, while Peter was dogged. Al- 
 though she was without a maid and had bathed that 
 morning the girl had contrived to get back what Shaun 
 used to describe as ' ' that wonderful bandbox air. ' ' They 
 stood in the open doorway for a moment before anyone 
 came, and Cynthia whispered with a smile, "I'm just 
 realising we've never heard from Shaun and are going 
 against what he said. Oh, I can remember all my follies 
 and sins now from childhood up ! " He saw that her 
 beautiful grey eyes were filling with tears and his own 
 face must have softened, because she sighed ' ' My dear ! 
 My dear ! ' ' and turned away. Then he heard her say in 
 her natural voice, "Will you take this note to Sir 
 Everard Bremner, if he is in the hotel. . . . Yes, we 
 will wait. . . . Thank you, we will stay here." She 
 had spoken in her usual self-possessed voice of silver 
 clearness, with the manner of London again, as it seemed 
 to Peter. A momentary vision of the house in Portman
 
 TRANSFORMATION 351 
 
 Square came to him from very long ago, from the 
 ages of memory. . . . 
 
 Cynthia had written, Dear Father, we have come to 
 ask forgiveness, and had signed herself Cynthia Middle- 
 ton. She had not dared to put Polly, or Tour Polly, 
 or else her pride had forbidden her; while she waited 
 she was wondering what that pride had been which 
 now appeared so far away. She wished she had written 
 Polly. She longed for her father, longed to be his 
 child, Polly. 
 
 She was in front of Peter, who was looking at the 
 wall. He heard the maid approach and say, "Sir 
 Everard asks you to wait a few moments for him in the 
 drawing-room, ma'am." He was following Cynthia 
 along a corridor, as he had not often followed her, during 
 their out-of-door courtship and marriage; the sensation 
 was rather strange, and now she turned sharply to the 
 left and for an instant he caught sight of her profile 
 under the brim of her Panama hat. They were going 
 upstairs. She out-distanced him with light agility, and 
 the maid was running ahead, eager to get back to her 
 work. How daintily was she shod, this wife of his! 
 what slim ankles in the brown silk stockings! He re- 
 membered that in mounting a 'bus she never kicked up 
 her skirt as most girls do. He remembered her bare, 
 symmetrical limbs as she stood ready to dive. She was 
 of beautiful symmetry from head to foot, a joy to his 
 artist's eyes. He rose above her, as they came to a 
 landing, which they crossed to enter a large, quiet room. 
 
 He had a dim impression of saddlebag sofas and big 
 chairs and pictures that he did not care for, and then 
 the door closed and they were alone. She fluttered to 
 him and caught his hands and held them to her heart, 
 which was throbbing. Her eyes were deep and fright- 
 ened. Neither of them spoke, for what was there to 
 say? But their nearness was comforting. 
 
 Minutes passed, which seemed hours. Cynthia released 
 his hands and moved away, facing the door, tense and 
 upright. Another minute went, in deadly silence. Peter 
 heard a step in the passage and saw her start and her
 
 352 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 shoulders quiver, then they steadied again as he strode 
 forward to her side, and the door opened. 
 
 Sir Everard came in and closed the door behind him 
 smoothly and dexterously. He was dressed in grey 
 tweeds, as a country gentleman might be. His expres- 
 sion, though not unfriendly, showed nothing of his 
 thoughts, and he had an air of authority and an ease in 
 coming forward which conveyed the effect of conscious 
 intention. Cynthia was too terrified to receive any im- 
 pression at all except that Daddy had on an old suit. 
 She was too terrified to stir or to speak. 
 
 Sir Everard shook hands with her and kissed her on 
 the forehead, saying, ' ' Good morning, Rosemary. ' ' Then 
 he turned to Peter, who met a piercing glance honestly. 
 His grasp was chill, and his voice a shade colder when 
 he said, ' ' How are you, Middleton ? ' ' than when he had 
 addressed his daughter; yet it was neither angry nor 
 unkind merely non-committal. 
 
 Peter said, ' ' I beg your pardon for running away from 
 you, sir." 
 
 "Perhaps you had better sit down," suggested Sir 
 Everard. "There's a chair behind you, Rose. Do not 
 be in too much of a hurry, Middleton. This matter 
 cannot be settled by a simple apology, I fear." 
 
 "Daddy!" gulped Cynthia. 
 
 "Control yourself, please. I have not refused your 
 husband's apology, and it is not impossible that I may 
 yet see my way to accept it. I wish you both to under- 
 stand that this interview is in my hands. I will ask 
 questions and you will answer them." 
 
 Cynthia's eyes, filled with tears, were fixed on her 
 father's face, imploring him. A weak, little gesture of 
 her hands, her pose implored him ; her youth, her grace, 
 her beauty made her intolerably pathetic, and Sir 
 Everard for the first time betrayed uneasiness. He in- 
 quired, almost hurriedly, "Are you aware that Mr. 
 James wrote to give me your address at Radgells?" 
 
 "No!" said Peter, surprised. "I " 
 
 "You were not aware. Then was your coming here 
 suggested or advised by Mr. James?"
 
 TRANSFORMATION 353 
 
 "No." 
 
 ' ' I am glad of that ! ' ' said Sir Everard, and his tone 
 spoke of a very real relief, and his face brightened. "I 
 am heartily glad of that." Cynthia longed to sob out, 
 "We wanted to come before but Shaun would not let 
 us," and was grateful all her life that she remained 
 loyally silent, for he went on, "I gather with the most, 
 profound thankfulnes, Polly, that the words in your 
 little note are true. I could not bear to think that my 
 daughter was tricking me. Mr. James told me in a 
 letter which I received after your departure from 
 Radgells that your elopement was advised and planned 
 by him; he confessed that you had again and again 
 begged him for release from the undertaking you had 
 given to abide by his advice. He said that Middleton 
 had been eager from the beginning to come forward in 
 a straightforward manner and face my anger which I 
 daresay it is as well you were prevented from doing, 
 and he acknowledged that you were longing to see your 
 mother and relieve her anxiety. I had not been wholly 
 taken in by Mr. James, and the contents of his letter 
 did not come altogether as a surprise; but I confess I 
 remained somewhat suspicious till yesterday, when I 
 learned from Alan that he had not exaggerated his in- 
 fluence over you both. I 'm relieved that you have come 
 of your own accord heartily thankful, in fact." 
 
 "Do forgive me, Daddy!" said Cynthia, and she did 
 precisely what Shaun would have recommended, that is 
 to say she fell on her knees beside her father's chair, 
 clung to him and wept bitterly, sobbing her heart out 
 like a little child. 
 
 At first Sir Everard stroked her hair in a feeble sort 
 of way, looking sympathetic and a trifle self-conscious, 
 then he became uneasy, said, "There! There!" tried to 
 raise her and glanced uncomfortably at Peter, who also 
 did the right thing. He picked Cynthia up and let 
 her have her cry out on his shoulder. Forgetting the 
 difference between fathers and lovers, Sir Everard had 
 quite the air of regarding this as a feat of skill and 
 self-sacrifice.
 
 354 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "By the way," he said, seeking an inner pocket, "I 
 have a telegram addressed to you. I obtained it from 
 Mrs. Trerice at Eadgells a very respectable woman, 
 that! Here it is, Middleton. The telegraph boy gave 
 it to her daughter after you had gone. I should have 
 returned it to the Post Office, but I did not do so." 
 
 With Cynthia still holding forlornly to the lapels of 
 his coat, shaken by sobs that were becoming less fre- 
 quent now, Peter deftly took the paper from Sir 
 Everard's outstretched hand and opened the envelope. 
 Shaun's silence was explained, when he read, do as 
 wish have written him camelford also you wait letter if 
 can going new york. "Darling, Shaun's going to New 
 York!" he cried, handing the telegram to Sir Everard. 
 
 ' ' He told me that, ' ' said Sir Everard. He added after 
 he had read it, "James did not say he had written to 
 you, but that does not matter now. ' ' 
 
 Cynthia was mopping her eyes hard. As soon as 
 she could speak, she said somewhat gaspingly, "Fancy 
 Shaun going away!" 
 
 "Let us settle about Mr. James," interrupted Sir 
 Everard, before Peter could reply. "You will not, I 
 imagine, expect me to forgive him for having lied to 
 your Mother and myself during these anxious weeks, 
 nor was I particularly flattered by the cynical alacrity 
 with which in his last letter he offered to give up our 
 acquaintance. But as he is going abroad and as the 
 secrecy of your marriage, Polly, will require to be ex- 
 plained to the world as a Bohemian and romantic freak, 
 it might be just as well for us all to remain at least on 
 speaking terms with him. I'm not urging on you any 
 strong measures, Middleton ; you would be wise to keep 
 silent!" 
 
 "Won't you call him Peter, Daddy dear?" asked 
 Cynthia, who was still dazed by her collapse, or she 
 would not have made so false a step. 
 
 Sir Everard withdrew into himself visibly, and said in 
 a very cold voice, "I have overlooked a great many 
 things. Do not try to make me go too fast. And had 
 you not better sit down now? There is no need for
 
 TRANSFORMATION 355 
 
 you still to stand hugging each other, I imagine! At 
 first I thought it a pretty sight, but I confess it is be- 
 ginning to get a little on my nerves! . . . Thank you, 
 child. As I said a year or so ago I have no objection to 
 your husband forgive my plainness, Middleton, ex- 
 cept on the score of means. Indeed, as the son of an old 
 friend, a man who was respected by every single per- 
 son who knew him, I am glad to receive him into my 
 family. We will say nothing about the Great Company, 
 as Mr. Man made such an absolutely ungentlemanly at- 
 tempt to prejudice your Mother that he put himself 
 out of court with men of honour. I never did like 
 him, nor ever shall. For the rest, we can only hope 
 that Mr. James's high hopes for your career, Mid- 
 dleton, will be fulfilled. You appear to have made a 
 good start. I can allow Rosemary largely through 
 your brother Alan's generosity two hundred a year, 
 and that is all. All " 
 
 "Oh, thank you, Daddy!" cried Cynthia, and Peter, 
 too, murmured thanks. Although as a matter of fact 
 well within Sir Everard's means, it was more than 
 they had dreamed of hoping. 
 
 "You will have to struggle along as best you may. 
 Now I want to go and fish, and you must catch the 
 afternoon train home, that is, to town, and make your 
 separate peace with your Mother. Don't put up at the 
 Paddington ; go somewhere nearer for a night or two. 
 Middleton, will you leave me with my daughter for a 
 few minutes? There's a lounge at the end of the 
 passage." When Peter was gone, he continued, "I'll 
 pay for the hotel, don't worry yourself about that; 
 and to-morrow I '11 come home, and we '11 talk things over 
 and decide where you are to live, etcetera and so forth ! ' ' 
 
 "Thank you, Dad!" 
 
 "Polly, have I been such a very cruel father? I 
 think you might have had a chat with me before you 
 did anything so rash, don 't you ? ' ' 
 
 "It isn't easy to talk to you," answered Cynthia, 
 hanging her head. "When you don't want to listen, 
 Daddy." He frowned, but he could not be stern with
 
 356 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 so picturesque a daughter. She was good to see, and 
 he had not looked on her for three weeks. He felt a 
 sudden thrill of pride. 
 
 "Mr. James said I did not allow you enough liberty. 
 Did you think that, too, Polly?" 
 
 "Sometimes," she admitted, meeting his gaze, with 
 frank eyes and mutinous brows. 
 
 He sighed. "I was very busy at the Office always," 
 he said, meditatively. "I should have told you about 
 your Mother, though, and then this might not have 
 happened. Polly dear, how could you hurt your Mother 
 so? You saw that she was ill last year. How could 
 you do what you've done? How had you the heart to 
 do it?" 
 
 Cynthia went white. "Mother isn't ill? Is she?" 
 
 "No, no, not now. That's all over. But she's not 
 strong, you know. . . . Don 't you ? ' ' 
 
 "Mother kept me away from Peter by being not 
 strong. Daddy, she used it! She took advantage of it. 
 I couldn't do anything against that weapon. I couldn't 
 face her. Really, Daddy. And then there was that rule 
 in the Great Company about not marrying, do you 
 know?" 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 "And I couldn't do it openly. I was afraid to. I 
 couldn 't, Daddy ! But I do love you both. ' ' 
 
 "Do you, Polly?" 
 
 "Yes, I do! I do! I do! I've missed you so these 
 weeks I've been frightfully happy; Peter has been a 
 dear; he's been perfect every second of the time. But 
 I've missed you so, and wanted so much to be friends, 
 and ... oh Daddy! I have missed you." 
 
 "Do we come behind Peter in your heart? The 
 truth!" 
 
 She hesitated. "Are you doubtful?" he asked 
 quickly, leaning forward. 
 
 "No," she said, with just a little pride. "I'm not 
 that." 
 
 He sank back, and was silent for a moment. Then he 
 said, "You underrate your Mother, Polly. It's right
 
 TRANSFORMATION 357 
 
 that you should love your Peter more, I'm not dis- 
 puting that. But you don't know how brave a woman 
 Lina is. My fault, my dear! I wanted to spare you. 
 You thought it was only her nerves wrong at the be- 
 ginning of the year, but it was more than that. We 
 had reason to believe she was going blind." 
 
 His tone forbade doubt. Aghast, Cynthia repeated, 
 ' ' Blind ! ' ' remembering all Lady Bremner 's fears and 
 how in secret she had despised them. ' ' Poor Mummy ! ' ' 
 
 "The decay of the optic nerve has ceased. It may not 
 start again. . . . She had lost her long sight before I 
 knew of it. It was going in 1911. It grew worse at 
 Tintagel in 1912. She consulted a specialist and told 
 me what he said in the December of the same year 
 and after that it got on her nerves. . . . We often 
 saw the specialist, but there was nothing to be done. 
 You remember she had a bout of influenza and was ill 
 for long you nursed her well, Polly, you were a good 
 girl. She began to get better after that and even made 
 progress. Now the trouble is stationary. You needn't 
 cry, child. The bad times are over, we hope. But you 
 mustn't underrate your Mother. Alan knew, and we 
 ought to have told you; I can see that, when it's too 
 late! It seemed needless. It appeared to us to be 
 needlessly cruel, since you could do nothing, and you 
 might have been frightened, Polly, though the trouble 
 isn't hereditary. You seemed so young to us, such a 
 child. We didn't realise, I think. I didn't! That 
 James fellow has made some things clear. . . . Some 
 things!" All at once she saw her father as an old 
 man, needing love; and the fear that she had had 
 of him during her whole life vanished as she held out 
 her hands to him impulsively, both hands, which he did 
 not refuse: and again she fell upon her knees by his 
 side, but this time as a daughter, not a penitent. 
 
 They were fortunate. They had begun to understand 
 each other before it was too late. 
 
 "The Lady of Fowey did save us," chattered Cynthia, 
 when they were in the train after a most affectionate
 
 358 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 leave-taking from the Trerice family and a drily cordial 
 one from Sir Everard. "He was in an awful mood, that 
 day, at Dozmary! And when he was looking at the 
 Furry Dance he had Shaun's letter in his hand and had 
 had bad fishing all the morning you know it was a 
 fearfully hot day! Everything's for the best, really, 
 even Shaun going to America! He has been queer, 
 hasn't he?" 
 
 "I believe he's been devilish self-sacrificing!" said 
 Peter, with unwonted strength of language. "That's 
 what's dawning upon me!" 
 
 "Oh, I'm so happy I can't think about it," coaxed 
 Cynthia, nestling to him, for the carriage was empty. 
 "Can you, when I'm here?" 
 
 It seemed that he could not.
 
 xvni 
 
 THEY reached their hotel, which was shabby and select 
 and in Mayfair, by eleven o 'clock, and after Cynthia had 
 tidied her dress and herself she went straight to Port- 
 man Square with a note which Sir Everard had written 
 to Lady Bremner, who had also been prepared by tele- 
 gram to receive her erring daughter. She had not been 
 gone five minutes when Shaun arrived. 
 
 He was exactly the same straw-coloured hair and 
 acute face and restless hands, Peter had expected him 
 to look older. "I hope you dislike me a little!" he 
 began, anxiously. "I got your wire of course or I 
 shouldn't be here I hope you were annoyed with me 
 for not writing. I meant you to think me a bit of 
 an ass, you know; too much in love with intrigue, and 
 inconsiderate of Cynthia's feelings; so that you'd hate 
 me by the time you met Sir Everard. This quaint old 
 spot reminds me of him, by the way. I bet he chose it 
 and I hope to goodness he's paying for it! He prob- 
 ably stayed here thirty years ago while he was moving 
 into Portman Square. You can see they've never 
 touched the furniture since, except with a duster. But 
 it's a good hotel. Even me they received reverentially, 
 and that's a test for a servant, I can assure you, Peter, 
 old thing. Say you love me a little still." 
 
 Peter grabbed at his hand again and wrung it. 
 
 "Ow!" said Shaun. "The moor has done your 
 muscles good, anyway. I mustn't stop, because I can 
 see with my eyes and have heard with my ears down- 
 stairs that your good wife is out, and she may return 
 with your mother-in-law. Peter, you must not ask them 
 to forgive me. They wouldn't be human if they did, 
 except perhaps young Alan, who was most remarkably 
 
 359
 
 360 THE JOYFUL YEAKS 
 
 outspoken and may be in a forgiving mood ! I lied lik'e 
 hell, and was so infernally sympathetic, and my volte- 
 face was sudden and complete. Mind you, I -wrote Sir 
 Everard a good letter after fifteen or sixteen rough 
 drafts, for you know I'm a laborious composer, be- 
 cause he mustn't hate me too much or it would reflect 
 seriously on your judgment. But then he had to 'blame 
 me, had to see that I was responsible, don 't you know, 
 what!" 
 
 "Shaun, what makes you queer like this?" cried 
 Peter. 
 
 Shaun looked uncomfortable. ' ' You mustn 't like me, ' ' 
 he said. "Not for some time yet it wouldn't be at all 
 wise. And I was rather beastly to your good wife. It 
 couldn't be helped, though. First, time and anxiety 
 softened their hard, outer shell, you see; and then, as 
 they still had to hate somebody, I concentrated all of 
 it on myself ! There never was such acting as mine ! I 
 used to pat myself on the head for hours. But I hope 
 next time you'll remember what an age letters take to 
 come from Cornwall. You evidently never got my first 
 wire. How was that? It did not come back to me." 
 
 Peter explained in his clumsy way. 
 
 "Surely the telegraph boy deserves the sack!" inter- 
 rupted Shaun. . . . and then, "Oh, the Trerices! Dear 
 things, aren't they? Then I'll say no more. Now tell 
 your whole story from the beginning. Is that the bed- 
 room? I'll retire there if Lady Bremner comes, for I 
 dare not face her. Be wise. Don't stand up for me too 
 much ! We shall never be quite the same to each other, 
 I hope, for your sake you're looking what used to be 
 called 'manly,' old boy, and she is a darling, isn't she? 
 But go on." 
 
 ' ' Shaun, must you go to America ? ' ' asked Peter. 
 
 He glanced away, and said hastily: "Yes, yes, I must. 
 I don't like it, but it's really necessary. I've taken a 
 job over there after my old fashion. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Journalism ! Oh, Shaun, is it money ? ' ' 
 
 Shaun could always tell a half-truth perfectly and he 
 looked Peter square in the eyes. ' ' Only partly, ' ' he said.
 
 TRANSFORMATION 361 
 
 "It's my work! Although I can be vigorous enough in 
 journalism, you know what a porcelain style mine is 
 in novel writing, and with what labour I achieve it. I've 
 never been a worshipper of style without matter, of 
 line without mass, and all the rest of it. The truth is 
 that I'm written out, old boy. I've known it for some 
 time, and now seemed the opportunity to break with 
 the stuff that I can't do right. I've burnt the last MS. 
 Between ourselves, this is my punishment for having 
 made love to Cynthia. I deserve anything for having 
 lost my head over a girl half my age. Don't misunder- 
 stand me. My work really died with my wife, with my 
 heart; and, in a way, Cynthia was the dream who was 
 keeping me alive ; but when the memory of Doris passed, 
 when I was disloyal and thought I cared for Cynthia 
 not as a dream, no longer as a tall, beautiful friend 
 whom I helped, then it was that I recognised a change 
 in the stuff I was turning out. And when Doris came 
 back and the dream had vanished I knew I had always 
 been dead, and, though I feel I'm with her always, I 
 do not feel that I have more work to do, and I see the 
 hopelessness of what I am doing." 
 
 ' ' No one else does ! ' ' said Peter. 
 
 "Yes, they do," Shaun asserted sadly. "Forgive me, 
 but the people who really know have seen." 
 
 "Shaun! It will come back." 
 
 "In the meantime I'm going to the stuff that I've 
 a facility for. I'm going to grow rich, and buy 
 pictures!" 
 
 "Why not stay in England with us? Cynthia will 
 miss you." 
 
 Shaun laughed. "A little, perhaps, you dear old 
 fellow. No, I'm off. I'd have left you the flat I 
 thought of that at first, only I don't know, it would 
 seem rather a slap in the face to the Bremners, so I've 
 found you another crib, over a shop in Mayfair, the 
 refusal of course; I haven't committed you. We'll see 
 it to-morrow, and I'll get you to buy as much of my 
 furniture as you can do with. Cheap, supposing you 
 jpay; dear, if Sir Everard does, as I daresay he will!
 
 362 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Carry on with that yarn of yours now. We've talked 
 enough about me." 
 
 Until Cynthia was out of the hotel it did not strike 
 her that she should have had an escort, that never 
 before had she been alone in the streets of London at 
 half past eleven at night. The noises around her 
 were bewildering, the hurrying figures appeared to 
 linger in passing her by; and presently, although she 
 only had a little distance to go, she hailed a taxi. Then 
 there was another strangeness ; it was odd to sit in dark- 
 ness and be borne past sudden glaring lights and round 
 breathless corners, without the soft touch of swansdown 
 or of silk on bare shoulders; most singular of all when 
 she drew up in front of the remembered door, to think 
 that she was Rosemary Bremner no longer. And Cyn- 
 thia Middleton had no purse in her pocket! Annoyed, 
 she ran up the steps and rang the bell. 
 
 ' ' Is my mother up ? Where is my mother ? ' ' She had 
 spoken before glancing at the face of the maid, and now 
 she saw, with a start, that the woman was a stranger. 
 
 "Lady Bremner 's in the drawing-room, m'm. Will 
 you please to come up?" 
 
 "Yes. Please pay the cabman. I have left my purse 
 behind." 
 
 "Yes, m'm." The maid was about to precede her, 
 but Cynthia called her back. 
 
 "Pay him now, please. I will announce myself." 
 She ran upstairs with a feeling of gladness at her heart 
 and a great joy that home should still be home. She 
 had not forgotten, and it was good to be there. She 
 scarcely knocked at the drawing-room door, but rushed 
 in more like Cynthia Middleton than Rosemary Bremner, 
 calling, "Mummy! Mummy! Are you here?" And 
 Lady Bremner rose, slender and elegant in a black 
 evening dress, from the very chair by the fire from which 
 she had seen Peter 's tall form uplift itself ages ago. How 
 young she had been then! Her mother's face was 
 anxious and doubtful, and she looked sad and she did 
 not advance to meet her, but, as Cynthia came forward,
 
 TRANSFORMATION 363 
 
 a very sweet look overspread her face, and suddenly she 
 stretched out her arms. . . . 
 
 "Lor' love a duck! Here's Cynthia!" said Shaun. 
 ' ' Lor ', but her be a booty ! How happy her looks tii, in 
 spite of the tears in her lovely eyen! Her mother has 
 been kind to her, for sure now, and isn't that so, 
 whateffer, mavourneen? I never excelled at dialect. 
 But shall I imitate a kangaroo for you? At moments 
 of great excitement, my kangaroo one hops solemnly 
 round with dangling paws like this used to make Doris 
 laugh outrageously. That's the wrong adverb. But you 
 know what I mean ! ' ' 
 
 "Phyllis is going to be married," said Cynthia, clasp- 
 ing his hands. "Mummy told me, and I've just read 
 it in a scrawl from Joyce. She 's engaged to Mr. Philip 
 Adams, whom you two met at the Revel." She had 
 dropped Shaun 's hands and gone to Peter. * ' He 's much 
 older than she is, Boy dear, and she declares that he's 
 the only man she has ever met who would promise to 
 let her do exactly as she likes. 'Always the object of 
 That One's yearnings,' says Joycie. Would you believe 
 it, Shaun, she hasn't written to me herself!' 
 
 "A poor return for your confidence in her," responded 
 Shaun, gravely. Cynthia smiled. 
 
 "Will your mother see me?" Peter wanted to know. 
 
 Shaun interrupted. "Discuss it after I'm gone," he 
 said, "which will be in a moment or two. I'm per- 
 fectly sure she does not want to see me any more and 
 that's all that concerns Shaun. When you came in, 
 Cynthia, I 'd just heard how you missed my telegram on 
 the last day telling you to go to Sir Everard at once. 
 There are some people in the world who are very lucky, 
 children, and you seem to be a pair of them. Witness 
 that blessed aunt of Peter's, besides some diving girl 
 who sounds to me as though she might be the wife of a 
 man called Wyndham Merrion Wyndham, who's a good 
 sort. I was about to remark which sounds Yankee! 
 that I must take my leave. Do you often address Peter 
 as 'Boy dear,' Cynthia?"
 
 364 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "Not often," she said, flushing. 
 
 "Did you begin it by calling her 'Girl'?" demanded 
 Shaun, turning to Peter. 
 
 "I might have." Peter was bewildered. 
 
 Cynthia was not. She went to Shaun and stood in 
 front of him, with hanging head. "I know I'm not 
 natural!" she said. "I'm a piggish, ungrateful beast 
 to you, Shaun dear. ' ' She flung up her chin and met his 
 sad gaze frankly. 
 
 "Things change," said Shaun, "which has been 
 noticed before, by the way. No, I won't be flippant. 
 But I asked about ' Boy dear, ' because Doris used to call 
 me that!" 
 
 "I'm not disloyal at heart," said Cynthia. 
 
 "I know you aren't." 
 
 "And I ask you to forgive me. I shall find a way to 
 make Mother like you again." 
 
 Shaun smiled. "Don't try!" he said. 
 
 ' ' I will try, and if I don 't succeed whether I succeed 
 or not I will never, never give you up." 
 
 "I should think not!" said Peter. 
 
 She nodded to him, determinedly. ' ' I deserve that ! ' ' 
 she said. 
 
 "It's a good thing I'm going away," declared Shaun, 
 in a cross voice, "or all my work would be spoiled." 
 But he was pleased. "Night-night! Time you children 
 were in bed. You'll see things less clearly when you 
 grow older and perhaps think worse of Shaun, but 
 you'll always love the fellow a little, both of you?" he 
 added quaintly, "Won't you, dears?" 
 
