*•• ^m^* 
 
 SIMON 
 THE JESTER* 
 
 WILLIAM I 
 J. LOCKE
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY Of CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSa)£
 
 SIMON THE JESTER
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 IDOLS 
 
 SEPTIMUS 
 
 DERELICTS 
 
 THE USURPER 
 
 WHERE LOVE IS 
 
 THE WHITE DOVE 
 
 A STUDY IN SHADOWS 
 
 THE BELOVED VAGABOND 
 
 AT THE GATE OF SAMARIA 
 
 THE MORALS OF MARCUS ORDEYNE 
 
 THE DEMAGOGUE AND LADY PHAYRE
 
 : : SIMON : : 
 
 THE JESTER 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM J/LOCKE 
 
 //) 
 
 LONDON : JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD 
 NEW YORK : JOHN LANE COMPANY : MCMX
 
 
 Copyright, 1909 
 
 i3y The Phillips Publishing Comtany 
 
 Copyright, 1910 
 
 By John Lane Company 
 
 Printed by Ballantyne i^ Co. Limited 
 Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London
 
 SIMON THE JESTER
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 I MET Renniker the other day at the club. He is a 
 man who knows everything — from the method of 
 trimming a puppy's tail for a dog-show, without being 
 disqualified, to the innermost workings of the mind of 
 every European potentate. If I want information on 
 any subject under heaven I ask Renniker. 
 
 " Can you tell me," said I, " the most God-forsaken 
 spot in England ? " 
 
 Renniker, being in a flippant mood, mentioned a 
 fashionable watering-place on the South Coast. I 
 pleaded the seriousness of my question. 
 
 " What I want," said I, " is a place compared to 
 which Golgotha, Aceldama, the Dead Sea, the Valley 
 3f Jehoshaphat, and Ratchff Highway would be leafy 
 bowers of uninterrupted delight." 
 
 " Then ]\Iurglebed-on-Sea is what you're looking for," 
 said Renniker. " Are you going there at once ? " 
 
 " At once," said I. 
 
 " It's November," said he, " and a villainous No- 
 vember at that ; so you'll see Murglebed-on-Sea in the 
 fine flower of its desolation." 
 
 I thanked him, went home, and summoned my 
 excellent man Rogers. 
 
 " Rogers," said I, " I am going to the seaside. I 
 hear that Murglebed is a nice quiet little spot. You 
 will go down and inspect it for me and bring back 
 a report."
 
 2 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 He went blithe and light-hearted, though he thought 
 me insane ; he returned with the air of a ser\nng-man 
 who, expecting to find a well-equipped pantry, had 
 wandered into a charnel-house. 
 
 " It's an awful place, sir. It's sixteen miles from a 
 railway station. The shore is a mud fiat. There's no 
 hotel, and the inhabitants are like cannibals." 
 
 " I start for Murglebed-on-Sea to-morrow," said I. 
 
 Rogers stared at me. His loose mouth quivered 
 like that of a child preparing to cry. 
 
 " We can't possibly stay there, sir," he remonstrated. 
 
 " We are not going to try," I retorted. "I'm going 
 by myself." 
 
 His face brightened. Almost cheerfully he assured 
 me that I should find nothing to eat in Murglebed. 
 
 " You can amuse yourself," said I, " by sending me 
 down a daily hamper of provisions." 
 
 " There isn't even a church," he continued. 
 
 " Then you can send me down a tin one from Hum- 
 phreys'. I beheve they can supply one with every- 
 thing from a tin rabbit-hutch to a town hall." 
 
 He sighed and departed, and the next day I found 
 myself here, in Murglebed-on-Sea. 
 
 On a murky, sullen November day Murglebed exhibits 
 unimagined horrors of scenic depravity. It snarls at 
 you malignantly. It is like a bit of waste land in 
 Gehenna. There is a lowering, soap-suddy thing a 
 mile away from the more or less dry land which local 
 ignorance and superstition call the sea. The interim 
 is, mud — oozy, brown, malevolent mud. Sometimes 
 it seems to heave as if with the myriad bodies of shmy 
 crawling eels and worms and snakes. A few foul boats 
 lie buried in it. 
 
 Here and there, on land, a surly inhabitant spits
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 3 
 
 into it. If you address him he snorts at you unin- 
 telligibly. If you turn your back to the sea you are 
 met by a prospect of unimagined despair. There are 
 no trees. The country is flat and barren. A dismal 
 creek runs miles inland — an estuary fed by the River 
 Murgle. A few battered cottages, a general shop, a 
 couple of low public-houses, and three perky red-brick 
 villas all in a row form the city, or town, or village, or 
 what you will, of Murglebed-on-Sea. Renniker is a 
 wonderful man. 
 
 I have rented a couple of furnished rooms in one of 
 the villas. It has a decayed bit of front garden in 
 which a gnarled, stunted stick is planted, and it is 
 called The Laburnums. My landlord, the owner of 
 the villas, is a builder. What profit he can get from 
 building in Murglebed, Heaven alone knows ; but, as 
 he mounts a bicycle in the morning and disappears 
 for the rest of the day, I presume he careers over the 
 waste, building as he goes. In the evenings he gets 
 drunk at the Red Cow ; so I know Httle of him, save 
 that he is a red-faced man, with a moustache like a 
 tooth-brush and two great hands like hams. 
 
 His wife is taciturn almost to dumbness. She is a 
 thick-set, black-haired woman, and looks at me dis- 
 approvingly out of the comer of her eye as if I were a 
 blackbeetle which she would like to squash under foot. 
 She tolerates me, however, on account of the tongues 
 and other sustenance sent by Rogers from Benoist, 
 of which she consumes prodigious quantities. She 
 wonders, as far as the power of wonder is given to her 
 dull brain, what on earth I am doing here. I see her 
 whispering to her friends as I enter the house, and I 
 know they are wondering what I am doing here. The 
 whole village regards me as a humorous zoological
 
 4 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 freak, and wonders what I am doing here among normal 
 human beings. 
 
 And what am I doing here — I, Simon de Gex, M.P., 
 the spoilt darhng of fortune, as my opponent in the 
 Labour interest called me during the last electoral 
 campaign ? My disciple and secretary, young Dale 
 Kynnersley, the only mortal besides Rogers who knows 
 my whereabouts, trembles for my reason. In the eyes 
 of the excellent Rogers I am horn-mad. What my 
 constituents would think did they see me taking the 
 muddy air on a soggy afternoon I have no conception. 
 Dale keeps them at bay. He also baffles the curiosity 
 of my sisters, and by his diplomacy has sent Eleanor 
 Faversham on a huffy trip to Sicily. She cannot 
 understand why I bury myself in bleak solitude, instead 
 of making cheerful holiday among the oranges and 
 lemons of the South. 
 
 Eleanor is a girl with a thousand virtues, each of 
 which she expects to find in counterpart in the man to 
 whom she is affianced. Until a week or two ago I 
 actually thought myself in love with Eleanor. There 
 seemed a whimsical attraction in the idea of marrying 
 a girl with a thousand virtues. Before me lay the 
 pleasant prospect of reducing them — say, ten at a time 
 — until I reached the limit at which life was possible, 
 and then one by one until life became entertaining. 
 I admired her exceedingly — a strapping, deep-chested, 
 healthy English girl who looked you straight in the eyes 
 and gripped you fearlessly by the hand. 
 
 My friends " lucky-dog'd " me until I began to 
 smirk to myself at my own good fortune. She visited 
 the constituency and comported herself as if she had 
 been a Member's wife since infancy, thereby causing 
 my heart to swell with noble pride. This unparalleled
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 5 
 
 young person compelled me to take my engagement 
 almost seriously. If I shot forth a jest, it struck 
 against a virtue and fell blunted to the earth. Indeed, 
 even now I am sorry I can't marry Eleanor. But 
 marriage is out of the question, r^i 
 
 I have been told by the highest medical authorities 
 that I may manage to wander in the flesh about this 
 planet for another six months. After that I shall have 
 to do what wandering I yearn for through the medium 
 of my ghost. There is a certain humorousness in the 
 prospect. Save for an occasional pain somewhere 
 nside me, I am in the most robust health. 
 
 But this same httle pain has been diagnosed by the 
 Faculty as the symptom of an obscure disease. An 
 operation, they tell me, would kill me on the spot. 
 What it is called I cannot for the hfe of me remember. 
 They gave it a kind of hngering name, which I wrote 
 down on my shirt-cuff. 
 
 The name or characteristics of the thing, however, do 
 not matter a fig. I have always hated people who 
 talked about their insides, and I am not going to talk 
 about mine, even to myself. Clearly, if it is only going 
 to last me six months, it is not worth talking about. 
 But the quaint fact of its brief duration is worth the 
 attention of a contemplative mind. 
 
 It is in order perfectly to focus this attention that I 
 have come to Murglebed-on-Sea. Here I am alone with 
 the murk and the mud and my own indrawn breath of 
 life. There are no flowers, blue sky, smihng eyes, and 
 dainty faces — none of the adventitious distractions of 
 the earth. There are no Blue-books. Before the 
 Faculty made their jocular pronouncement I had been 
 filling my head with statistics on pauper lunacy so as to 
 please my constituency, in which the rate has increased
 
 6 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 alarmingly of late years. Perhaps that is why I found 
 myself their representative in Parliament. I was to 
 father a Bill on the subject next session. Now the 
 labour will fall on other shoulders. I interest myself 
 in pauper lunacy no more. A man requires less flippant 
 occupation for the premature sunset of his days. Well, 
 in Murglebed I can think, I can weigh the fros and 
 cons of existence with an even mind, I can accustom 
 myself to the concept of a Great Britain without 
 Simon de Gex, M.P. 
 
 Of course, when I go I shall " cast one longing, hnger- 
 ing look behind." I don't particularly want to die. 
 In fact, having otherwise the prospect of an enter- 
 taining life, I regard my impending dissolution in the 
 light of a grievance. But I am not afraid. I shall go 
 through the dismal formality with a graceful air and 
 as much of a smile on my face as the pain in my inside 
 will physically permit. 
 
 My dear but somewhat sober-sided friend Marcus 
 Aurelius says : " Let death surprise me when it will, 
 and where it will, I may be tvjuoipo^, or a happy man, 
 nevertheless. For he is a happy man who in his 
 lifetime dealeth unto himself a happy lot and portion. 
 A happy lot and portion is good inclinations of the soul, 
 good desires, good actions." 
 
 The word evjuoipog (or eumoiros in English dress), 
 according to the above definition, tickles my fancy. 
 I would give a great deal to be eumoirous. What a thing 
 to say : " I have achieved eumoiriety " — namely, the 
 quintessence of happy-fatedness dealt unto oneself by 
 a perfect altruism ! 
 
 I don't think that hitherto my soul has been very 
 evilly inchned, my desires base, or my actions those of 
 a scoundrel. Still, the negatives do not qualify one
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 7 
 
 for eumoiriety. One wants something positive. I 
 have an idea, therefore, of actively deahng unto myself 
 a happy lot or portion according to the Marcian defi- 
 nition during the rest of the time I am allowed to 
 breathe the upper air. And this will be fairly easy ; 
 for no matter how excellently a man's soul may be 
 inclined to the performance of a good action, in ninety 
 cases out of a hundred he is driven away from it 
 by dread of the consequences. Your moral teachers 
 seldom think of this — that the consequences of a good 
 action are often more disastrous than those of an evil 
 one. But if a man is going to die, he can do good 
 with impunity. He can simply wallow in practical 
 virtue. When the boomerang of his benelicence 
 comes back to hit him on the head — he won't he there 
 to feel it. He can thus hoist Destiny with its own 
 petard, and, besides being eumoirous, can spend a 
 month or two in a peculiarly diverting manner. The 
 more I think of the idea the more am I in, love with it. 
 I am going to have a seraph of a time. I am going to 
 play the archangel. 
 
 I shall always have pleasant memories of Murglebed. 
 Such an idea could not have germinated in any other 
 atmosphere. In the scented groves of sunny lands 
 there would have been sown Seeds of Regret, which 
 would have blossomed eventually into Flowers of 
 Despair. I should have gone about the world, a 
 modern Admetus, snivelling at my accursed luck, 
 without even the chance of persuading a soft-hearted 
 Alcestis to die for me. I should have been a dismal 
 nuisance to society. 
 
 " Bless you," I cried this afternoon, waving, as I 
 leaned against a post, my hand to the ambient mud, 
 " Renniker was wrong ! You are not a God-forsaken
 
 8 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 place. You are impregnated with divine inspira- 
 tion." 
 
 A muddy man in a blue ]ersey and filthy beard who 
 occupied the next post looked at me and spat con- 
 temptuously. I laughed. 
 
 " If you were Marcus Aurelius," said I, " I would 
 make a joke — a short life and an eumoiry one — and 
 he would have looked as pained as you." 
 
 " What ? " he bawled. He was to windward of me. 
 
 I knew that if I repeated my observation he would 
 offer to fight me. I approached him suavely. 
 
 " I was wondering," I said, " as it's impossible to 
 strike a match in this wind, whether you would let me 
 light my pipe from yours." 
 
 " It's empty," he growled. 
 
 " Take a fill from my pouch," said I. 
 
 The mud-turtle loaded his pipe, handed me my 
 pouch without acknowledgment, stuck his pipe in his 
 breeches pocket, spat again, and, deliberately turning 
 his back on me, lounged off to another post on a 
 remoter and less lunatic-ridden portion of the shore. 
 Again I laughed, feeling, as the poet did with the 
 daffodils, that one could not but be gay in such a 
 jocund company. 
 
 There are no amenities or urbanities of life in Murgle- 
 bed to choke the growth of the Idea. This evening it 
 flourishes so exceedingly that I think it safe to trans- 
 plant it in the alien soil of Q 3, The Albany, where the 
 good Rogers must be leading an idle existence pecu- 
 liarly deleterious to his morals. 
 
 This gives one furiously to think. One of the respon- 
 sibilities of eumoiriety must be the encouragement and 
 development of virtue in my manservant. 
 Also in my young friend and secretary, Dale Kyn-
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 9 
 
 nersley. He is more to me than Rogers, I may 
 confess that, so long as Rogers is a sober, honest, me- 
 fearing valet, in my heart of hearts I don't care a hang 
 about Rogers's morals. But about those of Dale 
 Kyrmersley I do. I care a great deal for his career 
 and happiness. I have a notion that he is erring 
 after strange goddesses and neglecting the little girl 
 who is in love with him. He must be delivered. He 
 must marry Maisie Ellerton, and the two of them must 
 bring lots of capable, clear-eyed Kynnersleys into the 
 world. I long to be their ghostly godfather. 
 
 Then there's Eleanor Faversham — but if I begin to 
 
 draw up a programme I shall lose that spontaneity of 
 
 effort which, I take it, is one of the chief charms of 
 
 dealing unto oneself a happy lot and portion. No ; my 
 
 soul abhors tabulation. It would make even six 
 
 months' life as jocular as Bradshaw's Railway Guide 
 
 or the dietary of a prison. I prefer to look on what is 
 
 before me as a high adventure, and with that prospect 
 
 in view I propose to jot down my experiences from 
 
 time to time, so that when I am wandering, a pale 
 
 shade by Acheron, young Dale Kynnersley may have 
 
 not only documentary evidence wherewith to convince 
 
 my friends and relations that my latter actions were 
 
 not those of a lunatic, but also, at the same time, an 
 
 up-to-date version of Jeremy Taylor's edifying though 
 
 humour-lacking treatise on the art of dying, which I 
 
 am sorely tempted to label " The Rule and Example of 
 
 Eumoiriety." I shall resist the temptation, however. 
 
 Dale Kynnersley — such is the ignorance of the new 
 
 generation — would have no sense of the allusion. He 
 
 would shake his head and say, " Dotty, poor old chap, 
 
 dotty ! " I can hear him. And if, in order to prepare 
 
 him, I gave him a copy of the " Meditations," he
 
 10 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 would fling the book across the room and qualify 
 Marcus Aurelius as a " rotter." 
 
 Dale is a very shrewd fellow, and will make an ad- 
 mirable legislator when his time comes. Although his 
 highest intellectual recreation is reiterated attendance 
 at the musical comedy that has caught his fancy for the 
 moment and his favourite literature the sporting pages 
 of the daily papers, he has a curious feline pounce on 
 the salient facts of a political situation, and can thread 
 the mazes of statistics with the certainty of a Hampton 
 Court guide. His enthusiastic researches (on my 
 behalf) into pauper lunacy are remarkable in one so 
 young. I foresee him an invaluable chairman of 
 committee. But he will never become a statesman. 
 He has too passionate a faith in facts and figures, and 
 has not cultivated a sense of humour at the expense 
 of the philosophers. Young men who do not read 
 them lose a great deal of fun. 
 
 Well, to-morrow I leave Murglebed for ever : it has 
 my benison. Democritus returns to London.
 
 CHAPTER n 
 
 I WAS at breakfast on the morning after my arrival in 
 London, when Dale Kynnersley rushed in and seized 
 me violently by the hand. 
 
 " By Jove, here you are at last ! " 
 
 I smoothed my crushed fingers. " You have such a 
 vehement manner of proclaiming the obvious, my dear 
 Dale." 
 
 " Oh, rot ! " he said. " Here, Rogers, give me some 
 tea — and I think I'll have some toast and marmalade." 
 
 " Haven't you breakfasted ? " 
 
 A cloud overspread his ingenuous countenance. 
 
 " I came down late, and everything was cold and 
 mother was on edge. The girls are always doing the 
 wrong things and I never do the right ones — you know 
 the mater — so I swallowed a tepid kidney and rushed 
 off." 
 
 " Save for her worries over you urchins," said I, " I 
 hope Lady Kynnersley is well ? " 
 
 He filled his mouth with toast and marmalade, and 
 
 nodded. He is a good-looking boy, four-and-twenty — 
 
 idyllic age ! He has sleek black hair brushed back 
 
 from his forehead over his head, an olive complexion, 
 
 and a keen, open, clean-shaven face. He wore a dark 
 
 brown lounge suit and a wine-coloured tie, and looked 
 
 immaculate. I remember him as the grubbiest little 
 
 wretch that ever disgraced Harrow. 
 
 He swallowed his mouthful and drank some tea. 
 
 II
 
 12 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " Recovered your sanity ? " he asked. 
 
 " The dangerous symptoms have passed over," I 
 rephed. " I undertake not to bite." 
 
 He regarded me as though he were not quite certain, 
 and asked in his pronounless way whether I was glad 
 to be back in London. 
 
 " Yes," said I. " Rogers is the only human creature 
 who can properly wax the ends of my moustache. It 
 got horribly limp in the air of Murglebed. That is 
 the one and only disadvantage of the place." 
 
 " Doesn't seem to have done you much good," he 
 remarked, scanning me critically. " You are as white 
 as you were before you went away. Why the blazes 
 you didn't go to Madeira, or the South of France, or 
 South Africa I can't imagine." 
 
 " I don't suppose you can," said I. " Any news ? " 
 
 " I should think I have ! But first let me go through 
 the appointments." 
 
 He consulted a pocket-book. On December 2nd I 
 was to dine with Tanners' Company and reply to the 
 toast of " The House of Commons." On the 4th my 
 constituency claimed me for the opening of a bazaar at 
 Wymington. A httle later I was to speak somewhere in 
 the North of England at a by-election in support of 
 the party candidate. 
 
 " It will be fought on Tariff Reform, about which I 
 know nothing," I objected. 
 
 " I know everything," he declared. " I'll see you 
 through. You must buck up a bit, Simon, and get your 
 name better known about the country. And this brings 
 me to my news. I was talking to Raggles the other day 
 — he dropped a hint and Raggles's hints are jolly well 
 worth while picking up. Just come to the front and 
 show yourself, and there's a place in the Ministry."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 13 
 
 " Ministry ? " 
 
 " Sanderson's going." 
 
 " Sanderson ? " I queried, interested, in spite of 
 myself, in these puerilities. " What's the matter with 
 him ? " 
 
 " Swelled head. There have been awful rows — this 
 is confidential — and he's got the hump. Thinks he 
 ought to be the Chancellor of the Exchequer, or at 
 least First Lord, instead of an Under Secretary. So 
 he's going to chuck it, before he gets the chuck himself 
 —see ? " 
 
 " I perceive," said I, " that your conversational 
 English style is abominable." 
 
 He lit a cigarette and continued, loftily taking no 
 notice of my rebuke. 
 
 " There's bound to be a vacancy. Why shouldn't 
 you fill it ? They seem to want you. You're miles 
 away over the heads of the average solemn duffers 
 who get office." 
 
 I bowed acknowledgment of his tribute. 
 
 " Well, you will buck up and try for it, won't you ? 
 I'm awfully proud of you already, but I should go off 
 my head with joy if you were in the Ministry." 
 
 I met his honest young eyes as well as I could. How 
 was I going to convey to his candid inteUigence the 
 fact of my speedy withdrawal from political life without 
 shattering his illusions ? Besides, his devotion touched 
 me, and his generous aspirations were so futile. Office ! 
 It was in my grasp. Raggles, with his finger always 
 on the pulse of the party machine, was the last man in 
 the world to talk nonsense. I only had to " buck up." 
 Yet by the time Sanderson sends in his resignation to 
 the King of England, I shall have sent in mine to the 
 King of Hosts. I moved shghtly in my chair, and a
 
 14 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 twinge of the little pain inside brought a gasp to my 
 throat. But I felt grateful to it. It was saving me 
 from an unconscionable deal of worry. Fancy going to 
 a confounded office every morning like a clerk in the 
 City ! I were happier at peace. I rose and warmed my- 
 self by the fire. Dale regarded me uncomprehendingly. 
 " You look as if the prospect bored you to tears. T 
 thought you would be delighted.'* 
 
 " Vanitas vanitatum'' said I. " Omnia vanitas.'' 
 " Rot ! " said Dale. 
 " It's true." 
 
 " I must fetch Eleanor Faversham back from Sicily," 
 said Dale. 
 
 " Don't," said I. 
 
 " Well, I give you up," he declared, pushing his chair 
 from the table and swinging one leg across the other. 
 I leaned forward and scrutinised his ankles. 
 " What are you looking at ? " 
 
 " There must be something radically wrong with 
 you, Dale," I murmured sympathetically. " It is 
 part of the rehgion of your generation to wear socks 
 to match your tie. To-day your tie is wine-coloured 
 
 and your socks are green " 
 
 " Good Lord," he cried, " so they are ! I dressed 
 myself anyhow this morning." 
 " What's wrong with you ? " 
 He threw his cigarette impatiently into the fire. 
 " Every infernal thing that can possibly be. Every- 
 thing's rotten — but I've not come here to talk about 
 myself." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " It isn't the game. I'm here on your business, 
 which is ever so much more important than mine. 
 Where are this morning's letters ? "
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 15 
 
 I pointed to an unopened heap on a writing-table 
 at the end of the room. He crossed and sat down 
 before them. Presently he turned sharply. 
 
 " You haven't looked through the envelopes. Here 
 is one from Sicily." 
 
 I took the letter from him, and sighed to myself as 
 I read it. Eleanor was miserable. The Sicilians 
 were dirty. The Duomo of Palermo did not come up 
 to her expectations. The Mobray-Robertsons, with 
 whom she travelled, quarrelled with their food. They 
 had never even heard of Theocritus. She had a cold 
 in her head, and was utterly at a loss to explain 
 my attitude. Therefore she was coming back to 
 London. 
 
 I wish I could find her a nice tame husband who had 
 heard of Theocritus. It would be such a good thing 
 for everybody, husband included. For, I repeat, 
 Eleanor is a young woman of fine character, and the 
 man to whom she gives her heart will be a fortunate 
 fellow. 
 
 While I was reading the letter and meditating on it, 
 with my back to the fire. Dale plunged into the morn- 
 ing's correspondence with an air of enjoyment. That 
 is the astonishing thing about him. He loves work. 
 The more I give him to do the better he likes it. His 
 cronies, who in raiment, manners, and tastes differ 
 from him no more than a row of pins differs from a 
 stray brother, regard a writing-chair as a mediaeval 
 instrument of torture, and faint at the sight of ink. 
 They will put themselves to all kinds of physical and 
 pecuniary inconvenience in order to avoid regular 
 employment. They are the tramps of the fashionable 
 world. But in vain do they sing to Dale the joys of 
 silk-hatted and patent-leather-booted vagabondage
 
 i6 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 and deride his habits of industry ; Dale turns a deaf 
 ear to them and urges on his strenuous career. Rogers, 
 coming in to clear away the breakfast things, was 
 despatched by my young friend to fetch a portfolio 
 from the hall. It contained, he informed me, the 
 unanswered letters of the past fortnight with which 
 he had found himself unqualified to deal. He grasped 
 the whole bundle of correspondence, and invited me 
 to follow him to the library and start on a solid morn- 
 ing's work. I obeyed meekly. He sat down at the 
 big table, arranged the pile in front of him, took a 
 pencil from the tray, and began : 
 
 " This is from Finch, of the Universal Review.'^ 
 
 I put my hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " Tell him, my boy, that it's against my custom to 
 breakfast at afternoon tea, and that I hope his wife 
 is well." 
 
 At his look of bewilderment I broke into a laugh. 
 
 " He wants me to write a dull article for his stupid 
 paper, doesn't he ? " 
 
 " Yes ; on Poor Law Administration." 
 
 " I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to do any- 
 thing these people ask me. Say ' No, no, no, no,' to 
 everybody." 
 
 " In Heaven's name, Simon," he cried, laying down 
 his pencU, " what has come over you ? " 
 
 "Old age," said I. 
 
 He uttered his usual interjection, and added that I 
 was only thirty-seven. 
 
 " Age is a relative thing," I remarked. " Babes of 
 five have been known to die of senile decay, and I have 
 seen irresponsible striplings of seventy." 
 
 " I really think Eleanor Faversham had better come 
 back from Sicily."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 17 
 
 I tapped the letter still in my hand. " She's 
 coming." 
 
 *' I'm jolly glad to hear it. It's all my silly fault 
 that she went away. I thought she was getting on 
 your nerves. But you want pulling together. That 
 confounded place you've been to has utterly upset 
 you." 
 
 " On the contrary," said I, " it has steadied and 
 amplified my conception of sublunary affairs. It has 
 shown me that motley is a much more profitable wear 
 than the edged toga of the senator " 
 
 " Oh, for God's sake, dry up," cried young England, 
 " and tell me what answers I'm to give to these people ! " 
 
 He seemed so earnest about it that I humoured him ; 
 and my correspondents seemed so earnest that I 
 humoured them. But it was a grim jest. Most of the 
 matters with which I had to deal appeared so trivial. 
 Only here and there did I find a chance for eumoiriety. 
 The Wymington Hospital applied for their annual 
 donation. 
 
 " You generally give a tenner," said Dale. 
 
 " This time I'U give them a couple of hundred," said I. 
 
 Dale ear-marked the amount wonderingly ; but when 
 I ordered him to send five pounds apiece to the authors 
 of various begging letters he argued vehemently and 
 quoted the Charity Organisation Society. 
 
 "They're frauds, all of them," he maintained. 
 
 " They're poor necessitous devils, at any rate," said 
 I, " and they want the money more than I do." 
 
 This was a truth whose significance Dale was far 
 from realising. Of what value, indeed, is money to 
 me ? There is none to whom I can usefully bequeath 
 my little fortune, my sisters having each married rich 
 men. I shall not need even Charon's obolus when I 
 
 B
 
 i8 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 am dead, for we have ceased to believe in him — 
 which is a pity, as the trip across the Styx must have 
 been picturesque. Why, then, should I not deal 
 myself a happy lot and portion by squandering my 
 money benevolently during my lifetime ? 
 
 It behoves me, however, to walk warily in this as in 
 other matters, for if my actions too closely resemble 
 those of a lunatic at large trustees may be appointed 
 to administer my affairs, which would frustrate my 
 plans entirely. 
 
 When my part in the morning's work was over, I 
 informed my secretary that I would go out and take 
 the air till lunch-time. 
 
 *' If you've nothing better to do," said he, " you 
 might run round to Eccleston Square and see my 
 mother." 
 
 " For any particular reason ? " 
 " She wants to see you. Home for inebriate parrots 
 or something. Gave me a message for you this 
 morning." 
 
 " I'll wait," said I, " on Lady Kynnersley with 
 pleasure." 
 
 I went out and walked down the restful covered 
 way of the Albany to the Piccadilly entrance, and began 
 my taking of the air. It was a soft November day, 
 full of blue mist, and invested with a dying grace by a 
 pale sunshine struggling through thin, grey rain-cloud. 
 It was a faded lady of a day — a lady of waxen cheeks, 
 attired in pearl-grey and old lace, her dim eyes illumined 
 by a last smile. It gave an air of unreality to the 
 perspective of tall buildings, and treated with in- 
 dulgent irony the passing show of humans — on foot, 
 on omnibuses, in cabs and motors — turning them 
 into shadow shapes tending nowhither. I laughed to
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 19 
 
 myself. They all fancied themselves so real. They 
 all had schemes in their heads, as if they were going 
 to live a thousand years. I walked westwards past 
 the great clubs, moralising as I went, and feeling the 
 reaction from the excitement of Murglebed-on-Sea. 
 I looked up at one of my own clubs, a comfortable 
 resting-place, and it struck me as possessing more 
 attractions than the family vault in Highgate Ceme- 
 tery, An acquaintance at the window waved his hand 
 to me. I thought him a lucky beggar to have that 
 window to stand by when the street will be flooded 
 with summer sunshine and the trees in the Green Park 
 opposite wave in their verdant bravery. A little farther 
 a radiant being, all chiffons and miUinery, on her way 
 to Bond Street for more millinery and chiffons, smiled 
 at me and put forth a delicately gloved hand. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. de Gex, you're the very man I was longing 
 to see ! " 
 
 " How simply are some human aspirations satisfied ! " 
 said I. 
 
 " Farfax " — that's her husband, Farfax Glenn, a 
 Member on my side of the House — " Farfax and I are 
 making plans already for the Easter recess. We are 
 going to motor to Athens, and you must come with us. 
 You can tell us all about everything as we pass by." 
 I looked grave. " Easter is late next year." 
 " What does that matter ? Say you'll come." 
 " Alas ! my dear Mrs. Glenn," I said, with a smile, 
 " I have an engagement at Easter — a very important 
 
 one." 
 
 " I thought the wedding was not to take place till 
 June." 
 
 " It isn't the wedding," said I. 
 " Then break the engagement."
 
 20 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " It's beyond human power," said I. 
 
 She held up her bracelet, from which dangled some 
 charms. 
 
 " I think you're a " And she pointed to a little 
 
 golden pig. 
 
 " I'm not," I retorted. 
 
 " What are you, then ? " 
 
 " I'm a gentleman in a Greek tragedy." 
 
 We laughed and parted, and I went on my way 
 cheered by the encounter. I had spoken the exact 
 truth, and found amusement in doing so. One has 
 often extracted humour from the contemplation of 
 the dissolution of others — that of the giant in " Jack 
 the Giant-killer," for instance, and the demise of the 
 little boy with the pair of skates in the poem. Why 
 not extract it from the contemplation of one's own ? 
 
 The only disadvantage of my position is that it gives 
 me, in spite of myself, an odd sense of isolation from 
 my kind. They are looking forward to Easters and 
 Junes and summers, and I am not. I also have a 
 fatuous feeling of superiority in being in closer touch 
 than they with eternal verities. I must take care that 
 I do not play too much to the gallery, that I do not 
 grow too conceited over the singularity of my situation, 
 and arrive at the mental attitude of the criminal whose 
 dominant solicitude in connection with his execution 
 was that he should be hanged in his dress clothes. 
 These reflections brought me to Eccleston Square. 
 
 Lady Kynnersley is of that type of British matron 
 who has children in fits of absent-mindedness, and to 
 whom their existence is a perpetual shock. Her main 
 idea in marrying the late Sir Thomas Kynnersley was 
 to associate herself with his political and philanthropic 
 schemes. She is the bom committee woman, to whom
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 21 
 
 a home represents a place where one sleeps and eats in 
 order to maintain the strength required for the per- 
 formance of committee duties. Her children have 
 always been outside the sphere of her real interests, 
 but, afflicted, as such women are, with chronic inflam- 
 mation of the conscience, she had devoted the most 
 scrupulous care to their upbringing. She formed 
 herself into a society for the protection of her own 
 children, and managed them by means of a committee, 
 which consisted of herself, and of which she was the 
 honorary secretary. She drew up articles of asso- 
 ciation and regulations. If Dale contracted measles, 
 she applied by-law 17. If Janet slapped Dorothy, by- 
 law 32 was brought into play. When Dale clamoured 
 for a rocking-horse, she found that the articles of 
 association did not provide for imaginative equitation. 
 As the children grew up, the committee had from time 
 to time to revise the articles and submit them to the 
 general body for approval. There were many meetings 
 before the new sections relating to a University career 
 for the boy and the coming out for the girls were satis- 
 factorily drafted. Once given the effect of law, how- 
 ever, there was no appeal against these provisions. 
 Both committee and general body were powerless. 
 Dale certainlv owed his methodical habits to his 
 mechanical training, but whence he derived and how 
 he maintained his exuberance and spontaneity has 
 often puzzled me. He himself accounts for it on the 
 score of heredity, in that an ancestress of his married 
 a highwayman who was hanged at Tyburn under 
 William and Mary. 
 
 In person Lady Kynnersley is lean and blanched and 
 grey-haired. She wears gold spectacles, which stand 
 out oddly against the thin whitei\ess of her face ; she
 
 22 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 is still a handsome, distinguished woman, who can 
 have, when she chooses, a most gracious manner. As 
 I, worldling and jester though I am, for some mys- 
 terious reason have found favour in the lady's eyes, 
 she manifests this graciousness whenever we fore- 
 gather. Ergo, I like Lady Kynnersley, and would put 
 myself to much inconvenience in order to do her a 
 service. 
 
 She kept me waiting in the drawing-room but a 
 minute before she made her appearance, grasped my 
 hand, proclaimed my goodness in responding so soon 
 to her call, bade me sit down on the sofa by her side, 
 inquired after my health, and, the gods of politeness 
 being propitiated, plunged at once into the midst of 
 matters. 
 
 Dale was going downhill headlong to Gadarene 
 catastrophe. He had no eyes or ears or thoughts for 
 any one in the world but a certain Lola Brandt, a 
 brazen creature from a circus, the shape of whose limbs 
 was the common knowledge of mankind from Dublin 
 to Yokohama, and whose path by sea and land, from 
 Yokohama to Dublin, was strewn with the bodies of 
 her victims. With this man-eating tigress, declared 
 Lady Kynnersley, was Dale infatuated. He scorched 
 himself morning, noon, and night in her devastating 
 presence. Had cut himself adrift from home, from 
 society. Had left traihng about on his study table 
 a jeweller's bill for a diamond bracelet. Was com- 
 mitting follies that made my brain reel to hear. Had 
 threatened, if worried much longer, to marry the 
 Scarlet One incontinently. Heaven knew, cried Lady 
 Kynnersley, how man}, husbands she had already — 
 scattered along the track between Dublin and Yoko- 
 hama. There was no doubt about it. Dale was
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 23 
 
 hurtling down to everlasting bonfire. She looked to 
 me to hold out the restraining hand. 
 
 " You have already spoken to Dale on the subject ? " 
 I asked, mindful of the inharmonious socks and tie. 
 
 " I can talk to him of nothing else," said Lady 
 Kynnersley desperately. 
 
 " That's a pity," said I. " You should talk to him 
 of Heaven, or pigs, or Babylonic cuneiform — anything 
 but Lola Brandt. You ought to go to work on a 
 different system." 
 
 " But I haven't a system at all," cried the poor lady. 
 " How was I to foresee that my only son was going to 
 fall in love with a circus rider ? These are contin- 
 gencies in life for which one, with all the thought in 
 the world, can make no provision. I had arranged, 
 as you know, that he should marry Maisie Ellerton, 
 as charming a girl as ever there was. Isn't she ? And 
 an independent fortune besides." 
 
 " A rosebud wrapped in gold leaf," I murmured. 
 
 " Now he's breaking the child's heart " 
 
 " There was never any engagement between them, 
 I am sure of that," I remarked. 
 
 " There wasn't. But I gave her to understand it 
 was a settled affair — merely a question of Dale speak- 
 ing. And, instead of speaking, he will have nothing 
 to do with her, and spends all his time — and, I suppose, 
 though I don't like to refer to it, all his money — in 
 the society of this unmentionable woman." 
 
 " Is she really so — so red as she is painted ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " She isn't painted at all. That's where her artful 
 and deceitful devilry comes in " 
 
 " I suppose Dale," said I, " declares her to be an 
 angel of light and purity ? "
 
 24 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " An angel on horseback ! Whoever heard of such 
 a thing ? " 
 
 " It's the name of rather a fiery savoury," said I. 
 
 " In a circus ! " she continued. 
 
 " Well," said I, " the ring of a circus is not essentially 
 one of the circles in Dante's Inferno." 
 
 " Of course, my dear Simon," she said, with some 
 impatience, " if you defend him " 
 
 I hastened to interrupt her. " I don't. I think he 
 is an egregious young idiot ; but before taking action 
 it's well to get a clear idea of the facts. By the way, - 
 how do you know she's not painted ? " 
 
 " I've seen her — seen her with my own eyes in Dale's 
 company — at the Savoy. He's there supping with her 
 every night. General Lament told me. I wouldn't 
 beheve it — Dale flaunting about in public with her. 
 The General offered to take me there after the inaugural 
 meeting of the International Aid Society at Grosvenor 
 House. I went, and saw them together. I shall never 
 forget the look in the boy's eyes till my dying day. 
 She has got him body and soul. One reads of such 
 things in the poets, one sees it in pictures ; but I've 
 never come across it in real life — never, never. It's 
 dreadful, horrible, revolting. To think that a son of 
 mine, brought up from babyhood to calculate all his 
 actions with mathematical precision, should be guilty 
 of this profligacy ! It's driving me mad, Simon ; it 
 really is. I don't know what to do. I've come to 
 the end of my resources. It's your turn now. The 
 boy worships you." 
 
 A wild appeal burned in her eyes and was refracted 
 oddly through her near-sighted spectacles. I had 
 never seen her betray emotion before during all the 
 years of our friendship. The look and the tone of
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 25 
 
 her voice moved me. I expressed my sympathy and 
 my readiness to do anything in my power to snatch 
 the infatuated boy from the claw and fang of the siren 
 and hale him to the forgiving feet of Maisie Ellerton. 
 Indeed, such a chivalrous adventure had vaguely 
 passed through my mind during my exalted mood at 
 Murglebed-on-Sea. But then I knew httle beyond 
 the fact that Dale was fluttering round an undesirable 
 candle. Till now I had no idea of the extent to which 
 his wings were singed. 
 
 " Hasn't Dale spoken to you about this creature ? " 
 his mother asked. 
 
 " Young men of good taste keep these things from 
 Hheir elders, my dear Lady Kynnersley," said I. 
 
 " But you knew of it ? " 
 • " In a dim sort of way." 
 
 " Oh, Simon " 
 
 " The baby boys of Dale's set regard taking out the 
 chorus to supper as a solemn religious rite. They 
 wouldn't think themselves respectable if they didn't. 
 I've done it myself — in moderation — when I was very 
 young." 
 
 " Men are mysteries," sighed Lady Kynnersley. 
 " Please regard them as such," said I, with a laugh, 
 " and let Dale alone. Allow him to do whatever 
 irrational thing he hkes, save bringing the lady here 
 to tea. If you try to tear him away from her he'll 
 only chng to her the closer. If you trumpet abroad 
 her infamy he'll proclaim her a slandered and martyred 
 saint. Leave him to me for the present." 
 
 " I'll do so gladly," said Lady Kynnersley, with 
 surprising meekness. " But you will bring him back, 
 Simon ? I've arranged for him to marry Maisie. I 
 can't have my plan? foi his future upset."
 
 26 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 By-law 379 ! Dear, excellent, but wooden-headed 
 woman ! 
 
 " I have your promise, haven't I ? " she said, her 
 hand in mine. 
 
 " You have," said I nobly. 
 
 But how in the name of Astaroth I'm going to keep 
 it I haven't the remotest conception.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Some letters in Dale's round handwriting lay on the 
 library tabic awaiting my signature. Dale himself 
 had gone. A lady had called for him, said Rogers, in 
 an electric brougham. As my chambers are on the 
 second floor and the staircase half-way down the arcade, 
 Rogers's detailed information surprised me. I asked 
 him how he knew. 
 
 " A chauffeur in livery, sir, came to the door and said 
 that the brougham was waiting for Mr. Kynnersley." 
 
 " I don't see how the lady came in," I remarked. 
 
 " She didn't, sir. She remained in the brougham," 
 said Rogers. 
 
 So Lola Brandt keeps an electric brougham. 
 
 I lunched at the club, and turned up the article 
 " Lola Brandt " in the living encyclopsedia — that was 
 my friend Renniker. The wonderful man gave me 
 her history from the cradle to Cadogan Gardens, where 
 she now resides. I must say that his details were 
 rather vague. She rode in a circus or had a talking 
 horse — he was not quite sure ; and concerning her 
 conjugal or extra-conjugal heart affairs he admitted 
 that his information was either unauthenticatedjor 
 conjectural. At any rate, she had not a shred of 
 reputation. And she didn't want it, said]_Renniker ; 
 it would be as much use to her as a diving suit. 
 
 " She. ' has young Dale Kynnersley in tow," he 
 remarked. 
 
 27
 
 28 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " So I gather," said I. " And now can you tell me 
 something else ? What is the present state of political 
 parties in Guatemala ? " 
 
 I was not in the least interested in Guatemala ; but I 
 did not care to discuss Dale with Renniker. When he 
 had completed his sketch of affairs in that obscure 
 republic, I thanked him pohtely and ordered coffee. 
 
 Feeling in a gregarious, companionable humour — I 
 have had enough solitude at Murglebed to last me the 
 rest of my short lifetime — I went later in the afternoon 
 to Sussex Gardens to call on Mrs. Ellerton. It was her 
 day at home, and the drawing-room was filled with 
 chattering people. I stayed until most of them were 
 gone, and then Maisie dragged me to the inner room, 
 where a table was strewn with the wreckage of tea. 
 
 " I haven't had any," she said, grasping the teapot 
 and pouring a treacly liquid into a cup. " You must 
 have some more. Do you hke it black, or with milk ? " 
 
 She is a dainty shp of a girl, with deep grey eyes and 
 wavy brown hair and a sea-shell complexion. I 
 absently swallowed the abomination she handed me, 
 for I was looking at her over the teacup and wondering 
 how an exquisite-minded gentleman like Dale could 
 forsake her for a Lola Brandt. It is not as if Maisie 
 were an empty-headed, empty-natured little girl. She 
 is a young person of sense, education, and character. 
 She also adores musical comedy and a band at dinner : 
 an excellent thing in woman — when she is very young. 
 
 " Why are you looking at me like that ? " she asked. 
 
 " Because, my dear Maisie," said I, " you are good 
 to look upon. You are also dropping a hairpin." 
 
 She hastily secured the danghng thing. " I did my 
 hair anyhow to-day," she explained. 
 
 Again I thought of Dale's tie and socks. The signs
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 29 
 
 of a lover's " careless desolation," described by Rosalind 
 so minutely, can still be detected in modern youth of 
 both sexes. I did not pursue the question, but alluded 
 to autumn gaieties. She spoke of them without 
 enthusiasm. Miss Somebody's wedding was very dull, 
 and Mrs. Somebody Else's dance manned with vile 
 and vacuous dancers. At the Opera the greatest of 
 German sopranos sang false. All human institutions 
 had taken a crooked turn, and her cat could not be 
 persuaded to pay the commonest attention to its 
 kittens. Then she asked me nonchalantly : 
 " Have you seen anything of Dale lately ? " 
 " He was working with me this morning. I've been 
 away, you know." 
 " I forgot." 
 
 " When did you last see him ? " I asked. 
 " Oh, ages ago ! He has not been near us for weeks. 
 We used to be such friends. I don't think it's very 
 pohte of him, do you ? " 
 
 " I'll order him to call forthwith," said I. 
 " Oh, please don't ! If he won't come of his own 
 accord — I don't want to see him particularly." 
 
 She tossed her shapely head and looked at me bravely. 
 " You are quite right," said I. " Dale's a selfish, 
 iU-mannered young cub." 
 
 " He isn't ! " she flashed. " How dare you say such 
 things about him ! " 
 
 I smiled and took both her hands — one of them held 
 a piece of brown bread and butter. 
 
 " My dear," said I, " model yourself on Little Bo- 
 Peep. I don't know who gave her the famous bit of 
 advice, but I think it was I myself in a pastoral incar- 
 nation. I had a woolly cloak and a crook, and she 
 was like a Dresden china figure — the image of you."
 
 30 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Her eyes swam, but she laughed and said I was 
 good to her. I said : 
 
 " The man who wouldn't be good to you is an unhung 
 viUain." 
 
 Then her mother joined us, and our httle confidential 
 talk came to an end. It was enough, however, to 
 convince me that my poor little Ariadne was shedding 
 many desperate tears in secret over her desertion. 
 
 On my way home I looked in on my doctor. His 
 name is Hunnington. He grasped me by the hand and 
 eagerly inquired whether my pain was worse. I said 
 it was not. He professed dehght, but looked dis- 
 appointed. I ought to have replied in the affirmative. 
 It is so easy to make others happy. 
 
 I dined, read a novel, and went to sleep in the cheer- 
 ful frame of mind induced by the consciousness of 
 having made some httle progress on the path of eu- 
 moiriety. 
 
 The next morning Dale made his customary appear- 
 ance. He wore a morning coat, a dark tie, and patent- 
 leather boots. 
 
 " Well," said I, " have you dressed more carefully 
 to-day ? " 
 
 He looked himself anxiously over and inquired 
 whether there was anything wrong. I assured him of 
 the impeccability of his attire, and commented on its 
 splendour. 
 
 " Are you going to take Maisie out to lunch ? " 
 
 He started and reddened beneath his dark skin. 
 Before he could speak I laid my hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " I'm an old friend. Dale. You mustn't be angry 
 with me. But don't you think you're treating Maisie 
 rather badly ? " 
 
 " You've no right to say so," he burst out hotly.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 31 
 
 " No one has the right to say so. There never was a 
 question of an engagement between Maisie and myself." 
 
 " Then there ought to have been," I said judicially. 
 " No decent man plays fast and loose with a girl and 
 throws her over just at the moment when he ought 
 to be asking her to marry him." 
 
 *' I suppose my mother's been at you. That's what 
 she wanted to see you about yesterday. I wish to 
 God she would mind her own business." 
 
 " And, a fortiori, that I would mind mine ? " 
 
 Dale did not reply. For some odd reason he is 
 devotedly attached to me, and respects my opinion on 
 worldly matters. He walked to the window and 
 looked out. Presently, without turning round, he 
 said : 
 
 " I suppose she has been rubbing it in about Lola 
 Brandt ? " 
 
 " She did mention the lady's name," said I. " So 
 did Renniker at the club. I suppose every one you 
 know and many you don't are mentioning it." 
 
 " Well, what if they are ? " 
 
 " They're creating an atmosphere about your name 
 which is scarcely that in which to make an entrance 
 into public life." 
 