 Peter stepped to Cynthia's side and seized her wrist 
 in his great grip and shook it, and she loved him for 
 the pain he gave, glorying in his forgetfulness of her. 
 "I should think we will!" he cried. "God . . . God 
 forget us, if we forget you!" During the instant that 
 he hesitated, suddenly self-conscious, Shaun whipped up 
 his hat from a chair by the door, nodded, smiling, to 
 them both, and went quietly out.
 
 XIX 
 
 LADY BREMNER had mentioned Peter by his Christian 
 name, not unkindly, and next day she addressed him by 
 it. "Good morning, Peter! How sunburnt and well 
 you are looking!" Then when the maid had left the 
 room she said, "We need not refer to what is past, but 
 I think we must discuss the future, or at least the im- 
 mediate future, for which reason I told Rosemary to let 
 you come alone. Please be perfectly frank with me, 'and 
 tell me where you are thinking of living." 
 
 Cynthia had warned him that she could not bear to 
 hear Shaun's name spoken. "A friend has suggested a 
 little flat which he has found over a shop in Mayfair, " 
 he said. "Cynthia received the address this morning. 
 It could be made very charming, we are told, and is 
 certainly cheap. "We want to live very quietly." 
 
 "That would be near," said Lady Bremner, brighten- 
 ing. , 
 
 "Yes, off Brook Street. It will not take long to get 
 in if we decide on it, for he found the landlord about to 
 decorate and persuaded him to do so in accordance with 
 his own taste. And he has furniture to dispose of 
 himself." 
 
 "Your friend seems very capable!" said Lady 
 Bremner. "I hope his furniture would suit dear Rose- 
 mary." 
 
 ' ' It would cost us almost nothing, ' ' said Peter, apolo- 
 getically. 
 
 "Please do not bind yourself, Peter. I expect my 
 husband home to-day, and since Rosemary has chosen 
 to marry without a trousseau, I think he may wish to 
 help with the furnishing." 
 
 * ' Thank you, ' ' said Peter. ' ' I can furnish, though. I 
 
 365
 
 366 THE JOYFUL YEAES 
 
 have the money. Only it doesn't seem wise to spend 
 much at first." 
 
 ' ' I quite agree, and you will not let your pride stand 
 in the way of Rosemary's comfort, I hope." 
 
 "You are very kind," he murmured. 
 
 "We are very fond of our only daughter, and we 
 certainly wish to make the best of what has happened, 
 since it has happened. We do not that is to say, I 
 do not greatly blame you for it; after the manner in 
 which I myself have been deceived. It was most clever 
 and most treacherous, and I do not wonder that you two 
 inexperienced young people fell under the same influ- 
 ence. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Lady Bremner ! I ought to say straight out ' ' 
 
 "Please don't! Rosemary tells me you are very good 
 to her, Peter, and I wish to be fond of you. Please let 
 me begin in my own way. You must understand that 
 the person to whom I refer cannot be anything but dis- 
 tasteful to me; and I, for my part, realise that you 
 feel yourselves under many obligations to him. The 
 reason why I have started the question of your home 
 and your intentions in regard to furnishing and all that, 
 is simply that Rosemary 's marriage must be announced 
 by us to-day. You surely must see that she placed 
 herself as well as her parents in a difficult position by 
 what she did. Do you feel that?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Very well then, Peter. I do not choose to acknowl- 
 edge to all our acquaintance that she ran away from her 
 father 's house and hid herself for weeks from her mother. 
 To do so would harm her, since many people and they 
 the nicest of her friends would find what she did in- 
 excusable. I am not discussing whether that would be 
 right or wrong, I am only saying that it is so. It is 
 fair that she, rather than we, should bear the incon- 
 venience of this. Do you not agree?" 
 
 "I won't argue it," said Peter. 
 
 "The runaway marriage must appear in its true light 
 as a romantic escapade, in which Mr. James bore his part. 
 For this reason we cannot afford to break with him
 
 TRANSFORMATION 367 
 
 openly, although in private I shall not pretend friend- 
 ship, forgiveness, or even toleration. I never mentioned 
 your attachment to Rosemary to anyone, but I shall say 
 now that we were becoming reconciled to it and that 
 you were hoping to be married in another year. "We 
 were conscious that you were both getting tired of wait- 
 ing, and might have consented to an earlier marriage, 
 and were perfectly well informed of what you had done, 
 after it was too late to prevent it. That is true, is it 
 not? You will be blamed for being inconsiderate to 
 us, and this will be the end of it with most people, 
 when they see that we are all on the friendliest of 
 terms. ' ' 
 
 "I want to do whatever is best for Cynthia," said 
 Peter, adding hastily, ' ' and I do understand how beastly 
 I've been to you!" 
 
 "Then it's settled," said Lady Bremner, "and you 
 will both dine with us to-night, I hope?" 
 
 "Thank you, I would like very much to dine with 
 you, and I'm sure Cynthia would. For the rest I hate 
 to seem ungracious, but I must really talk over what 
 you say with Cynthia before I give my word." 
 
 "Then do so and return to me, Peter. Anyone might 
 meet her ! ' ' 
 
 In Peter's private opinion it did not become Lady 
 Bremner to condemn the tortuous diplomacy of Shaun, 
 especially since he guessed who had first suggested the 
 line of conduct to her mind. He said as much to Cyn- 
 thia, who asked, "What does it matter, dear? We'd 
 better let her do it. I shan't see much of all those 
 people now," to which he responded, "I used to think 
 it would be easy to be honest if one had plenty of 
 money ! ' ' 
 
 "I hate lies, too," said the girl, and compressed her 
 lips. ' ' But these are for Mummy 's sake, not for mine. ' ' 
 
 "You aren't cross with me, darling?" 
 
 "Mummy was very sweet to me last night, and I be- 
 lieve she'll be fond of you, and she's frightfully lonely 
 now that Alan is gone. You did say that about honesty 
 rather nastily, Peter! You know you did. People won't
 
 368 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 bother about us after the very first, and none of them 
 will ask rude questions." 
 
 So Peter capitulated. 
 
 The family dinner went off successfully, Sir Everard 
 receiving them as though their presence was a matter of 
 course; and he managed to be cordial when left alone 
 with Peter. Cynthia was discussing Phyllis with her 
 mother and defending the little girl from the charge of 
 having accepted a man twice her age for his money. Not 
 that Phyllis was incapable of this, although she had 
 plenty of her own, but Joyce had given a frank opinion 
 to the effect that she was "really impressed," whatever 
 she might say, and a good deal in awe of him. Mr. 
 Adams was described by Joyce as ' ' a nice old dear and a 
 great hunting man. That One will have to jump five- 
 barred gates when he gets a little less cracked about her. ' ' 
 It seemed absurd to Cynthia, the princess who had re- 
 signed her prospect of a throne, to speak of a girl who 
 would be so rich as Cousin Phyllis marrying for mer- 
 cenary reasons. Lady Bremner actually allowed her- 
 self to be argued with and talked down. 
 
 The two men rejoined the ladies at a fortunate mo- 
 ment, for Cynthia had just become conscious of her 
 unusual boldness and relapsed into silence ; moreover, Sir 
 Everard was saying "Peter" as they entered the room. 
 The young man had reminded him of his father, Major 
 Middleton, and when Cynthia saw Daddy gazing at him 
 quite affectionately her heart warmed to her parents. 
 She began to chatter at her gayest, about the flat which 
 she and Peter had inspected in the afternoon ; and how, 
 after Mummy had approved, they would take it ; and of 
 the dear, winding staircase and the jolly little rooms and 
 the cook who was the sister of the dairyman whose shop 
 was below; and how the kitchen was out of the way 
 downstairs on the ground floor ; and how the cook would 
 leave a good place to come and be near her brother, if 
 only he might have his meals in the kitchen. She seemed 
 a thoroughly respectable woman; and so with a young 
 house-parlourmaid they could manage beautifully! 
 (Shaun had investigated the credentials of the cook
 
 TRANSFORMATION 369 
 
 and already provided the house-parlourmaid.) Lady 
 Bremner did not know sufficient of the cost of such a 
 menage to make her hold her hands up in horror, and 
 she regarded two servants as absolutely essential, which 
 Shaun had foreseen. He considered the amiability of 
 the parents and the goodwill of society towards the 
 young people infinitely more important than the saving 
 of capital. Cynthia had amused him by her mingled 
 emotions, as described by Peter, of relief and disap- 
 pointment when she found out that they were not to 
 starve in a garret, and still more by her joyful ex- 
 clamation on mounting into the flat, "Oh, but Shaun 
 dear, it is a garret after all ! " 
 
 And now as she laughed and talked with her parents, 
 in the peacock-blue evening dress which she had worn at 
 the theatre on the night of their engagement, privations 
 and poverty were far from her mind. 
 
 "I've seen that dress before, haven't I?" said Sir 
 Everard. "I like you in those quaint things." 
 
 "Liberty's frocks never go out of date," said Cyn- 
 thia. "Mummy wanted me to have my newest and 
 loveliest so that Marie should not guess that I minded 
 wearing it out for you and Mummy, and I don't; but 
 I wanted this one." 
 
 "You want many things now, Rose!" remarked Sir 
 Everard in a severe tone. Lady Bremner chimed in, 
 "It is not very pleasant, your being obliged to fetch 
 your clothes in this way." 
 
 The atmosphere of the room instantly changed. Poor 
 Cynthia's lower lip trembled and she said meekly, "I 
 knew you liked it, Daddy, and Peter does, too. ' ' 
 
 * ' Can we depend on Marie ? ' ' Sir Everard inquired of 
 his wife. "I confess I had forgotten her." 
 
 "Oh yes, Everard. She's devoted to us." 
 
 "I've been admiring some of your work to-day," said 
 Sir Everard, turning to Peter. "I'm glad to see that 
 you exercise your satire on behalf of the Unionist cause. ' ' 
 
 "I'm thankful I get the chance to, sir," said Peter. 
 
 Immediately Cynthia bubbled over with the mirthful 
 and exciting story of the meeting with the painter, whose
 
 370 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 name, which she did not reveal at first, commanded 
 instant unwavering attention. Peter tried to stop her, 
 being convinced that Shaun's silence on this subject had 
 an unsatisfactory meaning, either that he suspected a 
 hoax or perhaps that the Great Man was notoriously 
 fickle, but Cynthia would not be silenced, nor did Sir 
 Everard appear to doubt ; on the contrary, he uttered a 
 few simple words of congratulation. After this, Cynthia 
 was irrepressible. She was in wild spirits, and carried 
 everything before her, playing and singing, leaning over 
 Daddy to stroke his moustache, even kissing her mother 
 in public. She was not to be recognised as the quiet 
 Rosemary of her parents' recollections, which made the 
 parting easier when the time came. Not that her 
 laughter and merriment displeased them, but because 
 they were unfamiliar.
 
 XX 
 
 JULY was beginning when Peter and Cynthia went forth 
 to furnish, sometimes accompanied by Lady Bremner; 
 less frequently by Shaun, who was busy making his own 
 arrangements for departure. He was taking his pictures, 
 his books and his writing-table, and the chair in which 
 Doris used to sit ; his kitchen gear he gave to Peter. The 
 rest of his well-worn furniture he gave to his landlady in 
 the shop below. It had fulfilled his purpose, served him 
 well, and extracted a cheque from Sir Everard in order 
 that Rosemary should not be reminded of 'that person.' 
 His mother's annuity had died with her, and the sale 
 of her goods had provided for her old servant Martha, 
 as she had directed. Shaun had been living to a great 
 extent on his savings during the last few years, which 
 had been almost barren of work or rather of achieve- 
 ment. He was positively compelled to return to journal- 
 ism. A few months ago he might have arranged to 
 husband his resources until he could accumulate a suf- 
 ficiency of reviewing to keep him alive in London, but 
 he had been reckless and now that was impossible : since, 
 therefore, he must return to indiscriminate writing, he 
 preferred to do so in another country. Also he was 
 not sorry to leave Cynthia to her parents, for the re- 
 sponsibility of separating her from them had weighed 
 heavily on his mind through several sleepless nights 
 and more than one anxious day, and the complete suc- 
 cess of his manoeuvring had not come altogether without 
 surprise. He felt it would be tempting Providence to 
 remain longer on the scene, as undoubtedly his presence 
 constituted a danger to her peace of mind. For this rea- 
 son he hastened the departure already decided upon and 
 resolved to sail before the appointment he had accepted 
 
 371
 
 372 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 was actually vacant, so soon in fact as he had intro- 
 duced Peter to the men it was necessary he should meet. 
 
 They spent two whole days together, making a grand 
 tour of editors, and Peter discovered that to be son- 
 in-law to a knight and to own an address in Mayfair 
 did not make him less interesting in their eyes. He 
 was amused by the artfulness with which Shaun brought 
 forward the information, but as the latter was glad to 
 observe mingled with his amusement was even more 
 annoyance than he would have felt before he went 
 away. Evidently the influence of Cynthia had been for 
 good. Peter's protest, "I say, Shaun, you wouldn't do 
 that for yourself, you know," having been met by a 
 cool, "Certainly not," there seemed nothing more to 
 be said, and the round was marked by the repetition 
 of the incident in every office. By the end, however, 
 Peter had collected orders for over thirty pounds worth 
 of work. 
 
 " That's the way to success, my young one!" said 
 Shaun. "First, good stuff with technical skill behind 
 it; second, a market unspoiled by immature efforts; 
 third, an old hand to introduce you; fourth, a pleasant 
 manner of your own ; fifth, the discovery of relatives of 
 position and an address in Mayfair. Keep your head 
 screwed on, and you can't fail. Here are a few rules. 
 
 "Always send in ordered stuff long before the last 
 moment. 
 
 "Never call at a publishing office except on business. 
 
 "Never talk politics or professional matters in public. 
 Don't tell your prices. Don't discuss people. 
 
 "I've never talked to you about your landscape work, 
 Peter; and I suppose that's why you haven't cross- 
 questioned me concerning the Great Man you wrote 
 about. He is genuine. I mean the incident is character- 
 istic. I do not doubt that he will do as he promised. I 
 certainly do not doubt his judgment and I am sure 
 now probably far surer than you have dared to be 
 that you must have an unusual gift for such work. I 
 expect he was struck by your drawing, as I was, but you 
 must have colour and an instinctive feeling for com-
 
 TRANSFORMATION 373 
 
 position and a lot behind that, to have made him say 
 what he did! If you had independent means and un- 
 limited time before you, old boy, I'd throw up my hat 
 for you, and as it is you'd be mad to neglect the op- 
 portunity; but for God's sake, or rather for Cynthia's, 
 don't give up this connection I've made for you! In 
 no circumstances give journalism the go-by." 
 
 He paused, and Peter asked why. 
 
 "Because you aren't the man to watch your wife 
 losing her youth through poverty, without doing bad 
 work in consequence. You're a conventional kind of 
 a kid, Peter, not an artist in temperament at all; you'd 
 always put Cynthia before your work. Oh, I don 't want 
 it otherwise ! No one who really knows could ever wish 
 any one they loved to be an artist. How can they? 
 You don't know the sufferings, mental and physical, 
 which it entails on a poor man. I want you to be a 
 successful journalist. Why, hang it all, if you develop 
 
 the sensitive side of yourself Don't do it! You 
 
 make yourself liable to all sorts of imaginative posses- 
 sions. An author's got to be in love with his heroine if 
 he wants to make the reader feel her charm. And there 
 are far more difficult things . . . darker things ... I 
 tell you, man, to be an artist you 've got to suffer, suffer, 
 suffer, and God will see that you do, if there's the true 
 stuff in you, and I don 't want that for you and Cynthia. ' ' 
 
 "But, Shaun, isn't a painter different?" 
 
 "An artist of any kind has got to leave his wife and 
 cleave to his work. Or he '11 be torn asunder between the 
 two." Shaun suddenly became conscious that he was 
 being unfaithful to the truth which was in him, and 
 the face of Doris rose before him, mutely reproachful. 
 "Didn't I love to give myself?" her great eyes seemed 
 to ask. . . . He changed the subject with abruptness. 
 
 "The best liars are kind-hearted, honest people," he 
 said, "like me. What does Sir Everard say?" 
 
 "About you? Not much, but I believe he thinks you 
 very clever." 
 
 Shaun laughed. "He ought to, although I misjudged 
 his wife! I undervalued Lady Bremner; there's more
 
 374 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 pluck and self-restraint in the family than I thought. 
 So much the better, Peter. Cynthia will need all she's 
 inherited if you become a painter." 
 
 "Shaun, I promise not to be a fool, at least I'll try all 
 I know not to be." 
 
 f That's right. How do you get on with Lady B. ?" 
 
 "I like her again." 
 
 "Yes, and you won't try to be too fond of her now, 
 which is the usual mistake of children-in-law. Well, 
 Peter, I 'm off in a week ! ' ' 
 
 The home was complete in that time, in spite of a day 's 
 interference, miscalled aid, from Phyllis, who, however, 
 consented to forgive darling Rosie her secrecy in regard 
 to her wedding. Lady Bremner, although afraid of 
 Phyllis 's indiscretion, would not make a direct appeal to 
 her to assist the account which was already in circulation, 
 and it was left to Cynthia to explain ; but That One was 
 so wrapped up in her own affiairs that she had almost 
 forgotten that Rosie 's engagement was ever under a 
 cloud. She had not often been at the Bremners' during 
 the last year. The only other possible sources of danger 
 were Laurence Man and Helen Taliesin. The first in- 
 deed might be disregarded, as he was known to be an un- 
 successful suitor, and was besides not the kind of man to 
 take social risks in order to gratify private malice ; but 
 Helen's honest bluntness might have been more danger- 
 ous, had she been in the way of going much into society. 
 As it was, there was little to be feared. There would 
 have been nothing had Alan been in correspondence with 
 her, which Lady Bremner thought was not the case. 
 
 Shaun declined to be seen off from Euston ; as a com- 
 promise he consented to be their first guest at dinner 
 the night before. Cynthia wore her prettiest, freshest 
 dinner dress, a dear white clinging one with loose white 
 sleeves, very simple and very lovely, suiting her refined 
 beauty to perfection, and what a hostess the girl made ! 
 "You 11 be Peter's fortune," he told her. 
 
 "I want to be that," she replied. "Shaun, you are 
 kind to me ! " How bright her eyes were ! How vivid 
 the delicate pink of her cheeks and the richer scarlet of
 
 TRANSFORMATION 375 
 
 her lips and the glory of her hair. She was a resplen- 
 dent picture to-night of what an English lady can be 
 with youth and happiness after a holiday in the open 
 air. "Would people care for a very plain dinner like 
 this? People who could help him? Dare I ask them? 
 That 's what I want to know. ' ' 
 
 "The dinner suits the flat. It's artistic and it's sim- 
 ple. I see one or two things in the room on the conven- 
 tional side, which you don't want insisted on, but I 
 suppose they are gifts." Cynthia exchanged glances 
 with Peter. "Should they remain, I'd introduce a de- 
 liberately decorative element into your dressing, 
 Cynthia, when you entertain at home; for the sake of 
 balance. But the dinner's perfect. May I ask, is it 
 impertinent, but did the wine come from Portman 
 Square?" She nodded. "I'm relieved. It's too good 
 for your income, my dears. Oh, in that case, persevere 
 and prosper!" 
 
 It was early in July, and all eyes were then directed 
 towards Ireland. Inevitably the conversation turned to 
 politics, and Shaun said, "I hear ancestral voices 
 prophesying war. The thin voices of Chatham, Burke 
 and Pitt come to me faintly across the tumult of the 
 passionate outcries of the living. I suppose it's Civil 
 War that I hear approaching, rumbling with screams 
 and clangour down the avenue of Time. The echo of 
 cannon and the smell of slaughter are in the air. Peter, 
 don't get drawn in! And remember that Home Rule 
 must come, for the Radicals are pledged too deeply to 
 withdraw ! Don 't oppose bitterly, and don 't be flippant 
 in your work. If your insight is kind as well as wise, 
 some day you will get on the staff of Punch, and then 
 you will be able to paint four days out of seven. ' ' 
 
 "I'm not wise!" said Peter, astonished. 
 
 "You're simple enough to be wise!" said Shaun, 
 drily. ' ' And so long as you don 't get your head turned 
 or let the Beautiful get hers, I expect you '11 grow wiser 
 and wiser. Particularly with me out of the way. My 
 vice is cleverness. I must be off in a moment, but 
 before I go here 's a warning for you, Cynthia. In your
 
 376 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 pre-marriage days you took it a little too much for 
 granted that your lovers could become yours friends. 
 Don't make that mistake now!" 
 
 "I wouldn't!" said Cynthia, indignantly. 
 
 "That's all right," said Shaun. 
 
 "I should tick them off, as Phyllis says. Fancy an 
 engaged girl using slang like that!" 
 
 ' ' There 's a married woman doing it here, ' ' said Shaun, 
 rising. He looked tired to-night, and he spoke in a tired 
 tone. 
 
 Peter and Cynthia with the same impulse came and 
 stood in front of him. "Aren't you satisfied with us 
 now that you are going?" cried the latter, a sad little 
 tremor in her voice. "Are you afraid for us?" 
 
 "I'm always afraid for people who aren't in bad 
 trouble. Now it's good-bye, you children. Don't worry 
 about Shaun, for the Yanks will take good care of him. 
 They like fellows with plenty of zip and spuzz in their 
 work, and I've a happy knack of being hysterical in 
 print ! I can get warm-blooded facts down on the ground 
 and bite and worry 'em. I tell you I was somebody 
 over there in the old days. Peter will see me out, I 
 hope; Cynthia, good-bye." He held out his hand with 
 a firm gesture. There were tears in his eyes. "Quick, 
 child!" he said. 
 
 Stooping swiftly, she caught at his hand and dragged 
 it to her lips, then started back, swaying erect. "I 
 haven't been all I might have been to you, Shaun," she 
 sighed. "I haven't been half worthy of you " 
 
 "Rot!" he cut her short. "We're friends. Shake 
 hands, Cynthia. I daresay I shan't be long abroad. 
 Good-bye." He turned and strode out of the room, 
 followed by Peter. Neither spoke until the street door 
 was reached, then Shaun said, "No need for words 
 between us. Besides, I haven't any. Good luck, old 
 man." 
 
 "Good luck," repeated Peter, gravely. He held out 
 his hand.
 
 XXI 
 
 SINCE the farewell dinner two days had elapsed, spent by 
 both Peter and Cynthia in hard continuous work. One 
 drew from morning to night, while the other wrestled 
 with the housekeeping and formed a routine for herself 
 and the maids. Although untrained, Cynthia possessed 
 a fine power of application to detail besides inheriting 
 much, if not all, of her mother's talent for house-manage- 
 ment, and she had good material to work upon, as the 
 maids were experienced ancf trustworthy. Accordingly 
 she did well, and the servants decided that she would be 
 a kind and considerate mistress. 
 
 Cynthia brought up the morning letters herself, hav- 
 ing been out for a run before breakfast, and the first 
 that Peter opened left him staring. Then he re-read it 
 carefully from begining to end. "What's the matter?" 
 asked Cynthia. 
 
 "Aunt Janet's in town, and wants to see me." 
 
 "Hurray! More money for Peter!" 
 
 "Perhaps she wants it back, "suggested Peter, seriously. 
 
 Cynthia said, with a laughing tremor in her voice, 
 "Perhaps she may." 
 
 He smiled. ' ' All right then ! Girls know such a lot. 
 I'm to go any morning to the Windsor Hotel, so unless 
 you want me to-day I'll get it off my mind." 
 
 "I always want you," said Cynthia, truthfully, "but 
 you had better go, dear." 
 
 He was back in less than an hour. Pale and dis- 
 turbed, he hurried upstairs and found Cynthia engaged 
 in hanging curtains, green with a silver pattern on them, 
 in the attic room. "Do you like these with the misty 
 grey walls?" she called to him. "Oh, Peter, what is 
 it?" And she hastily got down from the step-ladder. 
 
 377
 
 378 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "I don't know yet. I've been a fool, I think ! Where's 
 the letter from the Bath lawyers? She wants it!" 
 
 "You had it at Radgells, dear. Why, what's the 
 matter? You didn't speak of it, of course!" 
 
 ' ' She 's sharp as a needle. She saw I was grateful ' ' 
 
 "I should hope so!" said Cynthia. 
 
 " And she wanted to know why." 
 
 "Well, of course you had to tell her. You put it 
 away in a morocco pocket letter-case, Peter, I remember ! 
 What is she like, then?" 
 
 "So I did! Thanks. That's in my trunk on the 
 landing. Are you coming? She's like Dickens 's Miss 
 Pross in A Tale of Two Cities, is it? rough and 
 sturdy and blunt, and I daresay an uncommonly good 
 sort. Only she's got a precious lot to say for herself 
 unlike Miss Pross, who held her tongue. I say, Starry, 
 I 'm in an awful fix ... I wish I could find the thing ! ' ' 
 
 "Here, let me look. Doesn't she like you, Peter?" 
 
 "Well, she wouldn't, you see, after having trouble 
 with Father, and she's frightfully keen on National 
 Service and soldiers generally and I'm not a Terri- 
 torial. She can't forgive that, as I'm a good rifle-shot. 
 But that isn't the bother. . . . Oh, thanks. Yes, it is 
 'West, Hawkins and Bere.' I knew I couldn't be mis- 
 taken. Starry, I don't believe she ever meant to give 
 this money." 
 
 "Come into the bedroom," said Cynthia. "Dyson 
 can hear." 
 
 Peter suddenly showed himself irritable. "Where 
 was Dyson, then?" he demanded. 
 
 "I heard her step below. Peter, did Aunt Janet give 
 it?" 
 
 "That's just what I'm afraid of. There may be some 
 awful mistake." 
 
 "There can't be, if those are her solicitors." 
 
 "She snapped at me about the name, but I've got it 
 right." 
 
 "How snapped?" 
 
 "She asked in a sort of incredulous tone, 'West, 
 Hawkins and Bere?' I thought I'd got the name
 
 TRANSFORMATION 379 
 
 wrong. She does nag that way, tripping up a fellow. 
 I must be off, Kiddy. She's waiting. Don't make such 
 eyes at me ! " 
 
 "Peter! Peter! Peter! Don't you see?" 
 
 "I see a beauty darling, a sweet-eyes, a shining 
 Princess, a star-girl, my own wife! What else?" 
 
 "They aren't her solicitors. Shaun gave this money!" 
 
 Peter, starting back, collapsed into a sitting position 
 upon the bed ; and Cynthia suddenly giggled, as he 
 sprang up again like a jack-in-the-box. 
 
 "I didn't know the bed was there!" he exclaimed, 
 staring at it in amazement. She tittered hysterically. 
 "... Shaun, darling ! Shaun ! . . . By Jove, I believe 
 you're right!" 
 
 "That's why he had to go away. He had no money 
 left!" 
 
 "Oh, I say, what a mutton-headed fool I've been! 
 "What a hopeless ass! I might have known it wasn't 
 Aunt Janet! Poor, dear Shaun! And how rottenly 
 ungrateful I must have seemed!" 
 
 "Peter darling, you must go to her, if she's waiting. 
 You haven 't been ungrateful ; don 't think about it until 
 you come back. Please, Peter!" And she persuaded 
 him downstairs and into the taxi. 
 
 When he arrived home for the second time, one sight 
 of his face was enough. "Oh, my Peter! She was 
 horrid to you! What a hateful woman she must be! 
 Come to me, dear." 
 
 In silence Peter let himself be made much of; and 
 then he gave a long sigh and began to look less miserable, 
 and at length found his voice, after another mournful 
 sigh. "You are good to a chap!" he exclaimed. "I 
 don 't know how you learnt all those pretty ways you 've 
 got! She wasn't rude exactly. She was satirically in- 
 quisitive, and I had to answer half a hundred questions 
 about Shaun. She made me tell her every blessed thing 
 about him! I was an ass; it didn't strike me until 
 afterwards that she hadn't any earthly right to cross- 
 examine me. Shaun had never used her name, you 
 see! But she seemed friendly enough towards him.
 
 380 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 And she wasn't interested in me at all. Why do you 
 think she sent for me in the first instance? Simply 
 because she wanted some National Service pamphlets 
 distributed in the Great Company offices!" 
 
 "But how did she get our address? I thought of 
 that while you were away." 
 
 "She hadn't got it. The letter was forwarded from 
 my old diggings in Church Street. She seemed terrific- 
 ally amused to hear of my being married. Cynthia, I 
 can 't get on with business women ! She 's got a fright- 
 fully rough tongue when she pleases and yet sits there 
 expecting every bit of deference and attention that a 
 man ever gave to a woman! I don't know how to 
 treat her. I don't believe Father ever did! She says 
 she's not coming to see you and she doesn't want to 
 meet your ' swell relations, ' but if you 've , got pluck 
 enough to go to see her by yourself, she doesn't want 
 me again, then she'll be very pleased. She told me 
 to repeat her exact words. ' ' 
 
 " I 'd better go ! " said Cynthia. ' ' Just think of Shaun, 
 though! Isn't he a wingless angel? Just fancy his 
 saving us that way! It was because he encouraged us 
 to marry, I suppose. You talk about yourself, dear, 
 when you were always perfectly sweet to him; it's I 
 who ought to be ashamed! I, who ought to be to be 
 punished in some way." 
 
 "No, it isn't," said Peter, sturdily. 
 
 "Dear Shaun! And doesn't he love a deep-laid 
 plot?" 
 
 ' ' I don 't agree there. I believe he would much rather 
 be outspoken." 
 
 "We certainly would not have accepted the money." 
 
 "Not if I 'd known it was the last of his capital ! And 
 now he won't take it back." 
 
 "I don't expect he will." 
 
 Nor did he, although they pleaded movingly. 
 
 The next visit that Peter paid was more successful, 
 but it was not to his aunt, who had departed after a 
 bluntly approving criticism of Cynthia's appearance and 
 manners, delivered first to her face, then in the form of
 
 TRANSFORMATION 381 
 
 a note to Peter, precisely as though he had asked for her 
 opinion ! No, this time he turned his footsteps towards 
 Chelsea, lingered down Tite Street, and, summoning all 
 his courage as he came out on to the Embankment, 
 walked straight to one of the big houses which look upon 
 the river, and rang the bell. With startling suddenness 
 a footman opened the door, as though he had been 
 standing on the mat awaiting Peter's arrival. . . . 
 "Would you accompany me this way, sir?" said the 
 footman, and he led Peter up flights and flights of wide 
 stairs at a brisk, athletic pace, so that Peter had no 
 opportunity on this occasion to admire the frescoes on 
 the walls and the statues on the landings. ' ' If you will 
 be so kind as to make yourself at home, sir!" said his 
 guide, showing him into an enormous studio, which cov- 
 ered the greater portion of the top floor of the house; 
 and there he was left for half an hour or more, perfectly 
 happy in gazing at the many beautiful things strewn 
 about in a disorder that was astonishing to him after 
 the formality of the hall and staircase. 
 
 ' ' Here you are, then ! ' ' exclaimed the painter, entering 
 in a tremendous hurry. "Very sorry to have kept you 
 waiting. Didn 't he tell you to make yourself at home ? 
 I thought you 'd have been at work ! There are plenty of 
 tools about. I like a lot of servants and I keep the 
 lower part of the house for them, and to give dinner 
 parties in, but here one can always find anything one 
 wants in reason, you know, Middleton! For instance, 
 I've never been able to get hold of a Zuloaga, and my 
 Velasquez is a little less than doubtful! The experts 
 don't doubt it, but I do. There's the Spanish school 
 piled over against the wall in that corner. You'll find 
 Velasquez in the middle if you want him. The David 
 Coxes and Constables are here, and the Barbizon people 
 over here. Now let me see your stuff ! Shove the port- 
 folio on this rack and get out of the light for ten min- 
 utes. I believe there's a piano under those tapestries 
 
 if you are musical !" He pondered. "I had a 
 
 Bluthner once; yes, it must be there! I don't mind 
 noise, only don't come near me for a while."
 
 382 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Peter obediently retired to the other end of the room 
 and began to enjoy himself among the David Coxes, 
 while the singular genius who was entertaining him 
 turned over his sketches, occasionally tearing one up. 
 Peter started each time he heard the r-rip of paper, but 
 he durst not interfere. 
 
 "Are you P. M., the cartoonist?" called the painter. 
 
 "Yes," said Peter, flattered. "Why?" 
 
 ' ' Because if you make your living by it, I '11 save this 
 black-and-white sketch, which otherwise I should de- 
 stroy. I don't want to see your filthy commercial 
 drawings, my boy." 
 
 "I didn't know " began Peter. 
 
 "Yes. Clever enough journalism. I'll pass it by. 
 Now look. These you can keep and I'll show you the 
 errors in them. Several I had to tear up ; I cannot bear 
 and will not have sentiment in landscape painting. 
 Nothing here is really worth keeping, of course; but I 
 daresay these may be useful. You can come whenever 
 you like and when I go abroad you can follow me. Will 
 that do ? The run of the place, whether I 'm here or not. 
 Hints that no one else in England can give and devil- 
 ish few in Europe, and I beg that you'll use my col- 
 ours! You've been using cheap colours, and you 
 mustn 't do that, my boy ! You really mustn 't ! You '11 
 find them in the cabinet over there. Put down anything 
 you want on the list pinned up on the door and send a 
 man out if you want it at once. I give those men of mine 
 a large hall to stand about in and plenty of liveries, and 
 in exchange for that they keep my tubes filled. Oils! 
 Now please don't vex me, boy, by wanting to work in 
 oils for years to come yet ; and I hope, never ! ' ' Because 
 it does not strike me that your gift is for them. ' ' 
 
 Peter felt that he was expected to reply, and although 
 a trifle sad at the loss of his longed-for lessons in oil 
 painting, said bravely, ' ' All right, sir, thank you ! But 
 do you think I'm worth your trouble?" 
 
 ' ' You won 't be any trouble. ' ' 
 
 ' ' But are you sure you won 't be disappointed in me ? " 
 
 "Certainly. You are worth teaching."
 
 TRANSFORMATION 383 
 
 "But are you sure you're right, sir? I simply dare 
 not hope it!" 
 
 ' ' I am never wrong. I never dismiss a servant and I 
 do not expect to part with my first pupil. Make no 
 misunderstanding, boy! I help you for the love of 
 painting, not to gratify a good-natured impulse, and most 
 emphatically not for the sake of your ~beaux yeux I You 
 may be a regular young cub for all I know, though you 
 seem a modest, harmless sort of a youth. That 's nothing 
 to me. You don't exist for me outside your work, and 
 you 'd better not try to, for I want to know nothing about 
 your private affairs ! What I respect about you, boy, is 
 this. I found you just married to a beautiful and charm- 
 ing girl hold your tongue ! I don 't wish ever to see her 
 face again, a first-rate figure model as well, I should say ; 
 and there you were, scraping moor on paper with a flint 
 arrowhead, as an ancient Briton might have seen it! 
 You were drawing Moor. Not thoughts about moor or 
 impressions of moor or photography of moor, but plain 
 Moor, on which a sun can shine, or a wind blow, or dark- 
 ness fall. And you had not put your young wife in the 
 foreground or the middle distance or any damned place 
 at all! I respect that. I saw there was something in 
 you, and I'm never wrong! "What is more, I saw you 
 were a man I could help; you might have had equal 
 talent or twice as much talent, and not been that. But 
 you are, and now you shall listen and begin to unlearn." 
 
 Whereupon he took the sketches which had survived 
 and turned them over one by one with comments which 
 appeared to entranced Peter as the most wonderfully 
 helpful that a human being could have uttered; as 
 indeed they may have been, since the man was a master, 
 the possessor, in addition to the power of accomplishment, 
 of a true critical genius. All at once he made a rush for 
 brushes and colours, found them after emptying the 
 contents of the cabinet upon the floor, plunged into the 
 dressing-room for water, and with a sudden air of calm- 
 ness and patience which came to him as soon as he took 
 up a palette, began to work upon j;he last drawing. "I 
 will show you, ' ' he said ..." that I am right . . . that
 
 384 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 although I paint in oils I am no fool ... in water col- 
 our ! There ! Give me a bit of paper. I will show you 
 the cloud that you saw ; your cloud had the light behind 
 it." Peter was enthralled. 
 
 "Now I must go," said the painter, consulting an 
 enormous gun-metal watch, which he lugged out of an 
 inner pocket. ' ' I bought this at an auction, one of those 
 where they sell watches and fools, but I was not a fool. 
 I had a curiosity to see if anybody would pickmy pocket. ' ' 
 
 "Did they?" 
 
 "I am too well-known in London. The fraternity 
 remembers me. Years ago I bought a squirrel outside 
 the Docks from a man who said that it was tame ; but, 
 as I suspected, it was drugged. On the way home a 
 thief took an interest in my bulging pocket and inserted 
 his hand. He screamed! The squirrel had recovered 
 and bitten him to the bone! Now good-bye, my boy. 
 You will come here whenever you please in daylight, and 
 make yourself at home. The hall footman will tell me. 
 And don 't be afraid of my being offhand with you before 
 strangers: you may remember from the way that I 
 addressed your wife that I can be civil! Only when I 
 said, as I believe I did at the time, that I hoped to make 
 her acquaintance later on I was being imaginative. I 
 lead a quiet life, because I never have anything to do 
 with women. You'll come in a day or two, I suppose? 
 I 'm not working now, I 'm reading novels ; two a day for 
 a few weeks, and then I shall have an impulse to go off 
 somewhere. The South Downs, I dare say. I've just 
 come across a book of Blackmore's, called AUce Lorraine. 
 I may do the South Downs and a bit of Kent. ' ' He had 
 talked himself to the doorway, and with a resounding 
 "Good-bye," vanished through it and the heavy oak 
 fell to with a clang.
 
 XXII 
 
 BEFORE long Peter was going regularly to Chelsea, when- 
 ever his paid work allowed him leisure in the morning. 
 He did not belong to Cynthia until the afternoon, and 
 not always then if an editor was insistent, for Peter had 
 become a busy man. She was proud of his success and 
 she had plenty to do herself in the early part of the 
 day, so that the temptation to disturb him kept away 
 from her mind until lunchtime ; then if he was working 
 in the house she gave him a silvery call of "Peter!" 
 which brought him downstairs almost at once. 
 
 The instinct of the dinner-gong the preference for 
 punctuality and orderliness, inherited from Lady Brem- 
 ner, which had forsaken Cynthia on the moor reas- 
 serted itself speedily in Mayfair. The house began to 
 run as by clockwork. Only, if Peter were at Chelsea and 
 came back late, she understood and said no word, and 
 took any trouble caused to the servants upon herself. 
 Cynthia had always been kind to maids and treated 
 them as human beings, which is different from realising 
 that they are human beings, her next piece of progress 
 in the liberal education which poverty provides for the 
 formerly-rich. Cynthia, as a luxurious girl settling 
 down to be a poor man 's wife, made as many discoveries 
 in human nature as though she had not studied litera- 
 ture and Shaun, had not chatted and worked with Mrs. 
 Trerice in the kitchen at Kadgells. Her mornings, busied 
 with the machinery of house management, were devoid 
 of romance. They might have afforded a useful correc- 
 tive to the brilliant afternoons when her old friends 
 called and exclaimed in admiration of her looks, fell 
 victims to her charm, and best of all let her see un- 
 mistakably how they liked and approved of Peter. But 
 
 385
 
 386 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 instead of that they seemed to make society more ex- 
 hilarating, more exciting than it had ever been before. 
 To go into it with Peter at her side, was a delight to 
 Lady Bremner's daughter. She loved to see people re- 
 ceiving him naturally on his own merits, to watch the 
 way in which the friends she had kept at arm's length 
 during the last eighteen months forgave her upon meet- 
 ing him, and while still unconvinced by Lady Bremner's 
 skilfully-spread explanation of the elopement became 
 willing to accept it because the husband was so charm- 
 ing. It amused and touched and rejoiced her. She 
 had seen enough to know how very different might have 
 been his reception ; how different it would be now, were 
 he not Peter, and had there not been Shaun ! 
 
 At the beginning they had resolved on giving teas and 
 very occasional informal dinners at their own tiny flat, 
 for said Cynthia, "if we take to entertaining at res- 
 taurants it will be the end of us." But then, people 
 seemed to like Bohemian tea-parties. They crowded into 
 the small drawing-room, sat on pouffes or on the floor 
 in the most cheerful fashion, when the supply of chairs 
 gave out though Phyllis 's friends, in spite of being 
 the youthfullest and wealthiest guests as a rule, showed 
 a marked reluctance to part with the more comfortable 
 perches when older people arrived. Cynthia congratu- 
 lated herself on town being empty, or they would have 
 been overwhelmed. As it was, they had more dinner, 
 luncheon, and even dance invitations than they knew 
 what to do with; and Peter only now began to get a 
 true conception of the multitude of his wife's acquain- 
 tance, though several times before he had thought he 
 had done so. 
 
 They were living in a whirl of excitement and pleas- 
 ure, which to Peter came as an entire novelty, and was 
 coupled with success in the career he had chosen; he 
 would not have been human if he had not been slightly 
 exhilarated! He was more elated than conceited, and 
 did not forget to be thankful, but he had the same idea 
 that deluded England, Europe, and the World in that 
 mad and merry month of July before the Great Ca-
 
 TRANSFORMATION 387 
 
 tastrophe, he thought that the critical events were all 
 over and that he could read the future clearly written. 
 It seemed as though life must always be the same, with 
 Cynthia by his side brilliant and glad as a summer 
 morning; with his profession and his art yoked peace- 
 fully together before the chariot that was bearing him 
 to fortune ; with his character now fixed and unchange- 
 able. And to Cynthia also it seemed as though nothing 
 could alter. Daddy and Mummy liked Peter and were 
 growing fond of him; Alan wrote amiably from ports 
 of call ; her friends were enthusiastic ; her housekeeping 
 a success. At least Peter called it so, although they 
 were living at a rate above their income ; and his praise 
 was enough. She felt certain he would earn more than 
 the 200 a year he estimated and was not really alarmed 
 by an expenditure that would have horrified Shaun. 
 They were entering unconsciously in those three or four 
 short weeks into phases of development which were full 
 of the promise of trouble. 
 
 Their social life meant for Cynthia the resumption of 
 an old habit, while to Peter it was new: yet it affected 
 the character of the former more than that of the latter, 
 because Cynthia was unconscious of the change in her- 
 self which the honeymoon had brought about; she did 
 not realise how much it had deprived her of self-con- 
 sciousness. She was beginning to dress daringly. Con- 
 vention had given both mother and daughter in various 
 degrees the peculiar notion that young married women 
 should dress differently from unmarried girls of the 
 same age, but Cynthia went further than Lady Bremner 
 approved and not for any reason that she understood, 
 for she failed to grasp her daughter's complete care- 
 lessness of the opinion of anyone in the world but Peter. 
 Hitherto, only the mother's skilfully quiet dressing of 
 the girl had prevented her from being run after by cer- 
 tain sets in which extreme decorativeness has a social 
 value and is liable to cost its owner dear unless she has 
 means enough to go the pace. In these sets, thanks to 
 Madge Tressly-Buchan, Cynthia was now becoming a 
 favourite. Madge had returned from abroad while
 
 388 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Cynthia was away, and had settled herself upon the 
 Thames. She was therefore near at hand, and remaining 
 faithful to her friend more faithful than she had been 
 to her chauffeur she contrived to lead the pair into a 
 vast amount of expense. As Lady Bremner informed 
 Peter, she was "the worst possible companion for dear 
 Cynthia," for dear Cynthia followed her to keep her 
 out of mischief. During one week-end at Taplow she 
 and Peter made enough acquaintances to ruin a young 
 couple with ten times their income. Nor did Cynthia 
 dislike them personally now, as she had done before 
 her marriage. They were charming to her because she 
 was beautiful and strikingly dressed, and before when 
 she had been striking and beautifully dressed they had 
 not attempted to be charming. That was partly her 
 reason, and it was possible also that now she was more 
 open to flattery, simply because she was too happy to be 
 sharply critical, too indifferent to take much heed of 
 anyone but Peter, and also made glad by approval of 
 his choice. 
 
 She was actually youthfuller and less on her guard 
 as a wife than she had been previous to her marriage, 
 and yet she was thoroughly conventional in those weeks. 
 Roughtor was left behind, the harum-scarum behaviour 
 of the moor forgotten; climbs and untidiness and loos- 
 ened hair seemed things of the past; Peter was amazed 
 to see her suddenly become the society woman. Society 
 had the opposite effect on him to that which it had 
 upon Cynthia. Its exhilaration soon wore off, and left 
 him subtler and more critical and disposed towards a 
 kind of defensive formality. One or two of her gowns 
 in the extreme of the fashion shocked poor Peter, pri- 
 vately, although they were his own fault, for he had 
 praised her shoulders, and her limbs, and instead of 
 saying outright as he was more than once inclined to 
 do, "That reminds me of Phyllis 's style of dressing," 
 he admired weakly and did not even question the ex- 
 pense. Indeed he could not help admiring, and Cynthia 
 was too joyous to perceive a mental reservation. The 
 girl was not temperamentally adapted for an impulsive
 
 TRANSFORMATION 389 
 
 kind of existence, and perhaps the deliverance from 
 discipline under the shadow of old Roughtor had been 
 too sudden. Still, her naturalness there had had a noble 
 simplicity. Cynthia was born to be wise, not worldly- 
 wise; she appeared sophisticated and was, in reality, 
 innocent. She was simply asserting a girlish love of 
 beautiful and expensive clothes and a girl's desire for 
 the admiration of her husband. 
 
 It was strange for Peter to find himself sympathising 
 with Lady Bremner, as he did more than once in small 
 matters when Cynthia rather naughtily set aside her 
 advice. He had not reached the stage of thinking it 
 possible the girl could be wrong, but he was conscious 
 of an increase of affection towards the mother. Peter's 
 ideas of propriety placed him midway between the two. 
 Shaun had often called him an old-fashioned boy, 
 Cynthia in a month had become a new-fashioned young 
 woman ; while Lady Bremner 's views were those of Sir 
 Everard, which dated from farther back than Peter's 
 and were more rigid and even less logical. In this stage 
 of their development Peter was steadied by his art, 
 whereas Cynthia had nothing external to assist her: 
 she was in the giddy position of a person who has 
 emerged suddenly upon the summit of her ambitions. 
 
 The news that Austria had declared war against Servia 
 did not interest either, although the advisability of mak- 
 ing some studies of Servian national costume was be- 
 ginning to dawn upon Peter. However, during the day 
 the cook collapsed in the kitchen and was removed to 
 hospital and operated upon for appendicitis, "just in 
 time," as the house-surgeon expressed it, so there was 
 not much opportunity to consider international politics. 
 They resolved to follow the painter to Sussex, and it 
 was actually in the train that Peter read of Germany's 
 invasion of Luxemburg.
 
 XXIII 
 
 THEY found lodgings in a market gardener's cottage on 
 the outskirts of a little country town. From the window 
 they could see the green roll of the wide downs stretch- 
 ing like the curve of a wave along the edge of a smooth 
 country, and the rounded summit over which the shadows 
 chased each other reminded them strangely of the moor 
 and yet was gently different, under a fleecier sky. The 
 quiet speech of the Sussex folk was unlike that of the 
 Cornish; they were Saxons as opposed to Celts, and 
 somehow the Saxon had less dignity, less friendliness. 
 There was more of respect and habit in the English na- 
 ture, so that Cynthia did not dream of entering the 
 kitchen of the gardener's wife. The gardener had a 
 sturdy independence of his own and might not have 
 cared to see her there ; that was what she felt, nor was 
 she conscious of the impulse to learn ironing from Mrs. 
 Thorne when she observed ironing going on. She won- 
 dered if the change were in herself. 
 
 The garden was full of strange blossoms, of which 
 she and town-bred Peter did not know the names, and 
 on Sunday the scent of the flowers came to the window 
 where they sat, together with the calling of chiming bells 
 and the whisper of a soft breeze that stirred the leaves 
 of the clematis under the sill. A shower had darkened 
 the ground and the smell of good moist earth rose to 
 them, too. It seemed to Peter one of those moments 
 that are unforgettable. A Sunday paper was by his side. 
 
 "Why didn't he plant his roses in the front?" asked 
 Cynthia, pettishly. She was not thinking of roses. 
 
 ' ' The Master says it means War, ' ' said Peter, employ- 
 ing his favourite nickname for the painter. 
 
 Cynthia compelled herself to speak lightly. " I 'm glad 
 you are not a soldier, Peterest!" 
 
 390
 
 TRANSFORMATION 391 
 
 "He's glad. Darling, this will be an awful business if 
 it does start." 
 
 "England, France, Russia, and Servia against Ger- 
 many, Austria, and Italy. We shall beat them easily 
 enough." England thought so then. 
 
 "I don't know. Shaun had a great respect for the 
 German army, and nobody knows yet what submarines 
 can do." 
 
 ' ' Perhaps the Government won 't fight ! ' ' said Cynthia. 
 
 ' ' You bet the Germans are trying to get them not to. ' ' 
 
 "Well, I daresay they'll succeed!" 
 
 "Aren't you interested, Starry?" 
 
 "Very much, indeed. Tell me, should we have to send 
 an expeditionary army to France?" 
 
 "I daresay we should. A small one." 
 
 "A small one! Then we shouldn't have to increase 
 our army much?" 
 
 "We might, dear. Cynthia, I may have to go!" 
 
 Cynthia sat staring in wretched silence out of the 
 window. She did not see the peaceful down, nor the 
 white of the chalk quarry against blue sky, nor the high 
 clouds sailing overhead. It had come at last. He had 
 said what she had feared he would say, and she saw only 
 a closed barrier and a troop train drawing out of an 
 empty platform, and heard behind her a roar of cheer- 
 ing. . . . She started and swallowed as the church bells 
 broke in upon her vision. The troop train vanished, and 
 the shouts of the crowd which had seemed almost menac- 
 ing, and she listened to the sweet, church bells. "I 
 won't keep you," she promised.
 
 XXIV 
 
 YET she did keep him, unwilling to let him go prepare, 
 and the Master said that artists had nothing to do with 
 war. Peter was slow to take action, always. Time enough 
 to get ready to enlist when we entered the war. Time 
 enough, time enough it was the cry of England ! Be- 
 sides he hated the Service manner of doing things. Al- 
 though a first-class rifle-shot he had never joined a 
 Territorial Corps for that reason, and when Aunt May 
 had pitchforked him into the Great Company, instead of 
 sending him in for Woolwich, it had been chiefly the 
 glamour and the position that he regretted, not the life, 
 towards which he felt no leaning. He, though a soldier 's 
 son, had not the love of the army in his blood. 
 
 He was walking alone on a wide country road, mount- 
 ing between trees. Nearing the summit of the hill was 
 a flock of woolly sheep, black-legged and baaing in 
 lamentation. They ran in a cloud of dust, pursued by a 
 collie dog and a small urchin with an ash crook taller 
 than himself. Above the dust was the clear edge of the 
 hill, a sharp grey line across the sapphire sky, and the 
 tall elms rose nodding their feathery tops on either hand. 
 Suddenly a cart appeared hanging like a fly to the sum- 
 mit, and dipped into the cloud of dust and, emerging, 
 grew bigger. It was the fourth of August. The driver 
 was absorbed in a newspaper, the reins hanging loose, 
 their ends clutched by his left elbow against his side. 
 "What's the news?" cried Peter. "Is it war?" 
 
 He was fair and florid, with a big moustache turned 
 straw colour by countless suns and stubby light hair of 
 the same curious burnt hue, and he had very bright, 
 perplexed, blue eyes. "I'm readin' about the big Band 
 Contest!" he said. 
 
 392
 
 TRANSFORMATION 393 
 
 "Is it war, man?" 
 
 "Ye-es, we're at war with them Germans," he replied, 
 in the same soft drawl, ' ' but I 'm readin ' about the band 
 contest, for I play the piccolo, I do." 
 
 Peter hurried on. There was a sound in his brain like 
 the toll of a booming bell, striking the hour of Eng- 
 land, or was it his own hour? He was not consciously 
 afraid and the noise, produced by excitement, soon died 
 away. But long afterwards, in his delirium, he repeated 
 over and over again, "I heard Fate knelling! At the 
 beginning I heard Fate knelling. ..."
 
 XXV 
 
 IN the market-place Territorials were parading to march 
 to the station. Women and girls hovered calling fare- 
 wells, men talked together in groups upon the pave- 
 ments, carts blocked the entrances to the narrow side 
 streets. The half company formed column and swung 
 out into the high-road, holding themselves stiffly; more 
 upright than was their country wont. "Cut all their 
 topheads off!" cried a smocked carter, reaching high, 
 cracking his whip wildly, and the children started at 
 a run to follow, while a strange sound of farewell, half 
 shout, half moan, rose from the centre of the square 
 whither the people had now closed in. They stood dully 
 motionless, looking after, until a strong, tenor voice 
 struck up Tipperary from the head of the disappearing 
 column, when suddenly there burst out a roar of cheer- 
 ing. "Go on, lads! Hurray! Hurray!" the people 
 called, drowning the music, and streamed along the high- 
 road. Long after the square was empty Peter heard the 
 distant lilt of the marching chorus. It faded, rose again 
 . . . fell swiftly . . . murmured . . . died: and he 
 turned on his heel to go and enlist. 
 