 Still with his back turned, he morosely informed me 
 in his vernacular that he contemplated public life 
 with feelings of indifference, and was perfectly pre- 
 pared to abandon his ambitions. I took up my 
 parable, the same old parable that wise seniors have 
 preached to the deluded young from time immemorial. 
 I have seldom held forth so platitudinously even in the 
 House of Commons. I spoke as impressively as a 
 bishop. In the midst of my harangue he came and 
 sat by the library table and rested his chin on his
 
 32 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 palm, looking at me quietly out of his dark eyes. His 
 mildness encouraged me to further efforts. I instanced 
 cases of other young men of the world who had gone 
 the way of the flesh and had ended at the devil. 
 
 There was Paget, of the Guards, eaten to the bone 
 by the Syren — not even the gold lace on his uniform 
 left. There was Merridew, once the hope of the party, 
 now living in ignoble obscurity with an old and painted 
 mistress, whom he detested, but to whom habit and 
 sapped will-power kept him in thrall. There was 
 Bullen, who blew his brains out. In a generous glow I 
 waxed prophetic and drew a vivid picture of Dale's 
 moral, mental, physical, financial, and social ruin, and 
 finished up in a masterly peroration. 
 
 Then, without moving, he calmly said : 
 
 " My dear Simon, you are talking through your 
 hat ! " 
 
 He had allowed me to walk backwards and forwards 
 on the hearthrug before a blazing fire, pouring out the 
 wealth of my wisdom, experience, and rhetoric for ten 
 minutes by the clock, and then coolly informed me that 
 I was talking through my hat. 
 
 I wiped my forehead, sat down, and looked at him 
 across the table in surprise and indignation. 
 
 " If you can point out one irrelevant or absurd 
 remark in my homily, I'll eat the hat through which 
 you say I'm talking." 
 
 " The whole thing is rot from beginning to end ! " 
 said he. " None of you good people know anything at 
 all about Lola Brandt. She's not the sort of woman 
 you think. She's quite different. You can't judge 
 her by ordinary standards. There's not a woman 
 like her in the wide world ! " 
 
 I made a gesture of discouragement. The same old
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 33 
 
 parable of the wise had evoked the same old retort 
 from the deluded young. She was quite different from 
 other women. She was misunderstood by the cynical 
 and gross-minded world. A heart of virgin purity 
 beat beneath her mercenary bosom. Her lurid past 
 had been the reiterated martyrdom of a noble nature. 
 O Golden Age ! O Heyday of Illusion ! O Swantide 
 of Geese ! O unutterable silliness of Boyhood ! 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, don't talk in that way ! " he 
 cried (I had been talking that way), and he rose and 
 walked hke a young tiger about the room. " I can't 
 stand it. I've gone mad about her. She has got into 
 my blood somehow. I think about her all day long, 
 and I can't sleep at night. I would give up any 
 mortal thing on earth for her. She is the one woman 
 in the world for me ! She's the dearest, sweetest, 
 tenderest, most beautiful creature God ever made ! " 
 
 " And you honour and respect her — just as you 
 would honour and respect Maisie ? " I asked quietly. 
 
 " Of course I do ! " he flashed. " Don't I tell you 
 that you know nothing whatever about her ? She is 
 
 the dearest, sweetest " &c. &c. And he continued 
 
 to trumpet forth the Olympian quaHties of the Syren 
 and his own fervent adoration. I was the only being 
 to whom he had opened his heart, and, the flood-gates 
 being set free, the torrent burst forth in this tempes- 
 tuous and incoherent manner. I let him go on, for I 
 thought it did him good ; but his rhapsody added 
 very little to my information. 
 
 The lady who had " houp-la'd " her way from Dublin 
 to Yokohama was the spotless queen of beauty, and 
 Dale was frenziedly, idiotically in love with her. That 
 was all I could gather. When he had finished, which 
 he did somewhat abruptly, he threw himself into 
 
 c
 
 34 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 a chair and took out his cigarette-case with shaky 
 fingers. 
 
 " There. I suppose I've made a damn-fool exhibition 
 of myself," he said, defiantly. " What have you got 
 to say about it ? " 
 
 " Precisely," I replied, " what I said before. I'll 
 repeat it, if you like." 
 
 Indeed, what more was there to say for the present 
 about the lunatic business ? I had come to the end of 
 my arguments. 
 
 He reflected for a moment, then rose and came over 
 to the fireplace. 
 
 *' Look here, Simon, you must let me go my own 
 way in this. In matters of politics and worldly wisdom 
 and social affairs and honourable dealing and all that 
 sort of thing I would follow you blindly. You're my 
 chief, and a kind of elder brother as well. I would do 
 any mortal thing for you. You know that. But 
 you've no right to try to guide me in this matter. You 
 know no more about it than my mother. You've had 
 no experience. You've never let yourself go about a 
 woman in your life. Lord of Heaven, man, you have 
 never begun to know what it means ! " 
 
 Oh, dear me ! Here was a situation as old as the 
 return of the Prodigal or the desertion of the trusting 
 village maiden, or any other cliche in the melodrama 
 of real life. " You are making a fool of yourself," 
 says Mentor. '* Ah," shrieks Telemachus, " but you 
 never loved ! You don't know what love is." 
 
 I looked at him whimsically. 
 
 " Don't I ? " 
 
 My thoughts sped back down the years to a garden 
 in France. Her name was Clothilde. We met in a 
 manner outrageous to Galhc propriety, as I used to
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 35 
 
 climb over the garden wall to the peril of my epidermis. 
 We loved. We were parted by stern parents — not 
 mine — and Clothilde was packed off to the good Sisters 
 who had previously had care of her education. Now 
 she is fat and happy, and the wife of a banker and the 
 mother of children. 
 
 But the romance was sad and bad and mad enough 
 while it lasted ; and when Clothilde was (figuratively) 
 dragged from my arms I cursed and swore and out- 
 Heroded Herod, played Termagant, and summoned 
 the heavens to fall down and crush me miserable 
 beneath their weight. And then her brother challenged 
 me to fight a duel, whereupon, as the most worshipped 
 of all She's had not received a ha'porth of harm at my 
 hands, I called him a silly ass and threatened to break 
 his head if he interfered any more in my legitimate 
 despair. I smile at it now ; but it was real at two- 
 and-twenty — as real, I take it, as Dale's consuming 
 passion for the lady of the circus. 
 
 There was also, I remembered, a certain But 
 
 this had nothing to do with Dale. Neither had the 
 tragedy of my lost Clothilde. The memories, how- 
 ever, brought a wistful touch of sympathy into my 
 voice. 
 
 " You soberly think, my dear old Dale," said I, 
 " that I know nothing of love and passion and the rest 
 of the divine madness ? " 
 
 " I'm sure you don't," he cried, with an impatient 
 gesture. " If you did, you wouldn't " 
 
 He came to an abrupt and confused halt. 
 
 " I wouldn't— what ? " 
 
 " Nothing. I forget what I was going to say. Let 
 us talk of something else." 
 
 " It was on the tip of your impulsive tongue," said
 
 36 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 I cheerfully, " to refer to my attitude towards Miss 
 Faversham." 
 
 " I'm desperately sorry," said he, reddening. " It 
 was unpardonable. But how did you guess ? " 
 
 I laughed, and quoted the Latin tag about the in- 
 genuous boy of the ingenuous visage and ingenuous 
 modesty. 
 
 " Because I don't feverishly search the postbag for 
 a letter from Miss Faversham you conclude I'm a 
 bloodless automaton ? " 
 
 " Please don't say any more about it, Simon," he 
 pleaded in deep distress. 
 
 A sudden idea struck me. I reflected, walked to the 
 window, and, having made up my mind, sat down 
 again. I had a weapon to hand which I had over- 
 looked, and with the discovery came a weak craving 
 for the boy's sympathy. I believe I care more for 
 him than for any living creature. I decided to give 
 him some notion of my position. 
 
 Sooner or later he would have to learn it. 
 
 " I would rather like to tell you something," said I, 
 " about my engagement — in confidence, of course. 
 When Eleanor Faversham comes back I propose to 
 ask her to release me from it." 
 
 He drew a long breath. " I'm glad. She's an awfully 
 nice girl, but she's no more in love with you than my 
 mother is. But it'll be rather difficult, won't it ? " 
 
 " I don't think so," I replied, shaking my head. 
 " It's a question of health. My doctors absolutely 
 forbid it." 
 
 A look of affectionate alarm sprang into his eyes. He 
 broke into sympathy. My health ? Why had I not 
 told him before ? In Heaven's name, what w^as the 
 matter with me ?
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 37 
 
 " Something silly," said I. " Nothing you need 
 worry about on my account. Only I must go piano 
 for the rest of my days. Marriage isn't to be thought 
 of. There is something else I must tell you. I must 
 resign my seat." 
 
 " Resign your seat ? Give up Parliament ? 
 When ? " 
 
 " As soon as possible." 
 
 He looked at me aghast, as if the world were coming 
 to an end. 
 
 " We had better concoct an epistle to Raggles this 
 morning." 
 
 " But you can't be serious ? " 
 " I can sometimes, my dear Dale. This is one of 
 the afflicting occasions." 
 
 " You out of Parliament ? You out of public Hfe ? 
 It's inconceivable. It's damnable. But you're just 
 coming into your own — what Raggles said, what I 
 told you yesterday. But it can't be. You can hold 
 on. I'll do aU the drudgery for you. I'll work night 
 and day." 
 
 And he tramped up and down the room, uttering 
 the disconnected phrases which an honest young soul 
 unaccustomed to express itself emotionally blurts out 
 in moments of deep feehng. 
 
 " It's no use, Dale," said I, " I've got my marching 
 orders." 
 
 " But why should they come just now ? " 
 " When the sweets of office are dangling at my Hps ? 
 It's pretty simple." I laughed. " It's one of the 
 httle ironies that please the high gods so immensely. 
 They have an elementary sense of humour — hke that 
 of the funny fellow who pulls your chair from under 
 you and shrieks with laughter when you go wallop on
 
 38 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 to the floor. Well, I don't grudge them their amuse- 
 ment. They must have a dull time setthng mundane 
 affairs, and a little joke goes a long way with them, as 
 it does in the House of Commons. Fancy sitting on 
 those green benches legislating for all eternity, with 
 never a recess and never even a dinner hour ! Poor 
 high gods ! Let us pity them." 
 
 I looked at him and smiled, perhaps a little wearily. 
 One can always command one's eyes, but one's lips 
 sometimes get out of control. He could not have 
 noticed my hps, however, for he cried : 
 
 " By George, you're splendid ! I wish I could take 
 a knock-out blow like that ! " 
 
 " You'll have to one of these days. It's the only 
 way of taking it. And now," said I, in a business-like 
 tone, " I've told you all this with a purpose. At 
 Wymington it will be a case of ' Le Roi est mort. Vive 
 le Roi I ' The vacancy will have to be filled up at 
 once. We'll have to find a suitable candidate. Have 
 you one in your mind ? " 
 
 " Not a soul." 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " Who ? " 
 
 " You." 
 
 " Me ? " He nearly sprang into the air with astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " They'd never adopt me." 
 
 " I think they would," I said. " There are men in 
 the House as young as you. You're well known at 
 Wymington and at headquarters as my right-hand 
 man. You've done some speaking — you do it rather 
 well ; it's only your private conversational style that's 
 atrocious. You've got a name famihar in pubhc life
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 39 
 
 up and down the country, thanks to your father and 
 mother. It's a fairly safe seat. I see no reason why 
 they shouldn't adopt you. Would you Hke it ? '* 
 
 " Like it ? " he cried. " Why, I'd give my ears for 
 it." 
 
 " Then," said I, playing my winning card, " let us 
 hear no more about Lola Brandt." 
 
 He gave me a swift glance, and walked up and down 
 the room for a while in silence. Presently he halted 
 in front of me, 
 
 " Look here, Simon, you're a beast, but "—he smiled 
 frankly at the quotation—" you're a just beast. You 
 oughtn't to rub it in hke that about Lola until you 
 have seen her yourself. It isn't fair." 
 
 " You speak now in language distinctly approaching 
 that of reason," I remarked. " What do you want me 
 to do ? " 
 
 " Come with me this afternoon and see her." 
 
 My young friend had me nicely in the trap. I could 
 not refuse. 
 
 " Very well," said I. *' But on the distinct under- 
 standing " 
 
 " Oh, on any old understanding you Uke ! " he cried, 
 and darted to the door. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 " To ring her up on the telephone and tell her you're 
 coming." 
 
 That's the worst of the young. They have such a 
 disconcerting manner of chnching one's undertakings.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 My first impression of Lola Brandt in the dimness of 
 the room was that of a Hthe panther in petticoats rising 
 lazily from the depths of an easy chair. A sinuous 
 action of the arm, as she extended her hand to welcome 
 me, was accompanied by a curiously flexible turn of 
 the body. Her hand as it enveloped, rather than 
 grasped, mine seemed boneless but exceedingly power- 
 ful. An indoor dress of brown and gold striped Indian 
 silk clung to her figure, which, largely built, had an 
 appearance of great strength. Dark bronze hair and 
 dark eyes, that in the soft light of the room glowed 
 with deep gold reflections, completed the pantherine 
 suggestion. She seemed to be on the verge of thirty. 
 A most dangerous woman, I decided — one to be shut 
 up in a cage with thick iron bars. 
 
 " It's charming of you to come. I've heard so 
 much of you from Mr. Kynnersley. Do sit down," 
 
 Her voice was lazy and languorous and caressing like 
 
 the purr of a great cat ; and there was something exotic 
 
 in her accent, something seductive, something that 
 
 ought to be prohibited by the police. She sank into 
 
 her low chair by the fire, indicating one for me square 
 
 with the hearthrug. Dale, so as to leave me a fair 
 
 conversational field \vith the lady, established himself 
 
 on the sofa some distance off, and began to talk with 
 
 a Chow dog, with whom he was obviously on terms of 
 
 familiarity. Madame Brandt made a remark about 
 
 40
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 41 
 
 the Chow dog's virtues, to which I pohtely rephed. 
 She put him through several tricks. I admired his 
 talent. She declared her affections to be divided 
 between Adolphus (that was the Chow dog's name) 
 and a ouistiti, who was confined to bed for the present 
 owing to the evil qualities of the November air. For 
 the first time I blessed the Enghsh chmate. I hate little 
 monkeys. I also felt a queer disappointment. A woman 
 Hke that ought to have caught an ourang-outang. 
 
 She guessed my thought in an uncanny manner, and 
 smiled, showing strong, white, even teeth — the most 
 marvellous teeth I have ever beheld — so even as to 
 constitute almost a deformity. 
 
 " I'm fonder of bigger animals," she said. *' I was 
 bom among them. My father was a lion-tamer, so I 
 know all the ways of beasts. I love bears — I once 
 trained one to drive a cart — but " — with a sigh — " you 
 can't keep bears in Cadogan Gardens." 
 
 " You may get hold of a human one now and then," 
 said Dale. 
 
 " I've no doubt Madame Brandt could train him to 
 dance to whatever tune she played," said I. 
 
 She turned her dark golden eyes lazily, slumberously 
 on me. 
 
 " Why do you say that, Mr. de Gex ? " 
 
 This was disconcerting. Why had I said it ? For 
 no particular reason, save to keep up a commonplace 
 conversation in which I took no absorbing interest. 
 It was a direct challenge. Young Dale stopped playing 
 with the Chow dog and grinned. It behoved me to 
 say something. I said it, with a bow and a wave of 
 my hand : 
 
 " Because, though your father was a lion-tamer, 
 your mother was a woman."
 
 42 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 She appeared to reflect for a moment ; then address- 
 ing Dale : 
 
 " The answer doesn't amount to a ha'porth of cats'- 
 meat, but you couldn't have got out of it like that." 
 
 I was again disconcerted, but I remarked that he 
 would learn in time when my mentorship was over and 
 I handed him, a finished product, to society. 
 
 " How long will that be ? " she asked. 
 
 " I don't know. Are you anxious for his immediate 
 perfecting ? " 
 
 Her shoulders gave what in ordinary women would 
 have been a shrug : with her it was a slow ripple. I 
 vow if her neck had been bare one could have seen it 
 undulate beneath the skin. 
 
 " What is perfection ? " 
 
 " Can you ask ? " laughed Dale. " Behold ! " And 
 he pointed to me. 
 
 " That's cheap," said the lady. " I've heard 
 Auguste say cleverer things." 
 
 " Who's Auguste ? " asked Dale. 
 
 " Auguste," said I, " is the generic name of the clown 
 in the French Hippodrome." 
 
 " Oh, the Circus ! " cried Dale. 
 
 " I'll be glad if you'll teach him to call it the Hippo- 
 drome, Mr. de Gex," she remarked, with another of 
 her slumberous glances. 
 
 " That will be one step nearer perfection," said I. 
 
 The short November twilight had deepened into 
 darkness ; the fire, which was blazing when we entered, 
 had settled into a glow, and the room was ht by one 
 shaded lamp. To me the dimness was restful, but 
 Dale, who, with the crude instincts of youth, loves 
 glare, began to fidget, and presently asked whether 
 he might turn on the electric light. Permission was
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 43 
 
 given. My hostess invited me to smoke and to hand 
 her a box of cigarettes which lay on the mantelpiece. 
 I rose, bent over her while she lit her cigarette from 
 my match, and, resuming an upright position, became 
 rooted to the hearthrug. 
 
 With the flood of illumination, disclosing everything 
 that hitherto had been wrapped in shadow and 
 mystery, came a shock. 
 
 It was a most extraordinary, perplexing room. The 
 cheap and the costly, the rare and the common, the 
 exquisite and the tawdry jostled one another on walls 
 and floor. At one end of the Louis XVI. sofa on which 
 Dale had been sitting lay a boating cushion covered 
 with a Union Jack, at the other a cushion covered with 
 old Moorish embroidery. The chair I had vacated I 
 discovered to be of old Spanish oak and stamped Cor- 
 dova leather bearing traces of a coat-of-arms in gold. 
 My hostess lounged in a low characterless seat 
 amid a mass of heterogenous cushions. There were 
 many flowers in the room — some in cloisonn6 vases, 
 others in gimcrack vessels such as are bought at 
 country fairs. On the mantelpiece and on tables 
 were mingled precious ivories from Japan, trumpery 
 chalets from the Tyrol, choice bits of Sevres and Vene- 
 tian glass, bottles with ladders and little men inside 
 them, vulgar china fowls sitting on eggs, and a thousand 
 restless little objects screeching in dumb agony at 
 one another. 
 
 The more one looked the more confounded became 
 confusion. Lengths of beautifully embroidered Chinese 
 silk formed curtains for the doors and windows ; 
 but they were tied back with cords ending in 
 horrible little plush monkeys in heu of tassels, A 
 Second Empire gilt mirror hung over the Louis XVI.
 
 44 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 sofa, and was flanked on the one side by a villainous 
 German print of " The Huntsman's Return " and on 
 the other by a dainty water-colour. Myriads of photo- 
 graphs, some in frames, met the eye everywhere — on 
 the grand piano, on the occasional tables, on the 
 mantelpiece, stuck obliquely all round the Queen Anne 
 mirror above it, on the walls. Many of them represented 
 animals — bears and lions and pawing horses. Dale's 
 photograph I noticed in a silver frame on the piano. 
 There was not a book in the place. But in the comer 
 of the room by a farther window gleamed a large 
 marble Venus of Milo, charmingly executed, who stood 
 regarding the welter with eyes calm and unconcerned. 
 I was aroused from the momentary shock caused by 
 the revelation of this eccentric apartment by an un- 
 known nauseous flavour in my mouth. I realised it was 
 the cigarette to which I had helped myself from the 
 beautifully chased silver casket I had taken from the 
 mantelpiece. I eyed the thing, and concluded it was 
 made of the very cheapest tobacco, and was what the 
 street urchin calls a " fag." I learned afterwards that 
 I was right. She purchased them at the rate of six for 
 a penny, and smoked them in enormous quantities. For 
 politeness' sake I continued to puff at the unclean thing 
 until I nearly made myself sick. Then, simulating 
 absent-mindedness, I threw it into the fire. 
 
 Why, in the sacred name of Nicotine, does a luxurious 
 lady like Lola Brandt smoke such unutterable garbage ? 
 On the other hand, the tea which she offered us a few 
 minutes later, and begged us to drink without milk, was 
 the most exquisite I have tasted outside Russia. She 
 informed us that she got it direct from Moscow. 
 
 " I can't stand your black Ceylon tea," she remarked, 
 with a grimace,
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 45 
 
 And yet she could smoke " fags." I wondered what 
 other contradictious tastes she possessed. No doubt 
 she could eat blood puddings with relish and had a dis- 
 criminating palate for claret. Truly, a perplexing lady. 
 
 " You must find leisure in London a great change 
 after your adventurous career," said I, by way of polite 
 conversation. 
 
 " I just love it. I'm as lazy as a cat," she said, set- 
 tling with her pantherine grace among the cushions. 
 " Do you know what has been my ambition ever since I 
 was a kid ? " 
 
 " Whatever of woman's ambitions you had you must 
 have attained," said I, with a bow. 
 
 " Pooh ! " she said. " You mean that I can have 
 crowds of men falling in love with me. That's rub- 
 bish." She was certainly frank. " I meant something 
 quite different. I wonder whether you can understand. 
 The world used to seem divided into two classes that 
 never met — we performing people and the public, the 
 thousand white faces that looked at us and went away 
 and talked to other white faces and forgot all about 
 performing animals till they came next time. Now I've 
 got what I wanted. See ? I'm one of the public." 
 
 " And you love Philistia better than Bohemia ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 She knitted her brows and looked at me, puzzled. 
 
 " If you want to talk to me," she said, " you must 
 talk straight. I've had no more education than a 
 tinker's dog." 
 
 She made this peculiar announcement, not defiantly, 
 not rudely, but appealingly, graciously. It was not a 
 rebuke for priggishness ; it was the unresentable state- 
 ment of a fact. I apologised for a lunatic habit of 
 speech and paraphrased my question.
 
 46 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " In a word," cried Dale, coming in on my heels with 
 an elucidation of my periphrasis, " what de Gex is 
 driving at is — Do you prefer respectability to ramping 
 round ? " 
 
 She turned slowly to him. " My dear boy, when do 
 you think I was not respectable ? " 
 
 He jumped from the sofa as if the Chow dog had 
 bitten him. 
 
 " Good Heavens, I never meant you to take it that 
 way ! " 
 
 She laughed, stretched up a lazy arm to him, and 
 looked at him somewhat quizzically in the face as he 
 kissed her finger-tips. Although I could have boxed 
 the silly fellow's ears, I vow he did it in a very pretty 
 fashion. The young man of the day, as a general rule, 
 has no more notion how to kiss a woman's hand than 
 how to take snuff or dance a pavane. Indeed, lots of 
 them don't know how to kiss a girl at all. 
 
 " My dear," she said, " I was much more respect- 
 able sitting on the stage at tea with my horse, Sultan, 
 than supping with you at the Savoy. You don't 
 know the deadly respectability of most people in the 
 profession, and the worst of it is that while we're being 
 utterly dull and dowdy, the public think we're having a 
 devil of a time. So we don't even get the credit of our 
 virtues. I prefer the Savoy — and this." She turned 
 to me. " It is nice having decent people to tea. Do 
 you know what I should love ? I should love to have 
 an At Home day — and receive ladies, real ladies. And 
 I have such a sweet place, haven't I ? " 
 
 " You have many beautiful things around you," said 
 I truthfully. 
 
 She sighed. " I should like more people to see 
 them."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 47 
 
 " In fact," said I, " you have social ambitions, 
 Madame Brandt ? " 
 
 She looked at me for a moment out of the comer of 
 her eye. 
 
 " Are you skinning me ? " she asked. 
 
 Where she had picked up this eccentric metaphor I 
 know not. She had many odd turns of language as yet 
 not current among the fashionable classes. I gravely 
 assured her that I was not sarcastic. I commended her 
 praiseworthy aspirations. 
 
 " But," said I innocently, " don't you miss the hard 
 training, the physical exercise, the delight of motion, 
 
 the excitement, the ? " — my vocabulary failing me, 
 
 I sketched with a gesture the equestrienne's classical 
 encouragement to her steed. 
 
 She looked at me uncomprehendingly. 
 
 " The what ? " she asked. 
 
 " What are you playing at ? " inquired Dale. 
 
 " I was referring to the ring," said I. 
 
 They both burst out laughing, to my discomfiture. 
 
 " What do you take me for ? A circus rider ? Per- 
 forming in a tent and living in a caravan ? You think 
 I jump through a hoop in tights ? " 
 
 " All I can say," I murmured, by way of apology, 
 " is that it's a mendacious world. I'm deeply 
 sorry." 
 
 Why had I been misled in this shameful manner ? 
 
 Madame Brandt with lazy good nature accepted my 
 excuses. 
 
 " I'm what is professionally known as a dotnpteuse," 
 she explained. "Of course when I was a kid I was 
 trained as an acrobat, for my father was poor ; but 
 when he grew rich and the owner of animals, which he 
 did when I was fourteen, I joined him and worked with
 
 48 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 him all over the world until I went on my own. Do 
 you mean to say you never heard of me ? " 
 
 " Madame Brandt," said I, "the last thing to be 
 astonished at is human ignorance. Do you know that 
 30 per cent, of the French army at the present day have 
 never heard of the Franco-Prussian War ? " 
 
 " My dear Simon," cried Dale, " the two things don't 
 hang together. The Franco-Prussian War is not ad- 
 vertised all over France like Beecham's Pills, whereas 
 six years ago you couldn't move two steps in London 
 without seeing posters of Lola Brandt and her horse 
 Sultan." 
 
 " Ah, the horse ! " said L " That's how the wicked 
 circus story got about." 
 
 " It was the last act I ever did," said Madame Brandt. 
 " I taught Sultan — oh, he was a dear, beautiful thing — 
 to count and add up and guess articles taken from the 
 audience. I was at the Hippodrome. Then at the 
 Nouveau Cirque at Paris ; I was at St. Petersburg, 
 Vienna, Berlin — all over Europe with Sultan." 
 
 " And where is Sultan now ? " I asked. 
 
 " He is dead. Somebody poisoned him," she replied, 
 looking into the fire. After a pause she continued in a 
 low voice, singularly like the growl of a wrathful animal, 
 "If ever I meet that man alive it will go hard with 
 him." 
 
 At that moment the door opened and the servant 
 announced : 
 
 " Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos ! " 
 
 Whereupon the shortest creature that ever bore so 
 lengthy a name, a dwarf not more than four feet high, 
 wearing a frock-coat and bright yellow gloves, entered 
 the room, and crossing it at a sort of trot fell on his 
 knees by the side of Madame Brandt's chair.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 49 
 
 " Ah ! Carissima, je vons vols enfin. Ach Itches Herz ! 
 Que j'ai envie de pleiirer ! " 
 
 Madame Brandt smiled, took the creature's head 
 between her hands and kissed his forehead. She also 
 caressed his shoulders. 
 
 " My dear Anastasius, how good it is to see you. 
 Where have you been this long time ? Why didn't you 
 write and let me know you were in England ? But, see, 
 Anastasius, I have visitors. Let me introduce you." 
 
 She spoke in French fluently, but with a frank British 
 accent, which grated on a fastidious ear. The dwarf 
 rose, made two solemn bows, and declared himself 
 enchanted. Although his head was too large for his 
 body, he was neither ill-made nor repulsive. He looked 
 about thirty-five. A high forehead, dark, mournful 
 eyes, and a black moustache and imperial gave him an 
 odd resemblance to Napoleon the Third. 
 
 " I arrived from New York this morning, with my cats. 
 Oh, a mad success. I have one called Phcebus, because 
 he drives a chariot drawn by six rats. Phoebus Apollo 
 was the god of the sun. I must show him to you, 
 Madonna. You would love him as I love you. And I 
 also have an angora, my beautiful Santa Bianca. And 
 you, gentlemen " — he turned to Dale and myself and 
 addressed us in his peculiar jargon of French, German, 
 and Italian — " you must come and see my cats if I can 
 get a London engagement. At present I must rest. 
 The artist needs repose sometimes. I will sun myself 
 in the smiles of our dear lady here, and my pupil and 
 assistant, Quast, can look after my cats. Meanwhile the 
 brain of the artist," he tapped his brow, " needs to lie 
 fallow so that he can invent fresh and daring combina- 
 tions. Do such things interest you, ^lessieurs ? " 
 
 " Vastly," said I.
 
 50 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 He pulled out of his breast-pocket an enormous gilt- 
 bound pocket-book, bearing a gilt monogram of such 
 size that it looked like a cartouche on an architectural 
 panel, and selected therefrom three cards which he 
 gravely distributed among us. They bore the legend : 
 
 PROFESSOR ANASTASIUS PAPADOPOULOS 
 
 GOLD AND SILVER MEDALLIST 
 
 THE CAT KING 
 
 LE ROI DES CHATS 
 
 DER KATZEN KONIG 
 
 London Agents : Messrs. Conto & Blag, 
 
 172 Maiden Lane, W.C. 
 
 " There," said he, "I am always to be found, should 
 you ever require my services. I have a masterpiece in 
 my head. I come on to the scene like Bacchus drawn 
 by my two cats. How are the cats to draw my heavy 
 weight ? I'll have a noiseless clockwork arrangement 
 that will really propel the car. You must come and see 
 
 it." 
 
 " Delighted, I'm sure," said Dale, who stood looking 
 down on the Lilliputian egotist with polite wonder. Lola 
 Brandt glanced at him apologetically. 
 
 " You mustn't mind him, Dale. He has only two 
 ideas in his head, his cats and myself. He's devoted to 
 
 me. 
 
 " I don't think I shall be jealous," said Dale in a low 
 
 voice. 
 
 " Foolish boy ! " she whispered. 
 
 During the love scene, which was conducted in 
 English, a language which Mr. Papadopoulos evidently 
 did not understand, the dwarf scowled at Dale and
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 51 
 
 twirled his moustache fiercely. In order to attract 
 Madame Brandt's attention he fetched a packet of 
 papers from his pocket and laid them with a flourish on 
 the tea-table. 
 
 " Here are the documents," said he. 
 
 " What documents ? " 
 
 " A full inquiry into the circumstances attending the 
 death of Madame Brandt's horse Sultan." 
 
 " Have you found out anything, Anastasius ? " she 
 asked, in the indulgent tone in which one addresses an 
 eager child. 
 
 " Not exactly," said he. " But I have a conviction 
 that by this means the murderer will be brought to jus- 
 tice. To this I have devoted my life — in your service." 
 
 He put his hand on the spot of his tightly buttoned 
 frock-coat that covered his heart, and bowed profoundly. 
 It was obvious that he resented our presence and desired 
 to wipe us out of our hostess's consideration. I glanced 
 ironically at Dale's disgusted face, and smiled at the 
 imperfect development of his sense of humour. Indeed, 
 to the young, humour is only a weapon of offence. It 
 takes the philosopher to use it as defensive armour. 
 Dale burned to outdo Mr. Papadopoulos. I, having no 
 such ambition, laid my hand on his arm and went for- 
 ward to take my leave. 
 
 " Madame Brandt," said I, " old friends have doubt- 
 less much to talk over. I thank you for the privilege 
 you have afforded me of making your acquaintance." 
 
 She rose and accompanied us to the landing outside 
 the flat door. After saying good-bye to Dale, who 
 went down with his boyish tread, she detained me for 
 a second or two, holding my hand, and again her clasp 
 enveloped it like some clinging sea-plant. She looked 
 at me very wistfully.
 
 52 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 '* The next time you come, Mr. de Gex, do come as 
 a friend and not as an enemy." 
 
 I was startled. I thought I had conducted the inter- 
 view with peculiar suavity. 
 
 " An enemy, dear lady ? " 
 
 " Yes. Can't I see it ? " she said in her languorous, 
 caressing voice. " And I should love to have you for a 
 friend. You could be such a good one. I have so 
 few." 
 
 " I must argue this out with you another time," said 
 I diplomatically. 
 
 " That's a promise," said Lola Brandt. 
 
 " What's a promise ? " asked Dale, when I joined him 
 in the hall. 
 
 " That I will do myself the pleasure of calling on 
 Madame again." 
 
 The porter whistled for a cab. A hansom drove up. 
 As my destination was the Albany, and as I knew Dale 
 was going home to Eccleston Square, I held out my 
 hand. 
 
 " Good-bye, Dale. I'll see you to-morrow." 
 
 " But aren't you going to tell me what you think of 
 her ? " he cried in great dismay. 
 
 The pavement was muddy, the evening dark, and a 
 gusty wind blew the drizzle into our faces. It is only 
 the preposterously young who expect a man to rhapso- 
 dise over somebody else's inamorata at such a moment. 
 I turned up the fur collar of my coat. 
 
 " She is good-looking," said I. 
 
 " Any idiot can see that ! " he burst out impatiently. 
 " I want to know what opinion you formed of her." 
 
 I reflected. If I could have labelled her as the Scarlet 
 Woman, the Martyred Saint, the Jolly Bohemian, or 
 the Bold Adventuress, my task would have been easy.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 53 
 
 But I had an uncomfortable feeling that Lola Brandt 
 was not to be classified in so simple a fashion. I took 
 refuge in a negative. 
 
 " She would hardly be a success," said I, " in serious 
 political circles." 
 
 With that I made my escape.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 I WISH I had not called on Lola Brandt. She disturbs 
 me to the point of nightmare. In a fit of dream para- 
 lysis last night I fancied myself stalked by a panther, 
 which in the act of springing turned into Lola Brandt. 
 What she would have done I know not, for I awoke ; 
 but I have a haunting sensation that she was about to 
 devour me. Now, a woman who would devour a sleep- 
 ing Member of Parliament is not a fit consort for a youth 
 about to enter on a political career. 
 
 The woman worries me. I find myself speculating 
 on her character while I ought to be minding my affairs ; 
 and this I do on her own account, without any reference 
 to my undertaking to rescue Dale from her clutches. 
 Her obvious attributes are lazy good nature and swift 
 intuition, which are as contrary as her tastes in tobacco 
 and tea ; but beyond the obvious lurks a mysterious 
 animal power which repels and attracts. Were not 
 her expressions rather melancholy than sensuous, rather 
 benevolent than cruel, one might take her as a model 
 for Queen Berenice or the estimable lady monarchs 
 who yielded themselves adorably to a gentleman's 
 kisses in the evening and saw to it that his head was 
 nicely chopped off in the morning. I can quite under- 
 stand Dale's infatuation. She may be as worthless as 
 you please, but she is by no means the vulgar syren I 
 was led to expect. I wish she were. My task would 
 be easier. Why hasn't he fallen in love with one of the 
 
 54
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 55 
 
 chorus whom his congeners take out to supper ? He 
 is an aggravating fellow. 
 
 I have declined to discuss her merits or demerits with 
 him. I could scarcely do that with dignity, said I ; a 
 remark which seemed to impress him with a sense of my 
 honesty. I asked what were his intentions regarding 
 her. I discovered that they were still indefinite. In 
 his exalted moments he talked of marriage. 
 
 " But what has become of her husband ? " I inquired; 
 drawing a bow at a venture. 
 
 " I suppose he's dead," said Dale. 
 
 " But suppose he isn't ? " 
 
 He informed me in his young magnificence that Lola 
 and himself would be above foolish moral conventions. 
 
 " Indeed ? " said I. 
 
 " Don't pretend to be a Puritan," said he. 
 
 " I don't pretend to like the idea, anyhow," I 
 remarked. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. It was not the time for 
 a lecture on morality. 
 
 " How do you know that the lady returns your 
 passion ? " I asked, watching him narrowly. 
 
 He grew red. " Is that a fair question ? " 
 
 " Yes," said I. " You invited me to call on .her and 
 judge the affair for myself. I'm doing it. How far have 
 things gone up to now ? " 
 
 He flashed round on me. Did I mean to insinuate that 
 there was anything wrong ? There wasn't. How could 
 I dream of such a thing ? He was vastly indignant. 
 
 " Well, my dear boy," said I, " you've just this 
 minute been scoffing at foolish moral conventions. If 
 you want to know my opinion," I continued, after a 
 pause, " it is this — she doesn't care a scrap for you." 
 
 Of course I was talking nonsense.
 
 56 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 I did not condescend to argue. Neither did I dwell upon 
 the fact that her affection had not reached the point of 
 informing him whether she had a husband, and if so, 
 whether he was alive or dead. This gives me an idea. 
 Suppose I can prove to him beyond a shadow of doubt 
 that the lady, although flattered by the devotion of a 
 handsome young fellow of birth and breeding, does not, 
 as I remarked, care a scrap for him. Suppose I exhibit 
 her to him in the arms, figuratively speaking, of her 
 husband (providing one is lurking in some back-alley of 
 the world), Mr. Anastasius Papadopoulos, a curate, or 
 a champion wrestler. He would do desperate things 
 for a month or two ; but then he would wake up sane 
 one fine morning and would seek out Maisie Ellerton in 
 a salutary state of penitence. I wish I knew a curate 
 who combined a passion for bears and a yearning for 
 lady-like tea-parties. I would take him forthwith to 
 Cadogan Gardens. Lola Brandt and himself woald 
 have tastes in common and would fall in love with each 
 other on the spot. 
 
 Of course there is the other time-honoured plan which 
 I have not yet tried — to arm myself with diplomacy, 
 call on Madame Brandt, and, working on her feelings, 
 persuade her in the name of the boy's mother and sweet- 
 heart to make a noble sacrifice in the good, old-fashioned 
 way. But this seems such an unhumorous proceeding. 
 If I am to achieve eumoiriety I may as well do it with 
 some distinction, 
 
 " Who doth Time gallop withal ? " asks Orlando. 
 
 " With a thief to the gallows," says Rosalind. It is 
 true. The days have an uncanny way of racing by. I 
 see my little allotted span of life shrinking visibly, like 
 the peau de chagrin. I must bestir myself, or my
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 57 
 
 last day will come before I have accomplished any- 
 thing. 
 
 When I jotted down the above not very original 
 memorandum I had passed a perfectly uneumoirous 
 week among my friends and social acquaintances. I 
 had stood godfather to my sister Agatha's fifth child, 
 taking upon myself obligations which I shall never be 
 able to perform ; I had dined amusingly at my sister 
 Jane's ; I had shot pheasants at Farfax Glenn's place in 
 Hampshire ; and I had paid a long-promised charming 
 country-house visit to old Lady Blackadder. 
 
 When I came back to town, however, I consulted my 
 calendar with some anxiety, and set out to clear my 
 path, 
 
 I have now practically withdrawn from political life. 
 Letters have passed ; complimentary and sympathetic 
 gentlemen have interviewed me and tried to weaken 
 my decision. The great Raggles has even called, and 
 dangled the seals of office before my eyes. I said they 
 were very pretty. He thought he had tempted me. 
 
 " Hang on as long as you can, for the sake of the 
 Party." 
 
 I spoke playfully of the Party (a man in my position, 
 with one eye on Time and the other on Eternity, 
 develops an acute sense of values) and Raggles held 
 up horrified hands. To Raggles the Party is the Alpha 
 and Omega of things human and divine. It is the 
 guiding principle of the Cosmos. I could have spoken 
 disrespectfully of the British Empire, of which he has a 
 confused notion ; I could have dismissed the Trinity, 
 on which his ideas are vaguer, with an airy jest ; in the 
 expression of my views concerning the Creator, whom 
 he believes to be under the Party's protection, I could
 
 58 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 have out-Pained Tom Paine, out-Taxiled Leo Taxil, and 
 he would not have winced. But to blaspheme against 
 the Party was the sin for which there was no redemp- 
 tion. 
 
 " I always thought you a serious politician ! " he 
 gasped. 
 
 " Good God ! " I cried. " In my public utterances 
 have I been as duU as that ? Ill-health or no, it is time 
 for me to quit the stage." 
 
 He laughed politely, because he conjectured I was 
 speaking humorously — he is astute in some things — 
 and begged me to explain. 
 
 I replied that I did not regard mustard poultices as 
 panaceas, the vox populi as the vox Dei, or the policy of 
 the other side as the machinations of the Devil ; that 
 politics was all a game of guess-work and muddle and 
 compromise at the best ; that, at the worst, as during a 
 General Election, it was as ignoble a pastime as the wit 
 of man had devised. To take it seriously would be the 
 course of a fanatic, a man devoid of the sense of propor- 
 tion. Were such men, I asked, fitted to govern the 
 country ? 
 
 He did not stop to argue, but went away leaving me 
 the conviction that he thanked his stars on the Govern- 
 ment's providential escape from so maniacal a Minister. 
 I hope I did not treat him with any discourtesy ; but, 
 oh ! it was good to speak the truth after all the dismal 
 lies I have been forced to tell at the bidding of Raggles's 
 Party. Now that I am no longer bound by the rules of 
 the game, it is good to feel a free, honest man. 
 
 Never again shall I stretch forth my arms and 
 thunder invectives against well-meaning people with 
 whom in my heart I secretly sympathise. Never again 
 shall I plead passionately for principles which a horrible
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 59 
 
 instinct tells me are fundamentally futile. Never again 
 shall I attempt to make mountains out of mole-hills or 
 bricks without straw or sunbeams out of cucumbers. 
 
 I shall conduct no more inquiries into pauper lunacy, 
 thank Heaven ! And as for the public engagements 
 which Dale Kynnersley made for me during my Thebaid 
 existence at Murglebed-on-Sea, the deuce can take them 
 all — I am free. 
 
 I only await the stewardship of the Chiltern Hundreds, 
 for which quaint post under the Crown I applied, to 
 cease to be a Member of Parliament. And yet, in spite 
 of all my fine and superior talk, I am glad I am giving 
 up in the recess. I should not like to be out of my seat 
 were the House in session. 
 
 I should hate to think of all the fascinating excite- 
 ment over nothing going on in the lobbies without me, 
 while I am still hale and hearty. When Parliament 
 meets in February I shall either be comfortably dead or 
 so uncomfortably alive that I shall not care. 
 
 Ce que c'est que de nous ! I wonder how far Simon 
 de Gex and I are deceiving each other ? 
 
 There is no deception about my old friend Latimer, 
 who called on me a day or two ago. He is on the Stock 
 Exchange, and, muddle-headed creature that he is, has 
 been " bearing " the wrong things. They have gone up 
 sky-high. Settling-day is drawing near, and how to 
 pay for the shares he is bound to deliver he has not the 
 faintest notion. 
 
 He stamped up and down the room, called down 
 curses on the prying fools who came across the unex- 
 pected streak of copper in the failing mine, drew heart- 
 rending pictures of his wife and family singing hymns 
 in the street, and asked me for a drink of prussic acid.
 
 6o SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 I rang the bell and ordered Rogers to give him a 
 brandy and soda. 
 
 " Now," said I, " talk sense. How much can you 
 raise ? " 
 
 He went into figures and showed me that, although he 
 stretched his credit to the utmost, there were still ten 
 thousand pounds to be provided. 
 
 " It's utter smash and ruin," he groaned. " And aU 
 my accursed folly. I thought I was going to make a 
 fortune. But I'm done for now." Latimer is usually 
 a pink, prosperous-looking man. Now he was white 
 and flabby, a piteous spectacle. " You are executor 
 under my will," he continued. " Heaven knows I've 
 nothing to leave. But you'll see things straight for me, 
 if anything happens ? You will look after Lucy and 
 the kids, won't you ? " 
 
 I was on the point of undertaking to do so, in the 
 event of the continuance of his craving for prussic acid, 
 when I reflected upon my own approaching bow and 
 farewell to the world where Lucy and the kids would 
 still be wandering, I am always being brought up 
 against this final fire-proof curtain. Suddenly a thought 
 came which caused me to exult exceedingly. 
 
 " Ten thousand pounds, my dear Latimer," said I, 
 " would save you from being hammered on the Stock 
 Exchange and from seeking a suicide's grave. It would 
 also enable you to maintain Lucy and the kids in your 
 luxurious house at Hampstead and to take them as 
 usual to Dieppe next summer. Am I not right ? " 
 
 He begged me not to make a jest of his miseries. It 
 was like asking a starving beggar whether a dinner at 
 the Carlton wouldn't set him up again. 
 
 " Would ten thousand set you up ? " I persisted. 
 
 " Yes. But I might as well try to raise ten million."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 6i 
 
 " Not so," I cried, slapping him on the shoulder. " I 
 myself will lend you the money." 
 
 He leaped to his feet and stared at me wildly in the 
 face. He could not have been more electrified if he had 
 seen me suddenly adorned with wings and shining 
 raiment. I experienced a thrill of eumoiriety more 
 exquisite than I had dreamed of imagining. 
 
 " You ? " 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " You don't understand. I can give you no security 
 whatsoever." 
 
 " I don't want security and I don't want interest," I 
 exclaimed, feeling more magnanimous than I had a 
 right to be, seeing that interest would be of no use to me 
 on the other side of the Styx. " Pay me back when and 
 how you like. Come round with me to my bankers and 
 I'll settle the matter at once." 
 
 He put out his hands ; I thought he was about to fall 
 at my feet ; he laughed in a siUy way and, groping after 
 brandy and soda, poured half the contents of the 
 brandy decanter on to the tray. I took him in a cab, a 
 stupefied man, to the bank, and when he left me at the 
 door with my draft in his pocket, there were tears in 
 his eyes. He wrung my hand and murmured some- 
 thing incoherent about Lucy, 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, don't tell her anything about 
 it," I entreated. " I love Lucy dearly, as you know ; 
 but I don't want to have her weeping on my door-mat." 
 
 I walked back to my rooms with a springing step. So 
 happy was I that I should have liked to dance down 
 Piccadilly. If the Faculty had not made their pro- 
 nouncement, I could have no more turned poor Lati- 
 mer's earth from hell to heaven than I could have 
 changed St. Paul's Cathedral into a bumblebee. The
 
 62 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 mere possibility of lending him the money would not 
 have occurred to me. 
 
 A man of modest fortune does not go about playing 
 Monte Cristo. He gives away a few guineas in charity ; 
 but he keeps the bulk of his fortune to himself. The 
 death sentence, I vow, has compensations. It enables 
 a man to play Monte Cristo or any other avatar of Pro- 
 vidence with impunity, and to-day I have discovered it 
 to be the most fascinating game in the world. 
 
 When Latimer recovers his equilibrium and regards 
 the transaction in the dry light of reason, he will 
 diagnose a sure sjmiptom of megalomania, and will 
 pity me in his heart for a poor devil. 
 
 I have seen Eleanor Faversham, and she has released 
 me from my engagement with such grace, dignity, and 
 sweet womanliness that I wonder how I could have 
 railed at her thousand virtues. 
 
 " It's honourable of you to give me this opportunity 
 of breaking it off, Simon," she said, " but I care enough 
 for you to be willing to take my chance of illness." 
 
 " You do care for me ? " I asked. 
 
 She raised astonished eyes. " If I didn't, do you 
 suppose I should have engaged myself to you ? If I 
 married you I should swear to cherish you in sickness 
 and in health. Why won't you let me ? " 
 
 I was in a difficulty. To say that I was in ill-health 
 and about to resign my seat in Parliament and a slave 
 to doctor's orders was one thing ; it was another to tell 
 her brutally that I had received my death warrant. She 
 would have taken it much more to heart than I do. 
 
 The announcement would have been a shock. It 
 would have kept the poor girl awake of nights. She 
 would have been for ever seeing the hand of Death at
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 63 
 
 my throat. Every time we met she would have noted 
 on my face, in my gait, infallible signs of my approach- 
 ing end. I had not the right to inflict such intolerable 
 pain on one so near and dear to me. 
 