 394
 
 XXVI 
 
 HE found a very old gentleman sitting alone in the 
 library of an old-fashioned house with a red tiled roof, 
 and a wide verandah overhung with creepers, and a 
 straggling garden where roses bloomed untended and tall 
 hollyhocks waved and grass grew upon the walks. "Gen- 
 eral "Westoe's doin' the recruitin'," they had told him. 
 
 "Come to enlist?" asked the old man. "That is 
 right, Mary ; show them all in here. ' ' He wore a short, 
 white moustache and imperial, peered with near-sighted, 
 gentle eyes. No judge of men would have doubted him 
 to be a very lion of courage. He spoke with the kindliest 
 courtesy, and after another gaze at his visitor, begged 
 him to sit down. 
 
 Peter stammered in his eagerness. At the back of his 
 mind he knew he was committing a treachery to Cyn- 
 thia by rushing off to bind himself without disclosing 
 his intention beforehand; but it had seemed the only 
 way to do it. "I want to get in to the 99th, my 
 father's old regiment," he ended. 
 
 ' ' I met your father when he was a captain in Burma, ' ' 
 said the General. "We saw service together. Would 
 you not go through one of the Officers' Training Corps, 
 Mr. Middleton, and try for a commission?" 
 
 Peter explained that he hated soldiering, did not feel 
 that he ought to take a commission, and was just mar- 
 ried. He wanted to get the parting over. 
 
 "It is not my duty to discourage a recruit," said the 
 old officer, sadly, fumbling among the forms on the 
 edge of the table by which he was seated. "I wish I 
 thought that our country does not need you." An idea 
 struck him and he leant back. "But may I ask you 
 a question? Have you office experience?" 
 
 395
 
 396 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "I was with the Great Company for some years." 
 
 "Then would you for the time being consent to work 
 here with me? I know it would be a sacrifice of your 
 personal inclinations, but your assistance would be in- 
 valuable, as I have a quantity of confidential orders and 
 notices passing through my hands. Being commandant 
 of the National Reserve I come in for everything. There 
 is no garrison in the neighbourhood, and I cannot obtain 
 so much as a couple of orderlies!" 
 
 "I believe I ought to go at once, sir," said Peter. 
 "Because I'm afraid to go!" 
 
 General Westoe smiled a queer, little twisted smile. 
 "That argument does not weigh with me," he said 
 politely. "I cannot attach much importance to your 
 apprehensions. I have found invariably that men who 
 are ready to admit their fears do well on active service. 
 No, sir, I will send your name forward if you insist on 
 going, but not for that reason, which makes no appeal 
 to me." 
 
 Peter sincerely trusted the old gentleman was right, 
 but that was just what he had wanted to make sure of 
 by actual experience as soon as possible. He was be- 
 wildered enough by this time to be uncertain whether 
 the impulse which had brought him hither were cowardly 
 or brave. The sight of the disorderly documents on 
 the table and the thought of unconscious Cynthia urged 
 him towards surrender, as did remembrances of his un- 
 finished picture of the blue water seen across a windy 
 distance from the top of a green down, and of the 
 shadow of the Master falling large on the ground before 
 the easel. What would that watching figure say to his 
 precipitancy? And he had promised drawings to three 
 editors. Ah, that released him! 
 
 "I'll be very glad to stay with you," he said. 
 
 Cynthia did not weep over him on his return. She 
 looked at him for a moment in wonder when he told her, 
 and for days after trembled whenever he went out of 
 her sight, and spent the hours while he was away in a 
 sort of dumb agony. 
 
 On the 6th a cable came from Shaun, having been
 
 TRANSFORMATION 397 
 
 delayed in transit. Coming wait for me, it said. Peter 
 waited. His work at the Recruiting Office did not oc- 
 cupy him the entire day. He had still time for the 
 Master, Cynthia, and his drawing not enough for Cyn- 
 thia, who was apt to haunt the neighbourhood of the 
 office in panic lest he should suddenly escape from her. 
 She did not forget how nearly he had gone, and wor- 
 shipped General Westoe, who showed none of the 
 Master's indifference towards a lovely young woman. 
 Indeed the General spoilt her. He would always send 
 out a servant to call her in to wait in comfort in the 
 drawing-room, kept them both to lunch or tea on most 
 days, and not infrequently when the War Office issued 
 contradictory instructions brought them to her for 
 woman's wit to unravel. 
 
 "I should like your opinion, Mrs. Middleton, if you 
 would oblige me. " 
 
 "What does Peter say?" Cynthia would ask, bending 
 her pretty brows over the typewritten sheets. 
 
 "Your husband's clear, business brain permit me, 
 Middleton recognised at once their contradictory 
 nature. He sent off an urgent telegram on the subject 
 as soon as he received them. Do have a peach while 
 you are thinking." 
 
 Cynthia laid down the papers and selected a peach, de- 
 livering judgment as she did so. "I believe two differ- 
 ent people wrote them without consulting. Thank you." 
 
 "They are both signed by the same authority," ob- 
 jected the old gentleman, with gravity. 
 
 "I really think then he must have signed them with- 
 out reading them, ' ' persisted Cynthia. 
 
 The General turned to Peter and nodded. ' ' You were 
 right. We were both right! And men come here, Mrs. 
 Middleton, to enlist and are sent away again because of 
 errors of this nature most disheartening to them and 
 to us. It took us seven days to dispose of an Irishman, 
 a National Reserve man a most excellent soldier, passed 
 by the doctors, all ready to go! For some reason or 
 other the Depot would not take him at once, and I assure 
 you the man was heartbroken. He had seen service in
 
 398 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 South Africa and was most eager to get to work again. 
 Besides, he had given up his employment, and the family 
 with whom he was lodging chaffed him somewhat un- 
 mercifully on his reappearance day after day. Finally 
 I sent him off on my own responsibility with a strong 
 letter to the O.C., and the last we heard of him was 
 what was it, Middleton?" 
 
 ' ' He was showing a recruit a rolled-up puttee. ' Shure, 
 and d'ye know hwhat that is?' says Pat. ' 'Tis hwhat 
 ye toie round yer throat to kape the dust out of yer 
 oyes!' " 
 
 "Exactly! From which I conclude that he had re- 
 covered his spirits. Excellent material ! The Irish are 
 wonderful fighters. They are admirable soldiers in 
 peace time, too, so long as they are worked hard by 
 officers who understand them, but they can't stand 
 idleness, at least that is my little opinion ! I once had 
 a head gardener who used to tell me, 'I always like to 
 hear your little opinion, sir,' and the phrase stuck, Mrs. 
 Middleton! I generally speak of 'my little opinion.' 
 It sounds modest and an old soldier ought to be modest, 
 although I do not know that the quality is desirable in a 
 young one certainly not in a cavalryman." 
 
 By the time that Liege had fallen and Shaun James 
 had reached England the three were become fast friends, 
 and Cynthia, through the General 's introduction, had ob- 
 tained work from the Soldiers' and Sailors' Families' 
 Association. Each day now seemed all too short for 
 her. She soon mastered the clerical part of the busi- 
 ness, and took the lead on the Committee, being the 
 daughter of a K.C.M.G. It had been formed on the 
 English plan of assembling, first, a lady of high rank 
 and small capacity as chairman, second, all the people 
 who would have felt affronted had they been left out, and 
 last, a minority of genuine workers, who, while others 
 talked, did quietly what had to be done, grew accustomed 
 to be overruled, and only forbore to resign because 
 they feared they would be wanted in the future. Well, 
 now they were wanted badly; but being in England 
 of course they were not given immediately full power.
 
 TRANSFORMATION 399 
 
 It takes fear to teach the English how to organise. 
 
 The sobering of spirit which the war induced in all 
 classes was soonest felt in that to which Cynthia be- 
 longed, and the nature of her work led her amongst 
 a class which gave of its best and for the most part 
 suffered in silence, being already near to the realities 
 of life. The reaction in Cynthia was girlishly complete. 
 She wore old clothes, half starved Peter for a few days 
 in a wild fit of economy, and was the means of en- 
 couraging Madge Tressly-Buchan to enter the London 
 Hospital as a probationer, a patriotic feat for which 
 the staff of that institution were probably not grate- 
 ful. Phyllis declined to follow. They a/re safer without 
 me, she wrote with much truth, and my old crock is 
 a Colonel of Yeomanry, whatever they are! Do write, 
 darling Cyn, if they have anything to do with the Yeo- 
 men of the Guard, because in that case I ought to know. 
 A Colonel rides anyhow, and I want to get a uniform 
 like his and ride with him. She announced that she 
 was going north for that purpose in a few days. Joyce, 
 on the other hand, wrote sensibly, rejoicing that her 
 mother was coming home from India, and with much 
 pluck saying little about the cause, which was that Major 
 Ommaney had been ordered to France with his regiment. 
 Practical Joyce was already learning to knit. 
 
 The first intelligence of Shaun James's return came 
 from Lady Bremner. Daddy thinks so badly of the war, 
 she wrote. / suppose you know that Mr. James is back 
 in town. I met him, much to my surprise, in Piccadilly, 
 and he asked me whether he looked young enough to 
 pass for thirty-five. I could not conscientiously say 
 that he did. The news was a shock to Peter and Cyn- 
 thia, who could not understand Shaun 's silence. They 
 respected it, and a few days later received the following 
 letter. 
 
 CRYSTAL PALACE, 
 
 August 17th, 1914. 
 
 Dear Peter and Cynthia, 
 
 I have joined the R.N.R. Division named after the 
 good King Alfred and look as I have not looked since
 
 400 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 / urns five years old, only they will not let me carry 
 a whistle slung round my neck on a white cord. Tire- 
 some of them, very. I wish you could see Shaun in his 
 sailor suit; his trousers are exquisitely baggy at the 
 ankles and his collars an inch wider than any one else's 
 (Liarl), but I do not wish you to see him if you do 
 not mind very much. He hates meetings and partings. 
 
 I asked you to wait until I came back, because al- 
 though I am going for selfish reasons I also consider 
 that I am replacing you, Peter, among our gallant de- 
 fenders. You will break my heart if you go too. My 
 work is over and yours is to come. My wife is dead; 
 yours is with you. I am unhappy; you are happy. 
 Honestly, I shan't be very sorry to be knocked over, 
 provided it's painless. You don't know what it is to 
 outlive the power to do one's best work. Lately I've 
 done nothing but think of Doris. I didn't seem able 
 to hustle up to Noo York's standard believe I should 
 have got the sack if I'd stayed. And Peter! I've missed 
 you two kids a bit. Don't talk more rubbish about 
 money; I had a lot of fun out of you, and it was worth 
 it! 
 
 If you feel you owe me anything show some moral 
 courage and stay at home as I ask you to do. You'll 
 find it a damned sight harder than going, old boy. You 
 two stand for the future of England. There won't 
 be any gentlemen left after this war. Have a lot of 
 children. Don't be a fool about that. Only don't let 
 them destroy my Charles Ricketts, which I've left you. 
 It's over at New York. 
 
 This war will last five years and if we get through it 
 it will be by the skin of our teeth. I know England. 
 
 Those apes at the Recruiting Office swore I looked 
 over forty, the impudent devils! I went the whole hog, 
 according to my principles, and said I was thirty-three, 
 made a great point of being only just that age and 
 pointed out that if I were really over forty I should 
 certainly have called myself older than thirty-three! 
 Bluffed 'em. 
 
 I've been wondering Peter, forgive a bit of a sermon
 
 TRANSFORMATION 401 
 
 at the last: it is the last. I know I'm going west! 
 whether I did you good or harm with all those lies. I've 
 always been a believer in my heart in truth at any 
 price. Doris well, we won't talk about her now, but 
 I was straighter while she was alive. Fact of the matter 
 was I formed a habit while I was young. My mother 
 didn't understand the kind of boy I was. It was all a 
 pity. You and Cynthia haven't misunderstood all this 
 time, I hopef You've known what I really admired f 
 I tried to save you from lying, to do it all myself. But 
 somehow things look different now with the Shadow of 
 the Wings of Death over us. I've wondered whether I 
 did wrong. Try not to be hurt by anything I did, 
 please, for my sake, both of you. 
 
 Don't reply, except 'Good luck and good-bye, Shaun. 
 We understand.' 
 
 I believe in one God, Who is Love, and he that dwelleth 
 in Love dwelleth in God and God in him. Thank Him, 
 I've always lived in my work! An artist's no good 
 unless he does. Remember that, Peter, even though you 
 lose her and it breaks you up. 
 
 God bless you, old man, and you too, Cynthia. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 Shaun. 
 
 P.S. 7 don't often write without a postscript! Never 
 was there a more laborious novelist than I, anyhow! 
 I've often written 10,000 words to get 500, and so my let- 
 ters are rotten, not written. 'Providence is a bit of a 
 Character,' and if I come out alive at the end it won't 
 be the first presentiment that has gone wrong. I was 
 going to say this. If I'm killed and you'll hear, be- 
 cause I've told the authorities you are my only surviving 
 relative then call one of the kids, a fair-haired one for 
 choice, by my name, will you? Thanks. If I'm not 
 killed, don't; for it would be a pity to go against Cyn- 
 thia's mother, with whom I want you to be always on the 
 best of terms.
 
 XXVII 
 
 THEY were glad that they had not written to the Savage 
 Club; what hurt them most was the disappointment 
 of not seeing him, which a kind of shame prevented 
 Peter from bearing well. He grumbled, while Cynthia 
 wept, and each added a few sentences to the short 
 message that Shaun had asked for. Otherwise they 
 obeyed him. 
 
 And so August drew to a close, with sheep upon the 
 downs, and fields patterned with stocks in the morning 
 sunshine, and leafy lanes, and much laborious work for 
 both man and girl. Cynthia made friends rapidly, 
 swam in the river at dawn, and played lawn-tennis after 
 her rounds were over; Peter had painting and draw- 
 ing to do when the General released him. Sometimes he 
 took moody walks by himself. Cynthia was very tender 
 to him, but she had lost for the time her great fear 
 lest he should go. Shaun 's sacrifice, which she looked 
 upon as all sacrifice, had removed that terror. She 
 was often gay, always bewitching, a girl difficult for 
 a young husband to leave, and her unconsciousness made 
 it doubly hard. 
 
 Meanwhile recruits were coming in every day and 
 Peter fancied that each one looked at him con- 
 temptuously: ploughboys; a pugnacious draper, a little 
 bantam-cock of a man ; National Reserve men with re- 
 spect for the General ; an ancient shepherd who grieved 
 because he might not go ; labourers with a deep interest 
 in the army as an investment, who roused the General 's 
 ire; others who were mainly eager to get to the front 
 at once ; a stray Canadian whose language was free and 
 strange, the General did not mind that, for, "They 
 tell me these fellows make good material," said he. Also 
 
 402
 
 TRANSFORMATION 403 
 
 there came a north-country mechanic who took a chair 
 unbidden and lighted a big cigar and conversed in quite 
 a patronising way. 
 
 "Ought we to enlist a chap like that, sir?" asked 
 Peter. "He said he'd been working with Cammell, 
 Laird, the shipbuilders." 
 
 "We cannot help it, my boy, in the present state of 
 infernal muddle! I daresay he'd be much more useful 
 turning a lathe or whatever he does do, confound his 
 impudence ! But this is a free country except for men 
 who do not desire to join a Trade Union or employers 
 who are willing to employ such men, and nothing can 
 be done." 
 
 Slow-thinking Peter decided this was a pity, and that 
 he would alter it if he were able, wherein he was 
 exactly eight months ahead of the Government. 
 
 In the last days of the month, as the Germans swept 
 towards Paris, fear grew again in Cynthia's heart like 
 an evil weed, choking her happiness. 
 
 On the 29th of August Peter came home early while 
 the landlady was setting out Cynthia's tea. "Shall I lay 
 a cup for you, sir?" she inquired, but he said no, he 
 had had tea at the office. Cynthia arrived and found 
 him sitting idly in the big basket-chair doing nothing. 
 "What's the matter?" she asked quickly. "Aren't 
 you going to paint to-day?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "How nice! Then we'll have tea together. I won't 
 be a second taking off my hat." 
 
 With an effort he said, "I don't want any tea." 
 
 She looked at him. Her voice was the voice of a 
 frightened woman who understood. "Oh, but, Peter, 
 darling, you must have tea! It cheers one up so." 
 
 ' ' If you like ! " he said. ' ' Thank you. ' ' 
 
 Her instinct was to avert further talk and she went 
 to fetch his cup herself, but on her return she saw that 
 he was trying to control himself enough to announce 
 his intention, and asked hastily the first thing which 
 came into her head, "How is the General?" she 
 quavered.
 
 404 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Peter's answer came in a rush. "All right. The 
 office is in order now. I've said good-bye to him and to 
 the Master. Cynthia, I've got to do it." 
 
 Her eyes were blind with tears. She was stirring 
 away mechanically, one elbow on the table, her chin 
 supported on her hand. Still she made a pathetic pre- 
 tence of not realising. "Are you going to take a holi- 
 day, my darling ..." she began. ' ' My darling ! ' ' Her 
 voice trembled into silence. 
 
 "I ought," he said. "Shaun can't take this off my 
 shoulders . . . can he? No, no, don't speak! I know 
 he can 't. I 'm a good rifle-shot, and they 're beating us ; 
 they're driving us! We need every man. I don't want 
 to go, Starry dear. I don 't want to go ! I hate it. I 'm 
 afraid. But I must!" 
 
 He had risen. She looked very still and small and 
 white under the shadow of her big hat, sitting there at 
 the table, gazing with blind eyes. 
 
 She opened her lips and no sound came but a little 
 gasp. Then she whispered slowly and painfully, "I ... 
 do ... love you ... I ... do ... love you. ... I prom- 
 ised. ... I will ... be brave!" 
 
 Next morning they left for London.
 
 XXVIII 
 
 THE period which follows the making of a desperate 
 decision is usually more peaceful than that which leads 
 up to it, even in those cases when action is not pos- 
 sible at once. The next fortnight was the happiest that 
 Peter had ever known. Sir Everard and Lady Bremner 
 were as kind as though he had been their own son, and 
 the Master, though simulating wrath, in reality ap- 
 proved. You may be quite certain I shall not take 
 another disciple! he wrote. One is enough. Your place 
 will be vacant for you when you return. I beg of you 
 not to sell hasty sketches to the periodicals. This from 
 him was equivalent to a blessing. Shaun replied : / ex- 
 pected you would. Well, it is a great game! Good- 
 bye with you, Peter. Tell her this will complete her 
 education. War teaches girls to trust in God. Outside 
 was written, No, neither, please. They had asked 
 whether either of them might come to see him or write. 
 
 "Good-bye God be with you." It sounded strange 
 from old Shaun. He was one of those men who from 
 humility deny that they possess virtues. He would 
 never allow that he was honest, industrious, or pious. 
 Yet this was his farewell, worthy of the strong and 
 simple mother who bore him, and it heartened Peter. 
 
 Peter's own impulse was to enlist in the ranks, but 
 Sir Everard and Cynthia pressed him to apply for a 
 commission. Both pointed out that there must be a 
 shortage of officers later on. "They could promote me 
 from the ranks," objected Peter. His personal feeling 
 was that the whole business would be unbearable unless 
 it were done thoroughly. He loathed it so much that 
 he wanted to be where illusions were not. A visit to 
 
 405
 
 406 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 the Great Company showed him Semple and Blotter 
 about to join an Officers' Training Corps; Mulholland 
 had already gone, and he would have liked to serve with 
 Holly, but somehow he could not bear the idea of work- 
 ing side by side with Blotter and Semple. He felt that 
 their presence would destroy the dignity of death. 
 Their society would throw him back upon an intoler- 
 able loneliness. Cynthia pointed out in vain how un- 
 fairly they represented the class from which the new 
 officers were being drawn. Peter wagged his head. He 
 couldn't bear the sight of one of that kind, he said, 
 he 'd rather be with ploughboys : he would not even enter 
 one of the reserved battalions. "You'd find there some 
 fellows you liked," urged Cynthia. "Some! Yes," 
 he rejoined. " That isn 't enough ! Darling, I'm sick to 
 death of snobbery. It 's a danger to this country. So 's 
 conceit and every other illusion. I 'd sooner be amongst 
 people who are grossly real. I must be real, if I'm 
 to go through this business; it won't be bearable else. 
 That's how I feel. I'd rather serve a chap like Semple 
 than mess with him and be his brother officer, not that 
 he may not make a decent enough officer, but . . . oh, 
 you understand ! ' ' 
 
 "I'm afraid I do," she said, sadly. 
 
 "Besides, I want to get out at once. The waiting is 
 the bad part, I'm sure. When I've been under fire I 
 shall be easier in my mind about myself. You see, I'm 
 useful at the butts and I know my drill pretty well, 
 although I've never served Father used to drill us 
 at the first school I was at; and if I join a Line regi- 
 ment I may get out with an earlier draft. I've been 
 round to-day to the War Office and seen a chap who 
 knew Father well, and he says he can work it for me 
 by speaking to the Colonel of Father's old regiment. 
 One battalion is near to London and they are sending 
 drafts all the time. I believe it can be worked. I don't 
 feel I ought to be an officer. I'm not suited for it." 
 
 "All right!" she said, trying to be brave and cheer- 
 ful. She managed. She looked up with a sort of smile, 
 but his eyes were cast down. That was what was most
 
 TRANSFORMATION 407 
 
 cruel to her now. He dared not look directly at her 
 for fear of weakening his resolution. 
 
 "Perhaps the war won't last long!" he said, reading 
 her thoughts. "They are fairly on the run now, at all 
 events. ' ' 
 
 It was the llth of September, and next day Peter 
 enlisted. 
 
 Again he was under discipline, which did him no harm 
 at this stage of his development, for freedom had been 
 intoxicating after the Great Company. How far away 
 seemed the offices of the Great Company now ! The 
 clerks stalked in his memory like pale ghosts, conveying 
 horror to his mind. They had seemed more unreal still 
 when he spoke with them face to face. Even Brown 
 had not impressed him as before, was withered somehow ; 
 while Lemon, to whom Peter had meant to speak his 
 mind, had baffled him he did not seem to be living 
 in the same world. Peter had gone away without a 
 word. Had they ever lived in the same world? That 
 was difficult to believe when the radiant image of Cyn- 
 thia stepped in between in his thoughts. Laurence Man 
 was a shadow. Indeed all around him in the regiment 
 were at first shadows to Peter, which slowly hardened 
 into reality, assumed form, and became alive. 
 
 Drill was easy. He was strong and fit, well-liked by 
 his comrades and watched by his officers. The Colonel 
 sent for him and offered to recommend him for a com- 
 mission, which he refused. "Very well, Middleton. I 
 think you are wrong. Is there anything else I could do 
 for your father's son?" 
 
 "I want to go forward, sir," said Peter steadily, 
 thinking what a liar he was. 
 
 ' ' That 's the right spirit ! ' ' approved the Colonel, and 
 he nodded dismissal. A week later Peter was warned 
 and given short leave to go home. 
 
 Why was he anxious to go at once? he asked himself, 
 at the close of the first exquisite day of home ; was it all 
 cowardice, or was there mingled with it an honest de- 
 sire to be up and doing? He could not tell. With his 
 head on Cynthia's breast, lying awake hot-eyed, he could
 
 408 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 not tell. "Please God I do my duty," he prayed, as 
 his father had done before him and many a Middleton 
 previously, but this Peter did not know or think of. 
 He must have prayed audibly, for her arm tightened 
 about his shoulder, and then suddenly God seemed to be 
 in the room, close beside in the shadows. 
 
 A long while afterwards, he spoke to her in a hushed 
 and awe-struck whisper. "Did you know that God is 
 Love?" he asked. "I know it now." 
 
 She clung to him, detecting the passionate happiness 
 in his voice, glad for him; while for herself afraid. 
 "Shaun said so," she murmured back. 
 
 She felt a thrill; he had trembled. And now he was 
 gently kissing her soft, rounded breasts. She knew he 
 was comforting her, and the tears sprang to her eyes. 
 Ah, she was lonely then! "I can't believe that God is 
 good when He takes you away from me ! " she said. ' ' I 
 can't!" 
 
 "It'll come!" he whispered hastily, with swift fear 
 and half-belief. 
 
 She accused herself, meaning far more than she said : 
 "I haven't been to church since we were married!" 
 
 "Churches aren't everything," he returned. "I'm to 
 be blamed because you did not go." His thoughts were 
 like flames leaping and dying after a vision, revealing 
 faintly what had been. 
 
 "My fault!" she said. 
 
 "No, mine." 
 
 "Mine, Peter." Her words came freely. "I wasn't 
 clever enough really to do without church, I suppose! 
 Perhaps I was too happy. I ought to have gone. I'm 
 not like you or Shaun. Women aren 't. And so I drifted 
 away. ' ' 
 
 He was silent, his bliss destroyed. 
 
 She continued, with diffidence. "I've never been 
 accustomed to go to church regularly. I know it isn't 
 everything, it isn't much, perhaps. . . . Humility is 
 everything, which you've always had and I haven't." 
 
 Now he felt the throbbing of her heart under his cheek. 
 The smooth warmth of her was close, close her fragrance,
 
 TRANSFOEMATION 409 
 
 her kindness, her beauty, but she and her love seemed 
 very far away. They were a pin-point of light beyond 
 the stars, receding. What was this that was driving her 
 away from him ? He searched ; enduring in that one 
 instant an agony of pain and fear. "God!" he cried, 
 inwardly, "God!" And the pin-point flickered. It 
 stood still. It was barely perceptible among the myriad 
 stars of heaven. He clung to the sight of it as a 
 dying man might clutch at the ebbing tide of life, 
 and all the while he was searching, searching for the 
 cause, his thought coursing to and fro like a hound 
 upon the scent. "Why? Why? Why?" The pin- 
 point was growing larger, the tide turning. Love flowed 
 back into his heart. Love was blinding him with its 
 great flame. God was blinding him; the flood of light 
 swept upon and overwhelmed him. A still, small voice 
 whispered, "Where is your humility, Peter?" and he 
 awoke, holding Cynthia's warm body, while his soul 
 reached out to her soul. ' ' Yes, God does love ! " he said, 
 aloud; and uttered the truth to her, saying, "It will 
 come. ' '
 
 XXIX 
 
 THE memory of that night did not stay with Peter. In 
 a day or two he had forgotten it, for he had not re- 
 ceived the vision rightly. He had taken it as a per- 
 sonal consolation rather than as a revelation of Truth. 
 Nor did he ever remember the fleeting vision again. 
 It had given him trust in God, which did not for- 
 sake him; knowledge of God it did not bestow on him, 
 but that might come later. The girl pondered over 
 his words and learnt much from them. 
 
 Cynthia was so proud of her soldier that she liked to 
 walk the streets with him for the youthful pleasure of 
 seeing the passers-by glance at the tall figure in uniform 
 and for the sake of occasional greetings from her friends. 
 She was conscious of a strange sensation, which was 
 enjoyable; she was in the background, accepting the 
 second glance. When she understood, she smiled with 
 happiness; she liked Peter to be first, and hardly since 
 she could recollect had she been able to enjoy the 
 solitude of the unnoticed. Not to be stared at was 
 deliciously restful and unfamiliar. 
 
 They had strolled through the mellow sunshiny streets 
 behind Park Lane, crossed dear Oxford Street with its 
 roaring life of traffic, and turned into the quiet of Port- 
 man Square. Lady Bremner was at home. Her wel- 
 come made them both her children. Then Sir Everard 
 entered, graver than of old and very silent, but kind. 
 He took Peter into the library, which was a place of 
 unhappy memories, but Peter saw at once that they 
 were forgotten. He was the friend, speaking with 
 affection, almost taking the place of a father. He spoke 
 now as Peter had longed then that he might speak. 
 
 410
 
 TRANSFORMATION' 411 
 
 The boy felt a glow of thankfulness and gratitude. 
 To whom ? To Shaun and to Cynthia, yes ; and here was 
 the change, to God as well. "You need not be afraid 
 for her while you are gone. We will look after her. 
 Don't be worried about money, Peter." There were 
 good-byes a warm handclasp from Sir Everard, whose 
 face never lit now and whose eyes were less keen, or 
 was it only that they were more kind? Then a plunge 
 into the drawing-room to bid farewell to Lady Bremner, 
 who kissed him, and he found himself with Cynthia in 
 the street. "I was calling to you," she said. "In my 
 heart. And you came. I was afraid of crying. I don't 
 want to cry." 
 
 "Perhaps it mayn't be to-morrow," he said, to com- 
 fort her. 
 
 ' ' You think it will. I 'm a soldier 's wife, dear, I won 't 
 be silly! Shall we look in at the Cinema at Marble 
 Arch for a few minutes?" 
 
 They had formed a habit of doing so in the early days 
 of their married life in London; how long ago that 
 seemed! And Cynthia wished to do each of the old 
 things that they used to do, for the last time as it 
 were as it must not be to keep them as memories when 
 he had gone. 
 
 1 ' Right ! ' ' said Peter. " I 'm with you. ' ' 
 
 But when they turned in to the darkened theatre the 
 topical film was just appearing. There were sentries 
 being relieved, Canadians disembarking, "Naval Volun- 
 teers departing for an unknown destination." 
 
 ' ' I wonder whether it 's Antwerp ! ' ' murmured Peter, 
 sitting erect. "Didn't you say there was talk of 
 that?" 
 
 "Madge said so." 
 
 The men were marching past the camera out of the 
 picture, while the orchestra played Rule, Britannia and 
 the audience cheered and clapped. A few months ago 
 Peter would have been thrilled. He was not thrilled 
 now. He watched steadily, unmoved. The faces filed 
 by; grim, laughing, and devil-may-care in endless pro- 
 cession.
 
 412 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "A lot of these chaps are scarcely trained at all," he 
 remarked. "They can't be sending them." 
 
 Suddenly the girl shrieked, unnoticed amidst the din 
 of applause. She leaned forward, clutching Peter and 
 pointing. ' ' Shaun ! Look ! " she cried. 
 
 At first Peter did not see. Then his rapid glance 
 overtook his friend, who had crossed his line of vision 
 unrecognised. Shaun looked weary. He was on the 
 outside of his file. He looked older in uniform. It was 
 all momentary. Then just as he was moving out of 
 the picture he half turned and smiled. 
 
 "I'm glad he smiled to us!" said the voice of Cynthia 
 at his side, and Peter became conscious of pain in his 
 forearm, which ceased as the girl leant back. She had 
 seized him with a grip strong enough to leave a dark 
 bruise behind. 
 
 Antwerp had already fallen, but Peter did not learn 
 the fate of the King Alfreds before he went away, in 
 spite of the fact that his departure was postponed for 
 nearly a week. Peter belonged to a crack corps and 
 had no business at all to be in the battalion in which 
 he found himself, among seasoned men ; and at the last 
 moment his Colonel had kept him back being com- 
 pelled, however, to send him forward with the next batch 
 of drafts, owing to the regiment having been badly 
 cut up during the intervening days. The wonder was 
 that the men he served with did not resent Peter's 
 presence. On the contrary he was popular, from his 
 quietness and lack of assumption and because he was 
 a soldier's son and had chosen of his own accord to serve 
 in the ranks of his father's old regiment. Besides, there 
 was no nonsense about Peter and, although he disliked 
 it, soldiering came to him by instinct. He never let 
 down his company on parade, marched from the first 
 like a veteran, recovered at once from his typhoid inocu- 
 lation, and gave no one any trouble at all. What his 
 comrades failed to understand, after they had seen him 
 
 with Cynthia, was why he was so keen to get 
 
 out to the front! There was nothing especially war- 
 like in his appearance or demeanour. Peter himself
 
 TRANSFORMATION 413 
 
 sometimes wondered why Kitchener's rules should be 
 overset for an insignificant person like Private Middle- 
 ton. It seemed that he had gone straight to the one man 
 in the Army who had the disposition as well as the 
 power to give him an early opportunity of being killed. 
 Cynthia hated the Colonel secretly and wished she were 
 base enough to report him to the War Office. 
 
 Peter departed from Charing Cross at three o'clock 
 on a chilly morning, with an icy wind wailing under 
 the roof of the deserted station and a low black sky 
 pressing down, across which withered grey scuds of cloud 
 chased each other at intervals; a weird and horrible 
 going. He had contrived to get word to Cynthia and 
 she was there, looking like a ghost herself in her long, 
 grey cloak; but she could not approach him. The de- 
 tachment marched straight through on to the platform. 
 She was under a lamp, with her head, on which she 
 wore no hat, thrown back. She caught a glimpse of him 
 and smiled, and he passed from her seeing her smiling 
 face in the air before him, suspended as a man might 
 carry the memory of a saint or a heroine. She looked 
 both in her courageous, pathetic beauty; and so the 
 company entrained. 
 
 As she slipped out, elbow raised, wrist across eyes 
 tragically, a gliding figure of woe, other soldiers came 
 marching into the station yard, bearing their grey, 
 sausage-shaped kitbags on their shoulders. Their tramp- 
 ing feet seemed to shake the stars as they marched by 
 her in unending procession, and she quivered and shook, 
 holding herself bravely upright, a fist clenched at her 
 side, with still those hidden eyes! All down the line 
 the laughter and jesting ceased as the men passed her. 
 She was England, whom they were leaving. They, who 
 were about to die, saluted her.
 
 XXX 
 
 "SERGEANT says we're likely to 'ave a quiet night." 
 
 ' ' There isn 't much that he doesn 't know, ' ' responded 
 Peter, without irony. His section was lined up in the 
 dark outside the officers' huts, waiting to start for the 
 trenches for its first experience of warfare. Three miles 
 or so away were those trenches, in the quarter from 
 which sounded an intermittent rattling and banging, 
 composed of many different noises. Peter was disap- 
 pointed to find a singular lack of impressiveness in this 
 distant pounding. Every now and then, apparently only 
 a short way off, a light floated up into the darkness. 
 "German star-lights," said a voice behind him. The 
 occasional boom or crash nearer at hand was unim- 
 pressive; but then from the beginning Peter had been 
 struck by the difference between the imagined and the 
 real psychology of war. He had found soldiering a 
 drab business of rasping shirts, smells, sweat, foul 
 language, and exhausting toil; all of it without 
 formality or pretence, and therefore not hard to endure. 
 He much preferred the coarse jesting and monotonous 
 oaths of his present comrades to the self-conscious 
 beastliness in the Great Company. 
 
 "I wonder when I shall begin to be afraid," he was 
 asking himself, when his neighbour remarked to him in 
 
 a low voice, "Ain't it cold? Why don't our 
 
 little cove come out? 'E don't think of the 
 
 men. 'E ain 't no cop ! ' ' 
 
 "Here am I going into the trenches at last and I 
 can't think about anything but swear- words, " said Peter 
 to himself. "Why do you always call everything 
 'bloody'?" he murmured, irritably. 
 
 "Why not, guv 'nor?" inquired the Cockney at his 
 
 414
 
 TRANSFORMATION 415 
 
 side, who was a pal of his. "We ain't never objected 
 to your not usin' the word." 
 
 "Sorry!" 
 
 ' ' Don 't apolergise ! Yours is an 'abit, same as ours. ' ' 
 
 This presented a new train of thought to Peter, in- 
 terrupted by the dilatory subaltern, who came out draw- 
 ing on his gloves, adjured them to "pick up their feet 
 carefully," and started them off down the pave, past 
 lines of waiting troops, dim in the darkness ; past carts 
 and a row of omnibuses. The condition of the road was 
 abominable, and it took the section more than eighty 
 minutes to cover a stretch of two miles; then they 
 halted outside 'headquarters,' which appeared to be 
 the cellar of a house, of which little else remained. On 
 again, in single file, after picking up their guide, who led 
 the way across fields where the mud was like a living 
 thing. Here Peter stepped out of the line and was 
 immediately bogged to the knees. His comrades lugged 
 him out, everyone cursing instinctively. There seemed 
 even for Peter nothing else appropriate to say until he 
 had emerged with a plop and could thank them ; he had 
 been alarmed at the sensation of being sucked downward 
 as into the centre of the earth by some fiend. Now on 
 every side sounded snaps and cracks and whistlings and 
 hissings and stirrings. "Bullets!" suddenly thought 
 Peter, and saw a spark like a glow-worm flash where one 
 of them struck a tree, against which a moment later he 
 came bump, having stumbled over the falling body of the 
 Cockney. A flare went up, throwing a pale, sickly light 
 all around, and "Down!" called the sergeant's voice. 
 Peter was down already, prostrate beside his tree. His 
 cap had tumbled off, his head was touching the head of 
 his chum, who did not move. There was cold, dank 
 mud beneath his cheek and presently a warm moisture 
 spread into his hair and trickled through to his forehead. 
 Jerking himself away he glanced round and saw a profile 
 near, which stared upward with dropped and hanging 
 jaw. It was the first time Peter had seen death. 
 
 ' ' This is beastly, ' ' he thought, as they lurched forward 
 Hgain into darkness, ' ' this is a very beastly sensation. ' '
 
 416 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 He felt a kind of sickness at the pit of his stomach, a 
 brassy taste in his mouth and a confusion in his brain, 
 and he knew that he was ducking automatically as he 
 strode. "This is fear, all right." Another flash from 
 the sky broke in a tremendous uproar. Down dropped 
 the line of figures again, Peter with his nose over the 
 edge of a big crater of the width of a street. The 
 thought that this was a shell hole sent a creeping horror 
 up his spine. "Forward," came the order, and off he 
 went, hanging on now to the tunic of the man in front, 
 for the track here wound in and out; and they lost a 
 man who was carrying a sack of coke and had to haul 
 him out of a smaller round hole filled with water. And 
 then they crawled on all fours and stopped and crawled 
 again until they came to a sloping gap which led into 
 the communication trench. 
 
 ' ' Very unpleasant, but it might -be worse, ' ' said Peter 
 to himself, with philosophy. His head was steady again 
 and the sick feeling had passed away. Literature, he 
 decided, had exaggerated the terrors of being shot at. 
 It wasn't a bit like anything he had seen described. It 
 was more unpleasant and less appalling, more like a 
 visit to the dentist than a descent into Hell. He thought 
 vividly for a few moments in flashes, saw pictures 
 Cynthia running, the dining-room at Portman Square, 
 Shaun 's face bending over an open book, Cynthia 's eyes, 
 her mouth and chin in a mist then tripped, glimpsed 
 dead Tippins's staring profile, shuddered, and came back 
 to the present. He was cold, the dead man's blood 
 was drying on his temple, and the sergeant was shov- 
 ing him into a side-gallery. 
 
 Then he hurried through a labyrinth of burrows, dodg- 
 ing right and left after a new guide, who had been wait- 
 ing at a corner where six roads branched off. "Keep 
 your heads down, men." "We've got a long way to 
 go!" said a voice behind. The new guide turned and 
 whispered confidentially to Peter, "No distance really. 
 The communication trench will be five times this length 
 in a month or two." "Yes, sir," said Peter, and found 
 himself all of a sudden in the trench proper, recognising
 
 TRANSFORMATION 417 
 
 it by the parapet of sandbags and the row of figures 
 huddled in niches, slightly raised above the six inches 
 of mud and water that formed the bottom of the ditch. 
 The word made him think of country lanes, and then 
 he was stationed behind one of these figures, and waited 
 while officers and non-commissioned officers shoved past 
 him to and fro, murmuring explanations and orders to 
 each other and the men. 
 
 "Good evening!" muttered Peter, civilly, to the back 
 of the man he was about to relieve. 
 
 ' ' Evenin ', me lord ! Sorry your lordship should 'ave 
 to stand in the mud, but we 'ad no notice you was 
 com in'." 
 
 "Been busy?" 
 
 "Last night, yes. I dessay you'll 'ave to dig in a lot 
 of our chaps. We ain 't 'ad time. ' ' Something moaned 
 overhead. "I call them seagulls, I do." 
 
 ' ' How long will it take to relieve you ? ' ' 
 
 "Don't know nothin' of time in 'ere. Best part of 
 a hower, I dessay. Look 'ere, son. You get that 
 
 sniper who bobs up behind the wilier-tree 
 
 stump. 'E got my pal last night afore they started 
 shellin' us. I leave 'im to you. I bequeath 'im! 'E's 
 a Bosher an' a 'arf. Any of your chaps finish, comin' 
 in?" 
 
 "My chum did," said Peter, suddenly feeling a kind 
 of shocked loneliness at the thought and betrayed into 
 speaking aloud, whereupon came a hoarse, angry growl 
 of "Hold yer jaw!" from an N.C.O. 
 
 "Mind, I leave the to you," whispered the 
 
 man in front, when at last the order to change places 
 ran down the line; and Peter stepped up with a con- 
 sciousness of being at the front of the British Army. 
 There was the darkness that contained the enemy, and 
 it spat, buzzed, yelled, moaned, and crashed for some 
 five minutes as though in greeting of his arrival. Mean- 
 while he crouched uncertain whether his head were 
 under cover or no. 
 
 All at once a thin flame shot up rocket-like, burst, and 
 hung glowing in the air. It lit the scene like a brighter
 
 418 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 moonlight, and Peter saw a network of barbed wire in 
 front of and below him. Shifting his gaze onward he 
 saw quite near a long mound of earth with steel shields 
 shining in it like window-panes; it was criss-crossed 
 with barbed wire before it, which was white with dew. 
 The heads of a couple of Huns disappeared, simul- 
 taneously with an outburst of rifle firing from both 
 sides. Of one moon-face he retained a clear impres- 
 sion, which often flashed later across his memory. At 
 the moment he forgot it utterly in swift search for 
 the stump of a willow. There was a line of short, stunted 
 pollards some way back, approaching the German trench 
 from behind obliquely, yes, and a stump; when a 
 whizzing sound whistled through his hair and carried 
 his cap off. Furious with the anger that the first ex- 
 perience of being aimed at seldom fails to rouse in a 
 recruit, he let fly, foolishly and at random, and ducked. 
 
 " 'Ere, you clumsy mooncalf, you 'it me in the eye 
 
 with your cap ! Can 't you keep it on your silly 
 
 'ead? 'Ow d'you think I'm goin' to clean out this 
 gawd-forsaken drain if you put my eye out?" came a 
 grumble from behind, and Peter became conscious, as 
 the light waned and dwindled into darkness, of a new 
 sensation, or rather the absence of one. The 'dental 
 chamber' feeling had gone. "It's beastly," he thought 
 to himself, "but I'll make it a damned sight beastlier 
 for them ! ' ' He felt savagely resentful towards the Hun 
 who had had the impudence to attempt to make Cynthia 
 unhappy. There was something surprising about it. 
 He realised the inherent wickedness of war. The Hun 
 meant to kill him, but he jolly well wasn 't going to, not 
 while Peter knew it! 
 
 This mood lasted during the next two hours ; then he 
 began to calm down and take a businesslike view of 
 things, made himself comfortable in his niche and ad- 
 justed his mind to the business in hand. Flares went up 
 at intervals, and once Peter thought he got a bullet 
 through a loophole in one of the steel shields, but of 
 course he could not be sure. There were a heap of 
 stones around one of the posts which supported the
 
 TRANSFORMATION 419 
 
 German wire entanglement, perhaps it had once 
 marked a grave: the sight of the sparks flying from 
 these stones was curious; each time a flare went up 
 somebody aimed too low. The smell of the moist earth 
 reminded Peter of a garden in Sussex. Oddly enough, 
 Joyce was more present to his mind than Cynthia in 
 those long, black hours of cold and waiting and cautious 
 staring into thick night, which suddenly broke up into 
 pin-points of flame that crackled like whip-lashes, or else 
 blazed into that unearthly bluish-white moonshine. Cyn- 
 thia was in his heart, but little Joyce seemed close by 
 his side, cheering him with her friendly chatter; Peter 
 had not known how fond he was of her. She seemed 
 to be telling him that he would come back to Cynthia. 
 
 Peter was half-frozen by the time he was relieved at 
 four o'clock. He and his comrades crouched in a 
 ' f unkhole ' round a charcoal brazier and tried in vain to 
 thaw the whole of their bodies at once, although they 
 were muffled already like Tweedledum and Tweedledee. 
 And this was only a first taste of the cold of winter 
 nothing to the nights that must come. They talked of 
 eating-houses and of music-halls, football being too chilly 
 a subject; the very thought of looking on at a football 
 match made these Londoners feel colder. 
 
 With daylight, came permission to sleep, which Peter 
 did not hear, as he had already drowsed off where he 
 sat; "Let the kid alone," the men had told one an- 
 other. He was awakened by the trickling of mud and 
 water down his neck from the wall of the dugout, 
 against which he was leaning back. It was then time 
 for another meal, which was accompanied by a row 
 outside like the noise of London traffic, with motors 
 throbbing unusually loud and exhaust-pipes blowing off 
 every few seconds; most of the traffic seemed to consist 
 of motor-bicycles. Overhead went yells and screams 
 and rumblings and bangs, but all was quiet again when 
 Peter was turned out. He was shocked to see the legs 
 of a corpse, and its bearer, disappearing into a com- 
 munication trench. "Who's that?" "Sergeant." The 
 sergeant had been like a father to him, though not an
 
 420 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 indulgent one, and had a wife and five kiddies at 
 home. 
 
 This man had warned him, ''The worst part of active 
 service is when you've got nothin' to do but think and 
 ain 't too tired to. ' ' Well, Peter supposed that was true. 
 Certainly up to the present the anticipation had been 
 more hideous than the reality. He had seen sights both 
 grotesque and horrible, which had not struck him as 
 meriting those adjectives. Reality has a dignity of its 
 own, which realism lacks. Perhaps, being a soldier's 
 son, he was more fitted for a military life than he had 
 thought, for he found himself cool. He had proved fear 
 and found it a nasty feeling to be endured, not a terror 
 which gripped a man by the throat; and evidently one 
 forgot it. That was a great relief, almost as great as 
 the relief had been of learning that Cynthia's love was 
 his, and he took up his position at his loophole stiff and 
 sore, but with an easier mind than he had had since 
 the beginning of the war. 
 
 He had been moved some distance along the line, 
 which he now perceived to run up the slope of a low 
 hill, or rather mound, over the summit of which it dis- 
 appeared. The German trenches proved in daylight to 
 be only a hundred and fifty yards away at their nearest 
 point. He was amazed to see how the ground below 
 was pitted with shell holes ; it seemed an impossible busi- 
 ness to charge across and get through the barbed-wire 
 entanglement in the face of rifle and perhaps machine- 
 gun fire. From where he was, the sniper's stump was 
 not visible, but he could see five slender willows and 
 presently after a puff of black smoke and loud report 
 there were only four. He looked at the gap in the row 
 and thought to himself that war was just knocking 
 things down and breaking them, an uncivilised, brutal 
 business and no mistake. Then he perceived three or 
 four round pulpy masses between him and the Huns, 
 which once, yes, by Jove, they had been haycocks! 
 
 Peter's time of watchfulness passed without move- 
 ment on the part of the enemy. He shot a cap off and 
 hoped there was a head beneath it. Judging from what
 
 TRANSFORMATION 421 
 
 was going on behind him he thought it more likely there 
 had been a stick or a bayonet. 
 
 A meal, some unpleasant fatigue duties, a postcard for 
 Cynthia Peter suddenly discovered that he was too 
 excited to write a letter, and then the word was passed 
 for Middleton. "Can you draw, Middleton? Then go 
 
 to No. 3 and report to Captain . Keep your head 
 
 down." The lieutenant who spoke dived into the 
 officer's messroom, a luxurious dwelling roofed with two 
 doors torn from some deserted mansion, while a murmur 
 arose behind Peter floundering out into the mud, "That 
 blighter's always gettin' the wind up." The captain in 
 question was unpopular. 
 
 However the cause of his wanting Peter had nothing 
 to do with panic or excitement. He had been trying to 
 sketch the scene through a hyposcope and, making a poor 
 job of it, had sent for help, which Peter rejoiced to give. 
 This was the opportunity of all others he had desired 
 to gain some idea of what was going on around him. 
 And yet there was little to be gathered, although he 
 was now on the summit of the eminence, from inspec- 
 tion of the dull plain stretching on every hand. It was 
 scored with lines which might be trenches and might be 
 water-courses. It was withered and battered incon- 
 ceivably, and over parts of it was drifting a grey, hover- 
 ing smoke. To the left, Peter looked through a deserted 
 village some half a mile away, made remarkable by its 
 church of which the top part of the steeple was leaning 
 over at right angles. So he drew it, and then, peering 
 again, made out that a gigantic image had been knocked 
 sideways and not detached. To the right, he caught 
 glimpses of a winding river, far distant, which gleamed 
 silver under a spurt of sunshine, and vanished again. 
 A few smoking ruins and skeleton houses were visible 
 in the landscape. As he watched, one of the houses 
 collapsed. 
 
 All was calm. All was still. Peter had just noted 
 how much wider and higher was the enemy's wire en- 
 tanglement than ours, when an aeroplane sailed into view 
 overhead. Immediately its path was marked by a tail
 
 422 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 of bursting shrapnel, showing that somewhere Archibald, 
 the patron saint of anti-aircraft guns, was alive and 
 awake. Confound Archibald ! But the aeroplane 
 mounted higher and disappeared, just as Peter was 
 called away. He had already learned that a soldier 
 seldom sees the end of an incident in war, unless he 
 has missed its beginning. 
 
 At three o'clock sharp the bombardment was opened 
 by a solitary 'boom,' and five minutes after that the 
 air was splitting with the scream of shells and the bump- 
 ing noise of the bursting high explosive. The racket 
 was deafening, crash and shriek and thud being indis- 
 tinguishable ; its effect, paralysing at first, and far more 
 horrible than rifle fire, even when the ear became more 
 or less accustomed to the infernal din. This went on 
 for ten minutes, which seemed to Peter hours for- 
 tunately he was employed carrying sandbags for the 
 building of a traverse, a warm, stiff job which left no 
 opportunity for psychologic analysis. Once he was 
 knocked down and nearly smothered in the black mud 
 that rose like a fountain from every hit, but so far 
 no one in the trench had been damaged. The barbed 
 wire had suffered, a few sandbags had sailed fifty feet 
 into the air, disintegrating; and the communication 
 trenches were having a bad time. Then the German 
 gunners got the range and shells began to fall in the 
 trench itself. There was too much row to think. Peter 
 had a vague feeling that he would never see Cynthia 
 again ; nevertheless she seemed close. He was sent from 
 his traverse to build up the parapet of the trench, 
 which meant a crouching run of fifty yards to another 
 pile of sandbags. But when he reached them they were 
 gone and the dugout in front of them had gone too, 
 and the rifles of the squad with which he was working. 
 Only a pile of rubbish remained, blocking the way. Over 
 was certain death, for the bullets were coming side- 
 ways in sheets. The only thing to do was to return for 
 spades, and dig. The corporal jerked him back as he 
 was starting to climb, and when Peter recovered his 
 balance and turned he saw the file retreating. There
 
 TRANSFORMATION 423 
 
 was no question of orders, they could not be heard; 
 it was push and point and follow-your-leader. Peter 
 started to follow. He was now three yards behind the 
 corporal; on his right, the back of a soldier, for all 
 niches had been filled up as the men stood to arms. The 
 corporal disappeared round an angle and the spade 
 of the first man returning, held most dangerously at 
 the charge, appeared past him at the same moment. It 
 was the last thing Peter saw. He had a perception of 
 rising feet into the air and whirling round, and then 
 every faculty was invaded and blotted out in one 
 stupendous crash. His seven senses were annihilated in 
 flame ; and there was no more Peter.
 
 XXXI 
 
 FIRST he became conscious of a stirring, a criss-cross of 
 innumerable, waving, grey lines; they opened out and 
 showed him glimpses of a ceiling which was not white, 
 a smoke-stained ceiling, and then a voice roared into 
 his ear with brazen clangour like a trumpet, but he 
 could not distinguish the words it said. There was a 
 distant buzzing that reminded him of something, and 
 people spoke far away. The mist swirled and quivered 
 from the effort he was making, but the gaps in it had 
 closed up ; and he leaned back, as he thought, dreamily, 
 and asked with resignation, ''Am I in a telephone, 
 please?" 
 
 For a moment there came no answer. Still he had a 
 recollection of having heard the words uttered, which 
 helped to dissipate the mists, even though the voice 
 which had spoken was weak and unfamiliar. He thought 
 that he had spoken himself. The ceiling was clear now 
 and as he lowered his eyes a decided, girlish voice 
 answered with a Scottish rolling of gutturals, "You are 
 in a Base Hospital, soldier-r, and all r-right!" She 
 had sandy hair and freckles and looked immensely ca- 
 pable. Where had she come from ? What was she doing 
 in a trench that had suddenly changed into a Base 
 Hospital ? What was a Base Hospital, then ? ' ' A-ah ! ' ' 
 he sighed, remembering. "You've wor-rked your 
 ticket!" said the nurse, encouragingly. "Cheer up!" 
 Her small, blue eyes were staring at him. 
 
 Perhaps she thought that he did not understand the 
 soldiers' slang, for she added, "You're going home verry 
 soon. We have not r-room for ye, he-re!" 
 
 Peter was conscious of a violent headache and pain a 
 long distance off, could it be in his leg? He felt 
 
 424
 
 TRANSFORMATION 425 
 
 drowsy. "It was a shell, I suppose?" he whispered. 
 "Where was I hit?" 
 