 Besides, I am vain enough to want to walk forth 
 somewhat gallantly into eternity ; and while I yet live 
 I particularly desire that folks should not regard me as 
 half dead. I defy you to treat a man who is only going 
 to live twenty weeks in the same pleasant fashion as 
 you would a man who has the run of life before him. 
 
 There is always an instinctive shrinking from decay. 
 I should think that corpses must feel their position 
 acutely. 
 
 It was entirely for Eleanor's sake that I refrained 
 from taking her into my confidence. To her question I 
 replied that I had not the right to tie her for life to a 
 helpless valetudinarian. " Besides," said I, " as my 
 health grows worse my jokes will deteriorate, until I am 
 reduced to grinning through a horse-collar at the doctor. 
 And you couldn't stand that, could you ? " 
 
 She upbraided me gently for treating everything 
 as a jest. 
 
 " It isn't that you want to get rid of me, Simon ? " 
 she asked tearfuUy, but with an attempt at a smile. 
 
 I took both hands and looked into her eyes — they are 
 brave, truthful eyes — and through my heart shot a 
 great pain. Till that moment I had not realised what 
 I was giving up. The pleasant paths of the world — I 
 could leave them behind with a shrug. Political ambi- 
 tion, power, I could justly estimate their value and 
 could let them pass into other hands without regret. 
 But here was the true, staunch woman, great of heart 
 and wise, a helper and a comrade, and, if I chose to 
 throw off the jester and become the lover in real earnest
 
 64 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 and sweep my hand across the hidden chords, all that a 
 woman can become towards the man she loves. I 
 realised this. 
 
 I realised that if she did not love me passionately now 
 it was only because I, in my foolishness, had willed it 
 otherwise. For the first time I longed to have her as 
 my own ; for the first time I rebelled. I looked at her 
 hungeringly until her cheeks grew red and her eyelids 
 fluttered. I had a wild impulse to throw my arms 
 around her, and kiss her as I had never kissed her 
 before and bid her forget all I had said that day. Her 
 faltering eyes told me that they read my longing. I 
 was about to yield when the little devil of a pain inside 
 made itself sharply felt and my madness went from 
 me. I fetched a thing half-way between a sigh and a 
 groan, and dropped her hands. 
 
 " Need I answer your question ? " I asked. 
 
 She turned her head aside and whispered " No." 
 
 Presently she said, " I am glad I came back from 
 Sicily. I shouldn't have liked you to write this to me. 
 I shouldn't have understood." 
 
 " Do you now ? " 
 
 " I think so." She looked at me frankly. " Until 
 just now I was never quite certain whether you really 
 cared for me." 
 
 " I've never cared for you so much as I do now, when 
 I have to lose you." 
 
 " And you must lose me ? " 
 
 " A man in my condition would be a scoundrel if he 
 married a woman." 
 
 " Then it is very, very serious — your illness ? " 
 
 " Yes," said I, " very serious. I must give you your 
 freedom whether you want it or not." 
 
 She passed on^ hand over the other 9n her knee, look-
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 65 
 
 ing at the engagement ring. Then she took it off and 
 presented it to me, lying in the palm of her right hand. 
 
 " Do what you like with it," she said very softly, 
 
 I took the ring and slipped it on one of the right-hand 
 fingers. 
 
 " It would comfort me to think that you are wearing 
 it," said I. 
 
 Then her mother came into the room and Eleanor 
 went out. I am thankful to say that Mrs. Faversham, 
 who is a woman only guided by sentiment when it leads 
 to worldly advantage, applauded the step I had taken. 
 As a sprightly Member of Parliament, with an assured 
 political and social position, I had been a most desirable 
 son-in-law. As an obscure invalid, coughing and spit- 
 ting from a bath-chair at Bournemouth (she took it for 
 granted that I was in the last stage of consumption), I 
 did not take the lady's fancy. 
 
 " My dear Simon," replied my lost mother-in-law, 
 " you have behaved irreproachably. Eleanor will feel 
 it for some time no doubt ; but she is young and will 
 soon get over it. I'll send her to the Drascombe- 
 Prynnes in Paris. And as for yourself, your terrible 
 misfortune will be as much as you can bear. You 
 mustn't increase it by any worries on her behalf. In 
 that way I'll do my utmost to help you." 
 
 " You are kindness itself, Mrs. Faversham," said I. 
 
 I bowed over the dehghted lady's hand and went 
 away, deeply moved by her charity and maternal 
 devotion. 
 
 But perhaps in her hardness lies truth. I have never 
 touched Eleanor's heart. No romance had preceded or 
 accompanied our engagement. The deepest, truest 
 incident in it has been our parting.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Dale's occupation, like Othello's, being gone, as far as 
 I am concerned. Lady Kynnersley has despatched him 
 to Berlin, on her own business, connected, I think, with 
 the International Aid Society. He is to stay there for 
 a fortnight. 
 
 How he proposes to bear the separation from the 
 object of his flame I have not inquired ; but if forcible 
 objurgations in the vulgar tongue have any inner signifi- 
 cance, I gather that Lady Kynnersley has not employed 
 an enthusiastic agent. 
 
 Being thus free to pursue my eumoirous schemes 
 without his intervention, for you cannot talk to a lady 
 for her soul's good when her adorer is gaping at you, 
 I have taken the opportunity to see something of Lola 
 Brandt. 
 
 I find I have seen a good deal of her ; and it seems not 
 improbable that I shall see considerably more. Deuce 
 take the woman ! 
 
 On the first afternoon of Dale's absence I paid her my 
 promised visit. It was a dull day, and the room, lit 
 chiefly by the firelight, happily did not reveal its nerve- 
 racking tastelessness. Lola Brandt, supple-limbed and 
 lazy-voiced, talked to me from the cushioned depths of 
 her chair. 
 
 We lightly touched on Dale's trip to Berlin. She 
 would miss him terribly. It was so kind of me to come 
 and cheer her lonely hour. Politeness forbade my say- 
 
 66
 
 SIMON THE JESTER (>-] 
 
 ing that I had come to do nothing of the sort. To 
 my vague expression of courtesy she responded by 
 asking me with a laugh how I Hked Mr. Anastasius 
 Papadopoulos. 
 
 I replied that I considered it urbane on his part to 
 invite me to see his cats perform. 
 
 " If you were to hurt one of his cats he'd murder 
 you," she informed me. " He always carries a long, 
 sharp knife concealed somewhere about him on pur- 
 pose." 
 
 " What a fierce little gentleman," I remarked. 
 
 " He looks on me as one of his cats, too," she said with 
 a low laugh, " and considers himself my protector. 
 Once in Buda-Pesth he and I were driving about. I 
 was doing some shopping. As I was getting into the 
 cab a man insulted me, on account, I suppose, of my 
 German name. Anastasius sprang at him like a wild 
 beast, and I had to drag him off bodily and lift him back 
 into the cab. I'm pretty strong, you know. It must 
 have been a funny sight." She turned to me quickly. 
 " Do you think it wrong of me to laugh ? " 
 
 " Why shouldn't you laugh at the absurd ? " 
 
 " Because in devotion like that there seems to be 
 something solemn and frightening. If I told him to 
 kill his cats, he would do it. If I ordered him to commit 
 Hari-Kari on the hearthrug, he would whip out his 
 knife and obey me. When you have a human soul^at 
 your mercy like that, it's a kind of sacrilege to laugh at 
 it. It makes you feel — oh, I can't express myself. 
 Look, it doesn't make tears come into your eyes exactly, 
 it makes them come into your heart." 
 
 We continued the subject, divagating as we went, and 
 had a nice little sentimental conversation. There are 
 depths of human feeling I should never have suspected
 
 68 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 in this lazy panther of a woman, and although she openly 
 avows having no more education than a tinker's dog, 
 she can talk with considerable force and vividness of 
 expression. 
 
 Indeed, when one comes to think of it, a tinker's dog 
 has a fine education if he be naturally a shrewd animal 
 and takes advantage of his opportunities ; and a fine 
 education, too, of its kind was that of the vagabond 
 Lola, who on her way from Dublin to Yokohama had 
 more profitably employed her time than Lady Kyn- 
 nersley supposed. She had seen much of the civilised 
 places of the earth in her wanderings from engagement 
 to engagement, and had been an acute observer of men 
 and things. 
 
 We exchanged travel pictures and reminiscences. I 
 found myself floating with her through moonlit Venice, 
 while she chanted with startling exactness the cry of 
 the gondoliers. To my confusion be it spoken, I forgot 
 all about Dale Kynnersley and my mission. The lazy 
 voice and rich personality fascinated me. When I rose 
 to go I found I had spent a couple of hours in her 
 company. She took me round the room and showed 
 me some of her treasures. 
 
 " This is very old. I think it is fifteenth century," 
 she said, picking up an Italian ivory. 
 
 It was. I expressed my admiration. Then mali- 
 ciously I pointed to a horrible little Tyrolean chalet and 
 said : 
 
 " That, too, is very pretty." 
 
 She looked me squarely in the face. 
 
 " It isn't. And you know it." 
 
 She is a most disconcerting creature. I accepted the 
 rebuke meekly. What else could I do ? 
 
 " Why, then, do you have it here ? "
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 69 
 
 " It's a present from Anastasius," she said. " Every 
 time he comes to see me he brings what he calls an 
 ' offrande.' All these things" — she indicated, with a 
 comprehensive sweep of the arm, the Union Jack 
 cushion, the little men mounting ladders inside bottles, 
 the hen sitting on her nest, and the other trumpery 
 gimcracks — " all these things are presents from Anas- 
 tasius. It would hurt him not to see them here when 
 he calls." 
 
 " You might have a separate cabinet," I suggested. 
 " A chamber of horrors ? " she laughed. " No. It 
 gives him more pleasure to see them as they are — and a 
 poor little freak doesn't get much out of life." 
 
 She sighed, and picking up " A Present from Mar- 
 gate " kind of mug, fingered it very tenderly. 
 
 I went away feeling angry. Was the woman bewitch- 
 ing me. And I felt angrier still when I met Lady 
 Kynnersley at dinner that evening. Luckily I had 
 only a few words with her. Had I done anything yet 
 with regard to Dale and the unmentionable woman ? 
 If I had told her that I had spent a most agreeable after- 
 noon with the enchantress, she would not have enjoyed 
 her evening. Like General Trochu of the Siege of Paris 
 fame, I said in a mysterious manner, " I have my plan," 
 and sent her into dinner comforted. 
 
 But I had no plan. My next interview with Madame 
 Brandt brought me no further. We have established 
 telephonic communications. Through the medium of 
 this diabolical engine of loquacity and indiscretion, I 
 was prevailed on to accompany her to a rehearsal of 
 Anastasius' s cats. 
 
 Rogers, with a face as imperturbable as if he was an- 
 nouncing the visit of an archbishop, informed me at the 
 appointed hour that Madame Brandt's brougham was
 
 70 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 at the door. I went down and found the brougham 
 open, as the day was fine, and Lola Brandt, smiling 
 under a gigantic hat with an amazing black feather, and 
 looking as handsome as you please. 
 
 We were blocked for a few moments at the mouth of 
 the courtyard, and I had the pleasure of all Piccadilly 
 that passed staring at us in admiration. Lola Brandt 
 liked it ; but I didn't, especially when I recognised one 
 of the starers as the eldest Drascombe-Prynne boy 
 whose people in Paris are receiving Eleanor Faversham 
 under their protection. A nice reputation I shall be 
 acquiring. My companion was in gay mood. Now, as 
 it is no part of dealing unto oneself a happy life and 
 portion to damp a fellow-creature's spirits, I responded 
 with commendable gaiety. 
 
 I own that the drive to Professor Anastasius Papado- 
 poulo's cattery in Rosebery Avenue, Clerkenwell, was 
 distinctly enjoyable. I forgot all about the little pain 
 inside and the Fury with the abhorred shears, and 
 talked a vast amount of nonsense which the lady was 
 pleased to regard as wit, for she laughed whole-heartedly, 
 showing her strong, white, even teeth. But why was I 
 going ? 
 
 Was it because she had requested me through the tele- 
 phone to give unimagined happiness to a poor little 
 freak who would be as proud as Punch to exhibit his 
 cats to an English Member of Parliament ? Was it in 
 order to further my designs — Machiavellian towards 
 the lady, but eumoirous towards Dale ? Or was it simply 
 for my own good pleasure ? 
 
 Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos, resplendently 
 raimented, with the shiniest of silk hats and a flower in 
 the button-hole of his frock-coat, received us at the door 
 of a small house, the first-floor windows of which
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 71 
 
 announced the tenancy of a maker of gymnastic 
 appliances ; and having kissed Madame Brandt's hand 
 with awful solemnity and bowed deeply to me, he pre- 
 ceded us down the passage, out into the yard, and into 
 a ramshackle studio at the end, where his cats had their 
 being. 
 
 There were fourteen of them, curled up in large cages 
 standing against the walls. The place was lit by a sky- 
 light and warmed by a stove. The floor, like a stage, 
 was fitted up with miniature acrobatic paraphernalia 
 and properties. There were little five-barred gates, and 
 trapezes, and tight-ropes, and spring-boards, and a 
 trestle-table, all the metal-work gleaming like silver. A 
 heavy, uncouth German lad, whom the professor intro- 
 duced as his pupil and assistant, Quast, was in attend- 
 ance. Mr. Papadopoulos polyglotically acknowledged 
 the honour I had conferred upon him. He is very like 
 the late Emperor of the French ; but his forehead is 
 bulgier. 
 
 With a theatrical gesture and the remark that 1 
 should see, he opened some cages and released half a 
 dozen cats — a Persian, a white Angora, and four com- 
 monplace tabbies, who all sprang on to the table with 
 military precision. Madame Brandt began to caress 
 them. I, wishing to show interest in the troupe, pre- 
 pared to do the same ; but the dwarf scurried up with a 
 screech from the other end of the room. 
 
 " Ne touchez pas — ne iouchez pas ! " 
 
 I refrained, somewhat wonderingly, from touching. 
 Madame Brandt explained. 
 
 " He thinks you would spoil the magnetic influence. 
 It is a superstition of his." 
 
 " But you are touching." 
 
 " He believes I have his magnetism — whatever that
 
 72 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 may be," she said with a smile. " Would you like to 
 see an experiment ? Anastasius ! " 
 
 " Carissima." 
 
 " Is that the untamed Persian you were telling 
 me of ? " she asked, pointing to a cage from which a 
 ferocious, gigantic animal more like a woolly tiger than a 
 tom-cat looked out with expressionless yellow eyes. 
 " Will you let Mr. de Gex try to make friends with it ? " 
 
 " Your will is law, meine Konigin," replied Professor 
 Papadopoulos, bowing low. " But Hephaestus is as 
 fierce as the flames of hell." 
 
 " See what he'll do," laughed Lola Brandt. 
 
 I approached the cage with an ingratiating " Puss, 
 puss ! " and a hideous growl welcomed me. I ventured 
 my hand towards the bars. The beast bristled in 
 . demoniac wrath, spat with malignant venom, and shot 
 out its claws. If I had touched it my hand would have 
 been torn to shreds. I have never seen a more malevo- 
 lent, fierce, spiteful, ill-conditioned brute in my life. 
 My feelings being somewhat hurt, and my nerves a bit 
 shaken, I retreated hastily. 
 
 " Now look," said Lola Brandt. 
 
 With absolute fearlessness she went up to the cage, 
 opened it, took the unresisting thing out by the scruff 
 of its neck, held it up like a door-mat, and put it on her 
 shoulder, where it forthwith began to purr like any 
 harmless necessary cat and rub its head against her 
 cheek. She put it on the floor ; it arched its back and 
 circling sideways rubbed itself against her skirts. 
 
 She sat down, and taking the brute by its forepaws 
 m.ade it stand on its hind legs. She pulled it on to her 
 lap and it curled round lazily. Then she hoisted it on 
 to her shoulder again, and, rising, crossed the room and 
 bowed to the level of the cage, when the beast leaped in
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 73 
 
 purring thunderously in high good humour. Mr. Papa- 
 dopoulos sang out in breathless delight : 
 
 " If I am the King of Cats, you, Carissima, are the 
 Queen. Nay, more, you are the Goddess ! " 
 
 Lola Brandt laughed. I did not. It was uncanny. 
 It seemed as if some mysterious freemasonic affinity 
 existed between her and the evil beast. During her 
 drive hither she had entered my own atmosphere. She 
 had been the handsome, unconventional woman of the 
 world. Now she seemed as remote from me as the 
 witches in " Macbeth." 
 
 If I had seen her dashing Paris hat rise up into a point 
 and her umbrella turn into a broomstick, and herself 
 into one of the buxom carlines of " Tam o'Shanter," I 
 should not have been surprised. The feats of the mild 
 pussies which the dwarf began forthwith to exhibit 
 provoked in me but a polite counterfeit of enthusiasm. 
 Lola Brandt had discounted my interest. Even his 
 performance with the ferocious Persian lacked the dia- 
 bolical certainty of Lola's handling. He locked all the 
 other cats up and enticed it out of the cage with a piece 
 of fish. He guided it with a small whip, as it jumped 
 over gates and through blazing hoops, and he stood 
 tense and concentrated, like a lion-tamer. 
 
 The act over, the cat turned and snarled and only 
 jumped into its cage after a smart flick of the whip. 
 The dwarf did not touch it once with his hands. I 
 applauded, however, and complimented him. He laid 
 his hand on his heart and bent forward in humility. 
 
 " Ah, monsieur, I am but a neophyte where Madame 
 is an expert. I know the superficial nature of cats. 
 Now and then without vainglory I can say I know their 
 hearts ; but Madame penetrates to and holds commune 
 with their souls. And a cat's soul, monsieur, is a
 
 74 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 wonderful thing. Once it was divine — in ancient Egypt. 
 Doubtless monsieur has heard of Pasht ? Holy men 
 spent their lives in approaching the cat-soul. Madame 
 was born to the privilege. Pasht watches over her." 
 
 " Pasht," said I politely in French, in reply to this 
 clotted nonsense, " was a great divinity. And for your- 
 self, who knows but what you may have been in a 
 previous incarnation the keeper of the Sacred Cats in 
 some Egyptian temple." 
 
 " I was," he said, with staggering earnestness. " At 
 Memphis." 
 
 " One of these days," I returned, with equal so- 
 lemnity, " I hope for the privilege of hearing some of 
 your reminiscences. They would no doubt be interest- 
 mg. 
 
 On the way back Lola thanked me for pretending to 
 take the little man seriously, and not laughing at him. 
 
 " If I hadn't," said I, " he would have stuck his knife 
 into me." 
 
 She shook her head. " You did it naturally. I was 
 watching you. It is because you are a generous- 
 hearted gentleman." 
 
 Said I : "If you talk like that I'll get out and walk." 
 
 And, indeed, what right had she to characterise the 
 moral condition of my heart ? I asked her. She laughed 
 her low, lazy laugh, but made no reply. Presently she 
 said : 
 
 "Why didn't you like my making friends with 
 the cat ? " 
 
 " How do you know I didn't like it ? " I asked. 
 
 " I felt it." 
 
 " You mustn't feel things like that," I remarked. 
 " It isn't good for you." 
 
 She insisted on my telling her. I explained as well
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 75 
 
 as I could. She touched the sleeve of my coat with her 
 gloved hand. 
 
 "I'm glad, because it shows you take an interest in 
 me. And I wanted to let you see that I could do some- 
 thing besides loll about in a drawing-room and smoke 
 cigarettes. It's all I can do. But it's something." 
 
 She said it with the humility of the Jongleur de 
 Notre Dame in Anatole France's story. 
 
 In Eaton Square, where I had a luncheon engage- 
 ment, she dropped me and drove off smiling, evi- 
 dently well pleased with herself. My hostess was stand- 
 ing by the window when I was shown into the drawing- 
 room. I noted the faintest possible little malicious 
 twinkle in her eye. 
 
 During the afternoon I had a telephonic message from 
 my doctor, who asked me why I had neglected him for a 
 fortnight and urged me to go to Harley Street at once. 
 To humour him I went the next morning. Hunnington 
 is a bluff, hearty fellow who feeds himself into pink 
 floridity so as to give confidence to his patients. In 
 answer to his renewed inquiry as to my neglect, I 
 remarked that a man condemned to be hanged doesn't 
 seek interviews with the judge in order to learn how the 
 rope is getting on. I conveyed to him politely, although 
 he is an old friend, that I desired to forget his well-fed 
 existence. In his chatty way he requested me not to 
 be an ass, and proceeded to put to me the usual silly 
 questions. 
 
 Remembering the result of my last visit, I made him 
 happy by answering them gloomily ; whereupon he 
 seized his opportunity and ordered me out of England 
 for the winter. I must go to a warm climate — Egypt, 
 South Africa, Madeira — I could take my choice. I 
 flatly refused to obey. I had my duties in London. He
 
 76 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 was so unsympathetic as to damn my duties. My duty 
 was to live as long as possible, and my wintering in 
 London would probably curtail my short life by two 
 months. Then I turned on him and explained the chari- 
 table disingenuousness of my replies to his questions. 
 He refused to believe me, and we parted with mutual 
 recriminations. I sent him next day, however, a brace 
 of pheasants, a present from Farfax Glenn. After all, 
 he is one of God's creatures. 
 
 The next time I called on Lola Brandt I went with the 
 fixed determination to make some progress in my mis- 
 sion. I vowed that I would not be seduced by trum- 
 pery conversation about Yokohama or allow my mind 
 to be distracted by absurd adventures among cats. I 
 would clothe myself in the armour of eumoiriety, and, 
 with the sword of duty in my hand, would go forth to 
 battle with the enchantress. All said and done, what 
 was she but a bold-faced, strapping woman without an 
 idea in her head save the enslavement of an impression- 
 able boy several years her junior ? It was preposterous 
 that I, Simon de Gex, who had beguiled and fooled an 
 electorate of thirty thousand hard-headed men into 
 choosing me for their representative in Parliament, 
 should not be a match for Lola Brandt. As for her 
 complicated feminine personality, her intuitiveness, her 
 magnetism, her fascination, all the qualities in fact 
 which my poetical fancy had assigned to her, they had 
 no existence in reality. She was the most commonplace 
 person I had ever encountered, and I had been but a 
 sentimental lunatic. 
 
 In this truly admirable frame of mind I entered her 
 drawing-room. She threw down the penny novel she 
 was reading, and with a little cry of joy sprang forward 
 to greet me.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 77 
 
 " I'm so glad you've come. I was getting the blind 
 hump ! " 
 
 Did I not say she was commonplace ? I hate this 
 synonym for boredom. It may be elegant in the mouth 
 of a duchess and pathetic in that of an oyster-wench, 
 but it falls vulgarly from intermediate lips. 
 
 " What has given it to you ? " I asked. 
 
 " My poor little ouistiti is dead. It is this abomin- 
 able climate." 
 
 I murmured condolences. I could not exhibit un- 
 reasonable grief at the demise of a sick monkey which 
 I had never seen. 
 
 " I'm also out of books," she said, after having paid 
 her tribute to the memory of the departed. " I have 
 been forced to ask the servants to lend me something 
 to read. Have you ever tried this sort of thing ? You 
 ought to. It tells you what goes on in high society." 
 
 I was sure it didn't. Not a duchess in its pages talked 
 about having the blind hump. I said gravely : 
 
 " I will ask you to lend it to me. Since Dale has been 
 away I've had no one to make out my library list." 
 
 " Do turn Adolphus out of that chair and sit down," 
 she said, sinking into her accustomed seat. Adolphus 
 was the Chow dog before mentioned, an accomplished 
 animal who could mount guard with the poker and 
 stand on his head, and had been pleased to favour me 
 with his friendship. 
 
 " I miss Dale greatly," said I. 
 
 " I suppose you do. You are very fond of him ? " 
 
 " Very," said I. " By-the-by, how did you first 
 come across Dale ? " 
 
 She threw me a swift glance and smiled. 
 
 " Oh, in the most respectable way. I was dining at 
 the Carlton with Sir Joshua Oldiield, the famous surgeon
 
 78 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 you know. He performed a silly little operation on me 
 last year, and since then we've been great friends. Dale 
 and some sort of baby boy were dining there, too, and 
 afterwards, in the lounge, Sir Joshua introduced them 
 to me. Dale asked me if he could call. I said ' Yes.' 
 Perhaps I was wrong. Anyhow, voild ! Do you know 
 Sir Joshua ? " 
 
 " I sat next to him once at a public dinner. He's a 
 friend of the Kynnersleys. A genial old soul." 
 
 " He's a dear ! " said Lola. 
 
 " Do you know many of Dale's friends ? " I asked. 
 
 " Hardly any," she replied. " It's rather lonesome." 
 Then she broke into a laugh. 
 
 "I was so terrified at meeting you the first time. 
 Dale can talk of no one else. He makes a kind of god 
 of you. I felt I was going to hate you like the devil. 
 I expected quite a different person." 
 
 The diplomatist listens to much and says little. 
 
 " Indeed," I remarked. 
 
 She nodded. " I thought you would be a big beefy 
 man with a red face, you know. He gave me the 
 idea somehow by calling you a ' splendid chap.' You 
 see, I couldn't think of a ' splendid chap ' with a 
 white face and a waxed moustache and your way of 
 talking." 
 
 " I am sorry," said I, " not to come up to your idea 
 of the heroic." 
 
 " But you do ! " she cried, with one of her supple 
 twists of the body. " It was I that was stupid. And 
 I don't hate you at all. You can see that I don't. I 
 didn't even hate you when you came as an enemy." 
 
 " Ah ! " said I. " What made you think that ? We 
 agreed to argue it out, if you remember." 
 She drew out of a case beside her one of her unspeak-
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 79 
 
 able cigarettes. " Do you suppose," she said, lighting 
 it, and pausing to inhale the first two or three puffs of 
 smoke, " do you suppose that a woman who has lived 
 among wild beasts hasn't got instinct ? " 
 
 I drew my chair nearer to the fire. She was begin- 
 ning to be uncanny again. 
 
 " I expected you were going to be horrified at the 
 dreadful creature your friend had taken up with. Oh 
 yes, I know in the eyes of your class I'm a dreadful 
 creature. I'm like a cat in many ways. I'm suspicious 
 of strangers, especially strangers of your class, and I 
 sniff and sniff until I feel it's all right. After the first 
 few minutes I felt you were all right. You're true and 
 honourable, like Dale, aren't you ? " 
 
 Like a panther making a sudden spring, she sat bolt 
 upright in her chair as she launched this challenge at 
 me. Now, it is disconcerting to a man to have a woman 
 leap at his throat and ask him whether he is true and 
 honourable, especially when his attitude towards her 
 approaches the Machiavellian. 
 
 I could only murmur modestly that I hoped I could 
 claim these qualifications. 
 
 " And you don't think me a dreadful woman ? " 
 
 " So far from it, Madame Brandt," I replied, " that 
 I think you a remarkable one." 
 
 " I wonder if I am," she said, sinking back among her 
 cushions. " I should like to be for Dale's sake. I 
 suppose you know I care a great deal for Dale ? " 
 
 " I have taken the liberty of guessing it," said I. 
 " And since you have done me the honour of taking me 
 so far into your confidence," I added, playing what I 
 considered to be my master-card, " may I venture to 
 ask whether you have contemplated " — I paused — 
 ' marriage ? "
 
 8o SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Her brow grew dark, as she looked involuntarily at 
 her bare left hand. 
 
 " I have got a husband already," she replied. 
 
 As I expected. Ladies like Lola Brandt always have 
 husbands unfit for publication ; and as the latter seem 
 to make it a point of honour never to die, widowed Lolas 
 are as rare as blackberries in spring. 
 
 " Forgive my rudeness," I said, " but you wear no 
 wedding-ring." 
 
 " I threw it into the sea." 
 
 " Ah ! " said L 
 
 " Do you want to hear about him ? " she asked sud- 
 denly. " If we are to be friends, perhaps you had better 
 know. Somehow I don't like talking to Dale about it. 
 Do you mind putting some coals on the fire ? " 
 
 I busied myself with the coal-scuttle, lit a cigarette, 
 and settled down to hear the story. If it had not been 
 told in the twilit hour by a woman with a caressing, 
 enveloping voice like Lola Brandt's I should have 
 yawned myself out of the house. 
 
 It was a dismal, ordinary story. Her husband was a 
 gentleman, a Captain Vauvenarde in the French Army. 
 He had fallen in love with her when she had first taken 
 Marseilles captive with the prodigiosities of her horse 
 Sultan. His proposals of manifold unsanctified delights 
 met with unqualified rejection by the respectable and 
 not too passionately infatuated Lola. When he nerved 
 himself to the supreme sacrifice of offering marriage she 
 accepted. 
 
 She had dreams of social advancement, yearned to be 
 one of the white faces of the audience in the front rows. 
 The civil ceremony having been performed, he pleaded 
 with her for a few weeks' secrecy on account of his 
 family. The weeks grew into months, during which, for
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 8i 
 
 the sake of a livelihood, she fulfilled her professional 
 engagements in many other towns. At last, when she 
 returned to Marseilles, it became apparent that Captain 
 Vauvenarde had no intention whatever of acknowledg- 
 ing her openly as his wife. Hence many tears. More- 
 o\er, he had little beyond his pay and his gambling 
 debts, instead of the comfortable little fortune that 
 would have assured her social position. Now, officers 
 in the French Army who marry ladies with performing 
 horses are not usually guided by reason ; and Captain 
 Vauvenarde seems to have been the most unreasonable 
 being in the world. It was beneath the dignity of 
 Captain Vauvenarde's wife to make a horse do tricks in 
 public, and it was beneath Captain Vauvenarde's dig- 
 nity to give her his name before the world. She must 
 neither be Lola Brandt nor Madame Vauvenarde. She 
 must give up her fairly lucrative profession and live in 
 semi-detached obscurity up a little back street on an al- 
 lowance of twopence-halfpenny a week and be happy and 
 cheerful and devoted. Lola refused. Hence more tears. 
 There were scenes of frantic jealousy, not on account 
 of any human being, but on cccount of the horse. If 
 she loved him as much as she loved that abominable 
 quadruped whose artificial airs and graces made him 
 sick every time he looked at it, she would accede to his 
 desire. Besides, he had the husband's right — le droit du 
 mari — a powerful privilege in France. She pointed out 
 that he could only exercise it by declaring her to be 
 his wife. Relations were strained. They led separate 
 lives. From Marseilles she went to Genoa, whither he 
 followed her. Eventually he went away in a temper 
 and never came back. She had not heard from him 
 since, and where he was at the present moment she had 
 not the faintest idea.
 
 82 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " So you went cheerfully on with your profession ? " 
 I remarked. 
 
 " I returned to Marseilles, and there I lost my horse 
 Sultan. Then my father died and left me pretty well 
 off, and I hadn't the heart to train another animal. So 
 here I am. Ah ! " 
 
 With one of her lithe movements she rose to her feet, 
 and, flinging out her arms in a wide gesture, began to 
 walk about the room, stopping here and there to turn 
 on the light and draw the flaring chintz curtains. I rose 
 too, so as to aid her. Suddenly as we met, by the 
 window, she laid both her hands on my shoulders and 
 looked into my face earnestly and imploringly, and her 
 lips quivered. I wondered apprehensively what she 
 was going to do next. 
 
 " For God's sake, be my friend and help me ! " 
 
 The cry, in her rich, low notes, seemed to come 
 from the depths of the woman's nature. It caused 
 some absurd and unnecessary chord within me to 
 vibrate. 
 
 For the first time I realised that her strong, handsome 
 face could look nobly and pathetically beautiful. Her 
 eyes swam in an adorable moisture and grew very 
 human and appealing. In a second all my self-denying 
 ordinances were forgotten. The witch had me in her 
 power again. 
 
 " My dear Madame Brandt," said I, " how can I do 
 it ?" 
 
 " Don't take Dale from me. I've lived alone, alone, 
 alone all these years, and I couldn't bear it." 
 
 " Do you care for him so very much ? " 
 
 She withdrew her hands and moved slightly. " Who 
 else in the wide world have I to care for ? " 
 
 This was very pathetic, but I had the sense to remark
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 83 
 
 that compromising the boy's future was not the best 
 way of showing her devotion. 
 
 " Oh, how could I do that ? " she asked. " I can't 
 marry him. And if I do what I've never done before for 
 any man — become his mistress — who need know ? I 
 could stay in the background." 
 
 " You seem to forget, dear lady," said I, " that Cap- 
 tain Vauvenarde is probably alive." 
 
 " But I tell you I've lost sight of him altogether." 
 
 " Are you quite so sure," I asked, regaining my sanit} 
 by degrees, " that Captain Vauvenarde has lost sight of 
 you? 
 
 She turned quickly. " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " You have given him no chance as yet of recovering 
 his freedom." 
 
 She passed her hand over her face, and sat down on 
 the sofa. " Do you mean — divorce ? " 
 
 " It's an ugly word, dear Madame Brandt," said I, as 
 gently as I could, " but you and I are strong people and 
 needn't fear uttering it. Don't you think such a scan- 
 dal would ruin Dale at the very beginning of his career ? " 
 
 There was a short silence. I was glad to see she was 
 feminine enough to twist and tear her handkerchief. 
 
 " What am I to do ? " she asked at last. " I can't 
 live this awful lonely life much longer. Sometimes I 
 get the creeps." 
 
 I might have given her the sound advice to find 
 healthy occupation in training crocodiles to sit up and 
 beg ; but an idea ^- which advanced thinkers might 
 classify as more suburban was beginning to take shape 
 in my mind. 
 
 " Has it occurred to you," I said, " that now you 
 have assumed the qualifications imposed by Captain 
 Vauvenarde for bearing his name ? "
 
 84 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " I don't understand." 
 
 " You no longer perform in public. He would have 
 no possible grievance against you." 
 
 " Are you suggesting that I should go back to my 
 husband ? " she gasped. 
 
 " I am," said I, feeling mighty diplomatic. 
 
 She looked straight in front of her, with parted lips, 
 fingering her handkerchief and evidently pondering the 
 entirely new suggestion. I thought it best to let her 
 ponder. As a general rule, people will do anything in 
 the world rather than think ; so, when one sees a human 
 being wrapped in thought, one ought to regard wilful 
 disturbance of the process as sacrilege. I lit a cigarette 
 and wandered about the room. 
 
 Eventually I came to a standstill before the Venus of 
 Milo. But while I was admiring its calm, mysterious 
 beauty, the development of a former idea took the 
 shape of an inspiration which made my heart sing. 
 Fate had put into my hands the chance of complete 
 eumoiriety. 
 
 If I could effect a reconciliation between Lola Brandt 
 and her husband. Dale would be cured almost automati- 
 cally of his infatuation, and I should be the deputy 
 Providence bringing happiness to six human beings — 
 Lola Brandt, Captain Vauvenarde, Lady Kynnersley, 
 Maisie Ellerton, Dale, and Mr. Anastasius Papa- 
 dopoulos, who could not fail to be delighted at the 
 happiness of his goddess. 
 
 There also might burst joyously on the earth a brood 
 of gleeful little Vauvenardes and merry little Kyn- 
 nersleys, who might regard Simon de Gex as their 
 mythical progenitor. It might add to the gaiety of 
 regiments and the edification of parliaments. Acts 
 should be judged, thought I, not according to their
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 85 
 
 trivial essence, but by the light of their far-reaching 
 consequences. 
 
 Lola Brandt broke the silence. She did not look at 
 me. She said : 
 
 " I can't help feeling that you're my friend." 
 
 " I am," I cried, in the exultation of my promotion 
 to the role of Deputy Providence. " I am indeed. And 
 a most devoted one." 
 
 " Will you let me think over what you've said for 
 a day or two — and then come for an answer ? " 
 
 " Willingly," said I. 
 
 " And you won't ? " 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " No. I know you won't." 
 
 " Tell Dale ? " I said, guessing. " No, of course 
 not." 
 
 She rose and put out both her hands to me in a very 
 noble gesture. I took them and kissed one of them. 
 
 She looked at me with parted lips. 
 
 " You are the best man I have ever met," she said. 
 
 At the moment of her saying it I believed it ; such 
 conviction is induced by the utterances of this singular 
 woman. But when I got outside the drawing-room 
 door my natural modesty revolted. I slapped my 
 thigh impatiently with what I thought were my gloves. 
 They made so little sound that I found there was only 
 one I had left the other inside. I entered and found 
 Lola Brandt in front of the fire holding my glove in her 
 hand. She started in some confusion. 
 
 " Is this yours ? " she asked. 
 
 Now whose could it have been but mine ? The 
 ridiculous question worried me, off and on, all the 
 evening.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 The murder is out. A paragraph has appeared in the 
 newspapers to the effect that the marriage arranged 
 between Mr. Simon de Gex and Miss Eleanor Faversham 
 will not take place. It has also become common know- 
 ledge that I am resigning my seat in Parliament on 
 account of ill-health. That is the reason rightly 
 assigned by my acquaintances for the rupture of my 
 engagement. I am being rapidly killed by the doleful 
 kindness of my friends. They are so dismally S3rmpa- 
 thetic. Everywhere I go there are long faces and 
 solemn hand-shakes. In order to cheer myself I gave a 
 little dinner-party at the club, and the function might 
 have been a depressed wake with my corpse in a coffin 
 on the table. My sisters, dear, kind souls, follow me 
 with anxious eyes as if I were one of their children 
 sickening for chicken-pox. They upbraid me for leaving 
 them in ignorance, and in hushed voices inquire as to 
 my symptoms. They both came this morning to the 
 Albany to see what they could do for me. I don't see 
 what they can do, save help Rogers put studs in my 
 shirts. They expressed such affectionate concern that 
 at last I cried out : 
 
 " My dear girls, if you don't smile, I'll sit upon the 
 hearth-rug and howl like a dog." 
 
 Then they exchanged glances and broke into hectic 
 gaiety, dear things, under the impression that they were 
 brightening me up. I am being deluged with letters. 
 
 86
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 87 
 
 I had no idea I was such a popular person. They come 
 from high placed and lowly, from constituents whom 
 my base and servile flattery has turned into friends, 
 from Members of Parliament, from warm-hearted 
 dowagers and from little girls who have inveigled me 
 out to lunch for the purpose of confiding to me their 
 love affairs. I could set up as a general practitioner of 
 medicine on the advice that is given me. I am recom- 
 mended cod-liver oil, lung tonic, electric massage, ab- 
 dominal belts, warm water, mud baths, Sandow's treat- 
 ment, and every patent medicament save rat poison. I 
 am urged to go to health resorts ranging geographically 
 from the top of the Jungfrau to Central Africa. All 
 kinds of worthy persons have offered to nurse me. Old 
 General Wynans writes me a four-page letter to assure 
 me that I have only to go to his friend Dr. Eustace 
 Adams, of Wimpole Street, to be cured like a shot. I 
 happen to know that Eustace Adams is an eminent 
 gynaecologist. 
 
 And the worst of it all is that these effusions written 
 in the milk of human kindness have to be answered. 
 Dale is not here. I have to sit down at my desk and 
 toil like a galley slave. I am being worn to a shadow. 
 
 Lola Brandt, too, has heard the news, Dale in Berlin 
 and the London newspapers being her informants. 
 Tears stood in her eyes when I called to learn her de- 
 cision. Why had I not told her I was so ill ? Why 
 had I let her worry me with her silly troubles ? 
 Why had I not consulted her friend. Sir Joshua 
 Oldfield ? She filled up my chair with cushions (which, 
 like most men, I find stuffy and comfortless), and if I 
 had given her the slightest encouragement, would have 
 stuck my feet in hot mustard and water. Why had I 
 come out on such a dreadful day ? It was indeed a
 
 88 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 detestable day of raw fog. She pulled the curtains close 
 and, insisting upon my remaining among my cushions, 
 piled the grate with coal half-way up the chimney. 
 Would I like some eucalyptus ? 
 
 " My dear Madame Brandt," I cried, " my bronchial 
 tubes and lungs are as strong as a hippopotamus's." 
 
 I wish every one would not conclude that I was going 
 off in a rapid decline. 
 
 Lola Brandt prowled about me in a wistful mothering 
 way, showing me a fresh side of her nature. She is as 
 domesticated as Penelope. 
 
 " You're fond of cooking, aren't you ? " I asked sud- 
 denly. 
 
 She laughed. " I adore it. How do you know ? " 
 
 " I guessed," said I. 
 
 " I'm what the French call a vraie hourgeoise." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear it," said I. 
 
 " Are you ? I thought your class hated the bourgeoisie." 
 
 " The bourgeoisie," I said, " is the nation's granary of 
 the virtues. But for God's sake, don't tell any one that 
 I said so ! " 
 
 " Why ?" she asked. 
 
 " If it found its way into print it would ruin my 
 reputation for epigram." 
 
 She drew a step or two towards me in her slow 
 rhythmic way and smiled. 
 
 " When you say or do a beautiful thing you always 
 try to bite off its tail." 
 
 Then she turned and drew some needlework — plain 
 sewing I believe they call it — from beneath the Union 
 Jack cushion and sat down. 
 
 " I'll make a confession," she said. " Until now I've 
 stuffed away my work when I heard you coming. I 
 didn't think it genteel. What do you think ? "
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 89 
 
 I scanned the shapeless mass of linen or tulle or 
 whatever it was on her lap. 
 
 " I don't know whether it's genteel," I remarked, 
 " but at present it looks like nothing on God's earth." 
 
 My masculine ignorance of such mysteries made her 
 laugh. She is readily moved to mild mirth, which 
 makes her an easy companion. Besides, little jokes are 
 made to be laughed at, and I like women who laugh at 
 them. There was a brief silence. I smoked and made 
 Adolphus stand up on his hind legs and balance sugar 
 on his nose. His mistress sewed. Presently she said, 
 without looking up from her work : 
 
 " I've made up my mind." 
 
 I rose from my cushioned seat, into which Adolphus, 
 evidently thinking me a fool, immediately snuggled 
 himself, and I stood facing her with my back to the fire. 
 
 " Well ? " said I. 
 
 " I am ready to go back to my husband, if he can be 
 found, and, of course, if he will have me." 
 
 I commended her for a brave woman. She smiled 
 rather sadly and shook her head. 
 
 " Those are two gigantic ' ifs.' " 
 
 " Giants before now have been slain by the valiant," 
 I replied. 
 
 " How is Captain Vauvenarde to be found ? " 
 
 " An officer in the French Army is not like a lost 
 sparrow in London. His whereabouts could be 
 obtained from the French*^War Office. What^ is his 
 regiment ? " 
 
 " The Chasseurs d'Afrique. Yes," she added thought- 
 fully. " I see, it isn't difficult to trace him. I make 
 one condition, however. You can't refuse me." . 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 " Until things are fixed up everything must go on
 
 90 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 just as at present between Dale and me. He is not to 
 be told anything. If nothing comes of it then I'U have 
 him all to myself. I won't give him up and be left 
 alone. As long as I care for him, I swear to God, I 
 won't ! " she said, in her low, rich voice — and I saw by 
 her face that she was a woman of her word. " Besides, 
 he would come raving and imploring — and I'm not 
 quite a woman of stone. It isn't all jam to go back to 
 my husband. Goodness knows why I am thinking of 
 it. It's for your sake. Do you know that ? " 
 
 I did not. I was puzzled. Why in the world should 
 Lola Brandt, whom I have only met three or four times, 
 revolutionise the whole of her life for my sake ? 
 
 " I should have thought it was for Dale's," said I. 
 
 " I suppose you would, being a man," she replied, 
 
 I retorted, with a smile : " Woman is the eternal 
 conundrum to which the wise man always leaves her 
 herself to supply the answer. Doubtless one of these 
 days you'll do it. Meanwhile, I'll wait in patience." 
 
 She gave me one of her sidelong, flashing glances and 
 sewed with more vigour than appeared necessary. I 
 admired the beautiful curves of her neck and shoulders 
 as she bent over her work. She seemed too strong to 
 wield such an insignificant weapon as a needle. 
 
 " That's neither here nor there," she said in reference 
 to my last remark. " I say, I don't look forward to 
 going back to my husband — though why I should say 
 ' going back ' I don't know, as he left me — not I him. 
 Anyhow, I'm ready to do it. If it can be managed, I'll 
 cut myself adrift suddenly from Dale. It will be more 
 merciful to him. A man can bear a sudden blow better 
 than lingering pain. If it can't be managed, well. Dale 
 wUl know nothing at all about it, and both he and I wiU 
 be saved a mortal deal of worry and unhappiness."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 91 
 
 " Suppose/'^said I, " it can't be managed ? Do you 
 propose to keep Dale ignorant of the danger he is run- 
 ning in keeping up a liaison with a married woman living 
 apart from her husband ? " 
 
 She reflected. " If my husband says he'll see me 
 damned first before he'll come back to me, then I'll tell 
 Dale everything, and you can say what you like to him. 
 He'll be able to judge for himself ; but in the meanwhile 
 you'll let me have what happiness I can." 
 
 I accepted the compromise, and, dispossessing Adol- 
 phus, sat down again. I certainly had made progress. 
 Feeling in a benevolent mood, I set forth the advan- 
 tages she would reap by assuming her legal status ; how 
 at last she would shake the dust of Bohemia from off 
 her feet, and instead of standing at the threshold like a 
 disconsolate Peri, she would enter as a right the Para- 
 dise of Philistia which she craved ; how her life would 
 be one continual tea-party, and how, as her husband 
 had doubtless by this time obtained his promotion, she 
 would be authorised to adopt high and mighty airs in 
 her relations with the wives of all the captains and 
 lieutenants in the regiment. She sighed and wondered 
 whether she would like it, after all. 
 
 " Here in England I can say ' damn ' as often as I 
 choose. I don't say it very often, but sometimes I feel 
 I must say it or explode." 
 
 " There are its equivalents in French," I suggested. 
 
 She laughed outright. " Fancy my coming out with 
 a sacre nom de Dieu in a French drawing-room ! " 
 
 " Fancy you shouting ' damn ' in an English one." 
 
 " That's true," she said. " I suppose drawing-rooms 
 are the same all the world over. I do try to talk like a 
 lady — at least, what I imagine they talk like, for I've 
 never met one."
 
 92 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " You see one every time you look in the glass," 
 said I. 
 
 Her olive face flushed. " You mustn't say such 
 things to me if you don't mean them. I like to think 
 all you say to me is true." 
 
 " Why in the world," I cried, " should you not be a 
 lady ? You have the instincts of one. How many of 
 my fair friends in Mayfair and Belgravia would have 
 made their drawing-rooms unspeakable just for the sake 
 of not hurting the feelings of Anastasius Papado- 
 poulos ? " 
 
 She put aside her work and, leaning over the arm of 
 the chair, her chin in her hands, looked at me gratefully. 
 
 " I'm so glad you've said that. Dale can't under- 
 stand it. He wants me to clear the trash away." 
 
 " Dale," said I, " is young and impetuous. I am a 
 battered old philosopher with one foot in the grave." 
 
 Quick moisture gathered in her eyes. " You hurt 
 me," she said. " You'll soon get well and strong again. 
 You must ! " 
 
 " Ce que femme veut, Dieu le veut," I laughed. 
 
 " Eh bien, je le veux," she said with an odd expression 
 in her eyes which burned golden. They fascinated me, 
 held mine. For some seconds neither of us moved. 
 Just consider the picture. There among the cushions 
 of her chair she sprawled beneath the light of a shaded 
 lamp on the farther side, and in front of the leaping 
 flames, a great, powerful, sinuous creature of sweeping 
 curves, clad in a clinging brown dress, her head crowned 
 with superb bronze hair, two warm arms bare to the 
 elbow, at which the sleeve ended in coffee-coloured lace 
 falling over the side of the chair, and her leopard eyes' 
 fixed on me. About her stiU hung the echo of her last 
 words spoken in deep tones whose register belongs less
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 93 
 
 to human habitations than to the jungle. And from 
 her emanated like a captivating odour — but it was not 
 an odour — a strange magnetic influence. 
 