 "It did not hit ye at all!" she said with Scotch 
 literalness, but stiU his eyes remained open, and she 
 picked up a tablet that was hanging from the foot of 
 the bed by a string. "I will tell you what is the 
 matter-r, soldier-r, and then you will go to sleep, yes?" 
 
 He blinked, and was almost asleep; then his eyes 
 opened again, and she thought there was anxiety in 
 them. His whole face said, "Please!" 
 
 "Shock, so you must be verry quiet, and par-rtial 
 dislocation of the patella (left) that's your knee-cap, 
 nothing at all and some splinters in your r-right foot, 
 which we 've takken oot. Ye '11 do fine ! Good morning, 
 soldier." She rose, without haste, smiling, and as she 
 did so was snatched from Peter and vanished into dark- 
 ness.
 
 XXXII 
 
 THIS was a beneficent, health-giving darkness, very 
 different from that first terrible possession of him by 
 flame and wind. And only a week later he sniffed sea- 
 smells and drowsed into the cool, bright ward of a 
 hospital in Sussex, where he awoke to find a girl bending 
 over him, in a dress the colour of autumn leaves and 
 a black hat that framed her face, her beautiful face 
 with sparkling eyes, which shone and dwelt on him 
 so lovingly! She was adorable, this kind, tender, 
 Madonna girl; he had dreamed of her. He tried to 
 raise himself on his elbow to look, and just as fear 
 flickered in her gaze, it all came back to him and he 
 whispered, ' ' Cynthia ! ' ' 
 
 "You must not talk!" she said. "Lie back quietly, 
 please, please, Peter, or they might not let me come 
 again!" 
 
 But the sight of her had brought with it full recollec- 
 tion and a curiosity that he had not felt during the 
 week of somnolence. "I suppose we did hold that 
 trench all right?" he asked, wistfully, for the first time. 
 Never before had his brain been active enough for doubt. 
 
 "I don't know," she confessed. 
 
 "Is there anyone of our chaps here?" 
 
 She glided away, while he lay wishing feebly that he 
 had not sent her, for she passed out of sight in a mo- 
 ment, leaving an empty world. "What a graceful girl 
 she is!" he thought. "It's like a strain of music dying 
 away when she goes." 
 
 "That strain again; it hath a dying fall: 
 0, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south 
 That breathes upon a batik of violets, 
 Stealing, and giving odour! . . ." 
 
 426
 
 TRANSFORMATION 427 
 
 He was proud of his comparison; and then was vexed, 
 and angry tears leapt to his eyes because she had gone. 
 He had not guessed how weak he was, but at all events 
 he was himself again, the dulness of stupor had lifted. 
 Why, he had not known his wife, had not recognised his 
 darling. . . . 
 
 The music rose again. She came, smiling. "No, 
 there's no one here, but they say the trench must have 
 been held, or you could not have been brought in. Oh, 
 Peter ! It is sweet to see you. And I put on my nicest 
 things. I was wearing an ermine coat ; not extravagance ! 
 I bought it before we were engaged, with a legacy which 
 came to me. And I must show it to you now, for I 
 took it off while I watched you, because I felt hot with 
 excitement, Peter. Are my cheeks flushed? They say 
 I had better go, and come back to-morrow. Darling, 
 darling, good-bye!" 
 
 Soft music fluttered into silence, and he slept. 
 
 Cynthia had had no presentiment of what had oc- 
 curred. She had been thinking of him while dressing 
 for tea at her mother's, but no thrill of fear had warned 
 her he was struck down. When the news came she had 
 felt disloyal. Mingled with her happy relief was a 
 sense of shame that she should not have been aware of 
 what was happening to her man. How she had wor- 
 shipped the Scotch nurse, who had found time to write 
 a reassurance! "He was only temporarily deaf and 
 not blind at all, for which we may be very thankful. 
 I think he will get quite well, and the surgeons think 
 it also, since he has youth and health." Her strong, 
 kind, splendid Peter! Her Peter! She had flown to 
 the War Office and been advised patience, and her 
 mother had been very tender, and then Sir Everard 
 had found out to which hospital he was assigned, and the 
 sympathetic servants had been placed on board wages, 
 and again Cynthia had travelled into Sussex, this time 
 alone and first class, given into the care of the guard 
 by her father. She had made the journey with her 
 hands clasping the ram's horn which they had picked 
 up on Brown Willy. She had found it in a drawer in
 
 428 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 the course of packing when hunting for a lace scarf, 
 and it fitted into her muff: and now she clung to it 
 desperately as to her memory of past happiness ; it was 
 a symbol that the past was not wholly lost. Then had 
 come the arrival at a strange farmhouse, whose address 
 a friend had given to Lady Bremner, and the silence 
 after the rattle of the streets and the racket of the train, 
 and the awaking to, in place of thick curtains and the 
 glimpse of chimney-pots, an open lattice window and a 
 hedge, dew-spangled, like a network of gossamer against 
 a primrose sunrise sky. 
 
 The clarion call of a cock had been her bugle. She 
 had breakfasted in bed, and dressed with haste and gone 
 forth to see her soldier. 
 
 They were wonderful, those first days of Peter's re- 
 covery. Still some birds were calling from the hedges; 
 their song was divine to Cynthia. And when a pair of 
 goldfinches flashed across the lane, or a robin tossed 
 upon a twig, piping poignant-sweet, or a wren flitted 
 along the hedgerow, or once when, walking briskly in 
 the frosty air towards the hospital, she saw a gaggle of 
 wild geese flying high, four birds and a leader, with their 
 curious hard-flapping flight, she felt herself a part of 
 nature, she felt that nature was rejoicing with her and 
 that she sang one little note in a universal jubilation. 
 That morning she was able to speak to Peter. 
 
 She said, slightly blushing, ' ' I want you to forgive me 
 for something if you are not too tired to talk, my 
 darling. ' ' 
 
 He smiled, still lying flat, still feeble; but looking 
 now more like the Peter that she knew. 
 
 ' ' Yes, but you may not ! Only I was not sure, though 
 I ought to have been. Besides, it was easier to let you 
 go not knowing. And I was foolish, Peter! I am still, 
 but you'll help me and understand. Do you?" 
 
 His eyes had grown bewildered. "Is it news of 
 Shaun?" he asked quickly. "Tell me, please. At once, 
 dear!" 
 
 She started in horror. "No, no, no!" she exclaimed. 
 "There is no news of Shaun. He's still missing!"
 
 TRANSFORMATION 429 
 
 Peter raised himself on one elbow. ' ' Missing ! ' ' 
 
 "I forgot you did not know. He may be a prisoner, 
 Peter! There may be hope." 
 
 "What happened to the King Alfreds, then?" 
 
 "Most of them are interned. Oh, I forgot you had 
 not had time to get our letters!" 
 
 He fixed his gaze intently on her face, sinking back. 
 In that moment he could not remember Shaun. ' ' Then, 
 is it . . . ? " he asked. 
 
 She nodded, blinded by tears from this meeting of 
 death and life. Then, low she said, "Yes! You are 
 glad, aren 't you ? Dear, I want you to be glad ! ' ' When 
 after a long, long silence she could see again, she forgot 
 to doubt ; and he began murmuring sweet thanks to her, 
 tender praises. "Darling!" . . . "Darling!" "Fancy 
 its happening to us!" came the old cry familiar from 
 the beginning of the world. He said, "Brilliant Shaun 
 is childless, and we commonplace He did not 
 
 finish, while she recollected, terror-stricken suddenly, 
 that he was not safe yet himself, thought how he must 
 go back. "Don't!" she implored. 
 
 "Is there any hope for him?" 
 
 She had to admit, "Not much." 
 
 "I say!" His face twitched and he turned aside, 
 burying it in the pillow. He had realised. 
 
 But since now she must be kept from all thought of 
 sorrow he compelled himself quickly to look back, and 
 said, ' ' He wanted it, the dear old chap ! It 's all right. 
 Forgive me." He swallowed and stopped; and lay 
 meditating with one hand weakly outstretched for her 
 to hold, gave one of his slow, kindly smiles. "It's all 
 right, darling!" Then, "We are wiser for having 
 known him, better, too ; and the child won 't repeat our 
 mistakes. And there 's his work. That lives. . . . God 's 
 good, you see!" 
 
 "I'm learning to pray, now," said Cynthia. 
 
 The days passed by without news of Shaun. He had 
 disappeared in the retreat from Antwerp, leaving not a 
 trace. A comrade wrote from Holland where he was 
 interned, He made a joke cmd that is the last I remember
 
 430 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 of Kim. Another man said, I believed he was wounded; 
 I'm not certain. He was a good fellow. A prisoner 
 wrote, I'm sure he died fighting. He isn't with us. 
 He was a queer bloke, and he was a rare good sort; he 
 could spin yarns by the hour. An officer who returned 
 told Peter that James was very much liked. ' ' He could 
 always tell what was going to happen. He would have 
 made a fine general." This man described him also as 
 a firstrate sailor, anxious to get to sea. Then Shaun 
 must have been disappointed at going to Antwerp, Peter 
 thought, and he sighed, while the lieutenant went on, 
 "A C.P.O. overheard your friend tell another man that 
 he always ran away when a battle began, and came to 
 pass me the word, but I laughed at him. The last thing 
 I saw of James he was going strong." But this was 
 the night before the retreat. 
 
 The days passed by, and the young husband and wife 
 learned to regard each other more calmly, although for 
 weeks each caught the other's eyes fixed upon his or 
 hers with a look of shining wonder. Peter had returned 
 as it were from the dead, and Cynthia was to him a 
 living miracle. Nor did she cease to be in becoming 
 once more the girl he loved, but he thought of it less 
 often, and won back his comrade by slow degrees for 
 at first after her announcement she had been shy of him. 
 It was only slowly that she came back. Although really 
 unaltered in personal appearance she seemed to him 
 often to wear the Madonna look. Gradually be became 
 used to her. 
 
 Through the hospital window he could see the rain- 
 clouds scurrying across the downs with broad beams of 
 winter sunshine breaking between them, or a clear and 
 snowy sky. When he got up first the downs were white 
 with frost, and when he went into the open air every 
 hedge was red and black with berries. Hips and haws 
 were innumerable ; they covered the bushes, bestowing 
 a depth of colour that was wine-rich from a distance, 
 but shallow and scarlet when seen close to; which Peter 
 achieved sooner than anyone expected, too early for 
 Cynthia's peace of mind. She began to think about the
 
 TRANSFORMATION 431 
 
 parting when she saw him out of doors, and with that 
 came a curiosity as to the details of war, which he could 
 not satisfy. He could draw her sketches, but he could 
 not explain. 
 
 ' ' The interest consists in just doing things. There are 
 heaps of things to do. I haven 't seen enough yet to talk 
 about it!" 
 
 She guessed that this was only partly true; sighing, 
 she changed the subject. He need not have been afraid 
 for her! "Did you ever think of me?" she asked, and 
 then she blushed and the dimples came roguishly, and 
 her stars danced in youthful eyes. The answer was 
 plain to be read before it was spoken, and Peter, getting 
 well, began again to make love. He laughed happily. 
 "I'm always wanting you, dear!" he said. "You are 
 never very long out of my thoughts ! ' ' 
 
 "That's right," approved Cynthia, gravely. 
 
 "I can tell you, too, sometimes while I've been train- 
 ing, I've longed to be able to paint. Of course I can 
 store up impressions, but it isn't the same thing. I'm 
 hungry to work, sometimes!" 
 
 "I believe soldiering is harder for an artist than for 
 anyone else!" exclaimed the girl. 
 
 By the end of November he was walking firmly, and 
 was allowed to join his wife at the farmhouse. Those 
 were tender days, to be smiled over afterwards with 
 tears; the deepest and sweetest that they had lived 
 together, days of bravery and winter weather, of dear 
 monotony and love under the shadow of the parting. 
 
 She went up to London to see him off by the one 
 o'clock war train from Victoria station. Peter, with 
 a group of men from his regiment who had been on 
 short leave, was to go in the first section of the ex- 
 press, which was in reality two trains, one leaving a few 
 minutes before the other. The platform was packed with 
 people, though double barriers held back the merely 
 curious, and only relatives and friends were allowed 
 inside. There was a roaring of excited laughter 
 mingling with the roaring of steam from the engine, 
 voices tremulous with tears called jocose farewells,
 
 432 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 officers' wives with drawn faces chatted with their hus- 
 bands in low tones, men yelled greetings to each other, 
 the few porters bustled to and fro. Over all was an air 
 of gaiety, of good-natured waggishness. Then the 
 whistle blew, and Cynthia was in his arms, crushed and 
 clinging and still brave. 
 
 Passengers bundled into the carriages, women threw 
 last kisses, children were set down hastily with puck- 
 ered, uncertain faces, men who were alone turned from 
 the windows, fathers called admonition, sons waved in 
 silence, husbands drew themselves away and gazed, 
 soldiers and still more soldiers thronged on to the 
 carriage steps as the train jerked and slid on with 
 increasing momentum. Peter 's face was passing ; it was 
 going, vanishing, amid a noise of banging doors and 
 rolling cheers from the train and a feebler, thinner echo 
 from the platform. Umbrellas and hats waved high 
 around Cynthia. They obscured the view and he was 
 gone. Soon the last carriage of his train was disap- 
 pearing also. 
 
 As Cynthia made her way slowly through the throng 
 around the second train she looked neither to the right 
 hand nor to the left, yet somehow people made room 
 for her. Inside the barrier was an old lady with silver 
 hair, an old lady in black, sitting upright in a wheeled 
 chair, behind which stood an aged manservant in livery. 
 Her eyes were not upon the crowd, they were on the 
 past; and then she glanced up and saw the girl by 
 her chair. "Is it gone?" she asked. "Yes," replied 
 Cynthia, at that moment jostled by a drunken woman. 
 The old lady leaned forward and said in a deep, clear 
 voice, "I have lost four sons, and it is my youngest who 
 has gone now. My dear, I will pray for you. ' ' She sat 
 back in her chair, upright, and closed her eyes.
 
 XXXIII 
 
 CYNTHIA returned to Sussex. She felt that she must 
 be alone awhile. 
 
 She wandered in the lanes as she had done with Peter, 
 and lingered slowly by the dear farmyard where the 
 pigs talked to themselves all day long. Indoors, Fire- 
 log murmured contentedly on the hearth ; his sap smelt 
 sweet. And she walked up the down, and hailed Brother 
 Sea, clothed in shaggy garments in the distance. Some- 
 where out beyond was Peter, and perhaps he marched, 
 and perhaps he fought, or perchance he bled. The breeze 
 tore at her, and she was wrapped about in noble space 
 under a grey, swift progress of clouds. She thought she 
 smelt salt in the wind and heard the thunder of cannon 
 from the Channel; in imagination she listened to the 
 lapping of the water against the black hull of a ship. 
 One moment she was Britannia, draped in the Flag, 
 defiant, heroic; the next, a girl anguishing for her 
 lover, who was fighting hidden behind the horizon in 
 smoke and flame. 
 
 After tea she climbed the down again, and watched 
 cloud castles pile in the evening sky, peaceful like 
 dreams, while the silver moon looked over a world lying 
 hushed and still. Mists slowly lined the valleys. Dark- 
 ness and silence settled upon the landscape like closing 
 wings. 
 
 433
 
 XXXIV 
 
 NEWS of the bombardment of Scarborough brought a 
 fuller realisation of the war to the quiet farmhouse. 
 The widow woman who ruled it sent her eldest son to 
 fight. Even Cynthia's pulses beat faster as she read, 
 and she knew that she understood better than before, 
 despising her weakness. Her husband was in danger 
 already; how could her comprehension of war's horrors 
 be quickened? But it was. 
 
 So it was also by her visit to the little town where she 
 and Peter had worked, which was within a morning's 
 walk from the farm. She went to lunch with a friend, 
 intending to return by train; and as she entered the 
 outskirts of the place she saw a bend of the river, and 
 the line of willows along the bank and, beyond, the high 
 paling of the bathing enclosure. In memory she could 
 see within it the little platform on the bole of a gigantic 
 willow, the plank projecting from it above the stream, 
 and the steep ladder of approach. She remembered how 
 on one occasion when she came from the undressing hut 
 she had found a number of young girls sitting about, 
 swimming or splashing in the shallows, all of them 
 listening to a slender brunette who was lounging with 
 an air of saucy confidence on the diving-board above the 
 smooth-flowing water, engaged in chaffing, one hand 
 on hip, a timid bather who clung to the bank. Cynthia 
 had ascended the high, rickety ladder and waited for the 
 girl to move out of her way. ' ' Look at the waterf unk ! ' ' 
 cried the latter, pointing downward with her bare arm, 
 and seeing Cynthia step on to the board she dived, with 
 a casual grace that was enchanting. Cynthia had fol- 
 lowed and swimming to the shallows had called to en- 
 courage the waterfunk, who was not so young as her 
 
 434
 
 TRANSFORMATION 435 
 
 tormentor. Eventually the girl came too, and she and 
 Cynthia had tried to teach their elder to swim. Both 
 of these people lived in the neighbourhood, and shortly 
 after Cynthia left the place the younger married an 
 officer who was billeted in her father's house, while the 
 other, who was a professional nurse, went to Belgium 
 with a Red Cross party. She was killed a month later ; 
 the day that the child who had teased her became a 
 widow. 
 
 Such was the story of which Cynthia was reminded, 
 such had been the news in her friend's letter. Before 
 she had read it she had scarcely believed, in her heart of 
 hearts, that it was possible Peter should be taken from 
 her. Somehow this worked a change, and henceforward 
 her fears were deeper-seated. The loss of Shaun had not 
 brought war so home to her. 
 
 On Christmas Eve she travelled to Portman Square 
 to rest in the affection of her own people and of Joyce 
 until the New Year, when the flat would be reopened. 
 She had steadfastly declined to make a longer stay with 
 her parents, where her surroundings would not recall 
 such memories of Peter. Besides, she had a feeling 
 that her duty lay in his dwelling. Taking care of her 
 man 's home and belongings was to be her life in future.
 
 XXXV 
 
 EARLY on Christinas morning, while Cynthia was drink- 
 ing tea in bed, Peter was seated in a dugout belonging 
 to a first-line trench named "Fleet Street," doing his 
 best to write a letter. He had only a stub of a pencil, 
 nothing on which to support his notepaper except his 
 knee, and was prepared to be called to arms at any 
 moment. From the right came the sound of distant sing- 
 ing, from the left that of an occasional rifle-shot. We've 
 had a worrying night, wrote Peter. 
 
 Trenches have grown deeper than they used to be, he 
 went on, laboriously. The bottoms of ours are lined 
 with 'boards. Thank goodness; because I've got a touch 
 of rheumatism in my knee and am going a bit lame. 
 Nothing to count. He stopped, and pictures came into 
 his mind. He saw a grey-green German tunic rip at the 
 point of his bayonet and felt the resistance of flesh 
 and gristle give way and the heavy body collapse 
 towards him, twisting the rifle sideways in his hands. 
 It occurred to him that he had never seen the man's 
 face. He had got only a crack on the knee in that 
 charge ; of course it had been the knee damaged before. 
 
 He remembered what a time the regiment had had 
 before our artillery got the new range, at least before 
 they had got it right! Can't tell her that, he thought. 
 Then there was the charge of those Territorial chaps, 
 and the glimpse of Semple dodging backwards into the 
 enemy's fire! The only advantage of being a sniper 
 was that you had field-glasses and did see something 
 sometimes! Peter had been in a ruined house, which 
 every now and then became a target for shells. He 
 had been there two days and the telephone officer who 
 occupied the basement had warned him to turn out at 
 
 436
 
 TRANSFORMATION 437 
 
 noon sharp as the Huns were punctual people. Sure 
 enough, on the third day the house was knocked flat, 
 absolutely wiped out, by a salvo. Can't tell her that 
 either, or about Semple if it was he running back- 
 wards into machine-gun fire as though it were hail. 
 Some of the men had had their hands over their eyes, 
 and God, hadn't they gone down! Few of them had 
 got there. Wonder if old Semple were one. 
 
 Blotter had been killed in England in some acci- 
 dent. / haven't a scratch, darling. I hope Phyllis will 
 be happy; thanks for the cutting you sent about the 
 wedding. My love to Joyce and your people. Fancy 
 Laurence Man getting that job under Government! He 
 always had brains and now I should think he ought to 
 go right ahead. I feel sorry for the chap in a way. . . . 
 
 At this moment a couple of R.A.M.C. stretcher- 
 bearers made their appearance round an angle of the 
 communication trench down which Peter was looking. 
 The trench was particularly deep for those days, so 
 that they were able to walk without stooping: it must 
 have crossed what had once been the side-walk of a 
 street, for Peter noticed that the top layer was formed 
 of paving-stones. Against these grey stones the two heads, 
 held erect, stood out. Peter's glance rested upon them 
 idly; they had halted before the notice-board, "The 
 Strand," and were talking together. Then he staggered 
 to his feet, uttering a cry, for he had seen Shaun! 
 
 At a swift pace he approached the two, who were 
 staring. "Shaun!" he called in a low voice and the 
 man on whom his eyes were set stepped forward and 
 cursed him with a stream of the foulest oaths and 
 
 epithets. "Who do you take me for, you 
 
 fool?" he concluded savagely, scowling with a fixed 
 and angry defiance. 
 
 Peter's certainty he had not doubted had van- 
 ished at the movement of the man, before ever he 
 opened his lips. He had lost the illusion as quickly 
 as it had come; the gesture was not the gesture of 
 Shaun. He listened to the man's curses, wondering at 
 his surly and distrustful vehemence and examining
 
 438 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 what was certainly a strong resemblance. Features, 
 height, and colouring were identical with Shaun's, but 
 the eyes were smaller and closer together and were 
 dull. Yes, the man's hair under his cap was sandy. 
 "I mistook you for a friend of mine called Shaun 
 James," said Peter, civilly. 
 
 "Come on, matey. We're in the wrong shop alto- 
 gether," cried the other private, grinning but im- 
 patient, and he pulled at his comrade's arm. The 
 latter 's frown relaxed, and he said, with a more refined 
 articulation than he had previously used, "Forgive my 
 patois! No harm meant," turned on his heel and 
 walked quickly away. The whole incident had occupied 
 only a few seconds; it was not till Peter was almost 
 back at his place that he remembered the evening of 
 his first dinner-party, his meeting with Cynthia, and 
 how Shaun had been arrested in mistake for a swell- 
 mobsman. Then he stopped dead, but after reflecting 
 an instant, sighed, sat down, and did his best to forget 
 what had happened. 
 
 / should like some more socks, he wrote. No cigarettes, 
 thanks; we have heaps. I have been thinking about 
 money. Shall we agree to keep ourselves poor, I mean, 
 if ever we seem to be growing rich; and anyhow always 
 to put aside money to give to people in memory of 
 old Shaun? You know what I mean. Things are 
 awfully real out here, and that has made me want to 
 help people. 
 
 At this point Peter was interrupted by the arrival of 
 a corporal who was collecting a burying-party. Sleepers 
 were aroused, spades and mattocks procured, and to 
 Peter's surprise the corporal led the way over the 
 parapet of the trench. "Here goes," he thought as 
 he followed, "it's a new idea to charge the enemy with 
 spades," and he had just time to wonder whether the 
 non-com, had gone mad and to say to himself, "We shall 
 
 be able to dig our own graves " when his head 
 
 rose above the sandbags. "Oh, it's a truce!" he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 "What did yer think, young 'un?" asked the corpo-
 
 TRANSFORMATION 439 
 
 ral. ' ' Think we was goin ' to commit sooicide ? Not 'arf . 
 Now, if you work 'ard we can talk to them chaps." 
 
 "Why didn't you tell us?" asked one of the privates 
 
 who had been asleep. "Thought I was a 
 
 corpse. ' ' 
 
 "Tell you!" retorted the corporal. "You should 
 keep your eyes and ears open on Christmas Day. We 
 'ad just such another kind o' stand-easy with Brother 
 Boer fifteen years back, s'elp me! What were you 
 doin' of, young 'un, not to notice what was goin' on?" 
 
 "I was writing to my wife," said Peter. 
 
 "Now dig away, you ; order is to bury 'em 
 
 where they lie. Lor', here's poor old Tom, all on 
 top of a norficer by the look of him. He's 'ad his last 
 caffy oly.* Give the Boshes their orficer, you two! 
 Carry him careful over the barbed wire. He was the 
 chap that was spyin'. Look at them dancing! Look 
 at 'em! Like a lot of performin' animals. That's the 
 piccolo we heard last night. Now get on with it!" 
 
 When the unpleasant task was over Peter was free to 
 satisfy his curiosity in regard to the enemy. He was 
 at once buttonholed by an argumentative person who 
 desired to prove England's responsibility for the war. 
 "You are an instructed man!" said the German. "I 
 call to your reason, sir " 
 
 "For goodness' sake, don't do that!" Peter inter- 
 rupted. "I mean, let's talk about something else." 
 
 "I rejoice to meet a man of instruction!" said the 
 Hun, drawing Peter's arm in his and leading him affec- 
 tionately away. "With your officers I must not speak. 
 What shall we speak over, then? I am Saxon, not 
 Prussian. I hate the British politik which drags empty 
 our homes, but not the British peoples. If you would 
 but hear to reason this war would finish ! ' ' 
 
 Cheek his talking about reason, wrote Peter to Cynthia 
 later in the day. Wasn't it? Altogether he was a 
 patronising sort of a chap. Still, I think he meant to 
 be civil. He looked about forty, because of his stubby 
 fair beard I suppose, but said he was twenty-seven and 
 
 Caf6 au lait.
 
 440 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 a doctor of philosophy at Leipzig. I was glad I had 
 shaved and washed. He gave me cigars and I gave 
 him Punch and we walked up and down arm in arm 
 while he held forth. I could not make him let go of 
 my arm without being uncivil, so I had to grin and bear 
 it. I asked him something about the Hymn of Hate and 
 he recited it. He translated it line by line, but I did 
 not think much of it. In German it is a spitting noise. 
 
 Peter escaped and found his corporal distributing to 
 the enemy copies of what he called "The Kayser's Last 
 Will and Testament! Last Will and Testament of the 
 Kayser!" "My girl sent me these," he explained. 
 "They may as well have 'em." "Don't you start 
 before I'm ready," he told the manufacturers of a foot- 
 ball, which was something woolly stuffed with straw. 
 "They say the Tsar's taken. D'you believe that?" he 
 asked Peter. 
 
 "Not a bit. Can I play in goal? I'm lame." 
 
 "Where you like, sonny. Soccer rules. Goals are 
 the two Jack Johnson 'oles. Take precious good care 
 you don't fall " 
 
 An officer with a tired face interrupted. "You must 
 put up sticks for goalposts and play on a short field 
 and for not more than a quarter of an hour. Then knock 
 off and report to me. The game must be stopped at 
 once if there's any rough play. Spectators must keep 
 within their own barbed wire. These chaps won 't under- 
 stand the offside rule, so you'll have to cut that, and 
 tell the men no charging! Keep the game friendly." 
 