 I have done my best to write her down in my mind a 
 commonplace, vulgar, good-natured mountebank. But 
 I can do so no longer. 
 
 There is something deep down in the soul of Lola 
 Brandt which sets her apart from the kindly race of 
 womankind ; whether it is the devil or a touch of pre- 
 Adamite splendour or an ancestral catamount, I make 
 no attempt to determine. At any rate, she is too grand 
 a creature to fritter her life away on a statistic-hunting 
 and pheasant-shooting young Briton like Dale Kyn- 
 nersley. He would never begin to understand her. I 
 will save her from Dale for her own sake. 
 
 All this, ladies and gentlemen, because her eyes fas- 
 cinated me, and caused me to hold my breath, and made 
 my heart beat. 
 
 And will Captain Vauvenarde understand her ? Of 
 course he won't. But then he is her husband, and 
 husbands are notoriously and cum privilegio dunder- 
 headed. I make no pretensions to understand her ; 
 but as I am neither her lover nor her husband it does 
 not matter. She says nothing diabolical or eerie or 
 fantastic or feline or pre-Adamite or uncanny or spiri- 
 tual ; and yet she is, in a queer, indescribable way, all 
 these things. 
 
 " Je le veux," she said, and we drank in each other's 
 souls, or gaped at each other like a pair of idiots, just as 
 you please. I had a horrible, yet pleasurable conscious- 
 ness that she had gripped hold of my nerves of volition. 
 She was willing me to live. I was a puppet in her hands 
 like the wild tom-cat. At that moment I declare I 
 could have purred and rubbed my head against her
 
 94 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 knee. I would have done anything she bade me. If 
 she had sent me to fetch the Cham of Tartary's cap or a 
 hair of Prester John's beard, I would have telephoned 
 forthwith to Rogers to pack a suit-case and book a seat 
 in the Orient express. 
 
 What would have happened next Heaven alone 
 knows — for we could not have gone on gazing at each 
 other until I backed myself out at the door by way of 
 leave-taking — had not Anticlimax arrived in the person 
 of Mr. Anastasius Papadopoulos in his eternal frock- 
 coat. But his gloves were black. 
 
 As usual he fell on his knees and kissed his lady's hand. 
 Then he rose and greeted me with solemn affability. 
 
 " C'est un privilege de rencontrer den gnadigsten Herrn," 
 said he. 
 
 Confining myself to one language, I responded by 
 informing him that it was an honour always to meet 
 so renowned a professor, and inquired politely after the 
 health of Hephsestus. 
 
 " Ah, signor ! " he cried. " Do not ask me. It isa 
 tragedy from which I shall never recover." 
 
 He sat down on a footstool by the side of Madame 
 Brandt and burst into tears, which coursed down his 
 cheeks and moustache and hung like drops of dew from 
 the point of his imperial. 
 
 " Is he dead ? " asked Madame. 
 
 " I wish he were, das Ungeheuer ! No. It is only 
 the iron self-restraint that I possess which prevented 
 me from slaying him on the spot. But poor Santa 
 Bianca ! Das arme Liebchen ! La povera ! My gentle 
 and accomplished Angora ! He has killed her. I can 
 scarcely raise my head through grief." 
 
 Lola put her great arm round the little man's neck 
 and patted him like a child, while he sobbed as if his 
 heart would break.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 95 
 
 When he recovered he gave us the details of the tragic 
 end of Santa Bianca, and wound up by caUing down the 
 most ingeniously complicated and passionate curses on 
 the head of the murderer, Lola Brandt strove to pacify 
 him. 
 
 " We all have our sorrows, Anastasius. Did I not 
 lose my beautiful horse Sultan ? " 
 
 The professor sprang to his full height of four feet and 
 dashed away his tears with a noble gesture of his black- 
 gloved hand. 
 
 Base slave that he was to think of his own petty 
 bereavement in the face of her eternal affliction. He 
 turned to me and bade me mark her serene nobility. 
 It was a model and an example for him to follow. He, 
 too, would be brave and present a smiling face to evil 
 fortune. 
 
 " Behold ! I smile, Carissima ! " he cried dramati- 
 cally. 
 
 We beheld — and saw his features (smudged with 
 tear-stains and the dye from the black gloves which 
 he obviously wore out of respect for the deceased 
 Santa Bianca) contorted into a grimace of hideous 
 imbecility. 
 
 " Monsieur," said he, assuming his natural expression 
 which was one of pensive melancholy, " let us change 
 the conversation. You are a great statesman. Will 
 you kindly let me know your opinion on the foreign 
 policy of Germany ? " 
 
 Whereupon he sat down again on his stool and 
 regarded me with earnest attention. 
 
 " Germany," said I, with the solemnity of a Sir Oracle 
 in the smoking-room of one of the political clubs, " has 
 dreams of an empire beyond her frontiers, and with a 
 view to converting the dream into a reality, is turning 
 out battleships nineteen to the dozen."
 
 96 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 The Professor nodded his head sagaciously, and 
 looked up at Lola. 
 
 " Very profound," said he, " very profound. I shall 
 remember it. I am a Greek, monsieur, and the Greeks, 
 as you know, are a nation of diplomatists." 
 
 " Ever since the days of Xenophon," said I. 
 
 " You're both too clever for me," exclaimed our 
 hostess. " Where did you get your knowledge from, 
 Anastasius ? " 
 
 The Professor, flattered, passed his hand over his 
 bulgy forehead. 
 
 " I was a great student in my youth," said he. " Once 
 I could tell you all the kings of Rome and the date of 
 the battle of Actium. But pressure of weightier con- 
 cerns {des affaires mehr wichtig) " — his was indeed the 
 most eccentric jargon I have ever heard — " has driven 
 my erudition from me. Ma reine," he continued, after 
 a slight pause, " pardon me. I have not yet asked 
 after your health. You are looking sad and troubled. 
 What is the matter ? " 
 
 He sat bolt upright, fingering his imperial and regard- 
 ing her with the keen solicitude of a family physician. 
 To my amazement, Lola Brandt told him quite simply : 
 
 " I am thinking of living with my husband again." 
 
 " Has the traitor been annoying you ? " he asked 
 with a touch of fierceness. 
 
 " Oh no ! It's my own idea. I'm tired of living 
 alone. I don't even know where he is." 
 
 " Do you want to know where he is ? " 
 
 " How can I communicate with him unless I do ? " 
 
 Anastasius Papadopoulos rose, struck an attitude, 
 and thumped his breast. 
 
 " I will seek him for you at the ends of the earth, and 
 will bring him to prostrate himself at your feet."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 97 
 
 " That's very kind of you, Anastasius," said Lola 
 gently ; " but what will become of your cats ? " 
 
 The dwarf raised his hand impressively. 
 
 " The Almighty \vill have them in His keeping. I 
 have also my pupil and assistant, Quast." 
 
 Lola smiled indulgently from her cushions, showing 
 her curious even teeth. 
 
 " You mustn't do anything so mad, Anastasius ; I 
 forbid you." 
 
 " Madame," said he in a most stately manner, 
 " when I devote myself, it is to the death. I have the 
 honour to salute you ! " — he bowed over her hand and 
 kissed it. " Monsieur." He bowed to me with the 
 profundity of a hidalgo, and trotted magnificently out 
 of the room. 
 
 It was all so sudden that it took my breath away. 
 
 " Well I'm " I didn't know what I was, so I 
 
 stopped. Lola Brandt broke into low laughter at my 
 astonishment. 
 
 " That's Anastasius's way," she explained. 
 
 " But the little man surely isn't going to leave his 
 cats and start on a wild-goose chase over Europe to 
 find your husband ? " 
 
 " He thinks he is, but I shan't let him." 
 
 " I hope you won't," said I. " And will you tell me 
 why you made so hot-headed a person your confidant? " 
 
 I confess that I was wrathful. Here had I been using 
 the wiles of a Balkan chancery to bring the lady to my 
 way of thinking, and here was she, to my face, making 
 a joke of it with this caricature of a Paladin. 
 
 " My dearest friend," she replied earnestly, " don't be 
 angry with me. I've given the poor little man some- 
 thing to think of besides the death of his cat. It will 
 do him good. And why shouldn't I tell him ? He's a 
 
 G
 
 98 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 dear old friend, and in his way was so good to me when 
 I was unhappy. He knows all about my married life. 
 You may think he's half-witted ; but he isn't. In 
 ordinary business dealings he's as shrewd as they make 
 'em. The manager who beats Anastasius over a con- 
 tract is yet to be born." 
 
 By some extraordinary process of the contortionist's 
 art, she curled herself out of her chair on to the hearth- 
 rug and knelt before me, her hands clasped on my knee. 
 
 " You're not angry with me, are you ? " she asked 
 in her rich contralto. 
 
 I took both her hands, rose, and assisted her to rise. 
 I was not going to be mesmerised again. 
 
 " Of course not," I laughed. Indeed my wrath had 
 fallen from me. 
 
 Her bosom heaved with a sigh. " I'm so glad," she 
 said. Her breath fanned my cheek. It was aromatic, 
 intoxicating. Her lips are ripe and full. 
 
 " You had better find your husband as soon as 
 possible," said I. 
 
 " Do you think so ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes, I do. And it strikes me I had better go and 
 find him myself." 
 
 She started. " You ? " 
 
 " Yes," I said. " The Chasseurs d'Afrique are prob- 
 ably in Africa, and the doctors have ordered me to 
 winter in a hot climate, and I shall go on writing a 
 million letters a day if I stay here, which will kill me off 
 in no time with brain fag and writer's cramp. Your 
 husband will be what the newspapers call an objective. 
 Good-bye ! " said I, " I'll bring him to you dead or alive." 
 
 And without knowing it at the time, I made an exit 
 as magnificent as that of Professor Anastasius Papado- 
 poulos.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 I DO not know whether I ought to laugh or rail. Judged 
 by the ordinary canons that regulate the respectable 
 life to which I have been accustomed, I am little short 
 of a lunatic. The question is : Does the recognition of 
 lunacy in oneself tend to amusement or anger ? I com- 
 promise with myself. I am angry at having been 
 forced on an insane adventure, but the prospect of its 
 absurdity gives me considerable pleasure. 
 
 Let me set it down once and for all : I resent Lola 
 Brandt's existence. When I am out of her company 
 I can contemplate her calmly from my vantage of 
 social and intellectual superiority. I can pooh-pooh 
 her fascinations. I can crack jokes on her shortcomings. 
 I can see perfectly well that I am Simon de Gex, M.P. 
 (I have not yet been appointed to the stewardship of 
 the Chiltern Hundreds), of Eton and Trinity College, 
 Cambridge, a barrister of the Inner Temple (though a 
 brief would cause me as much dismay as a command 
 to conduct the orchestra at Covent Garden), formerly 
 of the Foreign Office, a man of the world, a diner-out, 
 a hardened jester at feminine wiles, a cynical student 
 of philosophy, a man of birth, and, I believe, breeding, 
 with a cultivated taste in wine and food and furniture, 
 one also who, but for a little pain inside, would soon 
 become a Member of His Majesty's Government, and 
 eventually drop the " Esquire " at the end of his name 
 and stick " The Right Honourable " in front of it — in 
 
 99
 
 loo SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 fact, a most superior, wise and important person ; and 
 I can ako see perfectly well that Lola Brandt is an un- 
 educated, lowly bred, vagabond female, with a taste, as 
 I have remarked before, for wild beasts and tea-parties, 
 with whom I have as much in common as I have with 
 the feathered lady on a coster's donkey-cart or the Fat 
 Woman at the Fair, I can see all this perfectly well in 
 the calm seclusion of my library. But when I am in 
 her presence my superiority, like Bob Acres's valour, 
 oozes out through my finger-tips ; I become a besotted 
 idiot ; the sense and the sight and the sound of her 
 overpower me ; I proclaim her rich and remarkable 
 personality ; and I bask in her lazy smiles like any silly 
 undergraduate whose knowledge of women has hitherto 
 been limited to his sisters and the common little girl 
 at the tobacconist's. 
 
 I say I resent it. I resent the low notes in her voice. 
 I resent the caj olery of the supple twists of her body. I 
 resent her putting her hands on my shoulders, and, as 
 the twopenny-halfpenny poets say, fanning my cheek 
 with her breath. If it had not been for that I should 
 never have promised to go in search of her impossible 
 husband. At any rate, it is easy to discover his where- 
 abouts. A French bookseller has telegraphed to Paris 
 for the Annuaire Officiel de I'Armee Franraise, the 
 French Army List. It locates every officer in the 
 French army, and as the Chasseurs d'Afrique generally 
 chase in Africa, it will tell me the station in Algeria or 
 Tunisia which Captain Vauvenarde adorns. I can go 
 straight to him as Madame Brandt's plenipotentiary, 
 and if the unreasonable and fire-eating warrior does 
 not run me through the body for impertinence before 
 he has time to appreciate the delicacy of my mission, 
 I may be able to convince him that a well-to-do wife
 
 SIMON THE JESTER loi 
 
 is worth the respectable consideration of a hard-up 
 captain of Chasseurs. I say I may be able to convince 
 him ; but I shrink from the impudence of the encounter. 
 I am to accost a total stranger in a foreign army and 
 tell him to return to his wife. This is the pretty httle 
 mission I have undertaken. It sounded glorious and 
 eumoirous and quixotic and deucedly funny, during the 
 noble moment of inspiration, when Lola's golden eyes 
 were upon me ; but now — well, I shall have to persuade 
 myself that it is funny, if I am to carry it out. It is 
 very much like wagering that one will tweak by the nose 
 the first gentleman in gaiters and shovel-hat one meets 
 in Piccadilly. This by some is considered the quintes- 
 sence of comedy. I foresee a revision of my sense of 
 humour. 
 
 This afternoon I met Lady Kynnersley agam — at the 
 Ellertons'. I was talking to Maisie, who has grown no 
 happier, when I saw her sailing across to me with ques- 
 tions hoisted in her eyes. Being particularly desirous 
 not to report progress periodically to Lady Kynnersley, 
 I made a desperate move. I went forward and greeted 
 her. 
 
 " Lady Kynnersley," said I, " somebody was telling 
 me that you are in urgent need of funds for something. 
 With my usual wooden-headedness I have forgotten 
 what it is — but 1 know it is a deserving organisation." 
 
 The philanthropist, as I hoped, ousted the mother. 
 She exclaimed at once : 
 
 " It must have been the Cabmen and Omnibus 
 Drivers' Rheumatic Hospital." 
 
 " That was it ! " said I, hearing of the institution 
 for the first time. 
 
 " They are martyrs to rheumatic gout, and of course 
 have no means of obtaining proper treatment ; so we
 
 I02 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 have secured a site at Harrogate and are building a 
 comfortable place, half hospital, half hotel, where they 
 can be put up for a shilling a day and have all the 
 benefits of the waters just as if they were staying at the 
 Hotel Majestic. Do you want to become a subscriber ? " 
 
 " I am eager to," said I. 
 
 " Then come over here and I'll tell you all about it," 
 
 I sat with her in a corner of the room and listened to 
 her fairy-tale. She wrung my heart to such a pitch of 
 sympathy that I rose and grasped her by the hand, 
 
 " It is indeed a noble project," I cried. " I love the 
 London cabby as my brother, and I'll post you a cheque 
 for a thousand pounds this evening. Good-bye ! " 
 
 I left her in a state of joyous stupefaction and made 
 my escape. If it had not fallen in with my general 
 scheme of good works I should regard it as an expensive 
 method of avoiding unpleasant questions. 
 
 Another philanthropist, by the way, of quite a dif- 
 ferent type from Lady Kynnersley, who has lately 
 benefited by my eleemosynary mania is Rex Campion. 
 I have known him since our University days and have 
 maintained a sincere though desultory friendship with 
 him ever since. He is also a friend of Eleanor Faver- 
 sham, whom he now and then inveigles into weird doings 
 in the impossible slums of South Lambeth. He has tried 
 on many occasions to lure me into his web, but hitherto 
 I have resisted. Being the possessor of a large fortune, 
 he has been able to gratify a devouring passion for 
 philanthropy, and has squandered most of his money 
 on an institution — a kind of club, school, labour-bureau, 
 dispensary, soup-kitchen, all rolled into one — in Lam- 
 beth ; and there he lives himself, perfectly happy among 
 a hungry, grubby, scarecrow, tatterdemalion crowd. 
 At a loss for a defining name, he has called it '-' Barbara's
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 103 
 
 Building," after his mother. His conception of the 
 cosmos is that sun, moon, and stars revolve round 
 Barbara's Building. How he learned that I was, so to 
 speak, standing at street corners and flinging money 
 into the laps of the poor and needy, I know not. But 
 he came to see me a day or two ago, full of Barbara's 
 Building, and departed in high feather with a cheque 
 for a thousand pounds in his pocket. 
 
 I may remark here on the peculiar difficulty there 
 is in playing Monte Cristo with anything like picturesque 
 grace. Any dull dog that owns a pen and a banking- 
 account can write out cheques for charitable institutions. 
 But to accomplish anything personal, imaginative, 
 adventurous, anything with a touch of distinction, is a 
 less easy matter. You wake up in the morning with 
 the altruistic yearnings of a St. Frangois de Sales, and 
 yet somehow you go to bed in the evening with the 
 craving unsatisfied. You have really had so few 
 opportunities ; and when an occasion does arise it is 
 hedged around with such difficulties as to baffle all but 
 the most persistent. Have you ever tried to give a 
 beggar a five-pound note ? I did this morning. 
 
 She was a miserable, shivering, starving woman of 
 fifty selling matches in Sackville Street. She held out 
 a shrivelled hand to me, and eyes that once had been 
 beautiful pleaded hungrily for alms. 
 
 " Here," said I to myself, "is an opportunity of 
 bringing unimagined gladness for a month or two into 
 this forlorn creature's life." 
 
 I pressed a five-pound note into her hand and passed 
 on. She ran after me, terror on her face. 
 
 " I daren't take it, sir ; they would say I had stolen 
 it, and I should be locked up. No one would believe a 
 gentleman had given it to me."
 
 104 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 She trembled, overwhelmed by the colossal fortune 
 that might, and yet might not, be hers. I sympathised, 
 but not having the change in gold, I could do no more 
 than listen to an incoherent tale of misery, which did 
 not aid the solution of the problem. It was manifestly 
 impossible to take back the note ; and yet if she retained 
 it she would be subjected to scandalous indignities. 
 What was to be done ? I turned my eyes towards 
 Piccadilly and beheld a policeman. A page wearing 
 the name of a milliner's shop on his cap whisked past 
 me. I stopped him and slipped a shilling into his hand. 
 
 " Will you ask that policeman to come to me ? " 
 
 The boy tore down the street and told the policeman 
 and followed him up to me, eager for amusement. 
 
 " What has the woman been doing, sir ? " asked the 
 policeman. 
 
 " Nothing," said I. "I have given her a five-pound 
 note." 
 
 " What for, sir ? " he asked. 
 
 " To further my pursuit of the eumoirous," said I, 
 whereat he gaped stolidly ; " but, be that as it may, I 
 have given it her as a free gift, and she is afraid to 
 present it anywhere lest she should be charged with 
 theft. Will you kindly accompany her to a shop, where 
 she can change it, and vouch for her honesty ? " 
 
 The policeman, who seemed to form the lowest opinion 
 of my intellect, said he didn't know a shop on his beat 
 where they could change it. The boy whistled. The 
 woman held the box of matches in one hand, and in 
 the other the note, fluttering in the breeze. Idlers 
 paused and looked on. The policeman grew authorita- 
 tive and bade them pass along. They crowded all 
 the more. My position was becoming embarrassing. 
 At last the boy, remembering the badge of honour on
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 105 
 
 his cap, undertook to change the note at the hatter's 
 at the comer of the street. So, having given the note 
 to the boy and bidden the poUceman follow him to see 
 fair play, and encouraged the woman to follow the 
 policeman, I resumed my walk down Sackville Street. 
 But what a pother about a simple act of charity ! In 
 order to repeat it habitually I shall have to rely on the 
 fortuitous attendance of a boy and a policeman, or have 
 a policeman and a boy permanently attached to my 
 person, which would be as agreeable as the continuous 
 escort of a jackdaw and a yak. 
 
 Poor Latimer is having a dreadful time. Apparently 
 my ten thousand pounds have vanished like a snowflake 
 on the river of his liabilities. How he is to repay me 
 he does not know. He wishes he had not yielded to 
 temptation and had allowed himself to be honestly 
 hammered. Then he could have taken his family to 
 sing in the streets with a quiet conscience. 
 
 " My dear fellow," said I through the telephone this 
 morning. " What are ten thousand pounds to me ? " 
 
 1 heard him gasp at the other end. 
 
 " But you're not a millionaire ! " 
 
 " I am ! " I cried triumphantly. And now I come to 
 think of it, I spoke truly. If a man reckons his capital 
 as half a year's income, doubles it, and works out the 
 capital that such a yearly income represents, he is the 
 possessor of a mint of money. 
 
 " I am," I cried ; " and I'll tell you what I'll do. 
 I'll settle five thousand on Lucy and the children, so 
 that they needn't accompany you in your singing 
 excursions. I shouldn't like them to catch cold, poor 
 dears, and ruin their voices." 
 
 In tones more than telephonically agonised he bade
 
 io6 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 me not make a jest of his misery. I nearly threw the 
 receiver at the blockhead. 
 
 " I'm not jesting," I bawled ; " I'm deadly serious. 
 I knew Lucy before you did, and I kissed her and she 
 kissed me years before she knew of your high existence ; 
 and if she had been a sensible woman she would have 
 married me instead of you — what ? The first time 
 you've heard of it ? Of course it is — and be decently 
 thankful that you hear it now." 
 
 It is pleasant sometimes to tell the husbands of girls 
 you have loved exactly what you think of them ; and I 
 had loved Lucy Latimer. She came, an English rose, 
 to console me for the loss of my French fleur-de-lys, 
 Clothilde. Or was it the other way about ? One does 
 get so mixed in these things ! At any rate, she did not 
 marry me, her first love, but jilted me most abominably 
 for Latimer. So I shall heap five thousand pounds on 
 her head. 
 
 I have been unfortunate in my love affairs. I wonder 
 why ? Which reminds me that I made the identical 
 remark to Lucy Latimer a month or two ago. (She is a 
 plump, kind, motherly, unromantic little person now.) 
 She had the audacity to reply that I had never had any. 
 
 " You, Lucy Crooks, dare say such a thing ! " I 
 exclaimed indignantly. 
 
 She smiled. " Are there many more qualified than 
 I to give the opinion ? " 
 
 I remember that I rose and looked her sternly in the 
 face. 
 
 " Lucy Crooks or Lucy Latimer," said I, " you are 
 nothing more or less than a common hussy." 
 
 Whereupon she laughed as if I had paid her a high 
 compliment." 
 
 I maintain that I have been unfortunate in my love
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 107 
 
 affairs. First, there was an angel-faced widow, a con- 
 temporary of my mother's, whom I wooed in Greek 
 verses — and let me tell the young lover that it is much 
 easier to write your own doggerel and convert it into 
 Greek than to put " To Althea " into decent Anacre- 
 ontics. I also took her to the Eton and Harrow match, 
 and talked to her of women's hats and the things she 
 loved, and neglected the cricket. But she would have 
 none of me. In the flood tide of my passion she married 
 a scorbutic archdeacon of the name of Jugg. Then 
 there was a lady whose name for the life of me I can't 
 remember. It was something ending in " -ine." We 
 quarrelled because we held divergent views on Mr. 
 Wilson Barrett. Then there was Clothilde, whose tragical 
 story I have already unfolded ; Lucy Crooks, who 
 threw me over for this dear, amiable, wooden-headed 
 stockjobbing Latimer ; X, Y and Z — but here, let me 
 remark, I was the hunted — mammas spread nets for me 
 which by the grace of heaven and the ungraciousness of 
 the damsels I escaped ; and, lastly, my incomparable 
 Eleanor Faversham. Now, I thought, am I safe in 
 harbour ? If ever a match could have been labelled 
 " Pure heaven-made goods, warranted not to shrink " 
 — that was one. But for this rupture there is an all- 
 accounting reason. For the others there was none. I 
 vow I went on falling in love until I grew absolutely sick 
 and tired of the condition. You see, the vocabulary of 
 the pastime is so confoundedly limited. One has to say 
 to B what one has said to A ; to C exactly what one 
 has said to A and B ; and when it comes to repeating 
 to F the formularies one has uttered to A, B, C, D, and 
 E one grows almost hysterical with the boredom of it. 
 That was the delightful charm of Eleanor Faversham ; 
 she demanded no formularies or re-enactment of raptures.
 
 io8 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Well, one thing is certain. I shall never have another 
 love affair. I am not sorry. 
 
 The Annuaire Officiel de I' Armee Frawcws^ has arrived. 
 It is a volume of nearly eighteen hundred pages, and 
 being uncut both at top and bottom and at the side it is 
 peculiarly serviceable as a work of reference, I attacked 
 it bravely, however, hacking my way into it, paper- 
 knife in hand. But to my dismay, the more I hacked 
 the less could I find of Captain Vauvenarde. I sought 
 him in the Alphabetical Repertory of Metropolitan 
 Troops, in the Alphabetical Repertory of Colonial Troops, 
 in the list of officers hors cadre, in the lists of seniority, 
 in the list of his regiment, wherever he was likely or 
 unlikely to be. There is no person in the French army 
 by the name of Vauvenarde. 
 
 I went straight to Lola Brandt with the hideous 
 volume and the unwelcome news. Together we 
 searched the pages. 
 
 " He must be here," she said, with feminine disregard 
 of fact. 
 
 " Are you quite certain you have got the name 
 right ? " I asked. 
 
 " Why, it is my own name ! " 
 
 " So it is," said I ; "I was forgetting. But how do 
 you know he was in the army at all ? " 
 
 He might have been an adventurer, a Captain of 
 Kopenick of the day, who had poured a gallant but 
 mendacious tale into her ears. 
 
 " I hardly ever saw him out of uniform. He was 
 quartered at Marseilles on special duty. I knew some 
 of his brother officers." 
 
 " Then," said I, " there are only two alternatives. 
 Either he has left the army or he is " 
 
 '' Dead ? " she whispered.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 109 
 
 " Let us hope," said I, " that he has left the army." 
 
 " You must find out, Mr. de Gex," she said in a low 
 voice. " I took it for granted that my husband was 
 alive. Its horrible to think that he may be dead. It 
 alters everything, somehow. Until I know, I shall be 
 in a state of awful suspense. You'll make inquiries at 
 once, won't you ? " 
 
 " Did you love your husband, Madame Brandt ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 She looked at the fire for some time without replying. 
 She stood with one foot on the fender. 
 
 " I thought I did when I married him," she said at 
 last. " I thought I did when he left me." 
 
 " And now ? " — 
 
 She turned her golden eyes fuU on me. It is a dis- 
 concerting trick of hers at any time, because her eyes 
 are at once wistful and compelling ; but on this occasion 
 it was startling. They held mine for some seconds, and 
 I caught in them a glimpse of the hieroglyphic of the 
 woman's soul. Then she turned her head slowly and 
 looked again into the fire. 
 
 "Now ? " she echoed. " Many things have happened 
 between then and now. If he is alive and I go to him, 
 I'll try to think again that I love him. It will be the 
 only way. It will save me from playing hell with my 
 life." 
 
 " I am glad you see your relations to Dale in that 
 light," said I. 
 
 " I wasn't thinking of Dale," she said calmly. 
 
 " Of what, then, if I may ask without impertinence ? " 
 
 She broke into a laugh which ended in a sigh, and then 
 swung her splendid frame away from the fireplace and 
 walked backwards and forwards, her figure swaying and 
 her arms flung about in unrestrained gestures.
 
 no SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " You are quite right," she said, with an odd note of 
 hardness in her voice. " You're quite right in what you 
 said the other day — that it was high time I went back 
 to my husband. I pray God he is not dead. I have a 
 feeling that he isn't. He can't be. I count on you 
 to find him and ask him to meet me. It would be better 
 than writing. I don't know what to say when I have 
 a pen in my hand. You must find him and speak to 
 him and send me a wire and I'll come straight away to 
 any part of the earth. Or would you like me to come 
 with you and help you find him ? But no ; that's 
 idiotic. Forget that I have said it. I'm a fool. But 
 he must be found. He must, he must ! " 
 
 She paused in her swinging about the room for which 
 I was sorry, as her panther-in-a-cage movements were 
 exceedingly beautiful, and she gazed at me with a 
 tragedy air, wringing her hands. I was puzzled to find 
 an adequate reason for this sudden emotional outburst. 
 Hitherto she had accepted the prospect of a resumption 
 of married life with a fatalistic calm. Now when the 
 man is either dead or has vanished into space, she pins 
 all her hopes of happiness on finding him. And why 
 had her salvation from destruction nothing to do with 
 Dale ? There is obviously another range of emotions 
 at work beneath it all ; but what their nature is baffles 
 me. Although I contemplate with equanimity my little 
 corner in the Garden of Proserpine, and with indifference 
 this common lodging-house of earth, and although I 
 view mundane affairs with the same fine, calm, philo- 
 sophic, satirical eye as if I were already a disembodied 
 spirit, yet I do not like to be baffled. It makes me 
 angry. But during this interview with Lola Brandt 
 I had not time to be angry. I am angry now. In fact 
 I am in a condition bordering on that of a mad dog. If
 
 SIMON THE JESTER in 
 
 Rogers came and disturbed me now, as I am writing, I 
 would bite him. But I will set calmly down the story 
 of this appalling afternoon. 
 
 Lola stood before me wringing her hands. 
 
 " What are you going to do ? " 
 
 " I can get an introduction to the Chef de bureau of 
 the information department of the Ministere de la Guerre 
 in Paris," I replied after a moment's reflection. " He 
 will be able to tell me whether Captain Vauvenarde is 
 alive or dead." 
 
 " He is alive. He must be." 
 
 " Very well." said I. " But I doubt whether Captain 
 Vauvenarde keeps the office informed of his movements. 
 
 " But you'll go in search of him, won't you ? " 
 
 " The earth is rather a large place," I objected. " He 
 may be in Dieppe, or he may be on top of Mount 
 Popocatapetl." 
 
 " I'm sure you'll find him," she said encouragingly. 
 
 " You'll own," said I, " that there's something 
 humorous in the idea of my wandering all over the 
 surface of the planet in search of a lost captain of 
 Chasseurs. It is true that we might employ a private 
 detective." 
 
 " Yes 1 " she cried eagerly. " Why not ? Then you 
 could stay here — and I could go on seeing you till the 
 news came. Let us do that." 
 
 The swiftness of her change of mood surprised me. 
 
 " What is the particular object of your going on 
 seeing me ? " I asked with a smile. 
 
 She turned away and shrugged her shofulders and 
 took up her pensive attitude by the fire. 
 
 " I have no other friend," she said. 
 
 " There's Dale." 
 
 " He's not the same."
 
 112 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " There's Sir Joshua Oldfield." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 I lit a cigarette and sat down. There was a long 
 silence. In some unaccountable way she had me under 
 her spell again. I felt a perfectly insane dismay at the 
 prospect of ending this queer intimacy, and I viewed 
 her intrigue with Dale with profound distaste. Lola 
 had become a habit. The chair I was sitting in was 
 my chair. Adolphus was my dog. I hated the idea 
 of Dale making him stand up and do sentry with the 
 fire-shovel, while Lola sprawled gracefully on the hearth- 
 rug. On the other hand, the thought of remaining in 
 London and sharing with my young friend the privilege 
 of her society was intolerable. 
 
 I smoked, and, watching her bosom rise and fall as 
 she leaned forward with one arm on the mantelpiece, 
 argued it out with myself, and came to the paradoxical 
 conclusion that I could pack her off without a pang to 
 Kamchatka and the embraces of her unknown husband, 
 but could not hand her over to Dale without feelings 
 of the deepest repugnance. A pretty position to find 
 myself in. I threw away my cigarette impatiently. 
 
 Presently she said, not stirring from her pose : 
 
 " I shall miss you terribly if you go. A man like you 
 doesn't come into the life of a common woman like me 
 without " — she hesitated for a word — " without making 
 some impression. I can't bear to lose you." 
 
 " I shall be very sorry to give up our pleasant com- 
 radeship," said I, " but even if I stay and send the 
 private inquiry agent instead of going myself, I shan't 
 be able to go on seeing you in this way." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " It would be scarcely dignified." 
 
 " On account of Dale ? "
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 113 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 There was another pause, during which I lit another 
 cigarette. Wlien I looked up 1 saw great tears rolling 
 down her checks. A weeping woman always makes me 
 nervous. You never know what she is going to. do next. 
 Safety lies in checking the tears — in administering a 
 tonic. Still, her wish to retain me was very touching. 
 I rose and stood before her by the mantelpiece. 
 
 " You can't have your pudding and eat it too," said I. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " You can't have Captain Vauvenarde for your 
 husband, Dale for your ccwalicre servente, and myself 
 for your guide, philosopher, and friend all at the same 
 time." 
 
 " Which would you advise me to give up ? " 
 
 " That's obvious. Give up Dale." 
 
 She uttered a sound midway between a sob and a 
 laugh, and said, as it seemed, ironically : 
 
 " Would you take his place ? " 
 
 Somewhat ironically, too, I replied, " A crock, my 
 dear lady, with one foot in the grave has no business to 
 put the other into the Pays du Tendre." 
 
 But all the same I had an absurd desire to take her at 
 her word, not for the sake (Heaven and Eros forbid !) 
 of constituting myself her amant en titre, but so as to 
 dispossess the poor boy who was clamouring wildly for 
 her among his mother's snufty colleagues in Berlin. 
 
 " That's another reason why I shrink from your 
 going in search of my husband," she said, dabbing her 
 eyes. " Your ill-health." 
 
 " I shall have to go abroad out of this dreadful climate 
 in any case. Doctor's orders. And I might just as 
 well travel about with an object in view as idle in 
 Monte Carlo or Egypt." 
 
 H
 
 114 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " But you might die ! " she cried ; and her tone 
 touched my heart. 
 
 " I've got to," I said, as gently as I could ; and the 
 moment the words passed my lips I regretted them. 
 
 She turned a terrified look on me and seized me by 
 the arms. 
 
 " Is it as bad as that ? Why haven't you told me ? " 
 
 I lifted my hands to her shoulders and shook my head 
 and smiled into her eyes. They seemed true, honest 
 eyes, with a world of pain behind them. If I had 
 not regarded myself as the gentleman in the Greek 
 Tragedy walking straight to my certain doom, and 
 therefore holding myself aloof from such vain things, I 
 should have yielded to the temptation and kissed her 
 there and then. And then goodness knows what would 
 have happened. 
 
 As it was it was bad enough. For, as we stood 
 holding on to each other's shoulders in a ridiculous 
 and compromising attitude, the door opened and 
 Dale Kynnersley burst, unannounced, into the room. 
 He paused on the threshold and gaped at us, open- 
 mouthed.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 We sprang apart, for all the world like a guilty pair 
 surprised. Luckily the room was in its normal dim 
 state of illumination, so that to one suddenly entering, 
 the expression on our faces was not clearly visible ; 
 on the other hand, the subdued light gave a 
 romantic setting to the abominable situation. 
 
 Lola saved it, however. She rushed to Dale. 
 
 " Do you know what Mr. de Gex was just telling me ? 
 His illness — it is worse than any one thought. It's 
 incurable. He can't live long ; he must die soon. It's 
 dreadful — dreadful ! Did you know it ? " 
 
 Dale looked from her to me, and after a slight pause, 
 came forward. 
 
 " Is this true, Simon ? " 
 
 A plague of the woman for catching me in the trap I 
 Before Dale came in I was on the point of putting an 
 airy construction on my indiscreet speech. I had no 
 desire to discuss my longevity with any one. I want to 
 keep my miserable secret to myself. It was exasperat- 
 ing to have to entrust it even to Dale. And yet, if I 
 repudiated her implied explanation of our apparent 
 embrace it would have put her hopelessly in the wrong. 
 I had to support her. 
 
 " It's what the doctors say," I replied, " but whether 
 it's true or not is another matter." 
 
 Again he looked queerly from me to Lola and from 
 Lola back to me. His first impression of our attitude 
 
 "5
 
 ii6 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 had been a shock from which he found it difficult to 
 recover. I smiled, and, although perfectly innocent, 
 felt a villain. 
 
 " Madame Brandt is good enough to be soft-hearted 
 and to take a tragic view of a most commonplace 
 contingency." 
 
 " But it isn't commonplace. By God, it's horrible ! " 
 cried the boy, the arrested love for me suddenly gushing 
 into his heart. " I had no idea of it. In Heaven's 
 name, Simon, why didn't you tell me ? My dear old 
 Simon." 
 
 Tears rushed into his eyes and he gripped my hand 
 until I winced. I put my other hand on his shoulder 
 and laughed with a contorted visage. 
 
 " My good Dale, the moribund are fragile." 
 
 " Oh Lord, man, how can you make a jest of it ? " 
 
 " Would you have me drive about in a hearse, instead 
 of a cab, by way of preparation ? " 
 
 " But what have the doctors told you ? " asked 
 Lola. 
 
 " My two dear people ! " I cried, " for goodness' 
 sake don't fall over me in this way. I'm not going to 
 die to-morrow unless my cook poisons me or I'm struck 
 by lightning. I'm going to live for a deuce of a time yet. 
 A couple of weeks at least. And you'll very much 
 oblige me by not whispering a word abroad about what 
 you've heard this afternoon. It would cause me 
 infinite annoyance. And meanwhile I suggest to you, 
 Dale, as the lawyers say, that you have been impolite 
 enough not to say how-do-you-do to your hostess." 
 
 He turned to her rather sheepishly, and apologised. 
 My news had bowled him over, he declared. He shook 
 hands with her, laughed and walked Adolphus about 
 on his hind legs.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 117 
 
 " But where have you dropped from ? " she asked. 
 
 " Berlin. I came straight through. Didn't you get 
 my wire ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I sent one." 
 
 " I never got it." 
 
 He swung his arms about in a fine rage. 
 
 " If ever I get hold of that son of Satan I'll murder 
 him. He was covered up to his beastly eyebrows in 
 silver lace and swords and whistles and medals and 
 things. He walked up and down the Friedrichstrasse 
 railway station as if he owned the German navy and 
 ran trains as a genteel hobby. I gave him ten marks to 
 send the telegram. The miserable beast has sneaked 
 the lot. I'll get at the railway company through the 
 Embassy and have the brute sacked and put in prison. 
 Did you ever hear of such a skunk ? " 
 
 " He must have thought you a very simple and 
 charming young Englishman," said I. 
 
 " You've done the same thing yourself ! " he retorted 
 indignantly. 
 
 " Pardon me," said I. " If I do send a telegram in 
 that loose way, I choose a humble and honest-looking 
 porter and giv him the exact fee for the telegram and 
 a winning smile." 
 
 " Rot ! " said Dale, and turning to Lola — " He has 
 demoralised the whole railway system of Europe with his 
 tips. I've seen him give a franc to the black greasy 
 devil that bangs at the carriage wheels with a bit of iron. 
 He would give anybody anything." 
 
 He had recovered his boyish pride in my ridiculous 
 idiosyncrasies, and was in process of illustrating again 
 to Lola what a " splendid chap " I was. Poor lad ! If 
 he only knew what a treacherous, traitorous, Machiavelli
 
 ii8 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 of a hero he had got. For the moment I suffered from 
 a nasty crick in the conscience. 
 
 " Wouldn't he, Adolphus, you celestial old black- 
 guard ? " he laughed. Then suddenly : " My hat ! 
 You two are fond of darkness ! It gives me the creeps. 
 Do you mind, Lola, if I turn on the light ? " 
 
 He marched in his young way across to the switches 
 and set the room in the blaze he loved. My crick of 
 the conscience was followed by an impulse of resent- 
 ment. He took it for granted that his will was law 
 in the house. He swaggered around the room with a 
 proprietary air. He threw in the casual " Lola " as if 
 he owned her. Dale is the most delightful specimen of 
 the modern youth of my acquaintance. But even 
 Dale, with all his frank charm of manner, has the 
 modern youth's off-hand way with women. I often 
 wonder how women abide it. But they do, more shame 
 to them, and suffer more than they realise by their 
 indulgence. When next I meet Maisie EUerton I will 
 read her a wholesome lecture, for her soul's good, on 
 the proper treatment a self-respecting female should 
 apply to the modern young man. 
 
 Dale filled the room with his clear young laugh, and 
 turned on every light in the place. Lola and I ex- 
 changed glances — she had adopted her usual lazy 
 pantherine attitude in the arm-chair — and her glance 
 was not that of a happy woman to whom a longed-for 
 lover had unexpectedly come. Its real significance I 
 could not divine, but it was more wistful than merely 
 that of a fellow-conspirator. 
 
 " By George ! " cried Dale, pulling up a chair by 
 Lola's side, and stretching out his long, well-trousered 
 legs in front of the fire. " It's good to come back to 
 civilisation and a Christian language and a fireside —
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 119 
 
 and other things," he added, squeezing Lola's hand. 
 " If only it had not been for this horrible' news about 
 you, dear old man " 
 
 " Oh, do forget it and give me a little peace ! " I cried. 
 " Why have you come back all of a sudden ? " 
 
 " The Wymington people wired for me. It seems 
 the committee are divided between me and Sir Gerald 
 Macnaughton." 
 
 " He has strong claims," said I. "He has been 
 Mayor of the place and got knighted by mistake. He 
 also gives large dinners and wears a beautiful diamond 
 pin." 
 
 " I believe he goes to bed in it. Oh, he's an awful 
 ass ! It was he who said at a public function, ' The 
 Mayor of Wymington must be like Caesar's wife — all 
 things to all men ! ' Oh, he's a colossal ass ! And his 
 conceit ! My word ! " 
 
 " You needn't expatiate on it," said I. " I who 
 speak have suffered much at the hands of Sir Gerald 
 Macnaughton." 
 
 " If he did get into Parliament he'd expect an arm 
 chair to be put for him next the Speaker. Really, Lola, 
 you never saw such a chap. If there was any one else 
 up against me I wouldn't mind. Anyway, I'm running 
 down to Wymington to-morrow to interview the com- 
 mittee. And if they choose me, then it'll be a case of 
 ' Lord, don't help me and don't help the b'ar, and you'U 
 see the derndest best b'ar light that ever was.' I'll 
 make things hum in Wymington ! " 
 
 He went on eagerly to explain how he would make 
 things hum. For the moment he had forgotten his 
 enchantress who, understanding nothing of platforms 
 and planks and electioneering machinery, smiled with 
 pensive politeness at the lire. Here was the Dale that
 
 I20 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 I knew and loved, boyish, impetuous, slangy, enthu- 
 siastic. His dark eyes flashed, and he threw back his 
 head and laughed, as he enunciated his brilliant ideas 
 for capturing the constituency. 
 
 " When I was working for you, I made love to half 
 the women in the place. You never knew that, you 
 dear old stick. Now I'm going in on my own account 
 I'll make love to the whole crowd. You won't mind, 
 Lola, will you ? There's safety in numbers. And 
 when I have made love to them one by one I'll get 'em 
 all together and make love to the conglomerate mass ! 
 And then I'll rake up all the prettiest women in London 
 and get 'em down there to humbug the men " 
 
 " Lady Kynnersley will doubtless be there," said I ; 
 " and I don't quite see her " 
 
 He broke in with a laugh : " Oh ! the mater ? I'll 
 fix up her job all right. She'll just love it, won't she ? 
 And then I know a lot of silly asses with motor-cars 
 who'll come down. They can't talk for cob-nuts, and 
 think Local Option has something to do with vivisection, 
 and have a vague idea that champagne will be cheaper 
 if we get Tariff Reform — but they'll make a devil of a 
 noise at meetings and tote people round the country in 
 their cars holding banners with ' Vote for Kynnersley ' 
 on them. That's a sound idea, isn't it ? " 
 
 I gravely commended the statesman-like sagacity of 
 his plan of campaign, and promised to write as soon as 
 I got home to one or two members of the committee 
 whom I suspected of pro-Macnaughton leanings. 
 
 " I do hope they'll adopt you ! " I cried fervently. 
 
 " So do I," murmured Lola in her low notes. 
 
 " If I don't," said Dale, " I'll ask Raggles to give me 
 an unpaid billet somewhere. But," he added, with a 
 sigh, " that will be an awful rotten game in comparison."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 121 
 
 " I'm afraid you won't make Raggles hum," said I. 
 
 He laughed, rose and straddled across the hearth-rug, 
 his back to the fire. 
 
 " He'd throw me out if I tried, wouldn't he ? But if 
 they do adopt me — I swear I'll make you proud of me, 
 Simon. I'll stick my soul into it. It's the least I can 
 do in this horrid cuckoo sort of proceeding, and I feel 
 I shall be lighting for you as well as for myself. My 
 dear old chap, you know what I mean, don't you ? " 
 
 I knew, and was touched. I wished him God-speed 
 with all my heart. He was a clean, honest, generous 
 gentleman, and I admired, loved and respected him as 
 he stood there full of his youth and hope. I suddenly 
 felt quite old and withered at the root of my being, like 
 some decrepit king who hands his crown to the young 
 prince. I rose to take my leave (for what advantage 
 was there in staying ? ) and felt that I was abandoning 
 to Dale other things beside my crown. 
 
 Lola's strong, boneless hand closed round mine in a 
 more enveloping grip than ever. She looked at me 
 appealingly. 
 
 " Shall I see you again before you go ? " 
 
 " Before you go ? " cried Dale. " Where are you 
 off to ? " 
 
 " Somewhere south, out of the fogs." 
 
 " When ? " 
 
 " At once," said I. 
 
 He turned to our hostess. " We can't let him go like 
 that. I wonder if you could fix up a little dinner here, 
 Lola, for the three of us. It would be ripping, so cosy, 
 you know." 
 
 He glowed with the preposterous inspiration. Lola 
 began politely : 
 
 " Of course, if Mr. de Gex "
 
 122 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " It would be delightful," said I, " but I'm starting 
 at once — to-morrow or the day after. We will have 
 the dinner when I come back and you are a full-blown 
 Member of Parliament." 
 
 I made my escape and fled to my own cheerful 
 library. It is oak-panelled and furnished with old oak, 
 and the mezzotints on the walls are mellow. Of the 
 latter, I have a good collection, among them a Prince 
 Rupert of which I am proud. I threw myself, a tired 
 man, into an arm-chair by the fire, and rang the bell for 
 a brandy and soda. Oh, the comfort of the rooms, the 
 comfort of Rogers, the comfort of the familiar backs of 
 the books in the shelves ! I felt loath to leave it all 
 and go vagabonding about the cold world on my lunatic 
 adventure. For the first time in my life I cursed 
 Marcus Aurelius. I shook my fist at him as he stood 
 on the shelf within easy reach of my hand. It was he 
 who had put into my head this confounded notion of 
 achieving eumoiriety. Am I dealing to myself, I asked, 
 a happy lot and portion ? Certainly not, I replied, and 
 when Rogers brought me my brandy and soda I drank 
 it off desperately. After that I grew better, and drew 
 up a merry little Commination Service. 
 
 A plague on the little pain inside, the fons et origo 
 malorum. 
 
 A plague on Marcus Aurelius, for reasons above 
 stated. 
 
 A plague on Lady Kynnersley for weeping me into 
 my rash undertaking. 
 
 A plague on Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos for 
 aiding and abetting Lady Kynnersley. 
 
 A plague on Captain Vauvenarde for running away 
 from his wife ; for giving up the army ; for not letting 
 me know whether he is alive or dead; for being, I'll
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 123 
 
 warrant him, in the most uncomfortable and ungetatable 
 spot on the globe. 
 
 A plague on Dale for becoming infatuated with Lola 
 Brandt. A plague on him for beguiling me to her 
 acquaintance ; for bursting into the room at that 
 unfortunate moment ; for his generous, unsuspecting 
 love for me ; for his youth and hope and charm ; for 
 asking me to dine with Lola and himself in ripping 
 cosiness. 
 
 A plague on myself — just to show that I am broad- 
 minded. 
 
 And lastly, a plague, a special plague, a veritable 
 murrain on Lola Brandt for complicating the splendid 
 singleness of my purpose. I don't know what to think 
 of myself. I have become a common conundrum — 
 which provides the lowest form of intellectual amuse- 
 ment. It is all her fault. Sua maxima culpa. 
 
 Listen. I set out to free a young man of brilliant 
 promise, at his mother's earnest entreaty, from an 
 entanglement with an impossible lady, and to bring 
 him to the feet of the most charming girl in the world 
 who is dying of love for him. Could intentions be 
 simpler or more honourable or more praiseworthy ? 
 
 I find myself, after two or three weeks, the lady's 
 warm personal friend, to a certain extent her champion 
 bound by a quixotic oath to restore her husband to 
 her arms, and regarding my poor Dale with a feeling 
 which is neither more nor less than green-eyed jealousy. 
 I am praying heaven to grant his adoption by the 
 Wymington committee, not because it will be the first 
 step of the ladder of his career, but because the work 
 and excitement of a Parliamentary election will pro- 
 hibit overmuch lounging in my chair in Lola Brandt's 
 drawing-room.
 
 124 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Is there any drug, I wonder, which can restore a 
 eumoirous tone to the system ? 
 
 Of course, Dale came round to my chambers in the 
 evening and talked about Lola and himself and me 
 until I sent him home to bed. He kept on repeating at 
 intervals that I was glorious. I grew tired at last of the 
 eulogy, and, adopting his vernacular, declared that I 
 should be jolly glad to get out of this rubbishy world. 
 He protested. There never was such a world. It was 
 gorgeous. What was wrong with it, an^^way ? he asked. 
 As I could not show him the Commination Service, I 
 picked imaginary flaws in the universe. I complained 
 of its amateurishness of design. But Dale, who loves 
 fact, was not to be drawn into a theological disputation. 
 
 " Do you know, I had a deuce of a shock when I came 
 into Lola's this afternoon ? " he cried irrelevantly, with 
 a loud laugh. " I thought — it was a damnable and 
 idiotic thing to come into my head — but I couldn't 
 help thinking you had cut me out ! I wanted to tell 
 you. You must forgive me for being such an ass. 
 And I want to thank you for being so good to her 
 while I was away. She has been telling me. You like 
 her, don't you ? I knew you would. No one can help 
 it. Besides being other things, she is such a good sort, 
 isn't she ? " 
 
 I admitted her many excellences, while he walked 
 about the room. 
 
 " By Jove ! " he cried, coming to a halt. " I've got 
 a grand idea. My little plan has succeeded so well 
 with you that I've a good mind to try it on my mother." 
 
 " What on earth do you mean ? " I asked. 
 
 " Why shouldn't I take the bull by the horns and 
 bring my mother and Lola together ? " 
 
 I gasped. " My dear boy," said I. "Do you want
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 125 
 
 to kill me outright ? I can't stand such shocks to the 
 imagination." 
 
 " But it would be grand ! " he exclaimed, delighted. 
 " Why shouldn't mother take a fancy to Lola ? You 
 can imagine her roping her in for the committee ! " 
 
 I refused to imagine it for one instant, and I had the 
 greatest difficulty in the world to persuade him to 
 renounce his maniacal project. I am going to permit 
 no further complications. 
 
 I have been busy for the past day or two setting my 
 house in order. I start to-morrow for Paris. AD, my 
 little affairs are comfortably settled, and I can set out 
 on my little trip to Avemus via Paris and the habitat 
 of Captain Vauvenarde with a quiet conscience. I 
 have allayed the anxiety of my sisters, whispered 
 mysterious encouragement to Maisie Ellerton, held out 
 hopes of her son's emancipation to Lady Kynnersley, 
 played fairy godmother to various poor and deserving 
 persons, and brought myself into an enviable condition 
 of glowing philanthropy. 
 
 To my great relief the Wymington committee have 
 adopted Dale as their candidate at the by-election. 
 He can scarcely contain himself for joy. He is like a 
 child who has been told that he shall be taken to the 
 seaside. I believe he lies awake all night thinking how 
 he will make things hum. 
 
 The other side have chosen Wilberforce, who un- 
 successfully contested the Ferney division of Wiltshire 
 at the last General Election. He is old and ugly. Dale 
 is young and beautiful. I think Dale will get in. 
 
 I have said good-bye to Lola. The astonishing 
 woman burst into tears and kissed my hands and said 
 something about my being the arbiter of her destiny —
 
 126 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 a Gallic phrase which she must have picked up from 
 Captain Vauvenarde. Then she buried her face in the 
 bristling neck of Adolphus, the Chow dog, and declared 
 him to be her last remaining consolation. Even Anas- 
 tasius Papadopoulos had ceased to visit her. I uttered 
 words of comfort. 
 
 " I have left you Dale, at any rate," said I. 
 
 She smiled enigmatically through her tears. 
 
 " I'm not ungrateful. I don't despise the crumbs." 
 
 Which remark, now that I come to think of it, was 
 not flattering to my young friend. 
 
 But what is the use of thinking of it ? My fire is 
 burning low. It is time I ended this portion of my 
 " Rule and Example of Eumoiriety," which, I fear, has 
 not followed the philosophic line I originally intended. 
 
 The die is cast. My things are packed. Rogers, 
 who likes his British beer and beef, is resigned to the 
 prospect of continental travel, and has gone to bed 
 hours ago. There is no more soda-water in the syphon. 
 I must go to bed. 
 
 Paris to-morrow.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 " Ay ! " says Touchstone ; " now am I in Arden ; the 
 more fool I ; when I was at home I was in a better place." 
 
 Now am I in Algiers ; the more fool I ; et cetera, 
 et cetera. 
 
 It is true that from my bedroom window in the 
 Albany I cannot see the moon silvering the Mediterra- 
 nean, or hear the soft swish of pepper-trees ; it is true 
 that oranges and eucalyptus do not flourish in the 
 Albany courtyard as they do in this hotel garden at 
 Mustapha Superieur ; it is true that the blue African 
 sky and sunshine are more agreeable than Piccadilly 
 fogs ; but, after all, his own kennel is best for a dymg 
 dog, and his own familiar surroundings best for his 
 declining hours. Again, Touchstone had not the 
 faintest idea what he was going to do in the Forest of 
 Arden, and I was equally ignorant of what would befall 
 when I landed at Algiers. He was bound on a fool 
 adventure, and so was I. He preferred the easy way 
 of home, and so do I. I have always loved Touchstone, 
 but I have never thoroughly understood him till 
 now. 
 
 It rained persistently in Paris. It rained as I drove 
 
 from the Gare du Nord to my hotel. It rained all night. 
 
 It rained all the day I spent there and it rained as I 
 
 drove from my hotel to the Gare de Lyon. A cheery 
 
 newspaper informed me that there were torrential rains 
 
 at Marseilles. I mentioned this to Rogers, who tried to 
 
 IB7
 
 128 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 console me by r^ninding me that we were only staying 
 at Marseilles for a few hours, 
 
 " That has nothing to do with it," said I. " At 
 Marseilles I always eat bouillabaisse on the quay. 
 Fancy eating bouillabaisse in the pouring rain ! " 
 
 As usual, Rogers could not execute the imaginative 
 exercise I prescribed ; so he strapped my hold-all with 
 an extra jerk. 
 
 Now, when homespun London is wet and muddy, no 
 one minds very much. But when silken Paris lies 
 bedraggled with rain and mud, she is the forlomest 
 thing under the sky. She is a hollow-eyed pale city, 
 the rouge is washed from her cheeks, her hair hangs 
 dank and dishevelled, in her aspect is desolation, and 
 moaning is in her voice. I have a Sultanesque feeling 
 with regard to Paris. So long as she is amusing and gay 
 I love her. I adore her mirth, her chatter, her charming 
 ways. But when she has the toothache and snivels, 
 she bores me to death. I lose all interest in her. I want to 
 clap my hands for my slaves, in order to bid them bring 
 me in something less dismal in the way of fair cities. 
 
 I drove to the Rue Saint-Dominique and handed in 
 my card and letter of introduction at the Ministere de 
 la Guerre. I was received by the official in charge of 
 the Bureau des Renseigncmcnts with bland polite- 
 ness tempered with suspicion that I might be taking a 
 mental photograph of the office furniture in order to 
 betray its secret to a foreign Government. After many 
 comings and goings of orderlies and underlings, he told 
 me very little in complicated and reluctant language. 
 Captain Vauvenarde had resigned his commission in the 
 Chasseurs d'Afrique two years ago. At the present 
 moment the Bureau had no information to give as to 
 his domicile.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 129 
 
 " Have you no suggestion, Monsieur, to ofier ? " I 
 asked, " whereby I may obtain this essential informa- 
 tion concerning Captain Vauvenarde ? " 
 
 " His old comrades in the regiment might know. 
 Monsieur." 
 
 " And the regiment ? " 
 
 He opened the Annuairc Officiel dc I'Armee Fran^aise, 
 just as I might have done myself, and said : 
 
 " There are six regiments. One is at Blidah, another 
 at Tlemcen, another at Constantine, another at Tunis, 
 another at Algiers, and another at Mascara." 
 
 " To which regiment, then, did Captain Vauvenarde 
 belong ? " I inquired. 
 
 He referred to one of the dossiers that the orderlies 
 had brought him. 
 
 " The 3rd, Monsieur." 
 
 " I should get information, then, from Tlemcen ? " 
 
 " Evidently, Monsieur." 
 
 I thanked him and withdrew, to his obvious relief. 
 Seekers after knowledge are unpopular even in organisa- 
 tions so far removed from the Circumlocution Office 
 as the French Ministere de la Guerre. However, he 
 had put me on the trail of my man. 
 
 During my homeward drive through the rain I 
 reflected. I might, of course, write to the Lieutenant- 
 Colonel of the 3rd Regiment at Tlemcen, and wait 
 for his reply. But even if he answered by return of 
 post, I should have to remain in Paris for nearly a 
 week. 
 
 " That," said I, wiping from my face half a teacupful 
 of liquid mud which had squirted in through the cab 
 window — " that I'll never do. I'll proceed at once to 
 Algiers. If I can get no news of him there, I'll go to 
 Tlemcen myself. In all probability I shall learn that
 
 I30 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 he is residing here in Paris, a stone's-throw from the 
 Madeleine." 
 
 So I started in the evening for Algiers. The next 
 morning, before the sailing of the Marechal Bugcaiid, 
 one of the quaint churns styled a steamship by the 
 vanity of the French Company which undertakes to 
 convey respectable folk across the Mediterranean, I ate 
 my bouillabaisse below an awning on the sunny quay 
 at Marseilles. The torrential rains had ceased. I 
 advised Rogers to take equivalent sustenance, as no 
 lunch is provided on the day of sailing by the Compagnie 
 Generale Transatlantique. I caught sight of him in a 
 dark corner of the restaurant — he was too British to 
 eat in the open air on the terrace, or perhaps too modest 
 to have his meal in my presence — struggling grimly 
 with a beefsteak, and, as he is a teetotaller, with an 
 unimaginable, horrific liquid which he poured out 
 from a vessel vaguely resembling a tea-pot. 
 
 My meal over, and having nearly an hour to spare, I 
 paid my bill, rose, and turned the corner of the quay 
 into the Cannebiere, thinking to have my coffee at one 
 of the cafes in that thoroughfare of which the natives 
 say that, if Paris had a Cannebiere, it would be a little 
 Marseilles. I suppose for the Marseillais there is a 
 magic in the sonorous name ; for, after all, it is but a 
 commonplace street of shops running from the quays 
 into the heart of the town. It is also deformed by 
 tramcars. I strolled leisurely up, thinking of the many 
 swans that were geese, and Paradises that were building- 
 plots, and heroes that were dummies, and solidities 
 that were shadows, in short, enjoying a gentle post- 
 prandial mood, when my eyes suddenly fell on a scene 
 which brought me down from such realities to the 
 realm of the fantastic. There, a few yards in front of
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 131 
 
 me, at the outer edge of the terrace of a cafe, clad in 
 his eternal silk hat, frock-coat, and yellow gloves, sat 
 Professor Aiiastasins Papadopoulos in earnest conver- 
 sation with a seedy stranger of repellent mien. The 
 latter was clean-shaven and had a broken nose, and 
 wore a little round, soft felt hat. The dwarf was facing 
 me. As he caught sight of me a smile of welcome 
 overspread his Napoleonic features. He rose, awaited 
 my approach, and bareheaded, made his usual sweeping 
 bow which he concluded by resting his silk hat on the 
 pit of his stomach. I lifted my hat politely and would 
 have passed on, but he stood in my path. I extended 
 my hand. He shook it after the manner of a provincial 
 mayor receiving royalty. 
 
 " Couvrez-vous, Monsieur, je vous en prie," said I. 
 
 He covered his head. " Monsieur," said he, " I 
 beseech you to be seated, and do me the honour of 
 joining me in the coffee and excellent cognac of this 
 establishment." 
 
 " Willingly," said I, mindful of Lola's tale of the 
 long knife which he carried concealed about his 
 person. 
 
 " Permit me to present my friend Monsieur Achille 
 Saupiquet — Monsieur de Gex, a great English statesman 
 and a friend of that gnddigsten Engel, Madame Lola 
 Brandt." 
 
 Monsieur Saupiquet and I saluted each other formally. 
 I took a seat. Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos 
 moved a bundle of papers, tied up with pink ribbon, 
 from in front of me, and ordered coffee and cognac. 
 
 " Monsieur Saupiquet also knows Madame Brandt," 
 he explained. 
 
 "Bien siir," said Monsieur Saupiquet. " She owes me 
 fifteen sous."
 
 132 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Papadopoulos turned on him sharply. " Will you be 
 silent ! " 
 
 The other grumbled beneath his breath. 
 
 " I hope Madame is well," said Papadopoulos. 
 
 I said that she appeared so, when last I had the 
 pleasure of seeing her. The dwarf turned to his friend. 
 
 " Monsieur has also done my cats the honour of 
 attending a rehearsal. He has seen Hephsestus, and 
 his tears have dropped in sympathy over the irreparable 
 loss of my beautiful Santa Bianca." 
 
 " I hope the talented survivors," said I, " are enjoy- 
 ing their usual health." 
 
 " My daily bulletin from my pupil and assistant, 
 Quast, contains excellent reports. Prosit, Signori." 
 
 It was only wh(m I found myself at the table with 
 the dwarf and his broken-nosed friend that I collected 
 my wits sufficiently to realise the probable reason of his 
 presence in Marseilles. The grotesque little creature 
 had actually kept his ridiculous word. He, too, had 
 come south in search of the lost Captain Vauvenarde. 
 We were companions in the Fool Adventure. There 
 was something mediaeval in the combination ; some- 
 thing legendary. Put back the clock a few centuries 
 and there we were, the Knight and the Dwarf, riding 
 together on our quest, while the Lady for whose sake 
 we were making idiots of ourselves was twiddling her 
 fair thumbs in her tower far beyond the seas. 
 
 Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos broke upon this 
 pleasing fancy by remarking again that Monsieur Sau- 
 piquet was a friend of Madame Brandt. 
 
 " He was with her at the time of her great bereave- 
 ment." 
 
 " Bereavement ? " I asked forgetfully. 
 
 " Her horse Sultan."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 133 
 
 He whispered the words with solemn reverence. I 
 must confess to being tired of the horse Sultan and 
 disinclined to treat his loss seriously. 
 
 " Monsieur Saupiquet," said I, " doubtless offered 
 her every consolation." 
 
 " J a wohl ! " cried the Professor. " He used to travel 
 with her and look after Sultan's physical well-being. 
 He was her " 
 
 " Her Master of the Horse," I suggested. 
 
 " Precisely. You have the power of using the right 
 word, Monsieur de Gex. It is a great gift. My good 
 friend Saupiquet is attached to a circus at present 
 stationed in Toulon. He came over, at my request, to 
 see me — on affairs of the deepest importance " — he 
 waved the bundle of papers — " the very deepest im- 
 portance. Nicht wahr, Saupiquet ? " 
 
 " Bien stir," murmured Saupiquet, who evidently did 
 not count loquacity among his vices. 
 
 I wondered whether these important affairs con- 
 cerned the whereabouts of Captain Vauvenarde ; but 
 the dwarf's air of mystery forbade my asking for his 
 confidence. Besides, what should a groom in a circus 
 know of retired Captains of Chasseurs ? I said : 
 
 " You're a very busy man. Monsieur le Professeur." 
 
 He tapped his dome-like forehead. "I am never 
 idle. I carry on here gigantic combinations. I should 
 have been a lawyer. I can spread nets, per Bacco ! 
 that no one sees, and then — pst ! I draw the rope and 
 the victim is in the toils of Anastasius Papadopoulos. 
 Hast du nicht das bemerkt, Saupiquet ? " 
 
 " Bien sur," said Saupiquet again. He seemed per- 
 fectly conversant with the dwarf's polyglot jargon. 
 
 " To the temperament of the artist," continued the 
 modest Papadopoulos, " I join the intellect of the man
 
 134 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 of affairs and the heart of a young poet. I am always 
 young ; yet as you see me here I am thirty-seven years 
 of age." 
 
 He jumped from his chair and struck an attitude of 
 the Apollo Belvedere. 
 
 " I should never have thought that you were of the 
 same age as a battered person like myself," said I. 
 
 " The secret of youth," he rejoined, sitting down 
 again, " is enthusiasm, the worship of a woman, and 
 intimate association with cats." 
 
 Monsieur Saupiquet received this proposition with- 
 out a gleam of interest manifesting itself in his dull blue 
 eyes. His broken nose gave his face a singularly unin- 
 telligent expression. He poured out another glass of 
 cognac from the graduated carafe in front of him and 
 sipped it slowly. Then he gazed at me dully, almost 
 for the first time, and said : 
 
 " Madame Brandt owes me fifteen sous." 
 
 " And I say that she doesn't ! " cried the dwarf 
 fiercely. " I send for him to discuss matters of the 
 deepest gravity, and he comes talking about his fifteen 
 sous. I can't get anything out of him, but his fifteen 
 sous. And the carissima signora doesn't owe it to him. 
 She can't owe it to him. Voyons, Saupiquet, if you 
 don't renounce your miserable pretensions you will 
 drive me mad, you will make me burst into tears, you 
 will make me throw you out into the street, and hold 
 you down until you are run over by a tramcar. You 
 will — you will " — he shook his fist passionately as he 
 sought for a climatic menace — " you will make me spit 
 in your eye." 
 
 He dashed his fist down on the marble table so that 
 the glasses jingled. Saupiquet finished his cognac un- 
 disturbed.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 135 
 
 " I say that Madame Brandt owes me fifteen sous, 
 and until that is paid, I do no business." 
 
 The little man grew white with exasperation, and his 
 upper lip lifted like an angry cat's, showing his teeth. 
 I shrank from meeting Saupiquet's eye. Hurriedly, 
 I drew a providential handful of coppers from my 
 pocket. 
 
 " Stop, Herr Professor," said I, eager to prevent 
 the shedding of tears, blood, or saliva, " I have just 
 remembered. Madame did mention to me an unac- 
 quitted debt in the South, and begged me to settle it for 
 her. I am delighted to have the opportunity. Will 
 you permit me to act as Madame's banker ? " 
 
 The dwarf at once grew suave and courteous. 
 
 " The word of the carissima signora is the word of 
 God," said he. 
 
 I solemnly counted out the fifteen halfpence on the 
 table and pushed them over to Saupiquet, who swept 
 them up and put them in his pocket. 
 
 " Now we can talk," said he. 
 
 " Make him give you a receipt ! " cried Papado- 
 poulos excitedly. " I know him ! He is capable of any 
 treachery where money is concerned. He is capable of 
 re-demanding the sum from Madame Brandt. He is an 
 ingrate. And she, Monsieur le Membre du Parlement 
 Anglais, has overwhelmed him with benefits. Do you 
 know what she did ? She gave him the carcass of her 
 beloved Sultan to dispose of. And he sold it, Monsieur, 
 and he got drunk on the money." 
 
 The mingled emotions of sorrow at the demise of 
 Sultan, the royal generosity of Madame Brandt, and the 
 turpitude of his friend Saupiquet, brought tears to the 
 little man's eyes. Monsieur Saupiquet shrugged his 
 shoulders unconcernedly.
 
 136 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " A poor man has to get drunk when he can. It is 
 only the rich who can get drunk when they hke." 
 
 I looked at my watch and rose in a hurry. 
 
 " I'm afraid I must take an unceremonious leave of 
 you, Monsieur le Professeur." 
 
 " You must wait for the receipt," cried the dwarf. 
 
 " Wni you do me the honour of holding it for me 
 until we meet again ? Hi ! " The interpellation was 
 addressed to a cabman a few yards away. " Your con- 
 versation has made me neglect the flight of time. I 
 shall only just catch my boat." 
 
 " Your boat ? " 
 
 " I am going to Algiers." 
 
 " Where will you be staying. Monsieur ? I ask in no 
 spirit of vulgar curiosity." 
 
 I raised a protesting hand, and with a smUe named 
 my hotel. 
 
 " I arrived here from Algiers yesterday afternoon," 
 he said, " and I proceed there again to-morrow." 
 
 " I regret," said I, " that you are not coming to-day, 
 so that I could have the pleasure of your company on 
 the voyage." 
 
 My polite formula seemed to delight Professor Anas- 
 tasius Papadopoulos enormously. He made a series 
 of the most complicated bows, to the joy of the waiters 
 and the passers-by. I shook hands with him and with 
 the stolid Monsieur Saupiquet, and waving my hat 
 more like an excited Montenegrin than the most respect- 
 able of British valitudinarians, I drove off to the Quai 
 de la Joliette, where I found an anxious but dogged 
 Rogers, in the midst of a vociferating crowd, literally 
 holding the bridge that gave access to the Marechal 
 Bugeaud. 
 
 " Thank Heaven, you've come, sir ! You almost
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 137 
 
 missed it. I couldn't have held out another 
 minute." 
 
 I, too, was thankful. If I had missed the boat I 
 should have had to wait till the next day and crossed in 
 the embarrassing and unrestful company of Professor 
 Anastasius Papadopoulos. It is not that I dislike the 
 little man, or have the Briton's nervous shrinking from 
 being seen in eccentric society ; but I wish to eliminate 
 medi?evalism as far as possible from m}' quest. It is 
 lunatic enough already, Heaven knows. In conjunc- 
 tion with this crazy-headed little trainer of cats it 
 would become too preposterous even for my light sar- 
 donic humour. I resolved to dismiss him from my 
 mind altogether. 
 
 Yet, in spite of my determination, and in spite of one 
 of Monsieur Lenotre's fascinating monographs on the 
 French Revolution, on which I had counted to beguile 
 the tedium of the journey, I could not get Anastasius 
 Papadopoulos out of my head. He stayed with me the 
 whole of a storm-tossed night, and all the next morning. 
 He has haunted my brain ever since. I see him tossing 
 his arms about in fury, while the broken-nosed Sau- 
 piquet makes his monotonous claim for the payment 
 of sevenpence halfpenny ; I hear him speak in broken 
 whispers of the disastrous quadruped on whose skin and 
 hoofs Saupiquet got drunk. I see him strutting about 
 and boasting of his intellect. I see him taking leave 
 of Lola Brandt, and trotting magnificently out of the 
 room bent on finding Captain Vauvenarde. He haunts 
 my slumbers. I hope to goodness he will not take to 
 haunting this delectable hotel. 
 
 I wonder, after all, whether there is any method in 
 his madness — for mad he is, as mad as caji be. Why 
 does he come backwards and forwards between Algiers
 
 138 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 and Marseilles ? What has Saupiquet to do with his 
 quest ? What revelation was he about to make on the 
 payment of his fifteen sous ? It is all so grotesque, so 
 out of relation with ordinary life. I feel inclined to go 
 up to the retired Colonels and elderly maiden ladies, 
 who seem to form the majority of my fellow-guests, 
 and pinch them and ask them whether they are real, or, 
 like Papadopoulos and Saupiquet, the gentler creatures 
 of a nightmare. 
 
 Well, I have written to the Lieutenant-Colonel of the 
 3rd Regiment of Chasseurs at Tlemcen, which is away 
 down by the Morocco frontier. I have also written to 
 Lola Brandt. I seem to miss her as much as any of the 
 friends I have left behind me in England. I cannot help 
 the absurd fancy that her rich vitality helps me along. 
 I have not been feeling quite so robust as I did when 
 I saw her daily. And twinges are coming more fre- 
 quently. Aie ! I don't think that rolling about in the 
 Mediterranean on board the Marechal Bugeaud is good 
 for little pains inside.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 When I began this autobiographical sketch of the last 
 few weeks of my existence, I had conceived, as I have 
 already said, the notion of making it chiefly a guide to 
 conduct for my young disciple, Dale Kynnersley. Not 
 only was it to explain to him clearly the motives which 
 led to my taking any particular line of action with re- 
 gard to his affairs, and so enable me to escape whatever 
 blame he might, through misunderstanding, be disposed 
 to cast on me, but also to elevate his mind, stimulate 
 his ambitions, and improve his morals. It was to be a 
 Manual of Eumoiriety. It was to be sweetened with 
 philosophic reflections and adorned with allusions to the 
 lives of the great masters of their destiny who have 
 passed away. It was to have been a pretty little work 
 after the manner of Montaigne, with the exception that 
 it ran of its own accord into narrative form. But I am 
 afraid Lola Brandt has interposed herself between me 
 and my design. She has brought me down from the 
 serene philosophic plane where I could think and observe 
 human happenings and analyse them and present them 
 in their true aspect to my young friend. She has set me 
 down in the thick of events — and not events such as the 
 smiling philosopher is in the habit of dealing with, but 
 lunatic, fantastic occurrences with which no system of 
 philosophy invented by man is capable of grappling. I 
 can just keep my head, that is all, and note down what 
 happens more or less day by day, so that when the doings 
 
 139
 
 I40 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 of dwarfs and captains, and horse-tamers and youthful 
 Members of Parliament concern me no more, Dale 
 Kynnersley can have a bald, but veracious statement of 
 fact. And as I have before mentioned, he loves facts, 
 just as a bear loves honey. 
 
 I passed a quiet day or two in my hotel garden, among 
 the sweet-peas, and the roses, and the geraniums. 
 There were little shady summer-houses where one could 
 sit and dream, and watch the blue sky and the palms 
 and the feathery pepper-trees drooping with their coral 
 berries, and the golden orange-trees and the wisteria and 
 the great gorgeous splash of purple bourgainvillea above 
 the Moorish arches of the hotel. There were mild little 
 walks in the eucalyptus woods behind, where one 
 went through acanthus and wild absinthe, and here 
 and there as the path wound, the great blue bay came 
 into view, and far away the snow-capped peaks of the 
 Atlas. There were warmth and sunshine and the unex- 
 citing prattle of the retired Colonels and maiden ladies. 
 There was an hotel library filled with archaic fiction. I 
 took out Ainsworth's " Tower of London," and passed a 
 happy morning in the sun renewing the thrills of my child- 
 hood. I began to forget the outer world in my enchanted 
 garden, like a knight in the Forest of Broceliande. 
 
 Then came the letter from Tlemcen. The Lieutenant- 
 Colonel commanding the 3rd Regiment of Chasseurs 
 d'Afrique had received my honoured communication 
 but regretted to say that he, together with all the officers 
 of the regiment, had severed their connection with Cap- 
 tain Vauvenarde, and that they were ignorant of his 
 present address. 
 
 This was absurd. A man does not resign from his 
 regiment and within a year or two disappear like a ghost 
 from the ken of every one of his brother officers. I read
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 141 
 
 the letter again. Did the severance of connection mean 
 the casting out of a black sheep from their midst ? I 
 came to the conclusion that it did. They had washed 
 their hands of Captain Vauvenarde, and desired to hear 
 nothing of him in the future. 
 
 So I awoke from my lethargy, and springing up sent, 
 not for my shield and spear, but for an " Indicateur des 
 Chemins de Fer . ' ' I would go to Tlemcen and get to the 
 bottom of it. I searched the time-table and found two 
 trains, one starting from Algiers at nine-forty at night 
 and getting into Tlemcen at noon next day, and one 
 leaving at six-fifty in the morning and arriving at half- 
 past ten at night. I groaned aloud. The dealing unto 
 oneself a happy life and portion did not include abomin- 
 able train journeys like these. I was trying to decide 
 whether I should travel all night or all day when the 
 Arab chasseur of the hotel brought me a telegram. I 
 opened it. It ran : 
 
 " Starting for Algiers. Meet me. — Lola." 
 
 It was despatched that morning from Victoria Station. 
 I gazed at it stupidly. Why in the world was Lola 
 Brandt coming to join me in Algiers ? If she had wanted 
 to do her husband hunting on her own account, why 
 had she put me to the inconvenience of my journey ? 
 Her action could not have been determined by my letter 
 about Anastasius Papadopoulos, as a short calculation 
 proved that it could not have reached her. I wandered 
 round and round the garden paths vainly seeking for the 
 motive. Was it escape from Dale ? Had she, woman- 
 like, taken the step which she was so anxious to avoid — 
 and in order to avoid taking which all this bother had 
 arisen — and given the boy his dismissal ? If so, why 
 had she not gone to Paris or St. Petersburg or Tierra del
 
 142 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Fuego ? Why Algiers ? Dale abandoned outright, 
 the necessity for finding her husband had disappeared. 
 Perhaps she was coming to request me, on that account, 
 to give up the search. But why travel across seas and 
 continents when a telegram or a letter would have 
 sufficed ? She was coming, at any rate ; and as she 
 gave no date I presumed that she would travel straight 
 through and arrive in about forty-eight hours. This 
 reflection caused a gleam of sunshine to traverse my 
 gloom. I was not physically capable of performing the 
 journey to Tlemcen and back before her arrival. I 
 could, therefore, dream among the roses of the garden 
 for another couple of days. And when she came, perhaps 
 she would like to go to Tlemcen herself and try the 
 effect of her woman's fascinations on the Lieutenant- 
 Colonel and officers of the 3rd Regiment of Chasseurs 
 d'Afrique. 
 
 In any case, her sudden departure augured well for 
 Dale's liberation. If the rupture had occurred I was 
 quite contented. That is what I had wished to accom- 
 plish. It only remained now to return to London, while 
 breath yet stayed in my body, and lead him diplomati- 
 cally to the feet of Maisie Ellerton. Then I would have 
 ended my eumoirous task, and my last happy words 
 would be a paternal benediction. But all the same, I 
 had set forth to find this confounded captain and did not 
 want to be hindered. The sportsman's instinct which, 
 in my robust youth, had led me to crawl miles on my 
 belly over wet heather in order to get a shot at a stag, 
 I found, somewhat to my alarm, was urging me on this 
 chase after Captain Vauvenarde. He was my quarry. 
 I resented interference. Deer-stalking then, and man- 
 stalking now, I wanted no petticoats in the party. I 
 worked myself up into an absurd state of irritability.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 143 
 
 Why was she coming to spoil the sport ? I had arranged 
 to track her husband down, reason with him, work on 
 his feehngs, telegraph for his wife, and in an affecting 
 interview throw them into each other's arms. Now, 
 goodness knows what would happen. Certainly not 
 my beautifully conceived coup de theatre. 
 
 " And she has the impertinence," I cried in my wrath, 
 " to sign herself ' Lola ' ! As if I ever called her, or 
 could ever be in a position to call her ' Lola ' ! I should 
 like to know," I exclaimed, hurling the " Indicateur des 
 Chemins de Fer " on to the seat of a summer-house, built 
 after the manner of a little Greek temple, " I should like 
 to know what the deuce she means by it ! " 
 
 " Hallo ! HaUo ! What the devil's the matter ? " 
 cried a voice ; and I found I had disturbed from his 
 slumbers an unnoticed Colonel of British cavalry. 
 
 " A thousand pardons ! " said L "I thought I was 
 alone, and gave vent to the feelings of the moment." 
 
 Colonel Bunnion stretched himself and joined me. 
 
 " That's the worst of this place," he said. " It's so 
 liverish. One lolls about and sleeps all day long, and 
 one's liver gets like a Strasburg goose's and plays Old 
 Harry with one's temper. Why one should come here 
 when there are pheasants to be shot in England, 
 I don't know." 
 
 " Neither your liver nor your temper seem to be 
 much affected. Colonel," said I, "for you've been 
 violently awakened from a sweet sleep and are in a most 
 amiable frame of mind." 
 
 He laughed, suggested exercise, the Briton's panacea 
 for all ills, and took me for a walk. When we returned 
 at dusk, and after I had had tea before the fire (for 
 December evenings in Algiers are chilly) in one of the 
 pretty Moorish alcoves of the lounge, my good humour
 
 144 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 was restored. I viewed our pursuit of Captain Vau- 
 venarde in its right aspect — that of a veritable Snark- 
 Hunt of which I was the Bellman — and the name 
 " Lola " curled itself round my heart with the same grate- 
 ful sensation of comfort as the warm China tea. After 
 all, it was only as Lola that I thought of her. The 
 name fitted her personality, which Brandt did not. 
 Out of " Brandt " I defy you to get any curvilinear 
 suggestion. I reflected dreamily that it would be 
 pleasant to walk with her among the roses in the sun- 
 shine and to drink tea with her in dusky Moorish alcoves. 
 I also thought, with an enjoyable spice of malice, of 
 what the retired Colonels and elderly maiden ladies 
 would have to say about Lola when she arrived. They 
 would have a gorgeous time. 
 
 So light-hearted did I become that, the next evening, 
 while I was dressing for dinner, I did not frown when 
 the chasseur brought me up the huge trilingual visiting 
 card of Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos. 
 
 " Show the gentleman up," said L 
 
 Rogers handed me my black tie and began to gather 
 together discarded garments so as to make the room 
 tidy for the visitor. It was a comfortable bed-sitting 
 room, with the bed in an alcove and a tiny dressing- 
 room attached. A wood fire burned on the hearth, on 
 each side of which was an arm-chair. Presently there 
 came a knock at the door. Rogers opened it and 
 admitted Papadopoulos, who forthwith began to exe- 
 cute his usual manoeuvres of salutation. Rogers stood 
 staring and open-mouthed at the apparition. It took 
 all his professional training in imperturbability to enable 
 him to make a decent exit. This increased my good 
 humour. I grasped the dwarf's hand, 
 
 " My dear Professor, I am delighted to see you.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 145 
 
 Pray excuse my receiving you in this unceremonious 
 fashion, and sit down by the fire." 
 
 I hastily completed my toilet by stuffing my watch, 
 letter-case, loose change and handkerchief into my 
 pockets, and took a seat opposite him. 
 
 " It is I," said he politely, " who must apologise for 
 this untimely call. I have wanted to pay my respects 
 to you since I arrived in Algiers, but till now I have had 
 no opportunity." 
 
 "Allow me," said I, "to disembarrass you of your 
 hat." 
 
 I took the high-crowned, flat-brimmed thing which 
 he was nursing somewhat nervously on his knees, and 
 put it on the table. He murmured that I was " Zchr 
 aimahle." 
 
 " And the charming Monsieur Saupiquet, how is 
 he ? " I asked. 
 
 He drew out his gilt-embossed pocket-book, and 
 from it extracted an envelope. 
 
 " This," said he, handing it to me, " is the receipt. I 
 have to thank you again for regulating the debt, as it 
 has enabled me to transact with Monsieur Saupiquet 
 the business on which I summoned him from Toulon. 
 He is the most obstinate, pig-headed camel that ever 
 lived, and I believe he has returned to Toulon in the best 
 of health. No, thank you," he added, refusing my offer 
 of cigarettes, " I don't smoke. It disturbs the perfect 
 adjustment of my nerves, and so imperils my gigantic 
 combinations. It is also distasteful to my cats." 
 " You must miss them greatly," said I. 
 He sighed — then his face lit up with inspiration. 
 " Ah, signer ! What would one not sacrifice for an 
 idea, for duty, for honour, for the happiness of those we 
 love ? " 
 
 K
 
 146 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " Those are sentiments, Monsieur Papadopoulos," I 
 remarked, " which do you infinite credit." 
 
 " And, therefore, I express them, sir," he rephed, " to 
 show you what manner of man I am." He paused for 
 a moment ; then bending forward, his hands on his 
 little knees — he was sitting far back in the chair and 
 his legs were dangling like a child's — he regarded me 
 intently. 
 
 " Would you be equally chivalrous for the sake of an 
 idea ? " 
 
 I replied that I hoped I should conduct myself en 
 galant homme in any circumstances. 
 
 " I knew it," he cried. " My intuition is never 
 wrong. An English statesman is as fearless as 
 Agamemnon, and as wise as Nestor. Have you your 
 evening free ? " 
 
 " Yes," I replied wonderingly. 
 
 " Would you care to devote it to a perilous adven- 
 ture ? Not so perilous, for I, moi-meme " — he thumped 
 his chest — " will be there. But still molto gefahrlich." 
 
 His black eyes held mine in burning intensity. So as 
 to hide a smile I lit a cigarette. I know not what little 
 imp in motley possessed me that evening. He seemed 
 to hit me over the head with his bladder, and counsel 
 me to play the fool like himself, for once in my life 
 before I died. I could almost hear him speaking. 
 
 " Surely a crazy dwarf out of a nightmare is more 
 entertaining company than decayed Colonels of British 
 cavalry." 
 
 I blew two or three puffs of my cigarette, and met my 
 guest's eager gaze. 
 
 " I shall be happy to put myself at your disposal," 
 said I. " May I ask, without indiscretion ? " 
 
 " No, no," he interrupted, " don't ask. Secrecy is
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 147 
 
 part of the gigantic combination. En galant homme, I 
 require of you — confidence." 
 
 With an irresistible touch of mockery I said : " Pro- 
 fessor Papadopoulos, I will be happy to follow you blind- 
 fold to the lair of whatever fire-breathing dragon you 
 may want me to help you destroy." 
 
 He rose and grasped his hat and made me a profound 
 bow. 
 
 " You will not find me wanting in courage, Monsieur, 
 There is another small favour I would ask of you. Will 
 you bring some of your visiting-cards ? " 
 
 " With pleasure," said I. 
 
 At that moment the gong clanged loudly through the 
 hotel. 
 
 " It is your dinner-hour," said the dwarf. " I depart. 
 Our rendez-vous " 
 
 " Let us have no rendez-vous, my dear Professor," I 
 interposed. " What more simple than that you should 
 do me the pleasure of dining with me here ? We can 
 thus fortify ourselves with food and drink for our 
 adventure, and we can start on it comfortably together 
 whenever it seems good to you." 
 
 The little man put his head on one side and looked at 
 me in an odd way. 
 
 " Do you mean," he asked in a softened voice, " that 
 you ask me to dine with you in the midst of your 
 aristocratic compatriots ? " 
 
 " Why, evidently," said I, baffled. " It's only an 
 ordinary table d'hote dinner." 
 
 To my astonishment, tears actually spurted out of the 
 eyes of the amazing little creature. He took my hand 
 and before I knew what he was going to do with it he had 
 touched it with his lips. 
 
 ' ' My dear Professor ! " I cried in dismay.
 
 148 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 He put up a pudgy hand, and said with great dignity : 
 
 " I cannot dine with you, Monsieur de Gex. But I 
 thank you from my heart for your generous kindness. 
 I shall never forget it to my dying day." 
 
 " But " 
 
 He would listen to no protests. " If you will do me 
 the honour of coming at nine o'clock to the Cafe de 
 Bordeaux, at the comer of the Place du Gouvemement, 
 I shall be there. Auf Wiedersehen, Monsieur, and a 
 thousand thanks. I beg you as a favour not to accom- 
 pany me. I couldn't bear it." 
 
 And, drawing a great white handkerchief from his 
 pocket, he wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and dis- 
 appeared like a flash through the door which I held 
 open for him. 
 
 I went down to dinner in a chastened mood. The 
 little man had not shown me before the pathetic side of 
 the freak's life. By asking him to dinner as if he were 
 normal I had earned his eternal gratitude. And yet 
 with a smile, which I trust the recording Angel when he 
 makes up my final balance-sheet of good and evil will 
 not ascribe to an unfeeling heart, I could not help formu- 
 lating the hope that his gratitude would not be shown 
 by presents of China fowls sitting on eggs, Tyrolese 
 chalets and bottles with ladders and little men inside 
 them. I did not feel within me the wide charity of Lola 
 Brandt ; and I could not repress a smile, as I ate my 
 solitary meal, at the perils of the adventure to which I 
 was invited. I had no doubt that it bore the same 
 relation to danger as Monsieur Saupiquet's sevenpence- 
 half penny bore to a serious debt. 
 
 Colonel Bunnion, a genial little red-faced man, with 
 bulgy eyes and a moustache too big for his body, who 
 sat, also solitary, at the next table to mine, suddenly
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 149 
 
 began to utter words which I discovered were addressed 
 to me. 
 
 " Most amazing thing happened to me as I was com- 
 ing down to dinner. Just got out of the corridor to the 
 foot of the stairs, when down rushed something about 
 three foot nothing in a devil of a top-hat and butted me 
 full in the pit of the stomach, and bounded off like a foot- 
 ball. When I picked it up I found it was a man — give 
 you my word — it was a man. About so high. Gave me 
 quite a turn." 
 
 " That," said I, with a smile, " was my friend Pro- 
 fessor Anastasius Papadopoulos." 
 " A friend of yours ? " 
 " He had just been calling on me." 
 " Then I wish you'd entreat him not to go downstairs 
 like a six-inch shell. I'll have a bruise to-morrow, where 
 the crown of his hat caught me, as big as a soup- 
 plate." 
 
 I offered the cheerily indignant warrior apologies for 
 my friend's parabolic method of descent, and suggested 
 Elliman's Embrocation. 
 
 " The most extraordinary part of it," he interrupted, 
 " was that when I picked him up he was weeping like 
 anything. What was he crying about ? " 
 
 " He is a sensitive creature," said I, " and he doesn't 
 come upon the pit of the stomach of a Colonel of British 
 Cavalry every day in the week." 
 
 He sniffed uncertainly at the remark for a second or 
 two and then broke into a laugh and asked me to play 
 bridge after dinner. On the two preceding evenings he 
 and I had attempted to cheer, in this manner, the desola- 
 tion of a couple of the elderly maiden ladies. But I may 
 say parenthetically, that as he played bridge as if he 
 were leading a cavalry charge according to a text-book
 
 ISO SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 on tactics, and as I play card games in a soft, mental 
 twilight, and as the two ladies were very keen bridge- 
 players indeed, I had great doubts as to the success of 
 our attempts. 
 
 " I'm sorry," said I, " but I'm going down into the 
 town to-night." 
 
 " Theatre ? If so, I'll go with you." 
 The gallant gentleman was always at a loose end 
 Unless he could persuade another human being to do 
 something with him — no matter what — he would joy- 
 fully have played cat's-cradle with me by the hour — 
 he sat in awful boredom meditating on his liver. 
 
 " I'm not going to the theatre," I said, " and I wish I 
 could ask you to accompany me on my adventure." 
 The Colonel raised his eyebrows. I laughed. 
 " I'm not going to twang guitars under balconies." 
 The Colonel reddened and swore he had never thought 
 of such a thing. He was a perjured villain ; but I did 
 not tell him so. 
 
 " In what my adventure will consist I can't say," I 
 remarked. 
 
 " If you're going to fool about Algiers at night you'd 
 better carry a revolver." 
 
 I told him I did not possess such deadly weapons. 
 He offered to lend me one. The two Misses Bostock 
 from South Shields, who sat at a table within earshot 
 and had been following our conversation, manifested 
 signs of excited interest. 
 
 " I shall be quite protected," said I, " by the dyna- 
 mic qualities of your acquaintance. Professor Anas- 
 tasius Papadopoulos, with whom I have promised to 
 spend the evening." 
 " You had better have the revolver," said the Colonel. 
 And so bent was he on the point, that after dinner he
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 151 
 
 came to me in the lounge and laid a loaded six-shooter 
 beside my coffee-cup. The younger Miss Bostock 
 grew pale. It looked an ugly, cnml:)n)us, devastating 
 weapon. 
 
 " But, my dear Colonel," I protested, " it's against 
 •-.he law to carry fire-arms." 
 " Law — what law ? " 
 " Why the law of France," said I. 
 This staggered him. The fact of there being decent 
 laws in foreign parts has staggered many an honest 
 Briton. He counselled a damnation of the law, and 
 finally, in order to humour him, I allowed him to thrust 
 the uncomfortable thing into my hip-pocket. 
 
 "Colonel," said I, when I took leave of him an hour 
 late:, " I have armed myself out of pure altruism. I 
 shar.'t be able to sit down in peace and comfort for the 
 rest of the evening. Should I accidentally do so, my 
 blood will be on your head."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 The tram that passes the hotel gates took me into the 
 town and dropped me at the Place du Gouvernement. 
 With its strange fusion of East and West, its great 
 white-domed mosque Hanked by the tall minaret con- 
 trasthig with its formal French colonnaded fa9ades, its 
 grouphigs of majestic white-robed forms and common- 
 place figures in caps and hard felt hats ; the myster/ of 
 its palm-trees, and the crudity of its flaring electric 
 lights, it gave an impression of unreality, of a modern 
 contractor's idea of Fairyland, where anything gro- 
 tesque might assume an air of noniiality. The moon 
 shone full in the heavens, and as I crossed the Place I 
 saw the equestrian statue of the Duke of Orleans sil- 
 houetted against the mosque. The port, to the east, was 
 quiet at this hour, and the shipping lay dreamily in the 
 moonlight. Far away one could see the dim outlines 
 of the Kabyle Mountains, and the vague melting of sea 
 and sky into a near horizon. The undefinable smell of 
 the East was in the air. 
 
 The Cafe de Bordeaux, which forms an angle of the 
 Plac^, blazed in front of me. A few hardy souls, a 
 Zouave or two, an Arab, a bored Englishman and his 
 wife, and some French inhabitants were sitting outside 
 in the chilliness. I entered. The cafe was filled with a 
 nondescript crowd, and the rattle of dominoes rose 
 above the hum of talk. In a comer near the door I dis- 
 covered the top of a silk hat projecting above a widely 
 
 iSa
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 153 
 
 opened newspaper grasped by two pudgy hands, and I 
 recognised the Professor. 
 
 " Monsieur," said he, when I had taken a seat at his 
 tabic, " if the unknown terrors which you are going to 
 confront dismay you, I beg that you will not consider 
 yourself bound to me." 
 