 The corporal and Peter saluted. The officer moved 
 away. "Our chaps is lucky," said the corporal, "as 
 how the wire entanglements don't meet between the 
 trenches. I got a good jar of preserved peaches off them 
 Huns. Now then, boys! ..." 
 
 Play began in the most energetic fashion, amid a 
 chorus of guttural exclamations from the Saxons and 
 our men's laughter and yells of advice to both sides. 
 "Go it, Binjy," they howled at an enormous German 
 with a very small blond head, who was lumbering 
 towards Peter making deliberate and ferocious short
 
 TRANSFORMATION 441 
 
 kicks at the ball. He had been left behind in the 
 first sudden attack upon the German goal. "Hoch!" 
 he yelled deep-throated, proceeding in his painstaking 
 fashion; Peter had got the ball away, when the whole 
 pack of English and Saxons arriving together, three 
 or four of them having tripped in a long rut, hurled 
 him and Binjy through the sticks amid cries of "Goal! 
 Goal! Bravo, Binjy!" 
 
 "What d'jer call 'im Binjy for?" "Because it suits 
 'im. Buck up, you lazy swine!" "You won't never 
 play for Chelsea!" rose from the English lines, while 
 the Saxons applauded in a puzzled way. A solitary shell 
 it was the first of the morning wailed overhead, and 
 the corporal, rising to his feet, explained politely : ' ' Sie 
 
 habe ein Goal gewon, thanks to that 'ole in the 
 
 ground ! ' ' 
 
 Peter was not sorry when the game was over. He had 
 again damaged his knee, when Binjy, who most likely 
 weighed fifteen stone, had fallen on top of him. Accord- 
 ingly, on resuming his letter in the afternoon he was led 
 to take up once more the subject of rheumatism, and 
 unconsciously repeated the simple statement he had 
 made in the morning, / am a bit lame owing to rheu- 
 matism in my knee. 
 
 I am glad to say that when some of our chaps yelled 
 out "Waiter!" the others shut them up, he wrote. 7 
 suppose all will be quiet now until midnight. I would 
 sooner not fight than fight, any day. Fighting is always 
 beastly until one gets angry, and I'm inclined to think 
 this will make it beastlier than it was before. It has 
 made these chaps seem real somehow. They were fright- 
 fully eager to show us photographs of their wives and 
 children, and our chaps lugged out pictures of their 
 best girls. I heard a subaltern say it "wasn't decent," 
 and that more or less expresses what I felt. And yet it 
 was touching. God bless you, my darling. Take care 
 of yourself and give my love to the parents. 
 
 In the evening fires were lighted in the trenches, and 
 Peter, who was on sentry duty, watched the flickering 
 lights along the Saxon front continually mounting,
 
 442 THE JOYFUL TEARS 
 
 fighting against the darkness with darting swords of 
 flame, and constantly dropping back defeated. From 
 beyond came the sound of music, of Die Wacht am Rhein 
 sung by a chorus of young voices wilfully deepened and 
 hoarsened. Then a trumpeter blew nobly, so that the 
 men in the trench behind Peter stopped their laughing 
 and talking to listen. And when he had finished they 
 broke out into While Shepherds watched their flocks 
 ~by night. Peter and the other sentries joined in; he 
 even thought an echo came from the Saxon line. . . . 
 
 The last long-drawn harmony died away, and silence 
 descended upon a gentler darkness. As the voices and 
 the laughter began again, Peter heard a man say: "I've 
 'ad many a copper for singin' that through, when I was 
 a kid." A sergeant on his rounds came by, coughing, 
 and the flare of the Christmas fires went up, and Peter 
 peered into the night. He felt at that moment as though 
 he could not shoot, could never kill his enemy again. 
 Each twinkling flame was beauty, and the God of Love 
 near. 
 
 Now a stentorian voice was hailing across the space 
 between the two nations. ' ' Englander ! " it bawled, 
 "sing Tipperara, ef you pleese!" "What-o!" and 
 "Hi!" went back the answering shouts; and from 
 behind the nearest fire a steady voice called, "Pass the 
 word down, sentries, Tipperary!" The Colonel moved 
 forward into the light of the blaze. "You sing it, 
 Martin," he said. 
 
 The tune was not yet old, and it had memories for 
 Peter. His heart was like a proud-stepping charger: 
 in the swing of the chorus he heard the tramp of the 
 feet of his countrymen. He sang with blind eyes, pos- 
 sessed. Martin had a clear tenor voice, and the roar of 
 the chorus answered him from right and left, from 
 miles on either side, so that, long after he had ended, 
 snatches of distant song were caught up again and 
 died away. The enemy applauded politely, but Peter 
 detected or thought that he detected hesitation in 
 their clapping, and rejoiced. Exulting, he told himself 
 they had aroused something they could not understand.
 
 XXXVI 
 
 IT was Christmas night, and Joyce had come into 
 Cynthia's room at hair-brushing time for confidences. 
 She was sitting in her pretty dressing-gown on a low 
 stool by the fire, brushing away hard, while Cynthia, 
 who had not begun to undress yet, sat in a big chintz- 
 covered chair, quietly watching her. 
 
 "I'm sixteen now," said Joyce, who had guessed her 
 thoughts. "I expect I do look frightfully changed!" 
 She let her brush drop on the hearthrug and picked up 
 the comb that was lying ready by her side. 
 
 "You look more grown-up " 
 
 " So do you, you darling!" interrupted Joyce. "I 
 do believe you're lovelier than ever. I always did think 
 you perfectly sweet in white ! Those short, loose sleeves 
 are absolutely top-hole!" 
 
 "I was going to say that, though you are taller, 
 your face isn 't changed. But it is ! You 've grown like 
 the pictures of your mother, Joyce." 
 
 "I wish Mother would come home. Fancy Father 
 getting stuck in Egypt! Isn't it horrid?" 
 
 "I wish Peter were there," sighed Cynthia, bending 
 forward a little. 
 
 "Yes, of course. I wish Father could be there and 
 here too. Cynthia, why were you so frightfully keen 
 that Miss Taliesin should be asked to-day ? I heard you 
 talking about it to Aunt Emmie." 
 
 ' ' Oh, Joycie, you weren 't listening ! ' ' 
 
 "No, no. That's all I heard. I was passing the 
 library when you two were coming out. Didn 't you see 
 me?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 443
 
 444 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 "Well, I haven't changed into a long-eared sneak. 
 Honestly, darling!" 
 
 "No, of course not. Joycie, your hair is just the right 
 length. I wish mine were no longer." 
 
 "I say! Why, ever? I only wish mine came right 
 below my waist, and waved naturally, and had those 
 glorious golden lights in it ! " 
 
 "Yours is quite pretty enough, dear, and you don't 
 have such a bother with it. You've no idea what a 
 plague mine is to do Marie spoilt me. She used to 
 do it in ways that looked very careless and simple, 
 but they weren't! And her formal styles I find every 
 bit as difficult. Besides, the brushing and the weight ! ' ' 
 
 "Let me brush it for you! Oh, Cynthia, do let me 
 undress you!" 
 
 "No, Joycie dear, you're tired. Thank you, all the 
 same. ' ' 
 
 "Do let me. I want to see your nice underneath 
 things. May I? It's you who are tired, and I'll brush 
 you frightfully carefully!" 
 
 "It's very sweet of you. Which dressing-gown has 
 Marie put out? She will put out my things, although 
 I don't let her do anything else for me. I'm learning 
 to look after myself, and I don't want the kind woman 
 to spoil me." 
 
 "Light-blue silk, with big embroidered birds. Will 
 it be warm enough?" 
 
 "Yes, thanks, dear. If you'll undo the top lace at 
 the back! There, that's it. Thank you. These ones 
 do slip off easily. Now watch me put away my own 
 evening dress. I'm proud of it!" 
 
 "You ought to have been at school longer," said 
 Joyce wisely, her head on one side. "Then it would 
 have come easier!" 
 
 "Bather! Now the dressing-gown. You are a dear. 
 Joyce!" 
 
 "You'd better have shoes and stockings off. Here 
 are your fur slippers. Didn't Aunt Emmie want Miss 
 Taliesin, then, or couldn't she come?" Joyce was 
 stooping at Cynthia's feet and had let her hair fall over
 
 TRANSFORMATION 445 
 
 her face, and slipped out the question mumblingly. 
 
 Cynthia laughed. ' ' Oh, Joycie ! You aren 't going to 
 grow like That One?" 
 
 Joyce tossed back her hair. "I swear I'm not!" she 
 said, anxiously. "I'm a beast! You're quite right to 
 warn me." 
 
 "I didn't say you were, but it isn't really my secret 
 to tell ! ' ' Lady Bremner had answered that Alan would 
 never alter and that it was far better to drop the con- 
 nection. "Will you try to forget what you heard?" 
 
 "Righto, I will. They are all saying 'Righto' at 
 school, but a boy I met at a dance said it had quite 
 gone out! He said girls' slang was always a year or 
 two behind boys ' slang. He was a thoughtful boy. Am 
 I brushing you nicely?" 
 
 "Beautifully." 
 
 "We've been doing a lot of war- work at school and I 
 believe knitting has made my hand lighter. I'll try at 
 billiards to-morrow. Oh, That One ! Her wedding was 
 supposed to be quiet, but she told 'some people' when 
 it was to be and a few thousands swarmed in. I think 
 she might have asked us, but I suppose we were too 
 pretty. Me, what? Well, I daresay some silly person 
 will call me pretty, some day. May it be a long way off, 
 for I should only laugh in his face. I heard she looked 
 very pleased with herself and he, poor thing, with her! 
 He was in his Yeomanry uniform, of course. I don't 
 believe for a second they'll send him out to the front, 
 he's so ancient. Why, she admits he's over forty!" 
 
 Joyce was brushing away steadily now at the long, 
 fair tresses. "I hope she'll be happy," said Cynthia, 
 thoughtfully. "I don't see why she shouldn't. Joyce, 
 I 'm going to tell you something. Did you notice that I 
 went out by myself this afternoon?" 
 
 "I generally notice things," remarked Joyce. "It's 
 a habit of mine." 
 
 "I went to see Peter's aunt, who's at the Windsor. 
 She wrote and asked me to come, and as she was all 
 alone I felt I ought to. Not that I was eager. I might 
 have been, because she was really kind. I think she
 
 446 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 was touched by Peter's going, and she wanted to know 
 about Mr. James. You know there have been a lot of 
 paragraphs in the newspapers about him. She asked 
 whether the lawyers had 'presumed' his death yet, 
 and if so whether he had left anything to Peter. It 
 sounds horrid of her, but really she did it nicely enough 
 not to hurt. I almost liked her, she was so kind and 
 natural. She made her curiosity seem not impertinent 
 at all. And it wasn't, for when she found out that we 
 knew without lawyers that Shaun had left everything to 
 Peter, she said, what do you think, Joyce? Why, 
 that she admired Shaun so much that she had left him 
 200 a year in her will. There was to be nothing for 
 Peter, and all the bulk of her money was to go to the 
 National Service League and the Navy League. I was 
 puzzled why she told me and surprised rather, and tried 
 to comfort her. 'The newspapers assume the worst 
 and so do the solicitors now, I'm told,' I said, 'but he 
 may come back. ' ' I liked what he did for your husband, ' 
 she went on. 'His selection of the Bath firm was very 
 ingenious. He had an ingenious mind. I'm going to 
 secure to Peter and you that 200 a year as soon as Mr. 
 James's death is legally presumed and his will proved. 
 You shall have it at once. I have always expected this 
 war and made my investments accordingly, and I foresee 
 that I am going to double my present income in spite 
 of the taxes!' What do you think of that, Joyce? I 
 haven't even told Mummy yet!" 
 
 "All right for you, darling! What a sportsman the 
 old lady must be!" 
 
 "That's exactly the word, I think! I can't believe 
 she's very much interested in us, really. She doesn't 
 want Mummy to call on her or anything. She won't 
 see me again." 
 
 "You're jolly lucky, aren't you?" 
 
 "I don't see you can say that with Peter away," 
 sighed Cynthia. "But I know what you mean! I'm 
 afraid of it, sometimes." 
 
 "I'm perfectly blowed with thinking how lucky you 
 are!" exclaimed young Joyce, brush in air.
 
 TRANSFORMATION 447 
 
 "Are the girls saying 'Mowed,' dear* It's not very 
 pretty!" 
 
 "You darling, you make the sweetest grandmother! 
 Now leave your beautiful hair like that. It's done now, 
 and let me take off your bracelets. I wish I could think 
 I shall ever have arms like yours. They're perfectly 
 ripping ! Oh, I love those sapphires ! Who gave them to 
 you, Cyn?" 
 
 "Alan. Years ago. Joycie, you don't think I was 
 heartless about Miss Middleton and . . . and Shaun, do 
 you? I'm not." 
 
 "I must nurse this lovely smooth, white, firm arm. 
 Come and be cuddled, sweet thing! Heartless? Rot, 
 rot, rot! You know I'm not heartless about Mother. 
 We don't talk about these things ! That is what bothers 
 me about That One. She always will. I can't think 
 how you managed to pass so many exams, and play 
 lacrosse and cricket well, when you look so lovely, you 
 dear thing. By the way, I'm in the first cricket team 
 this year, and I'm writing a novel. I do want Mother 
 so ! I hate growing up without a mother, and sixteen is 
 growing up. Miss Bradby is frightfully nice ; but then 
 what is a headmistress? So's Aunt Emmie sweet, 
 too. . . . Oh, I don 't know. . . . You 're the nicest, Mrs. 
 Middleton. It was darling of you to ask me to stay 
 with you at the flat!" 
 
 Joyce was now curled up at Cynthia's feet. Cynthia 
 was leaning forward in an attitude of thought, one arm 
 abandoned to her worshipper, the other, elbow on knee. 
 She let herself sink back in the deep chair slowly, leaving 
 Joyce a wrist still, and settled herself luxuriously. Thus 
 the white mantelpiece came into view with its familiar 
 photographs and flowers, and delicate blue china, and 
 above it she looked into the round Venetian mirror. 
 It was the room of her girlhood, little altered by time, 
 for Lady Bremner had wished it to be always ready, 
 and Cynthia had transferred only a few of her posses- 
 sions to her married home. It was still a nest of 
 flowered chintzes ; the casement hangings were still gold ; 
 most of the pictures were the same. Another Eve hung
 
 448 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 in the place of the old one, promoted. Her eyes filled 
 with tears as she thought of Shaun. 
 
 "What is it like to be in love with a man?" asked 
 Joyce, softly. 
 
 Cynthia looked troubled. "There's a kind of com- 
 pleteness about it," she answered vaguely. "It is more 
 than oneself." 
 
 Joyce's sharp little face became wise. "I can just 
 begin to imagine something of what it must be." 
 
 "It's like feeling oneself a part of somebody." 
 
 "Yes, but don't you hate that feeling at times, and 
 want to be free? I think I should." 
 
 "I don't inside, ever. My heart and soul know I'm 
 Peter's. At least, that's how I feel; I don't say every- 
 one is like me." 
 
 Joyce laid her head against the girl's knee, stroking 
 it gently with her cheek. "I do love you, Cynthia. 
 Tell me what it is like to look forward to ... you know 
 what! Don't start so, dearest! Uncle Everard told 
 me. He didn't mean to, but he did. Is it very, very, 
 very heavenly?" 
 
 "It's . . . nice." 
 
 Joyce glanced up; Cynthia had shaken her great 
 cloud of hair about her, and was blushing, and smiling a 
 little. 
 
 "Ah," she said, "I can't guess a bit what that will 
 be like ! Do you like half-sleeves on dressing-gown and 
 nightdress for me, Cyn?" 
 
 "Yes . . . yes, I do. I'm terribly frightened some- 
 times. I'm afraid but I won't be afraid, if you 
 know what I mean, Joyce! I'm a coward about 
 pain." 
 
 "Is there pain?" 
 
 "What, didn't you know? Often it's bad, but they 
 can give you chloroform and things." 
 
 "I should hate pain!" 
 
 "Shaun used to say there's nothing worth having in 
 the world that doesn't come with pain. He said every- 
 body knew that." 
 
 "Did you ever care for Mr. James, Cynthia? . . .
 
 TRANSFORMATION 449 
 
 I'm sorry, I oughtn't to have asked that, I don't want 
 to be like Phyllis!" 
 
 "No, I didn't, but I was very, very fond of him. 
 He taught me nearly everything I know. He was so 
 kind. He never laughed at me." 
 
 "Why should he? You were always clever at school. 
 He was decent to me, too, very decent. I howled when 
 the news came. I was just one mass of tears like a kid. " 
 
 Cynthia did not answer, and Joyce, rising to her 
 knees, hugged her, saying, "You have a lot of sorrows 
 and anxieties, after all, you darling thing ! Talk to me 
 about Peter. I want to hear everything about him." 
 
 Cynthia shook her head. "I can't. Not to-night. 
 Peter 's too much to me to be talked about. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I hope you see that I 'm wearing the brooch you and 
 he gave me, even on my nightdress." 
 
 "I did." 
 
 ' ' I can 't wear Aunt Emmie 's hat as well, or I would ! 
 I've had a glorious Christmas. Darling, I always pray 
 for Peter. You don't think that cheek, do you? I 
 mean well!" 
 
 Cynthia kissed her, impulsively and tenderly. 
 
 ' ' I think I 'm a little bit in love with him ! ' ' remarked 
 Joyce, getting to her feet. ' ' Since he went to the war 
 not enough to hurt. I believe he's making you a 
 religious girl, Cynthia. I noticed you in church this 
 morning. Is he?" Cynthia nodded. "He is an 
 awfully good sort, and I don't think it will do you any 
 harm. It has my approval!" She blew Cynthia a 
 kiss and turned to the door. "Good-bye, dear. You 
 must go to bed now. Good-night, little Cynthia!" 
 
 "Good-night, young Joyce!"
 
 XXXVII 
 
 AFTER that Christmas Peter suffered continually from 
 rheumatism and for a time was constantly on the sick- 
 list for periods of a few days, not because of the pain, 
 which was slight, but by reason of lameness consequent 
 on fluid developing in his weak knee. No doubt he 
 would have been wise to have attempted to obtain long 
 leave ; indeed had he not been morbidly afraid of being 
 taken for a malingerer he might have escaped much 
 subsequent suffering. As it was, his knee grew worse 
 and finally he came back to clerical work again, first 
 under the Town Commandant of the place where his 
 regiment was billeted, and then, being left behind when 
 they went next into the trenches, he was transferred as 
 clerk to the headquarters of a divisional staff. There 
 Peter remained most unwillingly for several months, 
 busied until all hours of the night with the kind of 
 labour that he particularly disliked, and conscious that 
 the state of his knee, which perforce remained bent under 
 the table at which he wrote, was showing little or no im- 
 provement. When the weather was wet, which it usually 
 was, the slightest over-fatigue made him as bad as ever, 
 and when it was fine his progress was disappointingly 
 slow. He seemed to be settling down into permanent 
 lameness. 
 
 Then his knee recovered sufficiently to allow him to 
 accompany a staff officer as orderly in an important 
 mission which took them down the length of the French 
 lines, and after that he returned to his regiment, where 
 he found chiefly strangers. Peter, however, did not stay 
 long with the regiment. The first time he got thoroughly 
 soaked through his rheumatism returned with con- 
 siderably increased severity. He spent two days, racked 
 with pain and then was sent back to hospital ; after three 
 
 450
 
 TRANSFORMATION 451 
 
 weeks there he found himself again at headquarters, 
 limping to and from duty on a couple of sticks. 
 
 "Are you fit for duty?" the General wanted to know, 
 the first time he noticed him. 
 
 "Only for this, I'm afraid, sir," answered Peter, 
 flushing. 
 
 "There's no 'only' about it, my lad. I asked for 
 you; they tell me you are the best clerk we've had. 
 Sit down and get on with your work. ' ' Peter knew that 
 he ought to be grateful for a place of comparative safety 
 and the chance to keep dry, but he could not succeed in 
 feeling it. The impression was strong in his mind that 
 he ought to rejoin the regiment. He thought that he 
 did not wish to go, and so he wanted to be made to; 
 these people seemed to be robbing him of his self-respect. 
 
 Though Peter had not time to meditate about his 
 development he was conscious in a dim kind of a way 
 that he was growing up. War had acquired a meaning 
 for him. It had interest from its effect upon oneself. 
 It was no longer a mere matter of noise and fatigue and 
 stenches and horrors and incessant preoccupation with 
 details and of unexpectedly finding oneself alive and very 
 tired. It was something which simplified one and built 
 one up ; when it did not knock one down. Like poverty 
 and most other evils it seemed capable of being spiritu- 
 ally constructive in certain cases. Peter supposed 
 vaguely that this was what it was for. He saw a good 
 coming to England from all this carnage, an improved 
 comprehension of life on the part of those who should 
 survive. Was it worth it? If God thought it was, and 
 evidently He did, that was enough for Peter Middleton. 
 
 And then he went on a second journey with the staff 
 officer, sticking to his work in spite of increasing and 
 terrible pain, and was left behind in a French hospital 
 with rheumatic fever; during the recovery from which 
 he had much space for reflection and many things be- 
 came clear. Some of them had before been subcon- 
 sciously apprehended, for they rose in his mind side 
 by side with some vivid memory of war. ' * I don 't recol- 
 lect thinking of anything when that happened!" he
 
 452 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 would say to himself, "yet I suppose I must have done," 
 for the image persisted. Other conclusions he arrived 
 at as a result of hard and sustained thinking, of which 
 in his weak state he found himself unexpectedly capable. 
 Indeed the motionlessness induced a dreamy clarity of 
 mind in which a train of thought passed before him with 
 the orderliness of an arranged procession. He had the 
 power to arrange, and to keep his richly laden thoughts 
 moving in steady progress across the stage of his mind 
 while he sat apart in a dark place and watched the shin- 
 ing pageant. And this was not feverishness, but the 
 opposite of it; it was manhood attained, the first con- 
 sciousness of intellectual maturity. Shaun had said that 
 there would come a time when he would be satisfied 
 about them, would lose interest, when their development 
 could at last be safely predicted. Peter felt that that 
 time had come now, knew it in a modest, firm way dif- 
 ferent from the certainty with which he had thought 
 before the war that his development was already over. 
 Therefore he did not now fear death. What had come 
 to him indeed was the knowledge of his own faith, the 
 simple faith of his fathers. And he was no longer afraid 
 of the effect of his death upon Cynthia. There was a 
 time when his sudden going might have embittered 
 and spoiled her, but he knew, although she had never 
 said it, that that time was now gone ; through daily 
 facing the possibility of the agony she had grown strong 
 enough to conquer it, should it come. Though he was 
 no longer afraid of death, love of life was very power- 
 ful in him, and he prayed for both their sakes that 
 death might pass him by. 
 
 There was a picture very clear before Peter, of a 
 distant, lurid sky, blood-red, strangling the moon, above 
 a horizon of white flashes; while below the spectator, 
 at the foot of a hill lit by the ghastly glare, was a huge 
 gasometer on the opposite side of a pink and curving 
 river. On the left, round the side of the hill, clustered 
 the lights of the ancient city upon whose defences the 
 shells were yelling and shrieking and bursting into those 
 fierce, white-hot explosions. Inhabitants of the place
 
 TRANSFORMATION 453 
 
 formed little groups of shadow upon the hill, around 
 Peter, above and below: sometimes they moaned, as a 
 shell shot clear with a tail like a rocket and for an 
 instant, bursting, appeared before their dazzled eyes as 
 a mace crushing the dear land of France; sometimes 
 a dog howled pitifully in the intervals of the ponderous 
 and stunning uproar, which drifting from the horizon 
 on the wings of a cold wind made the earth resound and 
 appeared to account for the shivering of the stars. This 
 picture was connected in Peter's mind with something 
 too insignificant to have been present consciously when 
 he beheld it. He associated it with his own condemna- 
 tion of his secret marriage. The lights in the indigo sky 
 had told him that he had done wrong: and perhaps the 
 strepitant clamour had confused him so that he could 
 remember now nothing but a disorder of thought which 
 gradually resolved itself under the cool influence of grey 
 hospital walls. He would not blame Shaun. That was 
 right, and he was young enough still not to be willing to 
 accuse himself ; however he did so honestly, perceiving as 
 his best excuse the effect of the Great Company 's service 
 upon his character; an effect which from a greater 
 distance and viewed in perspective still stood out as 
 wholly damnable. That Cynthia had consented was a 
 proof of the pervasive influence of Shaun. How Shaun 
 had loved subtlety, and with what a genius neverthe- 
 less had he retained his grip upon simplicity! 
 
 That tender, bright intelligence was gone from the 
 world ; and Peter was not clever enough to estimate 
 with what singular delicacy his fate and Cynthia's had 
 been weighed in the balance before Shaun had decided 
 to help them. He never realised, what Shaun had fore- 
 seen, that in escaping extreme poverty they had not 
 only avoided a great danger but also been deprived 
 of one of the great widening and deepening influences of 
 life. The war had replaced it, and Peter did not per- 
 ceive the omission. Shaun had assumed the part of a 
 god, weighing good against good and evil against evil. 
 He had played with their lives as a skilful card-player 
 finesses, taking every risk, including that greatest of
 
 454 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 all, the blame of dead Doris, who had always trod in 
 straightforward ways and walked with him now the 
 paths of asphodel, . . . Once in his delirium Peter 
 glimpsed her vanishing with Shaun along a yellow mead. 
 They fled with unearthly swiftness hand in hand towards 
 the places of the Blest, and the golden mead lay empty 
 behind them and shone in glorious sunshine. 
 
 And there were waking pictures in Peter's mind of 
 places and battle scenes in which had grown his knowl- 
 edge of his love of Cynthia. One was strange, the 
 approach to a railway bridge in a French town up a wet 
 and deserted street. Sentries paced overhead, and a 
 spider 's web of wire filled the arch, outlined against the 
 sky beyond. Somehow she had seemed close, then; 
 and she had done so through the bitter fight for a village 
 that looked not worth the conflict as the flames blew high 
 from its ruined houses. The regiment had had the end 
 of it and the spiked helmets had given back. Peter had 
 emerged unwounded from the carnage with a mouth 
 that was furry and tasted of copper. He thought that 
 he had turned into a mechanism that fired and thrust. 
 Surely his arm and head and shoulders had become a 
 part of his rifle ! It seemed as though he were spitting 
 bullets from his mouth ; so furious and unremitting had 
 his attention been to the business of slaughter, while 
 all the time Cynthia had been very close. 
 