 " My dear Professor," I replied, " a brave man only 
 tastes of death but once," 
 
 He was much dehghted at the sentiment, which he 
 took to be original. 
 
 " I shall quote it," said he, " whenever my honour or 
 my courage is called into question. It is not often that 
 a man has the temerity to do so. Can I have the honour 
 of offering you a whisky and soda ? " 
 
 " Have we time ? " I asked. 
 
 " We have time," he said, solemnly consulting his 
 watch. " Things will ripen." 
 
 " Then," said I, " I shall have much pleasure in 
 drinking to their maturity." 
 
 Wliile we were drinking our whisky and soda he 
 talked volubly of many things — his travels, his cats, his 
 own incredible importance in the cosmos. And as he 
 sat there vapouring about the pathetically insignificant 
 he looked more like Napoleon III. than ever. His eyes 
 had the same mournful depths, his features the same 
 stamp of fatality. Each man had his gigantic com- 
 binations — perhaps equally important in the eyes of the 
 High Gods. I was filled with an immense pity for 
 Napoleon III. 
 
 Of the object of the adventure he said nothing. As 
 secrecy seemed to be a vital element in his fifteen-cent 
 scheme, I showed no embarrassing curiosity. Indeed, 
 I felt but little, though I was certain that the adventure 
 was connected with the world-cracking revelations of
 
 154 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Monsieur Saupiquet, and was undertaken in the interest 
 of his beloved lady, Lola Brandt. But it was like play- 
 ing at pirates with a child, and my pity for Napoleon gave 
 place to pity for my valiant but childish little friend. 
 
 At last he looked again at his watch. 
 
 " The hour has struck. Let us proceed." 
 
 Instinctively I summoned the waiter, and drew a 
 coin from my pocket ; when the gro\^al-up person and 
 the small boy hobnob together the former pays. But 
 Anastasius, with a swift look of protest, anticipated my 
 intention. I was his guest for the evening. I yielded 
 apologetically, the score was paid, and we went forth 
 into the moonlight. 
 
 He led me across the Place du Gouvernement and 
 struck straight up the hill past the Cathedral, and, turn- 
 ing, plunged into a network of narrow streets, where the 
 poor of aU races lived together in amity and evil odours. 
 Shops chiefly occupied the ground floors ; some were 
 the ordinary humble shops of Europeans ; others were 
 caves lit by a smoky lamp, where Arabs lounged and 
 smoked around the tailors or cobblers squatting at their 
 work ; others were Jewish, with Hebrew inscriptions. 
 There were dark Arab cafes, noisy Italian wine-shops, 
 butchers' stalls ; children of all ages played and 
 screamed about the precipitous cobble-paved streets ; 
 and the shrill cries of Jewish women, sitting at their 
 doors, rose in rebuke of husband or offspring. Not 
 many lights appeared through the shuttered windows of 
 the dark, high houses. Overhead, between the two 
 facades, one saw a strip of paleness which one knew was 
 the moonlit sky. Conversation with my companion 
 being difficult — the top of his silk hat just reached my 
 elbow — I strode along in silence, Anastasius trotting by 
 my side. Many jeers and jests were flung at us as we
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 155 
 
 passed, whereat he scowled terribly ; but no one 
 molested us. I am inclined to think that Anastasius 
 attributed this to fear of his fierce demeanour. If so, 
 he was happy, as were the simple souls who flouted ; 
 and this rellection kept my mind serene. 
 
 Presently we turned into a wide and less poverty- 
 stricken street, which I felt sure we could have reached 
 by a less tortuous and malodorous path. A few yards 
 down we came to a dark porte cocherc. The dwarf 
 halted, crossed, so as to read the number by the gas- 
 lamp, and joining me, said : 
 
 " It is here. Have you your visiting-cards ready ? 
 
 I nodded. We proceeded down the dark entry till we 
 came to a slovenly, ill-kept glass box lit by a small gas- 
 jet, whence emerged a slovenly, ill-kept man. This was 
 the concierge. Anastasius addressed a remark to him 
 which I did not catch. 
 
 " Au fond de la cour, troisieme d gauche,'''' said the 
 concierge. 
 
 As yet there seemed to be nothing peculiarly perilous 
 about the adventure. We crossed the cobble-paved 
 courtyard and mounted an evil-smelling stone staircase, 
 blackened here and there by the occasional gas-jets. On 
 the third landing we halted. Anastasius put up his 
 hand and gripped mine. 
 
 "Two strong men together," said he, "need fear 
 nothing." 
 
 I confess my only fear was lest the confounded revolver 
 which swung insecurely in my hip-pocket might go off of 
 its own accord. I did not mention this to my companion. 
 He raised his hat, wiped his brow, and rang the bell. 
 
 The door opened about six inches, and a man's dark 
 moustachioed face appeared. 
 
 " Vous desirez, Messieurs ? "
 
 156 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 As I had not the remotest idea what we desired, I let 
 Anastasius be spokesman. 
 
 " Here is an Enghsh milord," said Anastasius boldly, 
 " who would like to be admitted for the evening to the 
 privileges of the club." 
 
 " Enter, gentlemen," said the man, who appeared to 
 be the porter. 
 
 We found ourselves in a small vestibule. In front of 
 us was a large door, on the right a small one, both closed. 
 At a table by the large door sat a dirty, out-of-elbows 
 raven of a man reading a newspaper. The latter 
 looked up and addressed me. 
 
 " You wish to enter the club. Monsieur ? " 
 
 I had no particular longing to do so, but I politely 
 answered that such was my desire. 
 
 " If you will give me your visiting-card, I will submit 
 it to the secretariat.'''' 
 
 I produced my card ; Anastasius thrust a pencil into 
 my hand. 
 
 " Write my name on it, too." 
 
 I obeyed. The raven sent the porter with the card 
 into the room on the right, and resumed the perusal of 
 his soiled newspaper. I looked at Anastasius. The 
 little man was quivering with excitement. The porter 
 returned after a few minutes with a couple of pink oval 
 cards which he handed to each of us. I glanced at 
 mine. On it was inscribed : " Cercle Africain d' Alger. 
 Carte de Memhre Honor aire. Une soiree.'" And then 
 there was a line for the honorary member's signature. 
 The raven man dipped a pen in the ink-pot in front of 
 it and handed it to me. 
 
 " Will you sign, Messieurs ? " 
 
 We executed this formality ; he retained the cards, 
 and opening the great door, said :
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 157 
 
 " Entrez, Messieurs ! " 
 
 The door closed behind us. It was simply a tripot, 
 or gambling-den. And all this solemn farce of 
 secretariats and caries d'entree to obtain admission ! 
 It is curious how the bureaucratic instinct is ingrained 
 in the French character. 
 
 It was a large, ill-ventilated room, blue with cigarette 
 and cigar smoke. Some thirty men were sitting or 
 standing around a baccarat table in the centre, and two 
 or three groups hung around ecarte tables in the corners. 
 A personage who looked like a sHghtly more prosperous 
 brother of the raven outside and wore a dinner-jacket 
 promenaded the room with the air of one in authority. 
 He scrutinised us carefully from a distance, then ad- 
 vanced and greeted us pohtely. 
 
 " You have chosen an excellent evening," said he. 
 " There are a great many people, and the banks are 
 large." 
 
 He bowed and passed on. A dingy waiter took our 
 hats and coats and hung them up. Anastasius plucked 
 me by the sleeve. 
 
 " If you don't mind staking a little for the sake of 
 appearances, I shall be grateful." 
 
 I whispered : " Can you tell me now, my dear 
 Professor, for what reason you have brought me to 
 this gaming-hell ? " 
 
 He looked up at me out of his mournful eyes and 
 murmured, " Patienza, licher Herr.'" Then sprang a 
 vacant place behind the chairs at the baccarat table, he 
 darted thither, and I followed in his wake. There must 
 have been about a couple of hundred louis in the bank, 
 which was held by a dissipated, middle-aged man who, 
 having once been handsome in a fleshy way, had run 
 to fat. His black hair, cropped short, stood up Hke a
 
 158 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 shoebrush, and when he leaned back in his chair a roll 
 of flesh rose above his collar. I disliked the fellow for 
 his unhealthiness, and for the hard mockery in his puffy 
 eyes. The company seemed fairly homogeneous in its 
 raffishness, though here and there appeared a thin, 
 aristocratic face, with grey moustache and pointed 
 beard, and the homely anxious visage of a small trades- 
 man. But in bulk it looked an ugly, seedy crowd, with 
 unwashed bodies and unclean souls. I noticed an 
 Italian or two, and a villainous Englishman with a face 
 like that of a dilapidated horse. A glance at the table 
 plastered with silver and gold showed me that they 
 were playing with a five-franc minimum. 
 
 Anastasius drew a handful of louis from his pocket 
 and staked one. I staked a five-franc piece. The 
 cards were dealt, the banker exposed a nine, the highest 
 number, and the croupier's fiat spoon swept the table, 
 A murmur arose. The banker was having the luck of 
 Satan. 
 
 " He always protects me, the good fellow," laughed 
 the banker, who had overheard the remark. 
 
 Again we staked, again the hands were dealt. Our 
 tableau or end of the table won, the other lost. The 
 croupier threw the coins in payment. I let my double 
 stake lie, and so did Anastasius. At the next coup we 
 lost again. The banker stuffed his winnings into his 
 pocket and declared a suite. The bank was put up to 
 auction, and was eventually knocked down to the same 
 personage for fifty louis. The horse-headed Englishman 
 cried " banco,^^ which means that he would play the 
 banker for the whole amount. The hands were dealt, 
 the Englishman lost, and the game started afresh with 
 a hundred louis in the bank. The proceedings began to 
 bore me. Even if my experience of life had not sug.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 159 
 
 gested that scrupulous fairness and honour were not the 
 guiding principles of such an assemblage, I should have 
 taken little interest in the game. I am a great behever 
 in the wholesomeness of compounding for sins you are 
 inclined to by damning those you have no mind to. It 
 aids the nice balance of life. And gambling is one of the 
 sins I delight to damn. The rapid getting of money 
 has never appealed to me, who have always had suf- 
 ficient for my moderately epicurean needs, and least of 
 all did it append to me now when I was on the brink of 
 my journey to the land where French gold and bank- 
 notes were not in currency. I repeat, therefore, that 
 I was bored. 
 
 " If the perils of the adventure don't begin soon, my 
 dear Professor," I whispered, " I shall go to sleep 
 standing." 
 
 Again he asked for patience and staked a hundred- 
 franc note. At that moment the man sitting at the 
 table in front of him rose, and the dwarf slipped swiftly 
 into his seat. He won his hundred francs and made the 
 same stake again. It was obvious that the little man 
 did not damn gambling. It was a sin to which he 
 appeared peculiarly inclined. The true inwardness of 
 the perilous adventure began to dawn on me. He had 
 come here to make the money wherewith he could 
 further his gigantic combinations. All this mystery 
 was part of his childish cunning. I hardly knew 
 whether to box the httle creature's ears, to box my own, 
 or to laugh . I compromised with a smile on the last alter- 
 native, and baccarat being a dreary game to watch, I 
 strolled off to the nearest ecarte table, and, to justify my 
 presence in the room, backed one of the players. 
 
 Presently my attention was called to the baccarat 
 table by a noise as of some dispute, and turning, I saw
 
 i6o SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 the gentleman in the dinner-jacket hurrying to what 
 appeared to be the storm-centre, the place where 
 Anastasius was sitting. Suspecting some minor peril, 
 I left the ecarte players, and joined the gentleman in the 
 dinner-jacket. It seemed that the hand, which is 
 played in rotation by those seated at each tableau or 
 half-table, had come round for the first time to Anas- 
 tasius, and objection had been taken to his playing it^ 
 on the score of his physical appearance. The dwarf was 
 protesting vehemently. He had played baccarat in all 
 the clubs of Europe, and had never received such treat- 
 ment. It was infamous, it was insulting. The mal- 
 contents of the punt paid little heed to his remonstrances. 
 They resented the entrusting of their fortunes to one 
 whose chin barely rose above the level of the table. 
 The banker lit a cigarette and sat back in his chair with 
 a smile of mockery. His attitude brought up the super- 
 fluous flesh about his chin and the roll of fat at the 
 back of his neck. With his moustache en croc, and his 
 shoebrush hair, I have rarely beheld a more sensual- 
 looking desperado. 
 
 " But, gentlemen," said he, " I see no objection 
 whatever to Monsieur playing the hand." 
 
 " Naturally," retorted a voice, " since it would be 
 to your advantage." 
 
 The raven in the dinner-jacket commanded silence. 
 
 " Gentlemen, I decide that according to the rules of 
 the game, Monsieur is entitled to play the hand." 
 
 " Bravo ! " exclaimed one or two of my friend's 
 supporters, 
 
 " Oest idiot ! " growled the malcontents. 
 
 " Messieurs, faites vos jeux ! " cried the croupier. 
 
 The stakes were laid, the banker looked around, 
 estimating the comparative values of the two tableaux.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER i6i 
 
 Anastasius had backed his hand with a pile of louis. 
 To encourage him, and to concihate the hostle punt, 
 I threw down a hundred-franc note. 
 
 " Les jeux sont fails ? Rien ne va plus.'' 
 
 The banker dealt, two cards to each tableau, two to 
 himself. Anastasius, trembling with nervous excite- 
 ment, stretched out a palsied little fist towards the 
 Cards. He drew them towards him face downwards, 
 peeped at them in the most approved manner, and in a 
 husky voice called for an extra card. 
 
 The card dealt face upwards was a five. The banker 
 turned up his own cards, a two and a four, making a 
 point of six. Naturally he stood. Anastasius did 
 nothing. 
 
 " Show your cards— show your cards ! " cried 
 several voices. 
 
 He turned over the two cards originally dealt to him. 
 They were a king and a nine, making the natural nine, 
 the highest point, and he had actually asked for another 
 card. It was the unforgivable sin. The five that had 
 been dealt to him brought his point to four. There was 
 a roar of indignation. Men with violent faces rose and 
 cursed him, and shook their fists at him. Others 
 clamoured that the coup was ineffective. They were not 
 going to be at the mercy of an idiot who knew nothing 
 of the game. The hand must be dealt over again. 
 
 " Jamais de la vie ! " shouted the banker. 
 
 " Le coup est bon ! " cried the raven in authority, and 
 the croupier's spoon hovered over the tableau. But the 
 horse-headed EngHshman clutched the two louis he 
 had staked. He was damned, and a great many other 
 things, if he would lose his money that way. The 
 raven in the dinner-jacket darted round, and bending 
 over him, caught him by the wrist. Two or three others 
 
 I.
 
 i62 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 grabbed their stakes, and swore they would not pay. 
 The banker rose and went to the rescue of his gains. 
 There was screaming and shouting and strugghng and 
 riot indescribable. Those round about us went on 
 cursing Anastasius, who sat quite still, with quivering 
 lips, as helpless as a rabbit. The raven tore his way 
 through the throng around the Enghshman and came 
 up to me excited and dishevelled. 
 
 " It is all your fault, Monsieur," he shrieked, " for in- 
 troducing into the club a half-witted creature like that." 
 
 " Yes, it's your fault," cried a low-browed, ugly 
 fellow looking like a butcher in uneasy circumstances 
 who stood next me. Suddenly the avalanche of 
 indignation fell upon my head. Angry, ugly men 
 crowded round me and began to curse me instead of 
 the dwarf. Cries arose : ''Jefez-les d la porte ! " The 
 adventure began, indeed, to grow idiotically perilous. 
 I had never been thrown out of doors in my life. I 
 objected strongly to the idea. It might possibly hurt 
 my body, and would certainly offend my dignity. I 
 felt that I could not make my exit through the portals 
 of life with the urbanity on which I counted, if, as a 
 preparatory step, I had been thrown out of a gambling- 
 hell. There were only two things to be done. Either 
 I must whip out my ridiculous revolver and do some 
 free shooting, or I must make an appeal to the lower 
 feelings of the assembly. I chose the latter alternative. 
 With a sudden movement, I slipped through the angry 
 and gesticulating crowd, and leaped on a chair by one of 
 the deserted ecarte tables. Then I raised a commanding 
 arm, and, in my best election-meeting voice, I cried : 
 
 " Messieurs ! " 
 
 The unexpectedness of the manoeuvre caused instant 
 silence,
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 163 
 
 " As my friend and myself," I said, " arc the cause of 
 this unpleasant confusion, I shall be most happy to pay 
 the banker the losses of the tableau.'''' 
 
 And I drew out and brandished my pocket-book, in 
 which by a special grace of Providence, there happened 
 to be a considerable sum of money. 
 
 Murmurs of approbation arose. Then the English- 
 man sang out : 
 
 " But what about the money we would have won, if 
 that little fool had played the game properly ? " 
 The remark was received with cheers. 
 " That amount, too," said I, " I shall be happy to 
 disburse." 
 
 There was nothing more to be said, as everybody, 
 banker and punt, were satisfied. The raven in the 
 dinner-jacket came up and informed me that my 
 proposal solved the difficulty. I besought him to make 
 out the bill for my little entertainment as quickly as 
 possible. Then I dismounted from my chair and 
 beckoned to the dwarf, still sitting white and piteous, 
 to join me. He obeyed like a frightened child who had 
 been naughty. All his swagger and braggadocio were 
 gone. His bosom heaved with suppressed sobs. He 
 sat down on the chair I had vacated and buried his face 
 on the ecarte table. We remained thus aloof from the 
 crowd who were intent on the calculation at the 
 baccarat table. At last the raven in the dinner-jacket 
 arrived with a note of the amount. It was two thou- 
 sand three hundred francs. I gave him the notes, and, 
 taking Anastasius by the arm, led him to the door, 
 where the waiter stood with our hats and coats. 
 Before we could reach it, however, the banker, who had 
 risen from his seat, crossed the room and addressed me. 
 " Monsieur," said he, with an air of high-bred
 
 i64 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 courtesy, " I infinitely regret this unpleasant affair 
 and I thank you for your perfect magnanimity." 
 
 I did not suggest that with equal magnanimity he 
 might refund the forty-six pounds that had found its 
 way from my pocket to his, but I bowed with stiff 
 politeness, and made my exit with as much dignity as 
 the attachment to my heels of the crestfallen Anastasius 
 would permit. 
 
 Outside I constituted myself the guide, and took the 
 first turning downhill, knowing that it would lead to 
 the civilised centre of the town. The dwarf's round- 
 about route was characteristic of his tortuous mind. 
 We walked along for some time without saying any- 
 thing. I could not find it in my heart to reproach the 
 little man for the expensiveness (nearly a hundred 
 pounds) of his perilous adventure, and he seemed too 
 dazed with shame and humiliation to speak. At last, 
 when we reached, as I anticipated, the Square de la 
 Republique, I patted him on the shoulder. 
 
 " Cheer up, my dear Professor," said I. " We both 
 are acquainted with nobler things than the ins and outs 
 of gaming-hells." 
 
 He reeled to a bench under the palm-trees, and 
 bursting into tears, gave vent to his misery in the most 
 incoherent language ever uttered by man. I sat beside 
 him and vainly attempted consolation. 
 
 " Ah, how mad I am ! Ah, how contemptible 1 I 
 dare not face my beautiful cats again ! I dare not see 
 the light of the sun {la lumiere der Sonne !). I have 
 betrayed my trust. Accursed be the cards. I, who 
 had my gigantic combination. It is all gone. Beauti- 
 ful lady, forgive me. Generous-hearted friend, forgive 
 me. I am the most miserable of God's creatures." 
 
 " It is an accident that might happen to any one,"
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 165 
 
 I said gently, " You were nervous. You looked at 
 the cards, you mistook the nine for a ten, in which case 
 you were right to call for another card." 
 
 " It is not that," he wailed. " It is the spoihng of my 
 combination, on which I have wasted sleepless nights. 
 A curse on my mad folly. Do you know who the 
 banker was ? " 
 
 " No," said I. 
 
 " He was Captain Vauvenarde, the husband of 
 Madame Brandt."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 You could have knocked me down with a feather. It is 
 a trite metaphor, I know ; but it is none the less excel- 
 lent. I repeat, therefore, unblushingly — you could 
 have knocked me down with a feather. I gasped. The 
 little man wiped his eyes. He was the tearfullest adult 
 I have ever met, and I once knew an Italian prima donna 
 with a temperament. 
 
 " Captain Vauvenarde ? That man with the shoe- 
 brush hair and the rolls of fat at the back of his neck ? 
 Are you sure ? " 
 
 The dwarf nodded. " I set out from England to find 
 him. I swore to the carissima signora that I would do 
 so. I have done it," he added, with a faint return of 
 his self-confidence. 
 
 " Well, I'm damned ! " said I, in my native tongue. 
 
 I don't often use strong language ; but the occasion 
 warranted it. I was flabbergasted, bewildered, out- 
 raged, humiliated, delighted, incredulous, and generally 
 turned topsy-turvy. In conversation one has no time 
 for so minute an analysis of one's feelings. I there- 
 fore summed them up in the only word. Captain Vau- 
 venarde ! The wild goose of my absurd chase ! Found 
 by this flibbertigibbet of a fellow, while I, Simon de 
 Gex, erstwhile M.P., was fooling about War Offices and 
 regiments ! It was grotesque. It was monstrous. It 
 ought not to have been allowed. And yet it saved me 
 a vast amount of trouble. 
 
 i66
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 167 
 
 " I'm damned ! " said I. 
 
 Anastasius had just enough Enghsh to understand. 
 I suppose, such is mortal unregeneracy, that it is the 
 most widely understood word in the universe. 
 
 " And I," said he, " am eternally beaten. I am 
 trampled under foot and shall never be able to hold up 
 my head again." 
 
 Whereupon he renewed his lamentations. For some 
 time I listened patiently, and from his disconnected 
 remarks I gathered that he had gone to the Cercle Afri- 
 cain in view of his gigantic combinations, but that the 
 demon of gambling taking possession of him had almost 
 driven them from his mind. Eventually he had lost 
 control of his nerves, a cloud had spread over his brain, 
 and he had committed the unspeakable blunder which 
 led to disaster. 
 
 " To think that I should have tracked him down — 
 for this ! " he exclaimed tragically. 
 
 " What beats me," I cried, " is how the deuce you 
 managed to track him down. Your magnificent intel- 
 lect, I suppose " — I spoke gently and not in open 
 sarcasm — " enabled you to get on the trail." 
 
 He brightened at the compliment. " Yes, that was 
 it. Listen. I came to Algiers, the last place he was 
 heard of. I go to the cafes. I listen like a detective 
 to conversation. I creep behind soldiers talking. I 
 find out nothing. I ask at the shops. They think I am 
 crazy, but Anastasius Papadopoulos has a brain larger 
 than theirs. I go to my old friend the secretary of the 
 theatre, where I have exhibited the marvellous per- 
 formance of my cats. I say to him, ' When have you a 
 date for me ? ' He says, ' Next year.' I make a note 
 of it. We talk. He knows all Algiers. I say to him, 
 ' What has become of Captain Vauvenarde of the
 
 i68 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Chasseurs d'Afrique ? ' I say it carelessly as if the 
 Captain were an old friend of mine. The secretary 
 laughs. Haven't you heard ? The Captain was chased 
 from the regiment 
 
 " The deuce he was ! " I interjected. 
 
 " On account of something," said Anastasius. " The 
 secretary could not tell what. Perhaps he cheated at 
 cards. The officers said so." 
 
 " ' Where is he now ? ' I ask. ' Why, in Algiers. He 
 is the most famous gambler in the town. He is every 
 night at the Cercle Africain, and some people believe 
 that it belongs to him.' My friend the secretary asks 
 me why I am so anxious to discover Captain Vau- 
 venarde. I do not betray my secret. When I do not 
 wish to talk I close my lips, and they are sealed like the 
 tomb. I am the model of discretion. You, Monsieur, 
 with the high-bred delicacy of the English statesman, 
 have not questioned me about my combination. I 
 appreciate it. But, if you had, though it broke my 
 heart, I should not have answered." 
 
 " I am not going to pry into your schemes," I said, 
 " but there are one or two things I must understand. How 
 do you know the banker was Captain Vauvenarde ? " 
 
 " I saw him several times in Marseilles with the 
 carissima signora . ' ' 
 
 " Then how was it he did not recognise you to- 
 night ? " 
 
 " I was then but an acquaintance of Madame ; not 
 her intimate friend, counsellor, champion, as I am now. 
 I did not have the honour of being presented to Captain 
 Vauvenarde. I went to-night to make sure of my man, 
 to play the first card in my gigantic combination — but, 
 alas ! But no ! " He rose and thumped his little 
 chest. " I feel my courage coming back. My will is
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 169 
 
 stiffening into iron. When the carissima signora arrives 
 in Algiers she will find she has a champion ! " 
 
 " How do you know she is coming to Algiers ? " I 
 asked startled. 
 
 " As soon as I learned that Captain Vauvenarde was 
 here," he replied proudly, " I sent her a telegram, 
 ' Husband found ; come at once.' I know she is 
 coming, for she has not answered." 
 
 An idea occurred to me. " Did you sign your name 
 and address on the telegram ? " 
 
 He approached me confidentially as I sat, and wagged 
 a cunning finger. 
 
 " In matters of life and death, never give your name 
 and address." 
 
 As Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos was himself 
 again, and as I began to sneeze — for the night was chilly 
 — I rose and suggested that we might adjourn this con- 
 ference till the morrow. He acquiesced, saying that all 
 was not lost and that he still had time to mature his 
 combinations. We crossed the road, and I hailed a cab 
 standing by the Cafe d' Alger. I offered Anastasius to 
 drive him to his hotel, but he declined politely. We 
 shook hands. 
 
 " Monsieur,", said he, " I have to make my heartfelt 
 apologies for having caused you so painful, so useless, 
 and so expensive an evening. As for the last aspect I 
 will repay you." 
 
 " You will do no such thing, Professor," said I. " My 
 evening has, on the contrary, been particularly useful 
 and instructive. I wouldn't have missed it for the 
 world." 
 
 And I drove off homewards, glad to be in my own 
 company. 
 
 Here was an imbrogUo ! The missing husband found
 
 170 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 and, like most missing husbands, found to be entirely 
 undesirable. And Lola, obviously imagining her 
 summons to be from me, was at that moment speeding 
 hither as fast as the Marechal Bugeaud could carry her. 
 If I had discovered Captain Vauvenarde instead of 
 Anastasius I would have anathematised him as the most 
 meddlesome, crazy little marplot that ever looked like 
 Napoleon the Third. But as the credit of the discovery 
 belonged to him and not to me, I could only anathema- 
 tise myself for my dilettantism in the capacity of a 
 private inquiry agent. 
 
 I went to bed and slept badly. The ludicrous scenes 
 of the evening danced before my eyes ; the smoke-filled, 
 sordid room, the ignoble faces round the table, the 
 foolish hullaballoo, the collapse of Anastasius, my melo- 
 dramatic intervention, and the ironical courtesy of the 
 fleshy Captain Vauvenarde. Also, in the small hours of 
 the night, Anastasius's gigantic combinations assumed 
 a less trivial aspect. What lunatic scheme was being 
 hatched behind that dome-hke brow ? His object in 
 taking me to the club was obvious. He could not have 
 got in save under my protection. But what he had 
 reckoned upon doing when he got there Heaven and 
 Anastasius Papadopoulos only knew. I was also 
 worried by the confounded little pain inside. 
 
 On the following afternoon I went down to meet the 
 steamer from Marseilles. I more than expected to find 
 the dwarf on the quay, but to my relief he was not 
 there. I had purposely kept my knowledge of Lola's 
 movements a secret from him, as I desired as far as 
 possible to conduct affairs without his crazy interven- 
 tion. I was not sorry, too, that he had not availed 
 himself of my proposal to visit me that morning and 
 continue our conversation of the night before. The
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 171 
 
 grotesque as a decoration of life is valuable ; as the 
 main feature it gets on your nerves. 
 
 I stood on the sloping stone jetty among the crowd 
 of Arab porters and Europeans and watched the vessel 
 waddle in. Lola and I, catching sight of each other at 
 the same time, waved handkerchiefs in an imbecile 
 manner, and when the vessel came alongside, and during 
 the tedious process of mooring, we regarded each other 
 with photographic smiles. She was wearing a squirrel 
 coat and a toque of the same fur, and she looked more 
 like a splendid wild animal than ever. Something inside 
 me — not the little pain — but what must have been my 
 heart, throbbed suddenly at her beauty, and the throb 
 was followed by a sudden sense of shock at the realisa- 
 tion of my keen pleasure at the sight of her. A wistful 
 radiance shone in her face as she came down the gang- 
 way. 
 
 " Oh, how kind, how good, how splendid of you to 
 meet me ! " she cried as our hands clasped. " I was 
 dreading, dreading, dreading that it might be some one 
 else." 
 
 " And yet you came straight through," said I, still 
 holding her hand — or, rather, allowing hers to encircle 
 mine in the familiar grip. 
 
 " Didn't you command me to do so ? " 
 
 I could not explain matters to her then and there 
 among the hustle of passengers and the bustle of porters. 
 Besides, Rogers, who had come down with the hotel 
 omnibus, was at my side touching his hat. 
 
 " I have ordered you a room and a private sitting- 
 room with a balcony facing the sea. Put yourself in 
 charge of me and your luggage in charge of Rogers and 
 dismiss all thoughts of worry from your mind." 
 
 " You are so restful," she laughed as we moved off.
 
 172 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Then she scanned my face and said falteringly, " How 
 thin and worn you look ! Are you worse ? " 
 
 " If you ask me such questions," said I, " I'll leave 
 you with the luggage in charge of Rogers. I am in 
 resplendent health." 
 
 She murmured that she wished she could beheve me, 
 and took my arm as we walked down the jetty to the 
 waiting cab. 
 
 " It's good to hear your voice again," I said. " It's 
 a lazy voice and fits in with the lazy South." I pointed 
 to the burnous-enveloped Arabs sleeping on the parapet. 
 " It's out of place in Cadogan Gardens." 
 
 She laughed her low, ripphng laugh. It was music 
 very pleasant to hear after the somewhat shrill cachin- 
 nation of the Misses Bostock of South Shields. I was so 
 pleased that I gave half a franc to a pestilential Arab 
 shoeblack. 
 
 " That was nice of you," she said. 
 
 " It was the act of an imbecile," I retorted. " I have 
 now rendered it impossible for me to enter the town 
 again. How is Dale ? " 
 
 She started. " He's well. Busy with his election. 
 I saw him the day before I left. I didn't tell him I was 
 coming to Algiers. I wrote from Paris." 
 
 " TelHng him the reason ? " 
 
 She faced me and met my eyes and said shortly • 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Oh ! " said I. 
 
 This brought us to the cab. We entered and drove 
 away. Then leaning back and looking straight in front 
 of her, she grasped my wrist and said : 
 
 " Now, my dear friend, tell me all and get it over." 
 
 " My dear Madame Brandt " I began. 
 
 She interrupted me. " For goodness' sake don't call
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 173 
 
 mc that. It makes a cold shiver run down my back. 
 I'm either Lola to you or nothing." 
 
 " Then, my dear Lola," said I, " the first thing I must 
 tell you is that I did not send for you." 
 
 " What do you mean ? The telegram ? " 
 
 " It was sent by Anastasius Papadopoulos." 
 
 " Anastasius ? " She bent forward and looked at 
 me. " What is he doing here ? " 
 
 " Heaven knows ! " said I. " But what he has done 
 has been to find Captain Vauvenarde. I am glad he 
 has done that, but I am deeply sorry he sent you the 
 telegram." 
 
 " Sorry ? Why ? " 
 
 " Because there was no reason for your coming," I 
 said with unwonted gravity. " It would have been 
 better if you had stayed in London, and it will be best 
 if you take the boat back again to-morrow." 
 
 She remained silent for a while. Then she said in a 
 low voice : 
 
 " He won't have me ? " 
 
 " He hasn't been asked," I said. " He will, as far as 
 I can command the situation, never be asked." 
 
 On that I had fully determined ; and, when she 
 inquired the reason, I told her. 
 
 " I proposed that you should reunite yourself with an 
 honourable though somewhat misguided gentleman. 
 I've had the reverse of pleasure in meeting Captain 
 Vauvenarde, and I regret to say, though he is still 
 misguided, he can scarcely be termed honourable. The 
 term ' gentleman ' has still to be accurately defined." 
 
 She made a writhing movement of impatience. 
 
 " TeU me straight out what he's doing in Algiers. 
 You're trying to make things easy for me. It's the way 
 of your class. It isn't the way of mine. I'm used to
 
 174 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 brutality. I like it better. Why did he leave the army 
 and why is he in Algiers ? " 
 
 " If you prefer the direct method, my dear Lola," 
 said I — and the name came quite trippingly on my 
 tongue — " I'll employ it. Your husband has appa- 
 rently been kicked out of the army and is now running 
 a gambling-hell." 
 
 She took the blow bravely ; but it turned her face 
 haggard like a paroxysm of physical pain. After a few 
 moments' silence, she said : 
 
 " It must have been awful for him. He was a proud 
 
 man." 
 
 " He is changed," I repHed gently. " Pride is too 
 hampering a quality for a knight of industry to keep in 
 his equipment." 
 
 " Tell me how you met him," she said. 
 
 I rapidly sketched the whole absurd history, from my 
 encounter with Anastasius Papadopoulos in Marseilles 
 to my parting with him on the previous night. I 
 softened down, as much as I could, the fleshiness of 
 Captain Vauvenarde and the rolls of fat at the back of 
 his neck, but I portrayed the villainous physiognomies 
 of his associates very neatly. I concluded by repeating 
 my assertion that our project had proved itself to be 
 abortive. 
 
 " He must be pretty miserable," said Lola. 
 
 " Devil a bit," said I. 
 
 She did not answer, but settled herself more comfort- 
 ably in the carriage and relapsed into mournful silence. 
 I, having said my say, lit a cigarette. Save for the 
 clanging past of an upward or downward tram, the 
 creeping drive up the hill through the long winding 
 street was very quiet ; and as we mounted higher and 
 left the shops behind, the only sounds that broke the 
 afternoon stillness were the driver's raucous admonition
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 175 
 
 to his horses and the wind in the trees by the wayside. 
 At different points the turns of the road brought to view 
 the panorama of the town below and the calm sweep of 
 the bay. 
 
 " Exquisite, isn't it ? " I said at last, with an indica- 
 tive wave of the hand. 
 
 " What's the good of anything being exquisite when 
 you feel mouldy ? " 
 
 " It may help to charm away the mouldiness. Beauty 
 is eternal and mouldiness only temporal. The sun will 
 go on shining and the sea will go on changing colour 
 long after our pains and joys have vanished from 
 the world. Nature is pitilessly indifferent to human 
 emotion." 
 
 " If so," she said, her intuition finding the weakness 
 of my slipshod argument, " how can it touch human 
 mouldiness ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said I. " The poets will tell you. 
 All you have to do is to lie on the breast of the Great 
 Mother and your heartache will go from you. I've 
 never tried it myself, as I've never been afflicted with 
 heartache." 
 
 " Is that true ? " she asked, woman-like catching at 
 the personal. 
 
 I smiled and nodded. 
 
 " I'm glad on your account," she said sincerely. " It's 
 the very devil of an ache. I've always had it." 
 
 " Poor Lola," said I, prompted by my acquired 
 instinct of eumoiriety. " I wish I could cure you." 
 
 " You ? " She gave a short little laugh and then 
 turned her head away. 
 
 " I had a very comfortable crossing," she remarked a 
 moment later. 
 
 I gave her into the keeping of the manager of the hotel 
 and did not see her again until she came down somewhat
 
 176 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 late for dinner. I met her in the vestibule. She wore 
 a closely fitting brown dress, which in colour matched 
 the bronze of her hair and in shape showed off her lithe 
 and generous figure. 
 
 I thought it my duty to cheer her by a well-deserved 
 compliment. 
 
 " Are you aware," I said, with a low bow, " that 
 you're a remarkably handsome woman ? " 
 
 A perfectly unnecessary light came into her eyes and 
 a superfluous flush to her cheeks, " If I'm at least that 
 to you, I'm happy," she said. 
 
 " You're that to the dullest vision. Follow the 
 maUre d'hotel," said I, as we entered the salle d manger, 
 " and rU walk behind in reflected glory." 
 
 We made an effective entrance. I declare there was 
 a perceptible rattle of soup-spoons laid down by the 
 retired Colonels and maiden ladies as we passed by. 
 Colonel Bunnion returned my nod of greeting in the 
 most distracted fashion and gazed at Lola with the 
 frank admiration of British cavalry. I felt foolishly 
 proud and exhilarated, and gave her at my table the 
 seat commanding a view of the room. I then ordered 
 a bottle of champagne, which I am forbidden to touch. 
 
 " It isn't often that I have the pleasure of dining with 
 you," I said by way of apology. 
 
 " This is the very first time," she said. 
 
 " And it's not going to be the last," I declared. 
 
 " I thought you were going to ship me back to 
 Marseilles to-morrow." 
 
 She laughed lazUy, meeting my eyes. I smiled. 
 
 " It would be inhuman. I allow you a few days' 
 rest." 
 
 Indeed, now she was here I had a curious desire to 
 keep her. I regarded the failure of my eumoirous little 
 plans with more thar satisfaction I had done my
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 177 
 
 best. I had found (through the dwarf's agency) Cap- 
 tam Vauvenarde. I had satisfied myself that he was an 
 outrageous person thoroughly disqualified from be- 
 coming Lola's husband, and there was an end of the 
 matter. Meanwhile Fate (again through the agency of 
 Anastasius) had brought her many hundreds of miles 
 away from Dale and had moreover brought her to me. 
 I was delighted. I patted Destiny on the back, and 
 drank his health in excellent Pommery. Lola did not 
 know in the least what I meant, but she smiled amiably 
 and drank the toast. It was quite a merry dinner. 
 Lola threw herself into my mood and jested as if she had 
 never heard of an undesirable husband who had been 
 kicked out of the French army. We talked of many 
 things. I described in fuller detail my adventure with 
 Anastasius and Saupiquet, and we laughed over the 
 debt of fifteen sous and the elaborate receipt. 
 
 " Anastasius," she said, " is childish in many ways — 
 the doctors have a name for it." 
 
 " Arrested development." 
 
 " That's it ; but he is absolutely cracked on one point 
 — the poisoning of my horse Sultan. He has reams of 
 paper which he calls the dossier of the crime. You 
 never saw such a collection of rubbish in your life. I 
 cried over it. And he is so proud of it, poor wee mite." 
 She laughed suddenly. " I should love to have seen 
 you hobnobbing with him and Saupiquet." 
 
 " Why ? " I asked. 
 
 " You're so aristocratic-looking," she did me the em- 
 barrassing honour to explain in her direct fashion. 
 " You're my idea of an English duke." 
 
 " My dear Lola," I replied, " you're quite wrong. 
 The ordinary English duke is a stout, middle-aged 
 gentleman with a beard, and he generally wears thick 
 knickerbockers and shocking bad hats." 
 
 M
 
 178 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " Do you know any ? " 
 
 " Two or three," I admitted. 
 
 " And duchesses, too ? " 
 
 I again pleaded guilty. In these democratic days, if 
 one is engaged in public and social affairs one can't help 
 running up against them. It is their fault, not mine. 
 
 " Do tell me about them," said Lola, with her elbows 
 on the table. 
 
 I told her. 
 
 " And are earls^and countesses just the same ? " she 
 asked with a disappointed air. 
 
 " Just the same," I sighed, " only worse. They're so 
 ordinary that you can't pick them out from common 
 misters and missuses." 
 
 Saying this I rose, for we had finished our dessert, and 
 proposed coffee in the lounge. There we found Colonel 
 Bunnion at so wilful a loose end that I could not find it 
 in my heart to refuse him an introduction to Lola. He 
 manifested his delight by lifting the skirt of his dinner- 
 jacket with his hands and rising on his spurs like a 
 bantam cock. I left her to him for a moment and went 
 over to say a civil word to the Misses Bostock of South 
 Shields. I regret to say I noticed a certain frigidity in 
 their demeanour. The well-conducted man in South 
 Shields does not go out one night with a revolver tucked 
 away in the pocket of his dress-suit, and turn up the 
 next evening with a striking-looking lady with bronze 
 hair. Such goings-on are seen on the stage in South 
 Shields in melodrama, and they are the goings-on of the 
 villain. In the eyes of the gentle ladies my reputation 
 was gone. I was trying to rehabilitate myself when the 
 chasseur brought me a telegram. I asked permission 
 to open it, and stepped aside. 
 
 The words of the telegram .were like a ringing box on 
 the ears.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 179 
 
 " Tell me immediately why Lola has joined you in 
 Algiers. — Kynnersley." 
 
 Not " Dale," mark you, as he has signed himself ever 
 since I knew him in Eton collars, but " Kynnersley." 
 Why has Lola joined you ? Why have you run off with 
 Lola ? What's the reason of this treacherous abduc- 
 tion ? Account for yourself immediately. Stand and 
 deliver. I stood there gaping at the words like an idiot, 
 my blood tingling at the implied accusation. The 
 peremptoriness of it ! The impudence of the boy ! The 
 wild extravagance of the idea ! And yet, while my 
 head was reeling with one buffet a memory arose and 
 gave me another on the other side. I remembered the 
 preposterous attitude in which Dale had found us when 
 he rushed from Berlin into Lola's drawing-room. 
 
 I took the confounded telegram into a remote corner of 
 the lounge, like a dog with a bone, and growled over 
 it for a time until the humour of the situation turned the 
 growl into a chuckle. Even had I been in sound health 
 and strength, the idea of running off with Lola would 
 have been absurd. But for me, in my present eumoirous 
 disposition of mind ; for me, a half-disembodied spirit 
 who had cast all vain and disturbing human emotions 
 into the mud of Murglebed-on-Sea ; for me who had a 
 spirit's calm disregard for the petty passions and in- 
 terests of mankind and walked through the world with 
 no other object than healing a few human woes ; for me 
 who already saw death on the other side of the river and 
 found serious occupation in exchanging airy badinage 
 with him ; for me with an abominable little pain inside 
 inexorably eating my life out and wasting me away 
 literally and perceptibly like a shadow and twisting me 
 up half a dozen times a day in excruciating agony ; for 
 me, in this delectable condition of soul and this deplor- 
 able condition of body, to think of running hundreds of
 
 i8o SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 miles from home away with — to sa}^ the least of it — so 
 inconvenient a creature as a big, bronze-haired woman, 
 the idea was inexpressibly and weirdly comic. 
 
 I stepped into the drawing-room close by and drew up 
 a telegram to Dale. 
 
 " Lady summoned by Papadopoulos on private affairs. 
 Avoid lunacy save for electioneering purposes. — Simon." 
 
 Then I joined Lola and Colonel Bunnion. She was 
 lying back in her laziest and most pantherine attitude, 
 and she looked up at me as I approached with eyes full 
 of velvet softness. For the life of me I could not help 
 feeling glad that they were turned on me and not on 
 Dale Kynnersley. 
 
 Almost immediately the elder Miss Bostock came up 
 to claim the Colonel for bridge. He rose reluctantly, 
 
 " I suppose it's no use asking you to make a fourth, 
 Mr. de Gex ? " she asked, after the subacid manner of 
 her kind. 
 
 " I'm afraid not," I replied sweetly. Whereupon she 
 rescued the Colonel from the syren and left me alone 
 with her. I lit a cigarette and sat by her side. As she 
 did not stir or speak, I asked whether she was tired. 
 
 " Not very. I'm thinking. Do you know you've 
 taught me an awful lot ? " 
 
 " I ? What can I have taught you ? " 
 
 " The way people like yourself look at things. I'm 
 treating Dale abominabl}^ I didn't realise it before." 
 
 Now why on earth did she bring Dale in just at that 
 moment. 
 
 " Indeed ? " said I. 
 
 She nodded her head and said in her languorous voice : 
 
 " He's over head and ears in love with me and thinks 
 I care for him. I don't. I don't care a brass button for 
 him. I'm a bad influence in his life, and the sooner I take 
 myself out of it the better. Don't you think so ? "
 
 SIMON THE JESTER i8i 
 
 " You know my opinions," I said. 
 
 " If I had followed your advice at first," she con- 
 tinued, " we needn't have had all this commotion. 
 And yet I'm not sorry." 
 
 " What do you propose to do ? " I asked. 
 
 " Before deciding, I shall see my husband." 
 
 " You shall do no such thing," said I. 
 
 She smiled. " I shall." 
 
 I protested. Captain Vauvenarde had put himself 
 outside the pale. He was not fit to associate with decent 
 women. What object could she have in meeting him? 
 
 " I want to judge for myself," she replied. 
 
 " Judge what ? Surely not whether he is eligible as 
 a husband ! " 
 
 " Yes," she said. 
 
 " But, my dear Lola," I cried, " the notion is as 
 crazy as any of Anastasius Papadopoulos's. Of course, 
 as soon as he learns you're a rich woman, he'll want to 
 live with you, and use your money for his gaming-hell." 
 
 " I am going to meet him," she said quietly. 
 
 "I forbid it." 
 
 " You're too late, dear friend. I wTote him a letter 
 before dinner and sent it to the Cercle Africain by 
 special messenger. I also wrote to Anastasius. I 
 asked them both to see me to-morrow morning. That's 
 why I've been so gay this evening." 
 
 At the sight of my blank face she laughed, and with 
 one of her lithe movements rose from her chair. I rose 
 too. 
 
 " Are you angry with me ? " 
 
 " I thought I had walked out of a nightmare," I said. 
 " I find I'm still in it." 
 
 " But don't be angry with me. It was the only way." 
 
 " The only way to, or out of, what ? " I asked, be- 
 wildered
 
 i82 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " Never mind." 
 
 She looked at me with a singular expression in her 
 slumberous eyes. It was sad, wistful, soothing, and 
 gave me the idea of a noble woman making a senseless 
 sacrifice. 
 
 " There is no earthly reason to do this on account of 
 Dale," I protested. 
 
 " Dale has nothing to do with it." 
 "Then who has?" 
 
 " Anastasius Papadopoulos," she said with undis- 
 guised irony. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," I said rather stiffly, " for 
 appearing to force your confidence. But as I first put 
 the idea of joining your husband into your head and 
 have enjoyed your confidence in the matter hitherto, I 
 thought I might claim certain privileges." 
 
 As she had done before, she laid her hands on my 
 shoulders — we were alone in the alcove — and looked me 
 in the eyes. 
 
 " Don't make me cry. I'm very near it. And I'm 
 tired to-night, and I'm going to have a hellish time 
 to-morrow. And I want you to do me a favour." 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 " When I'm seeing my husband, I'd like to know that 
 you were within call — in case I wanted you. One never 
 knows what may happen. You wiU come, won't you, 
 if I send for you ? " 
 
 "I'm always at your service," I said. 
 She released my shoulders and grasped my hand. 
 " Good night," she said abruptly, and rushed swiftly 
 out of the room, leaving me wondering more than I had 
 ever wondered in my life at the inscrutable ways of 
 women.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 I AM glad I devoted last night and the past hour this 
 morning to bringing up to date this trivial record, for I 
 have a premonition that the time is rapidly approaching 
 when I shall no longer have the strength of will or body 
 to continue it. The little pain has increased in intensity 
 and frequency the last few days, and though I try to 
 delude myself into the belief that otherwise I am as 
 strong as ever, I know in my heart that I am daily grow- 
 ing weaker, daily losing vitality. I shall soon have to 
 call in a doctor to give me some temporary relief, and 
 doubtless he will put me to bed, feed me on slops, cut 
 off alcohol, forbid noise and excitement, and keep me in 
 a drugged, stupefied condition until I fall asleep, to 
 wake up in the Garden of Prosperine. Death is 
 nothing ; it is dying that is such a nuisance. It is 
 going through so much for so little. It is as bad as the 
 campaign before a parliamentary election. It offends 
 one's sense of proportion. In a well-regulated universe 
 there would be no tedious process of decay, either be- 
 fore or after death. You would go about your daily 
 avocation unconcerned and unwarned, and then at the 
 moment appointed by an inscrutable Providence for 
 your dissolution — phew ! — and your clothes would 
 remain standing for a surprised second, and then fall 
 down in a heap without a particle of you inside them. 
 If we have to die, why doesn't Providence employ this 
 simple and sensible method ? It would save such a lot 
 
 183
 
 1 84 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 of trouble. It would be so clean, so painless, so pictu- 
 resque. It would add to the interest of our walks 
 abroad. Fancy a stout, important policeman vanishing 
 from his uniform — the helmet falling over the collar, 
 the tunic doubling in at the belt, the knees giving way, 
 and the unheard, merry laughter of the disenuniformed 
 spirit winging its way truncheonless into the Empyrean. 
 
 But if you think you are going to get any fun out of 
 dying in the present inconvenient manner, you are mis- 
 taken. Believe one who is trying. 
 
 I will remain on my feet, however, as long as my will 
 holds out. In this way I may continue to be of service 
 to my fellow-creatures, and procure for myself a happy 
 lot or portion. Even this morning I have been able to 
 feel the throb of eumoiriety. A piteous letter came from 
 Latimer, and a substantial cheque lies on my table 
 ready to be posted. I wonder how much I have left ? 
 So long as it is enough to pay my doctor's bills and 
 funeral expenses, what does it matter ? 
 
 The last line of the above was written on December 
 2ist. It is now January 30th, and I am still alive and 
 able to write. I wish I weren't. But I will set down as 
 plainly as I can what has happened in the interval. 
 
 I had just written the last word, seated at my hotel 
 window in the sunshine, and enjoying, in spite of my un- 
 cheerful thoughts, the scents that rose from the garden, 
 when I heard a knock at my door. At my invitation 
 to enter, Anastasius Papadopoulos trotted into the 
 room in a great state of excitement carrying the familiar 
 bunch of papers. He put his hat on the floor, pitched 
 the papers into the hat, and ran up to me. 
 
 "i'My dear sir, don't get up, I implore you. And I 
 won't sit down. I have just seen the ever beautiful and 
 beloved lady."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 185 
 
 I turned my chair away from the table, and faced him 
 as he stood blowing kisses with one little hand, while the 
 other lay on his heart. In a flash he struck a new 
 gesture ; he folded his arais and scowled, 
 
 " I was with her. She was opening her inmost heart 
 to me. She knows I am her champion. A servant 
 came up announcing Monsieur Vauvenarde. She dis- 
 missed me. I have come to my patron and friend, 
 the English statesman. Her husband is with her 
 now." 
 
 I smiled. " Madame Brandt told me that she had 
 asked for an interview." 
 
 " And you allow it ? You allow her to contaminate 
 her beautiful presence with the sight of that traitor, that 
 cheat at cards, that murderer, that devil ? Ah, but I 
 will not have it ! I am her champion. I will save her. 
 I will save you. I will take you both away to Egypt, 
 and surround you with my beautiful cats, and fan you 
 with peacock's feathers." 
 
 This was sheer crackedness of brain. For the first 
 time I feared for the little man. When people begin to 
 talk that way they are not allowed to go about loose. 
 He went on talking, and the three languages he used in 
 his jargon got clotted to the point of unintelligibility. 
 He spoke very fast and, as far as I could understand, 
 poured abuse on the head of Captain Vauvenarde, and 
 continued to declare himself Lola's champion and my 
 devoted friend. He stamped up and down the room in 
 his tightly buttoned frock-coat from the breast-pocket 
 of which peeped the fingers of his yellow doeskin gloves. 
 At last he stopped, and drawing a chair near the window 
 perched on it with a little hop like a child. He held 
 out his hand. 
 
 " Do you believe I am your friend ? " 
 " I am sure of it, my dear Professor."
 
 1 86 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " Then I'll betray a sacred confidence. The caris- 
 sima signora loves you. You didn't know it. But she 
 loves you." 
 
 I stared for a moment at the dwarf as if he had been 
 a reasonable being. Something seemed to click inside 
 my head, like a clogged cog-wheel that had suddenly 
 freed itself, and my mind went whirring away straight 
 through the past few weeks. I tried to smile, and I 
 said : 
 
 " You are quite mistaken." 
 
 " Oh no," he replied, wagging his Napoleonic head. 
 " Anastasius Papadopoulos is never mistaken. She 
 told me so herself. She wept. She put her beautiful 
 arms round my neck and sobbed on my shoulder." 
 
 I found myself reproving him gently. " You should 
 not have told me this, my dear Professor. Such con- 
 fidences are locked up in the heart of un galant homme, 
 and are not revealed even to his dearest friend." 
 
 But my voice sounded hollow in my own ears, and 
 what he said for the next few minutes I do not re- 
 member. The little man had told the truth to me, and 
 Lola had told the truth to him. The realisation of it 
 paralysed me. Why had I been such a fool as not to 
 see it for myself ? Memories of a hundred indications 
 came tumbling one after another into my head — the 
 forgotten glove, the glances, the changes of mood, the 
 tears when she learned of my illness, the mysterious 
 words, the abrupt little " You ? " of yesterday. The 
 woman was in love, deeply in love, in love with all the 
 fervour of her big nature. And I had stood by and 
 wondered what she meant by this and by that — things 
 that would have been obvious to a coalheaver. I 
 thought of Dale and I felt miserably guilty, horribly 
 ashamed. How could I expect him to believe me when
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 187 
 
 I told him that I had not wittingly stolen her affections 
 from him. And her affections ? Bon Dicu ! What 
 on earth could I do with them ? What is the use of a 
 woman's love to a dead man ? And did I want it even 
 for the tiny remainder of life ? 
 
 Anastasius, perceiving that I paid but scant atten- 
 tion to his conversation, wriggled off his chair and stood 
 before me with folded arms. 
 
 " You adore each other with a great passion," he said. 
 " She is my Madonna, and you are my friend and bene- 
 factor. I will be your protection and defence. I will 
 never let her go away with that infamous, gambling, 
 and murdering scoundrel. My gigantic combinations 
 have matured. I bless your union." 
 
 He lifted his little arms in benediction. The situation 
 was cruelly comical. For a moment I hated the moum- 
 ful-visaged, posturing monkey, and had a wild desire to 
 throw him out of the window and have done with him. 
 I rose and, towering over him, was about to lecture him 
 severely on his impertinent interference, when the sight 
 of his sacred face made me turn away with a laugh. 
 What would be the use of reproaching him ? He 
 would only sit down on the floor and weep. So I paced 
 the room, while he followed me with his eyes like an un- 
 certain spaniel. 
 
 " Look here, Professor," said I at last. " Now that 
 you've found Captain Vauvenarde, brought Madame 
 Brandt and him together, and told me that she is in love 
 with me, don't you think you've done enough ? Don't 
 you think your cats need your attention ? Something 
 terrible may be happening to them. I dreamed last 
 night," I added with desperate mendacity, " that they 
 were turned into woolly lambs." |)t|j 
 
 " Monsieur," said the dwarf loftily, " my duty is
 
 i88 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 here. J'y suis, j'y rcste ! And I care not whether my 
 cats are turned into the angels of Paradise." 
 
 I groaned. " You are wasting a great deal of money- 
 over this affair," I urged. 
 
 " What is money to my gigantic combinations ? " 
 
 " Tell me," I cried with considerable impatience. 
 " What are your confounded combinations ? " 
 
 He began to tremble violently. " I would rather 
 die," said he, " than betray my secret." 
 
 "It's all some silly nonsense about that wretched 
 horse ! " I exclaimed. 
 
 He covered his ears with his hands. " Blasphemy ! 
 Blasphemy ! Don't utter it ! " 
 
 In another moment he was cowering on his knees 
 before me. 
 
 " You, of all men, mustn't blaspheme. You whom I 
 love like my master. You whom the divine lady loves. 
 I can't bear it ! " He continued to gibber unintel- 
 ligibly. 
 
 He was stark mad. There was no question of it. 
 For a moment I stood irresolute. Then I lifted him to 
 his feet and patted his head soothingly. 
 
 " Never mind," said I. " I was wrong. It was a 
 beautiful horse. There never was such a horse in the 
 world. If I had a picture of him I would hang it up on 
 the wall over my bed." 
 
 " Would you ? " he cried joyfully. " Then I will give 
 you one." 
 
 He trotted over to the bundle of papers that reposed 
 in his hat on the floor, searched through them, and to 
 my dismay handed me a faded, unmounted, and rather 
 torn and crumpled photograph of the wonderful horse. 
 
 " There ! " said he. 
 
 " I could not rob you of it," I protested.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 189 
 
 "It will be my joy to know that you have it — that 
 it is hanging over your bed. See — have you a pin ? 
 I myself will lix it for you." 
 
 While he was searching my table for pins the chasseur 
 of the hotel came with a message from Madame Brandt. 
 Would Monsieur come at once to Madame in her private 
 room ? 
 
 " I'll come now," I said. " Professor, you must ex- 
 cuse me." 
 
 " Don't mention it," he replied. " I shall occupy 
 myself in hanging the picture in the most artistic way 
 possible." 
 
 So I left him, his mind apparently concentrated on 
 the childish task of pinning the photograph of the 
 ridiculous horse on my bedroom wall, and went with the 
 most complicated feelings downstairs and through the 
 corridors to Lola's apartments. 
 
 She rose to meet me as I entered. 
 
 " It's very kind of you to come," she said in her 
 fluent but Britannic French. " May I present my 
 husband, Monsieur Vauvenarde." 
 
 Monsieur Vauvenarde and I exchanged bows. I 
 noticed at once that he wore the Frenchman's costume 
 when he pays a visite de ceremonie, frock-coat and 
 gloves, and that a silk hat lay on the table. I was glad 
 that he paid her this mark of respect. 
 
 " I have had the pleasure of meeting you before. 
 Monsieur," said he, " in circumstances somewhat 
 different." 
 
 " I remember perfectly," said I. 
 
 " And your charming but inexperienced little friend 
 — is he well ? " 
 
 "He is at present decorating my room with photo- 
 graphs of Madame's late horse. Sultan," said I.
 
 190 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 He was startled, and gave me a quick, sharp look. 
 I did not notice it at the time, but I remembered it later. 
 Then he broke into an indulgent laugh. 
 
 " The poor animal ! " He turned to Lola. " How 
 jealous I used to be of him ! And how quickly the time 
 flies. But give yourself the trouble of seating yourself. 
 Monsieur." 
 
 He motioned me to a chair and sat down. He was a 
 man of polished manners and had a pleasant voice. I 
 guessed that in the days when he paid court to Lola, he 
 had been handsome in his dark Norman way, and 
 possessed considerable fascination. Evil living and 
 sordid passions had coarsened his features, produced 
 bagginess under the eyes and a shiftiness of glance. 
 Idleness and an inverted habit of life were responsible 
 for the nascent paunch and the rolls of fat at the back 
 of his neck. He suggested the revivified corpse of a 
 fine gentleman that had been unnaturally swoUen. I 
 had disliked him at the Cercle Africain ; now I detested 
 him heartily. The idea of Lola entering the vitiated 
 atmosphere of his life was inexpressibly repugnant to me. 
 
 Contrary to her habit, Lola sat bolt upright on the 
 stamped-velvet-covered sofa which formed part of the 
 stiff French suite, the palms of her hands pressing the 
 seat on either side of her. She caught the shade of 
 disgust that swept over my face, and gave me a quick 
 glance that pleaded for toleration. Her eyes, though 
 bright, were sunken, like those of a woman who has not 
 slept. 
 
 " Monsieur," said Vauvenarde, " my wife informs me 
 that to your disinterested friendship is due this most 
 charming reconciliation." 
 
 " Reconcihation ? " I echoed. " It was quickly 
 effected."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 191 
 
 " Mon Dieu, yes," he said. " I have always longed 
 for the comforts of a home. My wife has grown tired 
 of a migratory existence. She comes to find me, I 
 hasten to meet her. There is nothing to keep us apart. 
 The reconcihation was a matter of a few seconds. I 
 wish to express my gratitude to you, and, therefore, 
 I ask you to accept my most cordial thanks." 
 
 *' It has always been a pleasure to me," said I very 
 frigidly, " to place my services at the disposal of 
 Madame Brandt." 
 
 " Vauvenarde, Monsieur," he corrected with a smile. 
 
 " And is Madame Vauvenarde equally satisfied with 
 the — reconciliation ? " I asked. 
 
 " I think Monsieur Vauvenarde is somewhat prema- 
 ture," said Lola, with a trembUng hp. " There were 
 conditions " 
 
 " A mere question of protocol." He waved an airy 
 hand. 
 
 " I don't know what that is," said Lola. " There are 
 conditions I must fix, and I thought the advice of my 
 friend. Monsieur de Gex " 
 
 " Precisely, my dear Lola," he interrupted. " The 
 principle is affirmed. We are reconciled. I proceed 
 logically. The first thing I do is to thank Monsieur de 
 Gex — you have a French name. Monsieur, and you pro- 
 nounce it English fashion, which is somewhat embarrass- 
 ing But no matter. The next thing is the pro- 
 tocol. We have no possibility of calHng a family 
 council, and therefore I acceded wuth pleasure to the 
 intervention of Monsieur. It is kind of him to burden 
 himself with our unimportant affairs." 
 
 The irony of his tone belied the suave correctitude of 
 his words. I detested him more and more. More and 
 more did I realise that the dying eumoirist is capable of
 
 192 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 petty human passions. My vanity was being scarified. 
 Here was a woman passionately in love with me pro- 
 posing to throw herself into another man's arms — it 
 made not a scrap of difference, in the circumstances, 
 that the man was her husband — and into the arms of 
 such a man ! Having known me to decline — et cetera, 
 et cetera ! How could she face it ? And why was she 
 doing it ? To save herself from me, or me from her- 
 self ? She knew perfectly well that the httle pain 
 inside would precious soon settle that question. Why 
 was she doing it ? I should have thought that the first 
 glance at the puffy reprobate would have been enough 
 to show her the folly of her idea. However, it was com- 
 forting to learn that she had not surrendered at once. 
 
 " If I am to have the privilege. Monsieur," said I, " of 
 acting as a family council, perhaps you may forgive my 
 hinting at some of the conditions that doubtless are in 
 Madame's mind." 
 
 " Proceed, Monsieur," said he. 
 
 " I want to know where I am," said Lola, in Enghsh. 
 " He took everything for granted from the first." 
 
 " Are you wilhng to go back to him ? " I asked also in 
 English. 
 
 She met my gaze steadily, and I saw a woman's need- 
 less pain at the back of her eyes. She moistened her lips 
 with her tongue, and said : 
 
 " Under conditions." 
 
 "Monsieur," said I in French, turning to Vauvenarde, 
 " forgive us for speaking our language." 
 
 " Perfectly," said he, and he smiled meaningly and 
 banteringly at us both. 
 
 " In the first place, Monsieur, you are aware that 
 Madame has a little fortune, which does not detract 
 from the charm you have always found in her. It was
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 193 
 
 left her by her father, whom, as you know, tamed hons 
 and directed a menagerie. I would propose that Madame 
 appointed trustees to administer this little fortune," 
 
 " There is no necessity, Monsieur," he said. " By 
 the law of France it is hers to do what she likes with." 
 
 " Precisely," I rejoined. " Trustees would prevent 
 her from doing what she liked with it. Madame has 
 indeed a head for affairs, but she also has a woman's 
 heart, which sometimes interferes with a woman's head 
 in the most disastrous manner." 
 
 " Article No. i of the protocol. Allez toujour s, 
 Monsieur." 
 
 I went on, feeling happier. " The next article treats 
 of a little matter which I understand has been the cause 
 of differences in the past between Madame and yourself. 
 Madame, although she has not entered the arena for 
 some time, has not finally abandoned it." I smiled at 
 the look of surprise on Lola's face. " An artist is 
 always an artist. Monsieur. She is willing, however, to 
 renounce it for ever, if you, on your side, will make quite 
 a small sacrifice." 
 
 " Name it. Monsieur." 
 
 " You have a little passion for baccarat " 
 
 " Surely, Monsieur," said he blandly, " my wife 
 would not expect me to give up what is the mere 
 recreation of every clubman." 
 
 " As a recreation pure and simple — she would not 
 
 insist too much, but " I shrugged my shoulders. 
 
 I flatter myself on being able to do it with perfect 
 French expressiveness. I caught, to my satisfaction, 
 an angry gleam in his eye. 
 
 " Do you mean to say. Monsieur, that I play for 
 more than recreation ? " 
 
 " How dare I say anything, Monsieur. But Madame
 
 194 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 is prejudiced against the Cercle Africain. For a 
 bachelor there is httle to be said against it — but for a 
 married man — you seize the point ? " said I. 
 
 " Bicn, Monsieur," he said, swallowing his wrath. 
 " And Article 3 ? " 
 
 " Since you have left the army — would it not be 
 better to engage in some profession — unless your 
 private fortune dispenses you from the necessity." 
 
 He said nothing but : " Article 4 ? " 
 
 " It would give Madame comfort to live out of 
 Algiers." 
 
 " Moi aussi,^^ he replied rather unexpectedly. " We 
 have the whole of France to choose from." 
 
 " Would not Madame be happier if she lived out of 
 France also ? She has always longed for a social 
 position." 
 
 " Eh bien ? I can give her one in France." 
 
 " Are you quite sure ? " I asked, looking him in the 
 eyes. 
 
 " Monsieur," said he, rising and giving his moustache 
 a swashbuckler twist upward, " what are you daring 
 to insinuate ? " 
 
 I leaned back in my chair and fingered the waxed 
 ends of mine. 
 
 " Nothing, Monsieur ; I ask a simple question, which 
 you surely can have no difficulty in answering." 
 
 " Your questions are the height of indiscretion," he 
 cried angrily. 
 
 " In that case, before we carry this interview further, 
 the Family Council and Madame would do well to have 
 a private consultation." 
 
 " Monsieur," he cried, completely losing his temper, 
 *' I forbid you to use that tone with me. You are 
 making a mock of me. You are insulting'me. I bore 
 with you long enough to see how much further you
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 195 
 
 insolence would dare to go. I'm not to have a hand 
 in the administration of my wife's money ? I'm to 
 forsake a plentiful means of livehhood ? I'm to become 
 a commercial traveller ? I'm to expatriate myself ? 
 I'm to explain, too, the reasons why I left the army ? 
 I would not condescend. Least of all to you." 
 " May I ask why, Monsieur ? " 
 " Tonncrre de Dieu ! " He stamped his foot. " Do 
 you take me for a fool ? Here I am — I came at my 
 wife's request, ready to take her back as my wife, 
 ready to condone everything — yes, Monsieur, as a man 
 of the world — you think I have no eyes, no under- 
 standing — ready to take her off your hands " 
 
 I leaped to my feet. 
 " Monsieur ! " I thundered. 
 
 Lola gave a cry and rushed forward. I pushed her 
 aside, and glared at him. I was in a furious rage. We 
 glared at each other eye to eye. I pointed to the door. 
 " Monsieur, sortez ! " 
 
 I went to it and flung it wide. Anastasius Papa- 
 dopoulos trotted into the room. 
 
 His entrance was so queer, so unexpected, so anti- 
 climactic, that for a moment the three of us were 
 thrown off our emotional balance. 
 
 " I have heard all, I have heard all," shrieked the 
 little man. " I know you for what you are, I am the 
 champion of the carissima signora and the protector 
 of the English statesman. You are a traitor and 
 
 murderer " 
 
 Vauvenarde lifted his arm in a threatening gesture. 
 " Hold your tongue, you httle abortion ! " he shouted. 
 But Anastasius went on screaming and flourishing 
 his bundle of papers. 
 
 " Ask him if he remembers the horse Sultan ; ask 
 him if he remembers the horse Sultan ! "
 
 196 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Lola took him by the shoulders. 
 
 " Anastasius, you must go away from here — to 
 please me. It's my orders." 
 
 But he shook himself free, and the silk hat which he 
 had not removed fell off in the quick struggle. 
 
 *' Ask him if he remembers Saupiquet," he screamed, 
 and then banged the door. 
 
 A malevolent devil put a sudden idea into my head 
 and prompted speech. 
 
 " Do you remember Saupiquet ? " I asked ironically. 
 
 " Monsieur, meddle with your own affairs and let me 
 pass. You shall hear from me." 
 
 The drawf planted himself before the door. 
 
 " You shall not pass till you have answered me. Do 
 you remember Saupiquet ? Do you remember the five 
 francs you gave to Saupiquet to let you into Sultan's 
 stable ? Ah ! Ha ha ! You wince. You grow pale. 
 Do you remember the ball of poison you put down 
 Sultan's throat ? " 
 
 Lola started forward with flaming eyes and anguished 
 face. 
 
 " You — you ? " she gasped. " You were so ignoble 
 as to do that ? " 
 
 "The accursed brute ! " shouted Vauvenarde. " Yes, 
 I did it. I wish I had burned out his entrails." 
 
 Anastasius sprang at him like a tiger-cat. I had a 
 quick vision of the dwarf clinging in the air against the 
 other's bulky form, one hand at his throat, and then of 
 an incredibly swift flash of steel. The dwarf dropped 
 off and rolled backwards, reveahng something black 
 sticking out of Vauvenarde's frock-coat — for the 
 second I could not realise what it was. Then 
 Vauvenarde, with a ghastly face, reeled sideways and 
 collapsed in a heap on the ground.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 Of what happened immediately afterwards I have but 
 a confused memory. I remember that Lola and I both 
 fell on our knees beside the stabbed man, and I re- 
 member his horrible staring eyes and open mouth. I 
 remember that, though she was white and shaky, she 
 neither shrieked, went into hysterics, nor fainted. I 
 remember rushing down to the manager ; I remember 
 running with him breathlessly through obscure passages 
 of the hotel in search of a doctor who was attending a 
 sick member of the staff. I remember the rush back, 
 the doctor bending over the body, which Lola had 
 partially unclothed, and saying : 
 
 " He is dead. The blade has gone straight through 
 his heart." 
 
 And I have in my mind the unforgettable and awful 
 picture of Anastasius Papadopoulos disregarded in a 
 corner of the room, with his absurd silk hat on — some 
 reflex impulse had caused him to pick it up and put it 
 on his head — sitting on the floor amid a welter of docu- 
 ments relating to the death of the horse Sultan, one of 
 which he was eagerly perusing. 
 
 After this my memory is clear. It was only the first 
 awful shock and horror of the thing that dazed me. 
 
 The man was dead, said the doctor. He must lie 
 until the police arrived and drew up the proces-verbal. 
 The manager went to telephone to the pohce, and while 
 he was gone I told the doctor briefly what had occurred. 
 
 197
 
 198 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Anastasius took no notice of us. Lola, holding her 
 nerves under iron control, stood bolt upright looking 
 alternately at the doctor and myself as we spoke. But 
 she did not utter a word. Presently the manager 
 returned. The alarm had not been given in the hotel. 
 No one knew anything about the occurrence. Lola 
 went into her bedroom and came back with a sheet. 
 The manager took it from her and threw it over the dead 
 man. The doctor stood by Anastasius. The end of a 
 strip of sunlight by the window just caught the dwarf in 
 his comer. 
 
 " Get up," said the doctor, 
 
 Anastasius, without raising his eyes from his papers, 
 waved him away. 
 
 " I am busy. I am engaged on important papers of 
 identification. He had a white star on his forehead, 
 and his tail was over a metre long." 
 
 Lola approached him. 
 
 " Anastasius," she said gently. He looked up with 
 a radiant smile. " Put away those papers." Like a 
 child he obeyed and scrambled to his feet. Then, 
 seeing the unfamiliar face of the doctor for the first 
 time, he executed one of his politest and most elaborate 
 bows. The doctor, after looking at him intently for a 
 while, turned to me. 
 
 " Mad. Utterly mad. Apparently he has no con- 
 sciousness of what he has done." 
 
 He lured him to the sofa and sat beside him and 
 began to talk in a low tone of the contents of the papers. 
 Anastasius replied cheerfully, proud at being noticed 
 by the stranger. The papers referred to a precious 
 secret, a gigantic combination, which he had spent 
 years in maturing. I shivered at the sound of his 
 voice, and turned to Lola.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 199 
 
 " This is no place for you. Go into your bedroom 
 till you are wanted." 
 
 I held the door open for her. She put her hands up 
 to her face and reeled, and I thought she would have 
 fallen ; but she roused herself. 
 
 " I don't want to break down— not yet. I shall if 
 I'm left alone — come and sit with me, for God's sake." 
 " Very well," said I. 
 
 She passed me and I followed ; but at the door I 
 turned and glanced round the cheerful, sunny room. 
 There, against the background of blue sky and tree tops 
 framed by the window sat Anastasius Papadopoulos, 
 swinging his httle legs and talking bombastically to the 
 tanned and grizzled doctor, and opposite stood the 
 correctly attired hotel manager in the attitude in which 
 he habitually surveyed the lay-out of the table d'hote, 
 keeping watch beside the white-covered shape on the 
 floor. I was glad to shut the sight from my eyes. 
 We waited silently in the bedroom, Lola sitting on the 
 bed and hiding her face in the pillows, and I standing 
 by the window and looking out at the smihng mockery 
 of the fair earth. An agonising spasm of pain — a 
 memento mori — shot through me and passed away. I 
 thanked God that a few weeks would see the end of me. 
 I had always enjoyed the comedy of Hfe. It had been 
 to me a thing of infinite jest. But this stupid, meaning- 
 less tragedy was carrying the joke too far. My fastidi- 
 ousness revolted at its vulgarity. I no longer wished 
 to inhabit a world where such jests were possible. . . . 
 I had never seen a man die before. I was surprised at 
 the swiftness and the ugliness of it. . . . I suddenly 
 reahsed that I was smoking a cigarette, which I was 
 quite unconscious of having ht. I threw it away. A 
 minute afterwards I felt that if I did not smoke I should
 
 200 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 go crazy. So I lit another. . . . The ghastly silliness 
 of the murder ! . . . Colonel Bunnion's loud laugh rose 
 from the terrace below, jarring horribly on my ears. A 
 long green praying mantis that had apparently mounted 
 on the bourgainvillea against the hotel wall appeared in 
 meditative stateliness on the window-sill. I picked the 
 insect up absent-mindedly, and began to play with it. 
 Lola's voice from the bed startled me and caused me to 
 drop the mantis. She spoke hoarsely. 
 
 " Tell me — what are they going to do with him ? " 
 I turned round. She had raised a crushed face from 
 the pillows, and looked at me haggardly. I noticed a 
 carafe of brandy and a syphon by the bedside. I mixed 
 her a strong dose, and, before replying, made her drink 
 it. 
 
 " They'll place him under restraint, that's all. He's 
 not responsible for his actions." 
 
 " He did that once before — I told you — but without 
 the knife — I wish I could cry — I can't — You don't 
 think it heartless of me^ — but my brain is on fire — I shall 
 always see it — I wish to God I had never asked him to 
 come — Why did I ? My God, why did I ? — It was my 
 fault — I wanted to see him — to judge for myself how 
 much of the old Andre was left — there was good in him 
 once — I thought I might possibly help him — There was 
 nothing for me to do in the world — Without you any 
 kind of old hell was good enough — That's why I sent 
 for him — When he came, after a bit, I was afraid, and 
 
 sent for you " 
 
 " Afraid of what ? " I asked. 
 
 " He asked me at once what money I had — Then 
 there seemed to be no doubt in his mind that I would 
 join him — We spoke of you — the friend who could ad- 
 vise me — He never said — what he said afterwards — I
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 201 
 
 thought it kind of him to consent to see you — I rang the 
 bell and sent the chasseur for you. I supposed Anastasius 
 had gone home — I never thought of him. The poor little 
 man was sweet to me, just hke a dog — a silent, sympa- 
 thetic dog — I spoke to him as I would to something 
 that wouldn't understand — all sorts of foohsh things — 
 Now and then a woman has to empty her heart " — she 
 shivered — her hands before her face — 
 
 " It's my fault, it's my fault." 
 
 " These things are no one's fault," I said gently. 
 But just as I was beginning to console her with what 
 thumb-marked scraps of platitude I could collect — the 
 only philosophy after all, such is the futility of systems, 
 adequate to the deep issues of life — the door opened and 
 the manager announced that the police had arrived. 
 
 We went through the ordeal of the proces-verbal. 
 Anastasius, confronted with his victim, had no memory 
 of what had occurred. He shrieked and shrank and hid 
 his face in Lola's dress. When he was forced to speak 
 he declared that the dead man was not Captain 
 Vauvenarde. Captain Vauvenarde was at the Cercle 
 Africain. He, himself, was seeking him. He would 
 take the gendarmes there, and they could arrest the 
 Captain for the murder of Sultan of which his papers 
 contained indubitable proofs. Eventually the poor 
 little wretch was led away in custody, proud and smiling, 
 entirely convinced that he was leading his captors to the 
 arrest of Captain Vauvenarde. On the threshold he 
 turned and bowed to us so low that the brim of his silk 
 hat touched the floor. Then Lola's nerve gave way 
 and she broke into a passion of awful weeping. 
 
 The commissaire de police secured the long thin knife 
 (how the dwarf had managed to conceal it on his small 
 person was a mystery) and the bundle of documents, and
 
 202 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 accompanied me to my room to see whether he had left 
 anything there to serve as a piece de conviction. We 
 found only the crumpled picture of the horse Sultan 
 neatly pinned against my bedroom wall, and on the 
 floor a ribbon tied like a garter with a little bell opposite 
 the bow. On it was written " Santa Bianca," and I 
 knew it was the collar of the beloved cat which he must 
 have been carrying about him for a talisman. The 
 commissaire took this also. 
 
 If you desire to know the details of the judicial pro- 
 ceedings connected with the murder of Andre Marie 
 Joseph Vauvenarde, ex-Captain in the Chasseurs 
 d'Afrique, and the trial of Anastasius Papadopoulos, I 
 must refer you to the Algerian j Parisian, and London 
 Press. There you will find an eagerly picturesque 
 account of the whole miserable affair. Now, not only 
 am I unable to compete with descriptive verbatim 
 reporters on their own ground, but also a consecutive 
 statement, either bald or graphic, of the tedious horrors 
 Lola Brandt and I had to undergo would be foreign to 
 the purpose of these notes, however far from their 
 original purpose an ironical destiny has caused them to 
 wander. You know nearly all that is necessary for you 
 to know, so that when I am dead you may not judge me 
 too harshly. The remainder I can summarise in a few 
 words. At any rate, I have told the truth, often more 
 naively than one would have thought possible for 
 a man who prided himself as much as I did on his 
 epicurean sophistication. 
 
 These have been days, as I say, of tedious horror. 
 There have been endless examinations, reconstructions 
 of the crime, exposures in daring publicity of the private 
 lives of the protagonists of the lunatic drama. The
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 203 
 
 French judges and advocates have accepted the account 
 given by Lola and myself of our mutual relations witli a 
 certain mocking credulity. The Press hasn't accepted 
 it at all. It took as a matter of course the view held 
 by the none too noble victim. At first, seeing Lola 
 shrug her shoulders with supreme indifference as to her 
 own reputation, I cared but little for these insinuations. 
 I wro*te such letters to my sisters and to Dale as I felt 
 sure would be believed, and let the long-eared, gaping 
 world go hang. Besides, I had other things to think of. 
 Physical pain is insistent, and I have suffered damnable 
 torture. The pettiness of the legal inquiry has been 
 also a maddening irritation. Nothing has been too 
 minute for the attention of the French judiciary. It 
 seemed as though the whole of the evil gang of the 
 Cercle Africain were called as witnesses. They testified 
 as to Captain Vauvenarde's part proprietorship of the 
 hell — as to wrong practices that occurred there — as to 
 the crazy conduct of both Anastasius and myself on the 
 occasion of my insane visit. Officers of the Chasseurs 
 d'Afrique were compelled further to blacken the 
 character of the dead man — he had been a notorious 
 plucker of pigeons during most of his military career, 
 and when at last he was caught red-handed palming 
 the king at ecarte, he was forced to resign his commission. 
 Arabs came from the slums with appalling stories. 
 Even the stoUd Saupiquet, dragged from Toulon, gave 
 evidence as to the five-franc bribe and the debt of fifteen 
 sous, and identified the horse Sultan by the crumpled 
 photograph. Lola and I have been racked day after 
 day with questions — some, indeed, prompted by the 
 suspicion that Vauvenarde might have met his death 
 directly by our hand instead of that of Anastasius. It 
 was the Procureur general who said : '' It can be argued
 
 204 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 that you would benefit by the decease of the defunct." 
 I rephed that we could not benefit in any way. My sole 
 object was to effect a reconciliation between husband 
 and wife. " Will you explain why you gave yourself 
 that trouble ? " I never have smiled so grimly as I did 
 then. How could I explain my precious pursuit of the 
 eumoirous to a French Procureur general F How could 
 I put before him the point of view of a semi-disembodied 
 spirit ? I replied with lame lack of originality that my 
 actions proceeded from disinterested friendship. " You 
 are a pure altruist then ? " said he. " Very pure," 
 said I. ... It was only the facts of the scabbard of 
 the knife having been found attached to the dwarf's 
 person beneath his clothes, and of certain rambling 
 menaces occurring in his Sultan papers that saved us 
 from the indignity of being arrested and put into the 
 dock. . . . 
 
 During all this time I remained at the hotel at 
 Mustapha Superieur. Lola moved to a suite of rooms 
 in another hotel a little why down the hill. I saw her 
 daily. At first she shrank from publicity and refused 
 to go out, save in a closed carriage to the town when 
 her presence was necessary at the inquiries. But after 
 a time I persuaded her to brave the stare of the curious 
 and stroll with me among the eucalyptus woods above. 
 We cut ourselves off from other human companionship 
 and felt like two lost souls wandering alone through 
 mist. She conducted herself with grave and simple 
 dignity. . . . Once or twice she visited Anastasius in 
 prison. She found him humanely treated and not de- 
 spondent. He thought they had arrested him for the 
 poisoning of the horse, and laughed at their foolishness. 
 As they refused to return him his dossier, he occupied 
 himself in reconstituting it, and wrote pages and pages of
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 205 
 
 incoherence to prove the guilt of Captain Vauvenardc. 
 He was hopelessly mad. . . . The bond of pain bound 
 me very close to Lola. 
 
 " What are you going to do with your life ? " I asked 
 her one day. 
 
 " So long as I have you as a friend, it doesn't greatly 
 matter." 
 
 " You forget," I said, " that you can't have me much 
 longer," 
 
 " Are you going to leave me ? It's not because I 
 have dragged you through all this dirt and horror. 
 Another woman might say that of another man — but 
 not I of you. Why are you going to leave me ? I 
 want so little — only to see you now and then — to keep 
 the heart in me." 
 
 " Can't you realise," I answered, " that what I said 
 in London is true ? " 
 
 " No," she said, " I can't. It's unbehevable. You 
 can't beUeve it yourself. If you did, how could you go 
 on behaving hke anybody else — like me, for instance ? " 
 
 " What would you do if you were condemned to 
 die? " 
 
 She shuddered. " I should go mad with fear — I — " 
 She broke off and remained for some moments reflective, 
 with knitted brow. Then she hfted her head proudly. 
 " No, I shouldn't. I should face it Hke you. Only 
 cowards are afraid. It's best to show things that you 
 don't care a hang for them." 
 
 " Keep that sublime je m'en fichHsme up when I'm 
 dead and buried," said I, " and you'll pull through 
 your hfe all right. The only thing you must avoid is 
 the pursuit of eumoiriety." 
 
 " What on earth is that ? " she asked. 
 
 " The last devastating vanity," said I,
 
 2o6 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 And so it is, 
 
 " When you are gone," she said bravely, " I shall 
 remember how strong and true you were. It will make 
 me strong too." 
 
 I acquiesced silently in her proposition. In this age 
 of flippancy and scepticism, if a human soul proclaims 
 sincerely its faith in the divinity of a rabbit, in God's 
 name don't disturb it. It is something whereto to refer 
 his aspirations, his resolves ; it is a court of arbitration, 
 at the lowest, for his spiritual disputes ; and the rabbit 
 will be as effective an oracle as any other. For are not 
 all religions but the strivings of the spirit towards 
 crystallisation at some point outside the environment 
 of passions and appetites which is the flesh, so that it 
 can work untrammelled ; and are not all gods but the 
 accidental forms, conditioned by circumstance, which 
 this crystallisation takes ? All gods in their anthropo-, 
 helio-, thero-, or what-not-morphic forms are false ; 
 but, on the other hand, all gods in their spiritual essence 
 are true. So I do not deprecate my prospective unique 
 position in Lola Brandt's hagiology. It was better for 
 her soul that I should occupy it. Even if I were about 
 to live my normal life out, like any other hearty human, 
 marry and beget children, I doubt whether I should 
 attempt to shake my wife's faith in my heroical 
 qualities. 
 
 This was but a fragment of one among countless 
 talks. Some were lighter in tone, others darker, the 
 mood of man being much like a child's balloon which 
 rises or falls as the strata of air are more rarified or more 
 dense. Perhaps, during the time of strain, the atmo- 
 sphere was more often rarefied, and our conversation 
 had the day's depressing incidents for its topics. We 
 rarely spoke of the dead man. He was scarcely a sub- 
 ject for panegyric, and it was useless to dwell on the
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 207 
 
 memory of his degradation. I think we only once 
 talked of him deeply and at any length, and that was 
 on the day of the funeral. His brother, a manufacturer 
 at Clermont-Ferrand, and a widowed aunt, apparently 
 his only two surviving relatives, arrived in Algiers just 
 in time to attend the ceremony. They had seen the 
 report of the murder in the newspapers and had started 
 forthwith. The brother, during an interview with Lola, 
 said bitter things to her, reproaching her with the man's 
 downfall, and cast on her the responsibility of his death. 
 
 " He spoke," she said, "as if I had suggested the 
 murder and practically put the knife into the poor crazy 
 little fellow's hand." 
 
 The Vauvenardes must have been an amiable family. 
 
 " Before I came," she said a while later, " I still had 
 some tenderness for him — a woman has for the only 
 man that has been — really — in her life. I wish I could 
 feel it now. I wish I could feel some respect even. 
 But I can't. If I could, it would lessen the horror that 
 has got hold of me to my bones." 
 
 It was a torture to her generous soul that she could 
 not grieve for him. She could only shudder at the 
 tragedy. In her heart she grieved more for Anastasius 
 Papadopoulos, and in so doing she was, in her feminine 
 way, self-accusative of callous lack of human feeling. 
 It was my attempt to bring her to a more rational state 
 of mind that caused us to review the dead man's career, 
 and recapitulate the unpleasing incidents of the last 
 interview. 
 
 Of Captain Vauvenarde, no more. He has gone 
 whither I am going. That his soul may rest in peace is 
 my earnest prayer. But I do not wish to meet him. 
 
 Lola went tearless and strong through the horrible 
 ordeal of the judicial proceedings. She said I gave her 
 courage. Perhaps, unconsciously, I did. It was only
 
 2o8 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 when the end came that she broke down, although she 
 knew exactly what the end would be. And I, too, felt 
 a lump in my throat when they sentenced Anastasius 
 Papadopoulos to the asylum, and I saw him for the last 
 time, the living parody of Napoleon III., frock-coated 
 and yellow-gloved, the precious, newly written dossier 
 in his hand, as he disappeared with a mournful smUe 
 from the court, after bowing low to the judge and to us, 
 without having understood the significance of anything 
 that had happened. 
 
 In the carriage that took us home she wept and sobbed 
 bitterly. 
 
 " I loved him so. He was the only creature on earth 
 that loved me. He loved me as only a dog can love — or 
 an angel." 
 
 I let her cry. What could I say or do ? 
 
 These have been weeks of tedious horror and pain. 
 With the exception of Colonel Bunnion, I have kept 
 myself aloof from my fellow-creatures in the hotel, even 
 taking my meals in my own rooms, not wishing to be 
 stared at as the hero of the scandal that convulsed the 
 place. And with regard to Colonel Bunnion, shall I be 
 accused of cynicism if I say that I admitted him — not 
 to my confidence — but to my company, because I know 
 that it delighted the honest but boring fellow to prove to 
 himself that he could rise above British prejudice and 
 exhibit tact in dealing with a man in a delicate position ? 
 For, mark you, all the world — even those nearest and 
 dearest to me as I soon discovered — believed that the 
 wife of the man who was murdered before my eyes was 
 my mistress. Colonel Bunnion was kind, and he meant 
 to be kind. He was a gentleman for all his wearisome- 
 ness, and his kindness was such as I could accept. But 
 I know th^t what I say about him is true. Ye gods !
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 209 
 
 Haven't I felt myself the same swelling pride in my 
 broadmindedness ? When a man is going on my 
 journey he does not palter with truth. 
 
 Though I held myself aloof, as I say, from practically 
 all my fellow-creatures here, I have not been cut off 
 from the outside world. My sisters, like this French 
 court in Algiers, have accepted my statement with 
 polite incredulity. Their letters have been full of love, 
 half-veiled reproach, anxiety as to their social position, 
 and an insane desire to come and take care of me. This 
 I have forbidden them to do. The pain they would 
 have inflicted on themselves, dear souls, would have far 
 outweighed the comfort I might have gained from their 
 ministrations. Then I have had piteous letters from Dale. 
 
 "... Your telegram reassured me, though I was 
 puzzled. Now I get a letter from Lola, telling me it's all 
 off — that she never loved me — that she valued my 
 youth and my friendship, but that it is best for us not 
 to meet again. What is the meaning of it, Simon ? 
 For Heaven's sake tell me. I can't think of anything 
 else. I can't sleep. I am going off my head. ..." 
 
 Again. "... This awful newspaper report and 
 your letter of explanation — I have them side by side. 
 Forgive me, Simon. I don't know what to believe, 
 where to turn. ... I have looked up to you as the 
 best and straightest man I know. You must be. Yet 
 why have you done this ? Why didn't you tell me she 
 was married ? Why didn't she tell me ? I can't write 
 properly, my head is all on a buzz. The beastly papers 
 say you were living with her in Algiers — but you weren't, 
 were you ? It would be too horrible. In fact, you say 
 you weren't. But, all the same, you have stolen her 
 from^i'me. It wasn't like you. . . . And this awful 
 murder. My God ! you don't know what it all means 
 to me. It's breaking my heart. . . ." 
 
 o
 
 210 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 And Lady Kynnersley wrote — with what object I 
 scarcely know. The situation was far beyond the poor 
 lady's by-laws and regulations for the upbringing of 
 families and the conduct of life. The elemental mother 
 in her battled on the side of her only son — foolishly, 
 irrationally, unkindly. Her exordium was as correct 
 as could be. The tragedy shocked her, the scandal 
 grieved her, the innuendoes of the Press she refused to 
 believe ; she sympathised with me deeply. But then 
 she turned from me to Dale, and feminine unreason took 
 possession of her pen. She bitterly reproached herself 
 for having spoken to me of Madame Brandt. Had she 
 known how passionate and real was his attachment, she 
 would never have interfered. The boy was broken- 
 hearted. He accused me of having stolen her from 
 him — his own words. He look little interest in his elec- 
 tioneering campaign, spoke badly, unconvincingly ; 
 spent hours in alternate fits of listlessness and anger. 
 She feared for her darling's health and reason. She 
 made an appeal to me who professed to love him — if it 
 were honourably possible, would I bring Madame Brandt 
 back to him ? She was willing now to accept Dale's 
 estimate of her worth. Could I, at the least, prevail on 
 Madame Brandt to give him some hope — of what she 
 did not know — but some hope that would save him 
 from ruining his career and " doing something des- 
 perate ? " 
 
 And another letter from Dale : 
 
 "... I can't work at this election. For God's sake, 
 give her back to me. Then I won't care. What is 
 Parliament to me without her ? And the election is as 
 good as lost already. The other side has made as much 
 as possible of the scandal. ..." 
 
 The only letters that have not been misery to read 
 have come from Eleanor Faversham. There was one
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 211 
 
 passage which made me thank God that He had created 
 such women as Eleanor — 
 
 " Don't fret over the newspaper lies, dear. Those 
 who love you — and why shouldn't I love you still ? — 
 know the honourable gentleman that you are. Write 
 to me if it would ease your heart and tell me just what 
 you feel you can. Now and always you have my utter 
 sympathy and understanding." 
 
 And this is the woman of whose thousand virtues I 
 dared to speak in flippant jest. 
 
 Heaven forgive me. 
 
 After receiving Lady Kynnersley's appeal, I went to 
 Lola. It was just before the case came on at the Cour 
 d' Assises. She had finished luncheon in her private 
 room and was sitting over coffee. I joined her. She 
 wore the black blouse and skirt with which I have not 
 yet been able to grow familiar, as it robbed her of that 
 peculiar fascinating quality which I have tried to 
 suggest by the word pantherine. Coffee over, we moved 
 to the window which opened on a little back garden — 
 the room was on the ground floor — in which grew prickly 
 pear and mimosa, and newly flowering heliotrope. I 
 don't know why I should mention this, except that 
 some scenes impress themselves, for no particular 
 reason, on the memory, while others associated with 
 more important incidents fade into vagueness. I 
 picked a bunch of heliotrope which she pinned at her 
 bosom. 
 
 " Lola," I said, " I want to speak to you seriously." 
 
 She smiled wanly : " Do we ever speak otherwise 
 these dreadful days ? " 
 
 " It's about Dale. Read this," said I, and I handed 
 her Lady K^Tinersley's letter. She read it through and 
 returned it to me. 
 
 " Well ? "
 
 212 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " I asked you a week or two ago what you were going 
 to do with your life," I said. " Does that letter offer 
 you any suggestion ? " 
 
 " I'm to give him some hope — what hope can I give 
 him' ? " 
 
 " You're a free woman — free to marry. For the 
 boy's sake the mother wiU consent. When she knows 
 you as well as we know you she will " 
 
 " She will — what ? Love me ? " 
 
 " She's a woman not given to loving — except, in un- 
 expected bursts, her offspring. But she will respect 
 you." 
 
 She stood for a few moments silent, her arm resting 
 against the window-jamb and her head on her arm. She 
 remained there so long that at last I rose and, looking at 
 her face, saw that her eyes were full of tears. She 
 dashed them away with the back of her hand, gave me 
 a swift look, and went and sat in the shadow of the 
 room. An action of this kind on the part of a woman 
 signifies a desire for solitude. I lit a cigarette and went 
 into the garden. 
 
 It was a sorry business. I saw as clearly as Lola that 
 Lady Kynnersley desired to purchase Dale's immediate 
 happiness at any price, and that the future might bring 
 bitter repentance. But I offered no advice. I have 
 finished playing at Deputy Providence. A madman 
 letting off fireworks in a gunpowder factory plays a less 
 dangerous game. 
 
 Presently she joined me and ran her arm through mine.' 
 " I'll write to Dale this afternoon," she said. " Don't 
 let us talk of it any more now. You are tired out. It's 
 time for you to go and lie down. I'll walk with you up 
 the hill." 
 