 He remembered a swift river flowing through a wind- 
 ing, tree-clad valley. A procession of tall pines marched 
 with the road along the further bank to a farmhouse, 
 bright under the first sun of spring; before whose walls 
 the river widened and shallowed into a ford. Up high 
 the sky was blue above the gently waving tree-tops, 
 and the water rippled with a pleasant sound of eager- 
 ness and briskness over the pebbles, and that was the 
 only thing audible save the rustle and soft murmur of 
 the forest. Peter had forgotten the car in which he sat, 
 forgotten his officer poring over the map with the 
 chauffeur, forgotten the grizzled French sergeant at his 
 side. By an illusion of the imagination. Cynthia was
 
 TRANSFORMATION 455 
 
 standing near, enjoying and loving the beauty with him. 
 Tall, gracious Cynthia! She had tossed her chin, he 
 knew, although she was slightly behind him, and with 
 half-closed eyes and happy, smiling lips was sniffing 
 the forest scents. Her hands were hanging clenched. 
 She was hatless and the sunlight was playing with her 
 hair. . . . And then a jingling and dull clattering had 
 sounded from behind the farmhouse. The French 
 sergeant had leaned forward and placed a hand on 
 Peter 's knee, as the head of a column of hussars emerged 
 from the road round the great barn, and trotted easily 
 towards the ford. As they approached a trumpeter 
 blew an echoing call, and they spread out fanwise till 
 right along the stream the men were watering their 
 horses, which stood knee-deep with extended necks. The 
 sergeant removed his hand. "C'est ~bea/w maintenant!" 
 he said, in a tone of satisfaction. 
 
 But the picture that Peter loved most, his Vision 
 Splendid, had come on a misty day in Champagne when 
 he looked down on a line of marching troops slanting 
 through vineyards under telegraph wires half a mile 
 away across the slope of a hill. They were scarcely 
 visible in the swirls of mist and rain, they dragged like 
 tired men, and the little, distant town from which they 
 were heading was of the barest ugliness. And yet, 
 while his eyes were straining to make out a factory 
 chimney, there Peter had known suddenly that Cynthia 
 was given him by God to watch over; for the first time 
 in his life he had been conscious of himself as a part 
 of a divine purpose that he could understand. He 
 thrilled and shook with the greatness of the revelation : 
 no thought of its simplicity was with him. He held the 
 Key of the World, new and shining and golden. He 
 panted, catching his breath at the ineffable strangeness 
 of the knowledge that God is Love. Because of the love 
 of the spirit which he had for her, he could never lose 
 her, for that was of God. And heaven would be all 
 love; and on earth, how crystal clear it was! 'Little 
 children, love one another!' That was the law and the 
 gospels. It was Beauty, more than that it was Truth!
 
 456 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Those three were a trinity in unity, and the greatest of 
 the three was Love. And the mist whirled grey before 
 Peter's eyes, and his knapsack weighed like lead upon 
 his back and pain racked his knee; while he lay still 
 and quiet now the memory of these things returned, 
 following upon the memory of the glory, even as the mist 
 had closed in upon the landscape. But if the glory was 
 dimmed, the knowledge of it remained. Faith was brave 
 in him like a banner. 
 
 It was to Shaun James that he owed Cynthia, under 
 God. It was to him that he owed everything! Dear 
 old Shaun ! His heart yearned for the friend whom he 
 could not realise he had outgrown. He thought of him 
 very humbly, as a boy does of his father. And again 
 Peter meditated that last letter, in which he had said 
 they were the Future of England. He puzzled over it. 
 Could Shaun have been thinking of the child ? He must 
 have meant more than that. He had not even known 
 that there would be a child, a thing still scarcely credi- 
 ble by Peter himself, who had a swift vision of Cynthia 
 wrapped about in a silver veil, a thing very holy, to be 
 worshipped on the knees of the spirit. 
 
 The Future of England! With whom did it rest? 
 Would it lie in the hands of a class of truer gentlemen, 
 made comradely by battle ? did it depend upon a deeper 
 and kinder comprehension of man by master and master 
 by man ? Or was Shaun thinking of marriages of love ? 
 Perhaps he meant that the future lay with modest, 
 simple people generally, for Peter had heard him apply 
 those two adjectives to Cynthia and himself. Modest? 
 Yes, Peter supposed he was modest, since he could not 
 see that he possessed any virtues in particular which 
 he must do or Cynthia would not have cared for him ; 
 and he had been ^told by lots of people that he was 
 simple, some of wfiom, like Shaun, had intended it for 
 a compliment. "A mixture of simplicity and meaning 
 business is usually attractive, ' ' had said The Master, ' ' I 
 wish to heaven I could speak the English language prop- 
 erly! No, you need not be surprised that you make
 
 TRANSFORMATION 457 
 
 friends wherever you go. ' ' Yet Peter had continued to 
 be surprised; he thought now with gratitude of the 
 wonderful manner in which people had gone out of 
 their way to be decent to him. His old sergeant, for 
 example, the General and his staff, many peasants, a few 
 townsmen here and there, on whom he had been billeted, 
 surgeons, nurses . . . heaps of people ! One nurse had 
 said that he wasn't a bit like an artist, which was a 
 puzzle to Peter, who felt more of an artist than ever 
 and was confident of doing better work if he ever got 
 back. He must do better, because his backbone had 
 stiffened. He was conscious of inherited firmness of 
 character. His father was strong in him. He had won- 
 dered how, although he had lived in dreams out of 
 wartime, in wartime the grim necessity of holding him- 
 self in had left him cool. That was his father's, too. 
 He wondered whether feeling one's ancestral virtues 
 coming is always a sign of having passed the stormy 
 period of youth ; for he knew that he had left it behind. 
 What had he got from War? His manhood, religion, 
 power to sacrifice self to a greater extent and with more 
 simplicity. Well then, was that what England was 
 getting? Did Shaun mean that? Peter continued puz- 
 zled, as still much of the parable was hid from him. 
 Shaun had meant most of those things, and yet more; 
 for the simple gentleman who is lover and artist as well 
 had seemed to him the greatest thing upon earth, and 
 in the creative artist without a volatile temperament he 
 had recognised the salt of it. Peter was over-modest to 
 understand wholly; in his inmost thoughts he attached 
 less importance to his art than Shaun did. He put his 
 artist side last, while Shaun had foreseen Peter the 
 practical man and leader of men by reason of his per- 
 ception of Beauty.
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 "LET us then not commit follies! Is it that you wish 
 of your own heart to go back to these trenches? Is 
 your preference personal, my brave boy?" inquired the 
 head of the French hospital. 
 
 "No, my Colonel," replied Peter, honestly. 
 "You have common sense, it appears! Soeur Beatrice 
 tells me that all love the Englishman; perhaps she in- 
 cludes herself in the 'all,' who knows? And I have 
 enjoyed our conversations. Your accent is truly 
 Parisian, my friend, although there lacks something in 
 the grammar. A little something, is it not so? You 
 are married ? ' ' 
 
 'Yes, my Colonel." 
 
 'Children?" 
 
 'Not yet, my Colonel." 
 
 'But soon, perhaps?" 
 
 'Yes, my Colonel." 
 
 ' Ah ! It is in my mind, then, to do you a good turn. 
 You shall go to England and you shall take from me a 
 letter to your War Office. You had heard my name 
 before you came here ? ' ' 
 
 Peter had not, but he knew now that the name was 
 famous: "Yes, my Colonel." 
 
 "Good, my boy! You lied with courtesy, and I 
 thank you. It is my vanity to be celebrated. You 
 will find that my letter will carry you to England. 
 When you get there you must take care of yourself, 
 for you are not beyond a cure. You need rest, you need 
 baths, you need more rest, you must pay attention to 
 the heart. But if you commit follies you will be lame 
 throughout your life, which also may be short. Bon 
 voyage!" 
 
 Peter left the same afternoon and arrived at Paris in 
 
 458
 
 TRANSFORMATION 459 
 
 the evening, utterly exhausted; he was too fatigued to 
 write to Cynthia. And next morning he overslept 
 himself and only caught his train at the Gare du Nord 
 because it was an hour late in starting. In the midst 
 of a chorus of cheers it drew back to the platform to 
 receive him. He was tall, pale, in khaki, and walked 
 with a stick, which was sufficient to arouse the voluble 
 sympathies of the French crowd ; he longed to call out 
 to them how he was no hero, only an unfortunate victim 
 of rheumatism; but that would have been ungracious, 
 more especially to the officials who had waved back the 
 express, so he was forced to put up with his ovation and 
 relieve himself by explaining to the occupants of the 
 carriage. They, however, murmured to each other senti- 
 ments about the modesty of true valour until his cheeks 
 burned and tears of humiliation filled his eyes, and 
 then, ceasing to make the effort to respond to their kind- 
 ness, he lay back in the corner they had given him and 
 pretended to sleep. 
 
 The train rattled and jogged out of the Paris suburbs 
 into green country. Buds were bursting in the hedges 
 and the blue sky spoke of peace ; but Peter was racking 
 his brains to remember when he had last written to 
 Cynthia. The information perpetually evaded his mem- 
 ory, slipping round a corner of his mind at the moment 
 when he appeared certain to secure it. Had he said that 
 he hoped to come home? As a matter of fact he had 
 scarcely ventured to hope, but the impression was strong 
 in him that he had said it nevertheless ; if so, a telegram 
 would be all that was needed to prepare her. She 
 certainly must not come to meet him, as it could not 
 be very long before that took place which was too won- 
 derful for him to think of. Also he could not tell pre- 
 cisely what was going to happen to him, until he had 
 been before a Medical Board in London. They might 
 send him to Harrogate or to Droitwich ; the French doc- 
 tor had mentioned Droitwich. He might even be turned 
 back at Dieppe and sent to some spa in France. It would 
 be better not to telegraph till he reached England. 
 
 When had he last heard from Cynthia? That was a
 
 460 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 still more difficult question to answer, for delirium stood 
 between. It was before he had gone to hospital; it 
 must have been five weeks ago! But then, there had 
 come a card from Lady Bremner, during the time that 
 he was laid up, saying that she was all right. He re- 
 membered reading, Cynthia is well. Do not be anxious 
 about her. He supposed that this card must have been 
 forwarded from headquarters, and why had no more 
 letters come through? He had worried about that be- 
 fore, but there was some answer to it. Headquarters 
 must have forgotten him; after all it was understand- 
 able, since he had been in a French hospital, a couple of 
 hundred miles away from the British lines. One occa- 
 sionally missed letters when one was in an English 
 
 hospital. Surely, though ! yes, of course! He had 
 
 written as soon as he was able to hold a pen ; evidently 
 he must have omitted his address. He was too tired 
 to remember what he had done or had not done. 
 
 He must have slept, for it seemed that only five 
 minutes had passed when Rouen darted in and out of his 
 vision amid the roar of tunnels. "That place is like 
 Chatham grown beautiful," he said to himself, and 
 then began to worry about the letters again. It was 
 pleasant to feel that there was no reason why he should 
 not worry, that in front lay rest for a time. Indeed 
 the right to plague himself by idle speculation appeared 
 in the guise of a luxury; it helped him to realise that 
 he was free, that the stress and strain of active service 
 lay behind him, being left farther in the rear each mo- 
 ment by the rattling train. Presently the train stopped, 
 and he glanced idly out and saw green grass growing 
 in a side track, and then an express rushed by. He had 
 always destroyed her letters as soon as read: was that 
 wise? Better than their being found by strangers, per- 
 haps by Germans. He had been a bad correspondent. Cyn- 
 thia had encouraged him to be, by her understanding of 
 the difficulties that stood in his way. She had spoilt him. 
 She had appeared always nearly always serene and con- 
 fident: now that he was returning to her he wondered 
 how much of this had been pretence. He blamed himself.
 
 TRANSFORMATION 461 
 
 In Dieppe there were formalities to be gone through 
 that wasted the greater portion of the day. When 
 Peter at length obtained his pass he was ordered to cross 
 in a hospital ship which was leaving at dawn. This 
 meant more long hours of darkness in France, another 
 wearisome night before he could attain to home and rest. 
 He had been approaching these in imagination and sud- 
 denly they had departed to a very far distance; the 
 slight disappointment of this delay was the hardest thing 
 which he had yet had to endure. It overpowered him 
 and he spent the evening in a state of wretchedness 
 utterly disproportionate to the occasion, his impatience 
 growing with every minute that passed until he made 
 himself feverish, while the discovery that he was short 
 of money did not conduce to calm him. He had received 
 no pay since being in hospital and would have been left 
 without a 'sou' for the journey, had not Soeur Beatrice 
 insisted on being his banker. 
 
 Peter was in luck. His finances were now repaired by 
 a medical officer, a stout brisk little Surgeon-captain, 
 called Gwiney, who by chance overheard his name 
 and immediately claimed acquaintanceship ; it tran- 
 spired that he was a friend of the Bremners, an immense 
 admirer of Cynthia. Peter dimly remembered meeting 
 his wife at a dinner-party in Portman Square, and again 
 one day when he had been out with Cynthia, but of the 
 little man himself he retained no recollection, which 
 mattered not the least since Gwiney did the remember- 
 ing for two, proved the soul of good-nature, and was 
 able to obtain for him an advance on account of back 
 pay. At last Peter got to bed, though not to sleep. 
 He turned and tossed until it was time to rise and go 
 on board. 
 
 With the morning light, Cynthia seemed closer and 
 his need of her greater still. He fairly ached for her 
 arms and the pillow of her breast; he was very weary, 
 and he could see her eyes above him, looking down into 
 his. As the coast of France faded from his sight in a 
 drizzle of mist, before he went below, for the first time 
 he felt anxious about her silence, which struck him as
 
 462 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 strange and ominous. The explanations which had satis- 
 fied him hitherto appeared terribly insufficient. He be- 
 gan to tremble. He became possessed by a nerve-racking 
 alarm. He shivered and shook, and had hardly strength 
 enough to put one foot in front of the other. 
 
 This condition of collapse, due in part to fatigue and 
 weakness, partly to his apprehensions on her behalf, 
 lasted throughout the voyage. Over and over again he 
 tried to calculate when his child should be born. Over 
 and over again he was baffled, because Cynthia had been 
 intentionally vague, not wishing him to be uneasy about 
 her when the time came. She had mentioned some- 
 thing about June, he recalled. But he could not forget 
 that she was young and inexperienced, perhaps careless. 
 She might be wrong. It might be the end of May, and 
 the middle of the month was already past. The horrible 
 idea assailed him that his agony resulted from an 
 intuitive sympathy with hers. The picture of her, dying, 
 with white face and clammy brow and pitiful, distorted 
 smile, sprang into his brain and stayed there. He could 
 see the pillow and her long hair streaming above it, and 
 the agitation of her hair caused by her tossing head, and 
 the rail of the bed behind; it was bright brass against 
 pale-blue hangings. . . . By a tremendous effort he dis- 
 missed the picture from his mind, and it revived when he 
 went up on deck again, and danced between him and the 
 tossing waves and the black outline of a destroyer on the 
 rim of a sodden sky; until pelt, down came the rain, 
 and a vexed nurse caught sight of him and drove him 
 below. There, after a while, he found work to do. 
 
 But the vision returned in the train as he was speeding 
 smoothly towards London. The bustle of landing, the 
 activity necessary to procure a speedy departure, the 
 concentration of will required to deal with officials and 
 the relief of dispatching telegrams, had banished it ; now 
 he sat listening to the kind-hearted chatter of busy- 
 bodies, and saw. "When they left him alone he lay back 
 with closed eyes and saw more vividly. He staggered 
 in to the dining-car to lunch, and the vision was above 
 his plate; he stared out of the window, and her hair
 
 TRANSFORMATION 463 
 
 streamed with the hurrying hills. Yet his wits had not 
 failed him through the formalities on the quay and at 
 the station ; which he was glad to remember, as it made 
 him the more confident of the discretion of his telegrams. 
 No, they could not do her harm! In the one to the 
 flat he had said, Back safe Must go War Office first Wire 
 care P.O. Charing Cross you are well, and to Lady 
 Bremner he had telegraphed, Back safe Tell Cynthia 
 Arrive home to-night. As he read them in memory the 
 vision formed itself out of the words. 
 
 He presented the French doctor 's letters in Whitehall. 
 A stern-faced, white-haired man received him with 
 solemn kindness and gave curt but detailed instruction 
 with regard to baths and cures. Peter listened with 
 amazement, as he seemed to contemplate giving in- 
 definitely extended leave. Peter had hoped for a couple 
 of months, but 
 
 "There will be no difficulty about your discharge," 
 said the surgeon. 
 
 ' ' My discharge ! ' ' gasped Peter. 
 
 "Your discharge!" repeated the other sharply. 
 "To retain you in the Service would be to ruin your 
 health without benefit to the country. You will appear 
 before a Medical Board to-morrow at eleven." 
 
 "Very good, sir!" said Peter. 
 
 "You will be able to find other ways of being useful. 
 Your rheumatism will respond to some such treatment 
 as I have indicated. I am afraid that the trouble in the 
 knee will be liable to recur; even with the greatest care 
 you are likely to be not immune from periods of slight 
 lameness. However I gather from this letter" he 
 glanced at the paper in his hand "that you are an 
 artist by profession, so that will scarcely matter to you 
 as much as it might to others. When painting out of 
 doors you will do well always to be on your guard 
 against damp. However, your medical attendant will 
 advise you further on these points, so I will bid you 
 good afternoon." He rose as he spoke. "To-morrow at 
 eleven, Private Middleton. In the room below." 
 
 Peter was dismissed, and wandered out into the open
 
 464 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 air with his thoughts in a whirl. Somehow it never had 
 occurred to him that he might be given his discharge. 
 He could not deny his relief. He did not attempt to 
 deny it; he was conscious of a passion of rejoicing. Yet 
 he knew he would have tried to get back, he knew he 
 would have made the best of his case to the Medical 
 Board, and he was thankful to the man who had put 
 this out of his power with the most gracious and skilful 
 tact. 
 
 He found himself gazing into the window of the A.B.C. 
 which presents a narrow front to the pavement at the 
 top of Whitehall. Charing Cross Post Office was close, 
 but the hour was half past five and he had not eaten 
 since noon. In his exhausted state he dared not go 
 there to face either joy or sorrow. He felt that he could 
 not, unless the noise of the traffic were to cease and the 
 people to move out of the streets and leave him a solitude 
 in which he might approach. After a cup of tea he grew 
 stronger, though not strong enough to bear the awful 
 shock with which he heard that there was nothing for 
 him. It seemed to spin him round, like a blow on the 
 side of the head. But the clerk's unconcerned face 
 showed that he had not moved. "Thank you," said 
 Peter, hurrying out of the building. He hailed a taxi 
 and drove, with beating heart, to the flat. 
 
 A little consideration should have told him that 
 Cynthia was probably with her mother, and when in 
 Pall Mall this did occur to him he immediately con- 
 cluded that his telegram would have been repeated to 
 Portman Square. It was small relief, therefore, to find 
 the flat closed ; and all his fears were redoubled by the 
 statement of the girl in the shop below that the lady 
 had gone away ill some weeks before. He stammered 
 out, "Was it was it a birth? Wh- where did she go 
 to?," The girl who was a stranger to Peter stared, 
 offended. "I don't know nothin' about it," she declared 
 primly, turning away. "The servants 'ave gone now, 
 and the place is closed. That's all I know!" The 
 obvious thing was to go on to Portman Square. As the 
 taxi swayed and leaped, Peter wondered whether he
 
 TRANSFORMATION 465 
 
 would ever believe in God again, if that had happened 
 which might have happened. He listened to himself 
 asking the question in a voice that was like his and 
 was not his, yet knew that he uttered no word aloud. 
 Something said to him that she was dead ; then his faith 
 swung clear and true like the beat of a pendulum. 
 "God is! God is!" "Then she's not dead," he said 
 internally; "she's alive!" "But she may be alive, 
 being dead, ' ' he rapidly added ; this time he groaned 
 aloud and felt himself growing cold and numb. He 
 shuddered, and "Perhaps she's near me now!" he 
 thought, looking eagerly about. He sank against the 
 cushions and closed his eyes. 
 
 Portman Square. The flight of steps. The familiar 
 door. The familiar bell. The familiar short moment of 
 waiting; and then the opening of the big, green door. 
 "Is Lady Bremner in?" he asked the maid, his courage 
 failing him at the last moment. 
 
 "She's out, sir!" answered the maid, who recognised 
 him, and she looked a trifle surprised. "Mrs. Middleton 
 is in the garden," she continued in a natural tone. 
 "Will you go through, sir?" 
 
 He dropped his purse in the attempt to give it to her 
 while hurrying by, and called to her to pay the man. 
 He knew only that something was coming for which he 
 had long waited. Change was in the air. Had not a 
 change happened? Was she not safe? And then he 
 was upon the verandah steps, looking at a girl sitting, 
 with her back turned, under a tree at the end of the 
 garden. An apple-tree glowing with blossom. Her hair 
 was uncovered and showed fair with soft tendrils 
 curling; and the descending sun shone full upon her. 
 reddening the burnished hue of her hair, deepening the 
 pink of the blaze of colour above her, bathing the picture 
 in a tender mist of powdered gold so that it took a 
 magic beauty of quiet and peace. And she was stoop- 
 ing gently over some burden. 
 
 He walked across a lawn pied with daisies and he 
 hardly knew how he moved. It seemed that he stole 
 through the air as in a dream, yet he noticed that the
 
 466 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 borders were ragged with something of a country wild- 
 ness, and the peach-tree on the wall was untrimmed, and 
 the flowers in the parterres grew rank and thick. And 
 he knew that this girl was Cynthia his wife, but the 
 knowledge meant nothing to him. There was a strange- 
 ness about her that he could not fathom. The details of 
 her attire were more vivid than herself. She was a 
 white-skinned beauty in a pink-embroidered summer 
 gown, and the skirt of it was striped with pink. The 
 collar of the bodice was folded back and the bodice it- 
 self was white and shaped like a jumper, resting upon 
 the outside of her skirt. He saw the shadows that he 
 would draw to show where it clung to the girl 's slender 
 waist. And then suddenly she rose and turned and 
 faced the sunlight and gazed at him. First he saw the 
 white lovely column of her throat and below it the 
 pointed opening of her blouse, beneath which was a 
 black velvet flower that was like a caress on the fair- 
 ness of her skin. He did not look at her face, although 
 he was aware of deep and starry eyes, all startled, and 
 overjoyed lips just parting, for there in her arms was 
 a living babe, upreaching with rosy crumpled hands. 
 The baby cooed and Peter stared, while the sunlight 
 leaping above the mother's head left its splendour in 
 her face. The sun had hidden himself below the roof- 
 tops ; for a moment the pink glory of blossom shone in 
 his last rays, which then mounted heavenward. But 
 the garden remained full of warmth. 
 
 Ah! . . . Ah! ... It was coming: joy rose in him 
 like a cry. Cynthia! She was stepping towards him 
 with a little rush. During an infinitesimal instant the 
 beautiful girl was there as Cynthia, both the identities 
 existing in his consciousness side by side. Then she was 
 gone and Cynthia alone was left. He was holding her, 
 calling her Dear and Starry and Sweet and His Wife. 
 She had a hand on his shoulder, stroking him, her other 
 arm encircled the infant. ''He's yours!" she babbled, 
 and laughed and cried with happiness. "Oh, my Peter 
 come back again ! Didn 't you know ? Hadn 't you 
 heard? Peter, Peter, I love you so!"
 
 TRANSFORMATION 467 
 
 "Ours!" cried Peter. He snatched at the bundle. 
 She resigned it to him fearlessly. 
 
 ' ' Don 't crush him ! ' ' she said. ' ' He 's very, very little 
 yet." 
 
 Peter stared down at the tiny, still face with the 
 closed eyelids, which opened slowly and gave him a 
 glance of heavenly blue, and then drooped again. "I 
 understand this!" he said, in a tone of surprise. "I 
 don't need to be taught how to be a father. And how 
 different it is! ... But Darling, why didn't I hear? 
 When was he born?" 
 
 "Three weeks ago, on the second of May. Mummy 
 wrote letters, and postcards." 
 
 "I got one! After. But it was addressed to the 
 regiment or to headquarters wasn 't it ? " 
 
 "You did not give the hospital address until your 
 last letter, Peter." 
 
 "I never got any letters after that!" 
 
 "We wrote." 
 
 "Then they never fetched up! I've been scared, but 
 that's all done. Cynthia, I'm home for good. I've got 
 my discharge!" 
 
 "Peter!" The cry told him how she had suffered, 
 revealed depths. 
 
 "Yes," he said. "For good." 
 
 "Peter, what a day! How lovely it all is." 
 
 "Take him, Starriest. I want to sit down. I'm tired. 
 Can 't you lay him down ? I want to hold you. ' ' 
 
 ' ' He must go in, " declared Cynthia. Her pretty tone 
 of responsibility sounded familiar: it was one of the 
 inflections of her voice that he loved most. Side by 
 side, the young father and mother walked slowly into 
 the house, where all was quiet; Lady Bremner had not 
 yet returned. Cynthia rang, and gave the baby to a 
 nurse. Then she passed on with Peter into the library, 
 into a pearly dusk and glimmer of diffused reflections. 
 She drew a curtain, and looked at the east flushed with 
 rosy light. She spoke in a soft voice. 
 
 "That's the promise of a new dawn for England after 
 the darkness which is to come."
 
 468 THE JOYFUL YEARS 
 
 Then she came to Peter and held his hands, asking 
 many things about himself, the little personal questions 
 inspired by tender curiosity, which are so sweet to 
 recollect in after-years. His health, his journey, whether 
 he would take something to eat, his clothes; common- 
 place topics that add depth and poignancy to the remem- 
 brance of such a moment, of its exchange of looks of 
 love and understanding and thankfulness, of its joy 
 that would otherwise be over-great to be apprehended. 
 Similar trifles had been a torture to Shaun James. 
 Cynthia thought of Shaun, and they were sad. They 
 clasped each other's hands, tight, tight. Their eyes 
 implored each other never to go away and leave one 
 of them desolate. In that interchange they passed into 
 each other's souls, and recognised there submission to 
 the will of God. And both became conscious of fresh 
 power. 
 
 "I never told you!" said Cynthia impulsively. "I 
 never answered you when you asked me about money, 1 
 whether we should live up to our income, in that letter 
 which you wrote at Christmas, Peter. I wouldn't until 
 I'd tested myself. And truly I'm not as extravagant 
 and selfish as I was. I can promise now! I always 
 felt that it was better to stay poor and help people, and 
 it's in me now to do it, thanks to you and Shaun." 
 
 He would have protested, had he not known that she 
 was really thanking God. 
 
 Later, as she was moving in the dusk to the switch, 
 he tried to tell her, "I've not been much use to my 
 
 country " but she interrupted him, crying, "That's 
 
 not true, my Peter!" She flooded the room with light, 
 and stood for a moment there motionless, beautiful and 
 .kind. "England needs us all," she comforted.
 
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