 It has come to this, that I must lie down for some 
 hours during the day lest I should fall to pieces.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 213 
 
 " I suppose I'll have to," I laughed. " What a thing 
 it is to have the wits of a man and the strength of a 
 baby." 
 
 She pressed my arm and said in her low caressing 
 voice which I had not heard for many weeks : " I 
 shouldn't be so proud of those man's wits, if I were 
 you." 
 
 I knew she said it playfully with reference to mascu- 
 line non-perception of the feminine ; but I chose to take 
 it broadly. 
 
 " My dear Lola," said I, " it has been borne in upon 
 me that I am the most witless fool that the unwisdom 
 of generations of English country squires has ever suc- 
 ceeded in producing." 
 
 " Don't talk rot," she said, with foolishness in her 
 eyes. 
 
 She accompanied me bareheaded in the sunshine to 
 the gate of my hotel. 
 
 " Come and dine with me, if you're weU enough," 
 she said as we parted. 
 
 I assented, and when the evening came I went. Did 
 I not say that we were like two lost souls wandering 
 alone through mist ? 
 
 It was only when I rose to bid her good night that she 
 referred to Dale. 
 
 " I wrote to him this afternoon," she announced curtly. 
 
 " You said vou would do so." 
 
 " Would you like to know what I told him ? " 
 • She put her hands behind her back and stood facing 
 me. somewhat defiantly, in all her magnificence. I 
 smiled. Women, much as they scoff at the blindness 
 of our sex, are often transparent. 
 
 " It's your firm intention to tell me," said I. " Well ?" 
 
 She advanced a step nearer to me, and looked me 
 straight in the eyes, still defiantly.
 
 214 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " I told him that I loved you with all my heart and 
 all my soul. I told him that you didn't know it ; that 
 you didn't care a brass curse for me ; that you had 
 acted as you thought best for the happiness of himself 
 and me. I told him that while you lived I could not 
 think of another man. I told him that if you could face 
 Death with a smile on your face, he might very well 
 show the same courage and not chuck things right and 
 left just because a common woman wouldn't marry him 
 or live with him and spoil his career. There ! That's 
 what I told him. What do you think ? " 
 
 " Heaven knows what effect it wHl have," said I 
 wearily^^or I was very, very tired. " But why, my poor 
 Lola, have you wasted your love on a shadow like me." 
 
 She answered after the foolish way of woman. 
 
 I have not heard since from either Dale or Lady Kyn- 
 nersley. A day or two ago, in reply to a telegram to 
 Raggles, I learned that Dale has lost the election. 
 
 This, then, is the end of my apologia pro vita mea, 
 which I began with so resonant a flourish of vainglory. 
 I have said all that there is to be said. Nothing more 
 has happened or is likely to happen until they put me 
 under the earth. Oh yes, I was forgetting. In spite 
 of my Monte Cristo munificence, poor Latimer has been 
 hammered on the Stock Exchange. Poor Lucy and the 
 kids! 
 
 I shall have, I think, just enough strength left to 
 reach Mentone — this place is intolerable now — and 
 there I shall put myself under the care of a capable 
 physician who, with his abominable drugs, will doubt- 
 less begin the cheerful work of inducing the mental 
 decay which I suppose must precede physical dissolution. 
 
 I must confess that I am disappointed with the 
 manner of my exit. I had imagined it quite different.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 215 
 
 I had beheld myself turning with a smile and a jest for 
 one last view of the faces over which I, in my eumoirous 
 career, had cast the largesse of happiness, and then 
 vanishing with a gallant carelessness through the dusky 
 portals. Instead of that, here am I sneaking out of life 
 by the back door, covering my eyes for very shame. 
 And glad ? O God, how glad I am to slink out of it ! 
 
 I have indeed accomplished the thing which I set out 
 to do. I have severed a boy from the object of his 
 passion. What an achievement for the crowning glory 
 of a lifetime ! And at what a cost : one fellow-crea- 
 ture's life and another's reason. On me lies the respon- 
 sibility. Vauvenarde, it is true, did not adorn this 
 grey world, but he drew the breath of life, and, through 
 my jesting agency, it was cut off. Anastasius Papado- 
 poulos, had he not come under my malign influence, 
 would have lived out his industrious, happy and dream- 
 filled days. Lesser, but still great price, too, has been 
 paid. Jealous hatred, misery and failure for the being 
 I care most for in the world, the shame of a sordid 
 scandal to those that hold me dear, the hopeless love 
 and speedy mourning of a woman not without greatness. 
 
 I have tried to make a Tom Fool of Destiny — and 
 Destiny has proved itself to be the superior jester of 
 the two, and has made a grim and bedraggled Tom Fool 
 of me. 
 
 ... I must end this. I have just fallen in a faint 
 on the floor, and Rogers has revived me with some 
 drops Hunnington had given me in view of such a con- 
 tingency. 
 
 These are the last words I shall write. Life is too 
 transcendentally humorous for a man not to take it 
 seriously. Compared with it, Death is but a shallow 
 jest
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 It is many weeks since I wrote those words which I 
 thought were to be my last. I read them over now, 
 and laugh aloud. Life is more devilishly humorous 
 than I in my most nightmare dreams ever imagined. 
 Instead of dying at Mentone as I proposed, I am here, 
 at Mustapha Superieur, still living. And let me tell 
 you the master joke of the Arch- J ester. 
 
 I am going to live. 
 
 I am not going to die. I am going to live. I am 
 quite well. 
 
 Think of it. Is it farcical, comical, tragical, or what ? 
 
 This is how it has befallen. The last thing I re- 
 member of the old conditions was Rogers packing my 
 things, and a sudden awful, excruciating agony. I 
 lost consciousness, remained for days in a bemused, 
 stupefied state, which I felt convinced was death, and 
 found particularly pleasant. At last I woke to a sense 
 of bodily constriction and discomfort, and to the queer 
 realisation that what I had taken for the Garden of 
 Prosperine was my own bedroom, and that the pale lady 
 whom I had so confidently assumed was she who, 
 crowned with palm leaves, " gathers all things mortal 
 with cold, immortal hands," was no other than a blue- 
 . and-white-vested hospital nurse. 
 
 " What the " I began. 
 
 " Chut ! " she said, flitting noiselessly to my side. 
 " You mustn't talk." And then she poured something 
 
 216
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 217 
 
 down my throat. I lay back, wondering what it all 
 meant. Presently a grizzled and tanned man, wearing 
 a narrow black tie, came into the room. His face 
 seemed oddly famUiar. The nurse whispered to him. 
 He came up to the bed, and asked me in French how I felt. 
 
 " I don't know at all," said I. 
 
 He laughed. •' That's a good sign. Let me see how 
 you are getting on." He stuck a thermometer in my 
 mouth and held my pulse. These formalities com- 
 pleted, he turned up the bedclothes and did something 
 with my body. Only then did I realise that I was 
 tightly bandaged. My impressions grew clearer, and 
 when he raised his face I recognised the doctor who had 
 sat on the sofa with Anastasius Papadopoulos. 
 
 " Nothing could be better," said he. " Keep quiet, 
 and all will be well." 
 
 " Will you kindly explain ? " I asked. 
 
 " You've had an operation. Also a narrow escape." 
 
 I smiled at him pityingly. " What is the good of 
 taking all this trouble ? Why are you wasting your time ? ' ' 
 
 He looked at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, 
 and then he laughed as the light came to him. 
 
 " Oh, I understand ! Yes. ,Your English doctors 
 had told you you were going to die. That an operation 
 would be fatal — so your good friend Madame Brandt 
 informed us — but we — nous autrcs Frangais — are more 
 enterprising. Kill or cure. We performed the opera- 
 tion — we didn't kill you — and here you are — cured." 
 
 My heart sickened with a horrible foreboding. A 
 clamminess, such as others feel at the approach of 
 death, spread over my brow and neck. 
 
 " Good God ! " I cried. " You are not trying to tell 
 me that I'm going to live ? " 
 
 " Why, of course I am ! " he exclaimed, brutally
 
 2i8 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 delighted, " If nothing else kills you, you'll live to be 
 a hundred." 
 
 " Oh, damn !" said I. " Oh, damn ! Oh, damn!" 
 and the tears of physical weakness poured down my 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Ce sont des droles de gens, les Anglais .' " I heard him 
 whisper to the nurse before he left the room. 
 
 Belonging to a queer folk or not, I found the prospect 
 more and more dismally appalling according as my mind 
 regained its clarity. It was the most overwhelming, 
 piteous disappointment I have ever experienced in my 
 life. I cursed in my whimpering, invalid fashion. 
 
 " But don't you want to get well ? " asked the wide- 
 eyed nurse. 
 
 " Certainly not 1 I thought I was dead, and I was 
 very happy, I've been tricked and cheated and 
 fooled," and I dashed my fist against the counterpane. 
 
 " If you go on in this way," said the nurse, " you will 
 commit suicide." 
 
 " I don't care ! " I cried— and then, they tell me, 
 fainted. My temperature also ran up, and I became 
 lightheaded again. It was not until the next day 
 that I recovered my sanity. This time Lola was in the 
 room with the nurse, and after a while the latter left 
 us together. Even Lola could not understand my 
 paralysing dismay. 
 
 " But think of it, my dear friend," she argued, " just 
 think of it. You are saved — saved by a miracle. The 
 doctor says you will be stronger than you have ever been 
 before." 
 
 " All the more dreadful will it be," said I. " I had 
 finished with Hfe. I had got through with it. I don't 
 want a second hfetime. One is quite enough for any 
 sane human being. Why on earth couldn't they have 
 let me die ? "
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 219 
 
 Lola passed her cool hand over my forehead. 
 
 " You mustn't talk Hke that — Simon," she said, in 
 her deepest and most caressing voice, using my name 
 somewhat hesitatingly, for the first time. " You 
 mustn't. A miracle really has been performed. You've 
 been raised from the dead — Hke the man in the 
 Gospel " 
 
 " Yes," said I petulantly, " Lazarus. And does the 
 Gospel tell us what Lazarus really thought of the 
 unwarrantable interference with his plans ? Of course 
 he had to be pohte " 
 
 " Oh, don't ! " cried Lola, shocked. In a queer, 
 unenlightened way, she was a religious woman. 
 
 " I'm sorry," said I, feeling ashamed of myself. 
 
 " If you knew how I have prayed God to make you 
 well," she said. " If I could have died for you, I 
 would — gladly — gladly ' ' 
 
 " But I wanted to die, my dear Lola," I insisted, with 
 the egotism of the sick. " I object to this resuscitation. 
 I say it is monstrous that I should have to start a 
 second hfetime at my age. It's all very well when you 
 begin at the age of half a minute — but when you begin 
 at eight-and-thirty years " 
 
 " You have all the wisdom of eight-and-thirty years 
 to start with." 
 
 " There is only one thing more disastrous to a man 
 than the wisdom of thirty-eight years," I declared with 
 mulish inconvincibihty, " and that is the wisdom he may 
 accumulate after that age." 
 
 She sighed and abandoned the argument. " We are 
 going to make you well in spite of yourself," she said. 
 
 They, namely, the doctor, the nurse, and Lola, have 
 done their best, and they have succeeded. But their 
 task has been a hard one. The patient's will to live is 
 always a great factor in his recovery. My disgust at
 
 220 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 having to live has impeded my convalescence, and I 
 fully believe that it is only Lola's tears and the doctor's 
 frenzied appeals to me not to destroy the one chance of 
 his life of establishing a brilliant professional reputation 
 that have made me consent to face existence again. 
 
 As for the doctor, he was pathetically insistent. 
 
 " But, tonnerre de Dieu, you must get well ! " he 
 gesticulated. " I am going to publish it, your operation. 
 It will make my fortune. I shall at last be able to leave 
 this hole of an Algiers and go to Paris ! You don't 
 know what I've done for you, ingrat ! I've performed 
 an operation on you that has never been performed 
 successfully before. I thought it had been done, but I 
 found out afterwards my English confreres were right. 
 It hasn't. I've worked a miracle in surgery, and by 
 my publication will make you as the subject of it 
 famous for ever. And here you are trying to die and 
 ruin everything. I ask you — have you no human 
 feelings left ? " 
 
 At the conclusion of these lectures I would sigh and 
 laugh, and stretch out a thin hand. He shook it always 
 with a humorous grumpiness, and a " sale bete va ! " 
 which did me more good than the prospect of acquiring 
 fame in the annals of the Ecole de Medecine. 
 
 Here am I, however, cured. I have thrown away the 
 stick with which I first began to limp about the garden, 
 and I discourage Lola and Rogers in their efforts to treat 
 me as an invalid. Like the doctor, I have been longing 
 to escape from " this hole of an Algiers " and its painful 
 associations, and, when I was able to leave my room, it 
 occurred to me that the sooner I regained my strength 
 the sooner should I be able to do so. Since then^my 
 recovery has been rapid. The doctor is delighted, and 
 slaps me on the back, and points me out to Lola and the
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 221 
 
 manager and the concierge and the hoary old sinner of 
 an Arab who displays his daggers, and trays, and em- 
 broideries on the terrace, as a living wonder. I believe 
 he would like to put me in a cage and carry me about 
 with him in Paris on exhibition. But he is reluctantly 
 prepared to part with me, and has consented to my 
 return in a few days' time, to England, by the North 
 German Lloyd steamer. He has ordered the sea 
 voyage as a finishing-touch to my cure. Good, deluded 
 man, he thinks that it is his fortuitous science that has 
 dragged me out of the Valley of the Shadow and set me 
 in the Garden of Life. Good, deluded man ! He does 
 not realise that he has been merely the tool of the Arch- 
 Jester. He has no notion of the sardonic joke his knife 
 was chosen to perpetrate. That naked we should come 
 into the world, and naked we should go out is a time- 
 honoured pleasantry which, as far as the latter part of 
 it is concerned, I did my conscientious best to further ; 
 but that we should come into it again naked at the age of 
 eight-and-thirty is a piece of irony too grim for con- 
 templation. Yet am I bound to contemplate it. It 
 grins me in the face. Figuratively, I am naked. 
 
 Partly by my own act, and partly with the help of 
 Destiny (thegreater jester than I) I have stripped myself 
 of all those garments of life which not only enabled me 
 to strut peacock-fashion in the pleasant places of the 
 world, but also sheltered me from its inclemencies. 
 
 I had wealth — not a Rothschild or Vanderbilt fortune 
 but enough to assure me ease and luxury. I have 
 stripped myself of it. I have but a beggarly sum 
 remaining at my bankers. Practically I am a pauper. 
 
 I had political position. I surrendered it as airily as 
 I had achieved it ; so airily, indeed, that I doubt whether 
 I could regain it even had I the ambition. For it was a
 
 222 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 game that I played, sometimes fascinating, sometimes 
 repugnant to my fastidious sense of honourable dealing, 
 for which I shall never recapture the mood. Mood 
 depends on conditions, and conditions, as I am trying 
 to show, are changed. 
 
 I had social position. I did not deceive myself as to 
 its value in the cosmic scheme, but it was one of the 
 pleasant things to which I was bom, just as I was bom 
 to good food and wines and unpatched boots and the 
 morning hot water brought into my bedroom. I liked 
 it. I suspect that it has fled into eternity with the 
 spirit of Captain Vauvenarde. The penniless hero of 
 an amazing scandal is not usually made an idol of by the 
 exclusive aristocracy of Great Britain. 
 
 I had a sweet and loyal woman about to marry me. 
 I put Eleanor Faversham for ever out of my life. 
 
 I had the devotion and hero-worship of a lad whom I 
 thought to train in the paths of honour, love and happi- 
 ness. In his eyes I suppose I am an unconscionable 
 villain. 
 
 I have stripped myself of everything ; and all because 
 the medical faculty of my country sentenced me to 
 death. I really think the Royal Colleges of Surgeons 
 and Physicians ought to pay me an indemnity. 
 
 And not only have I stripped myself of everything, 
 but I have incurred an incalculable debt. I owe a 
 woman the infinite debt of her love which I cannot 
 repay. She sheds it on me hourly with a lavishness 
 which scares me. But for her tireless devotion, the 
 doctor tells me, I should not have lived. But for her 
 selfless forbearance, sympathy, and compassion I 
 should have gone as crazy as Anastasius Papadopoulos. 
 Yet the burden of my debt lies iceberg cold on my heart. 
 Now that we are as intimate as man and woman who 
 are still only friends can be. she has lost the magnetic
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 223 
 
 attraction, that subtle mystery of the woman — half 
 goddess, half panther — which fascinated me in spite of 
 myself, and made me jealous of poor young Dale. Now 
 that I can see things in some perspective, I confess that, 
 had I not been under sentence of death, and, therefore, 
 profoundly convinced that I was immune from all such 
 weaknesses of the flesh, I should have realised the 
 temptation of languorous voice and sinuous limbs, of the 
 frank radiation of the animal enchanted as it was by 
 elusive gleams of the spiritual, of the Laisdom and 
 Thaisdom and Phrynedom, of the Lamiadom — in a 
 word, of all the sexual damnability in a woman which, 
 as Francois Villon points out, set Sardanapalus to spin 
 among the women, David to forget the fear of God, 
 Herod to slay the Baptist, and made Samson lose his 
 sight. Whether I should have yielded to or resisted 
 the temptation is another matter. Honestly speaking, 
 I think I should have resisted. 
 
 You see, I should still have been engaged to Eleanor 
 Faversham. . . . But now this somewhat unholy in- 
 fluence is gone from her. She has lifted me in her strong 
 arms as a mother would Hft a brat of ten. She has 
 patiently suffered my whimsies as if I had been a sick 
 girl. She has become to me the mere great mothering 
 creature on whom I have depended for custard and the 
 removal of crumbs and creases from under my body, and 
 for support to my tottering footsteps. The glamour 
 ha> gone from before my eyes. I no longer see her 
 invested in her queer splendour. . . . 
 
 My invalid peevishness, too, has accentuated my 
 sensitiveness to shades of refinement. There is about 
 Lola a bluffness, a hardihood of speech, a contempt for 
 the polite word and the pretty conventional turning of 
 a phrase, a lack of reticence in the expression of ideas 
 and feelings, which jar, in spite of my gratitude, on my
 
 224 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 unstrung nerves. Her ignorance, too, of a thousand 
 things, a knowledge of which is the birthright of such 
 women as Eleanor Faversham, causes conversational 
 excursions to end in innumerable blind alleys. I know 
 that she would give her soul to learn. This she has told 
 me in so many words, and when, in a delicate way, I try 
 to teach her, she listens humbly, pathetically, fixing me 
 with her great, gold-flecked eyes, behind which a deep 
 sadness burns wistfully. Sometimes when I glance up 
 from my book, I see that her eyes, instead of being bent 
 on hers, have been resting long on my face, and they say 
 as clearly as articulate speech : " Beat me, teach me, 
 love me, use me, do what you will with me. I am yours, 
 your chattel, your thing, till the end of time." 
 
 I lie awake at night and wonder what I shall do with 
 my naked life sheltered only by the garment of this 
 woman's love, which I have accepted and cannot repay. 
 I groan aloud when I reflect on the irremediable mess, 
 hash, bungle I have made of things. Did ever sick man 
 wake up to such a hopeless welter ? Can you be sur- 
 prised that I regarded it with dismay ? Of course, 
 there is a simple way out of it, and into the shadowy 
 world which I contemplated so long, at first with 
 mocking indifference and then with eager longing. A 
 gentleman called Cato once took it, with considerable 
 aplomb. The means are to my hand. In my drawer 
 lies the revolver with which the excellent Colonel 
 Bunnion (long since departed from Mustapha Superieur) 
 armed me against the banditti of Algiers, and which I 
 forgot to return to him. I could empty one or more of 
 the six chambers into my person and that would be the 
 end. But I don't think history records the suicide of 
 any humorist, however dismal. He knows too well the 
 tricks of the Arch- J ester's game. Very likely I should 
 merely blow away half my head, and Destiny would
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 225 
 
 give my good doctor another chance of achieving im- 
 mortal fame by glueing it on again. No, I cannot think 
 seriously of suicide by violent means. Of course, I 
 might follow the example of one Antonius Polemon, a 
 later Greek sophist, who suffered so dreadfully from 
 gout that he buried himself ahve in the tomb of his 
 ancestors and starved to death. We have a family 
 vault in Highgate Cemetery of which I possess the 
 key. . . . No, I should be bored and cold, and the 
 coffins would get on my nerves ; and besides, there is 
 something suggestive of smug villadom in the idea of 
 going to die at Highgate. 
 
 Lola came up as I was scribbling this on my knees in 
 the garden. 
 
 " What are you writing there ? " 
 
 " I am recasting Hamlet's soliloquy," I replied, " and 
 I feel all the better for it." 
 
 " Here is your egg and brandy." 
 
 I swallowed it and handed her back the glass. 
 
 " I feel all the better for that, too." 
 
 As I sat in the shade of the little stone summer-house 
 within the Greek portico, she lingered in the blazing 
 sunshine, a figure all glorious health and supple curves, 
 and the stray brown hairs above the bronze mass 
 gleamed with the gold of a Giotto aureole. She stood 
 a duskily glowing, radiant emblem of hfe against the 
 background of spring greenery and rioting convolvulus. 
 I drew a full breath and looked at her as if magnetised. 
 I had the very oddest sensation. She seemed, in 
 Shakespearean phrase, to rain influence upon me. 
 Something electric in her rich vitality quickened me. As 
 if she read the stirrings of my blood, she smiled and said : 
 
 *' After all, confess, isn't it good to be alive ? " 
 
 A thrill of physical well-being swept through me. 
 I leaped to my feet.
 
 226 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " You witch ! " I cried. " What are you doing to me ?" 
 
 " I ? " She retreated a step, with a laugh. 
 
 " Yes, you. You are casting a spell on me, so that I 
 may eat my words." 
 
 " I don't know what you are talking about, but you 
 haven't answered my question. It is good to be alive." 
 
 "Well, it is," I assented, losing all sense of consistency. 
 
 She flourished the egg-and-brandy glass. " I'm so 
 glad. Now I know you are really well, and will face 
 life as you faced death, like the brave man that you are." 
 
 I cried to her to hold. I had not intended to go as 
 far as that. I confronted death with a smile ; I meet 
 life with the wriest of wry faces. She would have none 
 of my arguments, 
 
 " No matter how damnable it is — it's splendid to be 
 alive, just to feel that you can fight, just to feel that you 
 don't care a damn for any old thing that can happen, 
 because you're strong and brave. I do want you to get 
 back all that you've lost, all that you've lost through 
 me, and you'll do it. I know that you'll do it. You'll 
 just go out and smash up the silly old world and bring 
 it to your feet. You will, Simon, won't you ? I know 
 you will," 
 
 She quivered like an optimistic Cassandra. 
 
 " My dear Lola," said I. 
 
 I was touched. I took her hand and raised it to 
 my lips, whereat she flushed like a girl. 
 
 " Did you come here to tell me all this ? " 
 
 " No," she replied simply. " It came all of a sudden, 
 as I was standing here. I've often wanted to say it. 
 I'm glad I have." 
 
 She threw back her head and regarded me a moment 
 with a strange, proud smile ; then turned and walked 
 slowly away, her head brushing the long scarlet clusters 
 of the pepper-trees.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 The other day, while looking through a limbo of a 
 drawer wherein have been cast from time to time a 
 medley of maimed, half-soiled, abortive things, too 
 unfitted for the paradise of publication, and too good 
 (so my vanity will have it) for the damnation of the 
 waste-paper basket, I came across, at the very bottom, 
 the manuscript of the preceding autobiographical 
 narrative, the last words of which I wrote at Mustapha 
 Superieur three years ago. At first I carried it about 
 with me, not caring to destroy it and not knowing what 
 in the world to do with it until, with the malice of 
 inanimate things, the dirty dog's-eared bundle took to 
 haunting me, turning up continually in inconvenient 
 places and ever insistently demanding a new depository. 
 At last I began to look on it with loathing ; and one day 
 in a fit of inspiration, creating the limbo aforesaid, I 
 hurled the manuscript, as I thought, into everlasting 
 oblivion. I had no desire to carry on the record of my 
 life any further, and there, in limbo, it has remained for 
 three years. But the other day I took it out for 
 reference ; and now as I am holiday-making in a 
 certain little backwater of the world, where it is raining 
 in a most unholiday fashion, it occurs to me that, as 
 everything has happened to me which is likely to happen 
 (Heaven knows I want no more excursions and alarums 
 in my life's drama), I may as well bring the narrative 
 up to date. I therefore take up the thread, so far as I 
 can, from where I left off. 
 
 237
 
 228 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Lola, having nothing to do in Algiers, which had 
 grov^Ti hateful to us both, accompanied me to London. 
 As, however, the weather was rough, and she was a 
 very bad sailor, I saw little of her on the voyage. For 
 my own part, I enjoyed the stormy days, the howling 
 winds and the infuriated waves dashing impotently 
 over the steamer. They filled me with a sense of con- 
 flict and of amusement. It is always good to see man 
 triumphing over the murderous forces of nature. It 
 puts one in conceit with one's kind. 
 
 At Waterloo I handed Lola over to her maid, who 
 had come to meet her, and, leaving Rogers in charge of 
 my luggage, I drove homeward in a cab. 
 
 It was only as I was crossing Waterloo Bridge and 
 saw the dark mass of the Houses of Parliament looming 
 on the other side of the river, and the light in the tower 
 which showed that the House was sitting, that I began 
 to realise my situation. As exiles in desert lands yearn 
 for green fields, so yearned I for those green benches. 
 In vain I represented to myself how often I had yawned 
 on them, how often I had cursed my folly in sitting on 
 them and listening to empty babble when I might have 
 been dining cosily, or talking to a pretty woman or 
 listening to a comic opera, or performing some other 
 useful and soul-satisfying action of the kind'; in vain 
 I told myself what a monument of futility was that 
 building ; I longed to be in it and of it once again. 
 And when I realised that I yearned for the im- 
 possible, my heart was like a stone. For, indeed, I, 
 Simon de Gex, with London once a toy to my hand, 
 was coming into it now a penniless adventurer to seek 
 my fortune. 
 
 The cab turned into the Strand, which greeted me as 
 affably as a pandemonium. Motor omnibuses whizzed 
 at me, cabs rattled and jeered at me, private motors and
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 229 
 
 carriages passed me by in sleek contempt ; policemen 
 regarded me scornfully as, with uplifted hand regulating 
 the traffic, they held me up ; pavements full of people 
 surged along ostentatiously showing that they did not 
 care a brass farthing for me ; the thousands of lights 
 with their milhon reflections, from shop fronts, restau- 
 rants, theatres, and illuminated signs glared pitilessly 
 at me. A harsh roar of derision filled the air, like the 
 bass to the treble of the newsboys who yelled in my 
 face. I was wearing a fur-lined coat — just the thing a 
 penniless adventurer would wear. I had a valet 
 attending to my luggage — just the sort of thing a 
 penniless adventurer would have. I was driving to 
 the Albany — just the sort of place where a penniless 
 adventurer would live. And London knew all this — 
 and scoffed at me in stony heartlessness. The only 
 object that gave me the slightest sympathy was Nelson 
 on top of his column. He seemed to say, " After all, 
 you canH feel such a fool and so much out in the cold 
 as I do up here." 
 
 At Piccadilly Circus I found the same atmosphere of 
 hostility. My cab was blocked in the theatre-going 
 tide, and in neighbouring vehicles I had glimpses of fair 
 faces above soft wraps and the profiles of moustached 
 young men in white ties. They assumed an aggravating 
 air of ownership of the blazing thoroughfare, the only 
 gay and joyous spot in London. I, too, had owned it 
 once, but now I felt an alien ; and the whole spirit of 
 Piccadilly Circus rammed the sentiment home — I was 
 an alien and an undesirable alien. I felt even more 
 lost and friendless as I entered the long, cold arcade 
 (known as the Rope-walk) of the Albany. 
 
 I found my sister Agatha waiting for me in the 
 library. IJiad telegraphed to her from Southampton. 
 She was expensively dressed in grey silk, and wore the
 
 230 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 family diamonds. We exchanged the family kiss and the 
 usual incoherent greetings of our race. She expressed 
 her delight at my restoration to health and gave me 
 satisfactory tidings of Tom Durrell, her husband, of the 
 children, and of our sister Jane. Then she shook her 
 head at me, and made me feel like a naughty little boy. 
 This I resented. Being the head of the family, I had 
 always encouraged the deferential attitude which my 
 sisters, dear right-minded things, had naturally assumed 
 from babyhood. 
 
 " Oh, Simon, what a time you've"given us ! " 
 
 She had never spoken to me like this in her life. 
 
 " That's nothing, my dear Agatha," said I just a bit 
 tartly, " to the time I've given myself. I'm sorry for 
 you, but I think you ought to be a little sorry for me." 
 
 " I am. More sorry than I can say. Oh, Simon, 
 how could you ? " 
 
 " How could I what ? " I cried, unusually regardless 
 of the elegances of language. 
 
 " Mix yourself up in this dreadful affair ? " 
 
 " My dear girl," said I, " if you had got mixed up in a 
 railway collision, I shouldn't ask you how you managed 
 to do it. I should be sorry for you and feel your arms 
 and legs and inquire whether you had sustained any 
 internal injuries." 
 
 She is a pretty, spare woman with a bird-like face and 
 soft brown hair just turning grey ; and as good-hearted 
 a little creature as ever adored five healthy children and 
 an elderly baronet with disastrous views on scientific 
 farming. 
 
 " Dear old boy," she said in milder accents, " I didn't 
 mean to be unkind. I want to be good to you and help 
 you, so much so that I asked Bingley " — Bingley is my 
 housekeeper — " whether I could stay to dinner."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 231 
 
 " That's good of you — but this magnificence ? " 
 
 " I'm going on later to the Foreign Office reception." 
 
 " Then you do still mingle with the great and 
 gorgeous ? " I said. 
 
 " What do you mean ? Why shouldn't I ? " 
 
 I laughed, suspecting rightly that my sisters' social 
 position had not been greatly imperilled by the pro- 
 fligacy of their scandal-bespattered brother. 
 
 " What are people sajnng about me ? " I asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 She made a helpless gesture. " Can't you guess ? You 
 have told us the facts, and, of course, we believe you ; 
 we have done our best to spread abroad the correct 
 version — but you know what people are. If they're told 
 they oughtn't to beheve the worst, they're disappointed 
 and still go on beheving it so as to comfort themselves." 
 
 " You cynical little wretch ! " said I. 
 
 " But it's true," she urged. " And. after all, even 
 if they were well disposed, the correct version makes 
 considerable demands on their faith. Even Letty 
 Farfax " 
 
 " I know, I know ! " said I. " Letty Farfax is 
 typical. She would love to be on the side of the angels, 
 but as she wouldn't meet the best people there, she 
 ranges herself with the other party." 
 
 Presently we dined, and during the meal, when the 
 servants happened to be out of the room, we continued, 
 snippet-wise, the inconclusive conversation. Like a 
 good sister Agatha had come to cheer a lonely and 
 much-abused man ; like a daughter of Eve she had also 
 come to find out as much as she possibly could. 
 
 " I think I must tell you something which you ought 
 to know," she said. " It's all over the town that you 
 stole the lady from Dale Kynnersley."
 
 232 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " If I did," said I, " it was at his mother's earnest 
 entreaty. You can tell folks that. You can also tell 
 them Madame Brandt is not the kind of woman to be 
 stolen by one man from another. She is a thoroughly 
 virtuous, good, and noble woman, and there's not a 
 creature living who wouldn't be honoured by her friend- 
 ship." 
 
 As I made this announcement with an impetuosity 
 which reminded me (with a twinge of remorse) of poor 
 Dale's dithyrambics, Agatha shot at me a quick glance 
 of apprehension. 
 
 " But, my dear Simon, she used to act in a circus with 
 a horse ! " 
 
 " I fail to see," said I, growing angry, " how the horse 
 could have imbued her with depravity, and I'm given 
 to understand that the tone of the circus is not quite 
 what it used to be in the days of the Empress Theodora." 
 
 A ripple passed over Agatha's bare shoulders, which 
 I knew to be a suppressed shrug. 
 
 " I suppose men and women look at these things 
 differently," she remarked, and from the stiffness of her 
 tone I divined that the idea of moral qualities lurking in 
 the nature of Lola Brandt occasioned her considerable 
 displeasure. 
 
 " I hope " She paused. There was another 
 
 ripple. " No. I had better not say it. It's none of 
 my business, after all." 
 
 " I don't think it is, my dear," said I. 
 
 Rogers bringing in the cutlets ended the snippet of 
 talk. 
 
 It was not the cheeriest of dinners. I took advantage 
 of the next interval of quiet to inquire after Dale. I 
 learned that the poor boy had almost collapsed after the 
 election and was now yachting with young Lord Essen-
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 233 
 
 dale somewhere about the Hebrides. Agatha had not 
 seen him, but Lady Kynnersley had called on her one 
 day in a distracted frame of mind, bitterly reproaching 
 me for the unhappiness of her son, I should never have 
 suspected that such fierce maternal love could burn 
 beneath Lady Kynnersley's granite exterior. She 
 accused me of treachery towards Dale and, most 
 illogically, of dishonourable conduct towards herself. 
 
 " She said things about you," said Agatha, " for 
 which, even if they were true, I couldn't forgive her. 
 So that's an end of that friendship. Indeed, it has been 
 very difficult, Simon," she continued, " to keep up with 
 our common friends. It has placed us in the most pain- 
 ful and delicate position. And now you're back, I'm 
 afraid it will be worse." 
 
 Thus under all Agatha's affection there ran the gene- 
 ral hostihty of London. Guilty or not, I had offended 
 her in her most deeply rooted susceptibilities, and as 
 yet she only knew half the imbroglio in which I was 
 enmeshed. Over coffee, however, she began to take 
 a more optimistic view of affairs. 
 
 " After all, you'll be able to live it dow^n," she said 
 with a cheerful air of patronage. " People soon forget. 
 Before the year is out you'll be going about just as 
 usual, and at the General Election you'll find a seat 
 somewhere." 
 
 I informed her that I had given up politics. What 
 then, she asked, would I do for an occupation ? 
 
 " Work for my living," I replied. 
 
 " Work ? " She arched her eyebrows, as if it were 
 the most extraordinary thing a man could do, " What 
 kind of work ? " 
 
 " Road-sweeping or tax-collecting or envelope- 
 addressing."
 
 234 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 She selected a cigarette from the silver box in front 6f 
 her, and did not reply until she had lit it and inhaled a 
 puff or two. 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't be so flippant, Simon." 
 
 From this remark I inferred that I still was in the 
 criminal dock before this lady Chief Justice. I smiled at 
 the airs the httle woman gave herself now that I was no 
 longer the impeccable and irreproachable dictator of 
 the family. Mine was the experience of every fallen 
 tyrant since the world began. 
 
 " My dear Agatha," said I, " I've had enough shocks 
 during the last few weeks to knock the flippancy out of a 
 congregational minister. In November I was con- 
 demned to die within six months. The sentence was 
 final and absolute. I thought I would do the kind of 
 good one can't do with a lifetime in front of one and I 
 wasted all my substance in riotous giving. In the ele- 
 gant phraseology of high society I am stone-broke. As 
 my training has not fitted me to earn my living in high- 
 falutin ways, I must earn it in some humble capacity. 
 Therefore, if you see me call at your house for the 
 water rate, you'll understand that I am driven to 
 that expedient by necessity and not by degrada- 
 tion." 
 
 Naturally I had to elaborate this succinct statement 
 before my sister could understand its full significance. 
 Then dismay overwhelmed her. Surely something 
 could be done. The fortunes of Jane and herself were 
 at my disposal to set me on my feet again. We were 
 brother and sisters ; what was theirs was mine ; they 
 couldn't see me starve. I thanked her for her affection 
 — the dear creatures would unhesitatingly have let me 
 play ducks and drakes with their money — but I ex- 
 plained that though poor, I was still proud and prized
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 235 
 
 the independence of the tax-collector above the position 
 of the pensioner of Love's bounty. 
 
 " Tom must get you something to do," she declared. 
 
 " Tom must do nothing of the kind. Let me say that 
 once and for all," I returned peremptorily. " I've made 
 my position clear to you, because you're my sister and 
 you ought to be spared any further misinterpretation of 
 my actions. But to have you dear people intriguing 
 after billets for me would be intolerable." 
 
 " But what are you going to do ? " she cried, wringing 
 her hands. 
 
 *' I'm going for my first omnibus ride to-morrow," 
 said I heroically. 
 
 Upon which assertion Rogers entered announcing 
 that her ladyship's carriage had arrived. A while later 
 I accompanied her downstairs and along the arcade. 
 
 " I shall be so miserable, thinking of you, poor old 
 boy," she said affectionately as she bade me good-bye. 
 
 " Don't," said I. " I am going to enjoy myself for 
 the first time in my life." 
 
 These were " prave 'orts," but I felt doleful enough 
 when I re-entered the chambers where I had lived in 
 uncomplaining luxury for fourteen years. 
 
 " There's no help for it," I murmured. " I must get 
 rid of the remainder of my lease, sell my books and 
 pictures and other more or less expensive household gods, 
 dismiss Rogers and Bingley, and go and live on thirty 
 shillings a week in a Bloomsbury boarding-house. I 
 think," I continued, regarding myself in the Queen Anne 
 mirror over the mantelpiece, " I think that it will better 
 harmonise with my fallen fortunes if I refrain from wax- 
 ing the ends of my moustache. There ought to be a 
 modest droop about the moustache of a tax-collector." 
 
 The next morning I gave my servants a month's
 
 236 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 notice. Rogers, who had been with me for many years, 
 behaved in the correctest manner. He neither offered 
 to lend me his modest savings nor to work for me for no 
 wages. He expressed his deep regret at leaving my ser- 
 vice and his confidence that I would give him a good 
 character. Bingley wept after the way of women. 
 There was also a shadowy housemaidy young person in 
 a cap who used to make meteoric appearances and whom 
 I left to the diplomacy of Bingley. These dismal rites 
 performed, I put my chambers into the hands of a house 
 agent and interviewed a firm of auctioneers with re- 
 ference to the sale. It was all exceedingly unpleasant. 
 The agent was so anxious to let my chambers, the auc- 
 tioneer so delighted at the chance of selling my effects, 
 that I felt myself forthwith turned neck and crop out of 
 doors. It was a bright morning in early spring, with a 
 satirical touch of hope in the air. London, no longer 
 to be my London, maintained its hostile attitude to me. 
 If any one had prophesied that I should be a stranger 
 in Piccadilly, I should have laughed aloud. Yet I was. 
 
 Walking moodily up Saint James's Street I met the 
 omniscient and expansive Renniker. He gave me a 
 curt nod and a " How d'ye do ? " and passed on. I 
 felt savagely disposed to slash his jaunty silk hat off 
 with my walking-stick. A few months before he would 
 have rushed effusively into my arms and bedaubed me 
 with miscellaneous inaccuracies of information. At 
 first I was furiously indignant. Then I laughed, and 
 swinging my stick nearly wreaked my vengeance on a 
 harmless elderly gentleman. 
 
 It was my first experience of social ostracism. Al- 
 though I curled a contumelious lip, I smarted under the 
 indignity. It was all very well to say proudly " io soil* 
 io'" ; but io used to be a person of some importance
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 237 
 
 who was not cavalierly " how d'ye do'd " by creatures 
 like Rennikcr. This and the chance encounters of the 
 next few weeks gave me furiously to think. I knew that 
 in one respect my sister Agatha was right. These good 
 folk who shied now at the stains of murder with which 
 my reputation was soiled would in time get used to 
 them and eventually forget them altogether. But I re- 
 flected that I should not forget, and I determined that 
 I should not be admitted on sufferance, as at first I 
 should have to be admitted, into any man's club or any 
 woman's drawing-room. 
 
 One day Colonel Ellerton, Maisie Ellerton's father, 
 called on me. He used to be my very good friend ; we 
 sat on the same side of the House and voted together on 
 innumerable occasions in perfect sympathy and com- 
 mon lack of conviction. He was cordial enough, con- 
 gratulated me on my marvellous restoration to health, 
 deplored my absence from Parliamentary life, and then 
 began to talk confusedly of Russia. It took Httle per- 
 spicacity to see that something was weighing on the 
 good man's mind ; something he had come to say and 
 for his honest life could not get out. His phght 
 became more pitiable as the interview proceeded, and 
 when he rose to go, he grew as red as a turkey-cock and 
 began to splutter. I went to his rescue. 
 
 "It's very kind of you to have come to' see me, 
 Ellerton," I said, " but if I don't call yet awhile to pay 
 my respects to your wife, I hope you'll understand, and 
 not attribute it to discourtesy." 
 
 I have never seen rehef so clearly depicted on a human 
 countenance. He drew a long breath and instinctively 
 passed his handkerchief over his forehead. Then he 
 grasped my hand. 
 
 " My dear fellow," he cried, " of course we'll under-
 
 238 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 stand. It was a shocking affair — terrible for you. My 
 wife and I were quite bowled over by it." 
 
 I did not attempt to clear myself. What was the 
 use ? Every man denies these things as a matter of 
 course, and as a matter of course nobody believes him. 
 
 Once I ran across Elphin Montgomery, a mysterious 
 personage behind many musical comedy enterprises. 
 He is jewelled all over like a first-class Hindoo idol, and 
 is treated as a god in fashionable restaurants, where he 
 entertains riff-raff at sumptuous banquets. I had some 
 slight acquaintance with the fellow, but he greeted me 
 as though I were a long-lost intimate — his heavy sen- 
 sual face swagged in smiles — and invited me to a supper- 
 party. I declined with courtesy and walked away in 
 fury. He would not have presumed to ask me to meet 
 his riff-raff before I became disgustingly, and I suppose 
 to some minds fascinatingly, notorious. But now I was 
 hail-fellow-well-met with him, a bird of his own feather, 
 a rogue of his own kidney, to whom he threw open the 
 gates of his bediamonded and befrilled Alsatia. A 
 pestilential fellow ! As if I would mortgage my birth- 
 right for such a mess of pottage ! 
 
 So I stiffened and bade Society high and low go pack- 
 ing. I would neither seek mine own people, nor allow 
 myself to be sought by Elphin Montgomery's. I 
 enwrapped myself in a fine garment of defiance. My 
 sister Jane, who was harder and more worldly minded 
 than Agatha, would have had me don a helmet of brass 
 and a breastplate of rhinoceros hide and force my way 
 through reluctant portals ; but Agatha agreed with me, 
 clinging, however, to the hope that time would not only 
 reconcile Society to me, but would also reconcile me to 
 Society. 
 
 " If the hope comforts you, my dear Agatha," said I,
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 239 
 
 " by all means cherish it. In the meantime, allow me 
 to observe that the character of Ishmael is eminently 
 suited to the profession of tax-collecting." 
 
 During these early days of my return the one person 
 with whom I had no argument was Lola. She soothed 
 where others scratched, and stimulated where others 
 goaded. The intimacy of my convalescence continued. 
 At first I acquainted her, as far as was reasonably 
 necessary, with my change of fortune, and accepted 
 her offer to find me less expensive quarters. The de- 
 voted woman personally inspected every flat in London, 
 with that insistence of which masculine patience is 
 incapable, and eventually decided on a tiny bachelor 
 suite somewhere in the clouds over a block of flats in 
 Victoria Street where the service is included in the rent. 
 Into this I moved with such of my furniture as I with- 
 drew from the auctioneer's hammer, and there I pre- 
 pared to stay until necessity should drive me to the 
 Bloomsbury boarding-house. I thought I would 
 graduate my descent. Before I moved, however, she 
 came to the Albany for the first and only time to see the 
 splendour I was about to quit. In a modest way it was 
 splendour. My chambers were really a large double 
 flat to the tasteful furnishing of which I had devoted the 
 thought and interest of many years. She went with 
 me through the rooms. The dining-room was all 
 Chippendale, each piece a long-coveted and hunted 
 treasure ; the library old oak ; the drawing-room a 
 comfortable and cunning medley. There were bits of 
 old China, pieces of tapestry, some rare prints, my 
 choice collection of mezzotints, a picture or two of 
 value — one a Lancret, a very dear possession. And 
 there were my books — once I had a passion for rare 
 bindings. Everything had to me a personal signifi-
 
 240 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 cance, and I hated the idea of surrender more than I 
 dared to confess even to myself. But I said to Lola : 
 
 " Vanity of vanities ! All things expensive are 
 vanity ! " 
 
 Her eyes glistened and she slipped her arm through 
 mine and patted the back of my hand, 
 
 " If you talk hke that I shall cry and make a fool of 
 myself," she said in a broken manner. 
 
 It is not so much the thing that is done or the thing 
 that is said that matters, but the way of doing or saying 
 it. In the commonplace pat on the hand, in the break 
 in the commonplace words there was something that 
 went straight to my heart. I squeezed her arm and 
 whispered : 
 
 " Thank you, dear." 
 
 This sympathy so sure and yet so delicately conveyed 
 was mine for the trouble of mounting the stairs that led 
 to her drawing-room in Cadogan Gardens. She seemed 
 to be watching my heart the whole time, so that without 
 my asking, without my knowledge even, she could touch 
 each sore spot as it appeared with a healing finger. 
 For herself she made no claims, and because she did 
 not in any way declare herself to be unhappy, I, after 
 the manner of men, took her happiness for granted. 
 For lives there a man who does not believe that an un- 
 complaining woman has nothing to complain of ? It is 
 his masculine prerogative of density. Besides, does not 
 he himself when hurt bellow like a bull ? Why, he 
 argues, should not wounded woman do the same ? So, 
 when I wanted companionship, I used to sit in the 
 familiar room and make Adolphus, the Chow dog, 
 shoulder arms with the poker, and gossip restfully with 
 Lola, who sprawled in her old languorous, loose-limbed 
 way among the cushions of her easy chair. Gradually
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 241 
 
 my habitual reserve melted from me, and at last I gave 
 her my whole confidence, telHng her of my disastrous 
 pursuit of e-umoiriety, of Eleanor Faversham, of the 
 attitude of Society, in fact, of most of what I have set 
 down in the preceding pages. She was greatly inte- 
 rested in everything, especially in Eleanor Faversham. 
 She wanted to know the colour of her eyes and hair and 
 how she dressed. Women arc odd creatures. 
 
 The weeks passed. 
 
 Besides ministering to my dilapidated spirit, Lola 
 found occupation in looking after the cattery of Anas- 
 tasius Papadopoulos, which the little man had left in the 
 charge of his pupil and assistant, Quast. This Quast 
 apparently was a faithful, stolid, but unintelligent and 
 incapable German who had remained loyally at his post 
 untilLola found him there in a state of semi-starvation. 
 The sum of money with which Anastasius had provided 
 him had been eked out to the last farthing. The cats 
 were in a pitiable condition. Quast, in despair, was try- 
 ing to make up his dull mind whether to sell them or eat 
 them. Lola, with superb feminine disregard of legal 
 rights, annexed the whole cattery, maintained Quast 
 in his position of pupil and assistant and informed the 
 landlord that she would be responsible for the rent. 
 Then she set to work to bring the cats into their proper 
 condition of sleekness, and, that done, to put them 
 through a systematic course of training. They had 
 been thoroughly demoralised, she declared, under 
 Quast's maladministration, and had almost degenerated 
 into the unhistrionic pussies of domestic life. As for 
 Hephaestus, the great ferocious tom, he was more like an 
 insane tiger than a cat. He flew at the gate over which 
 he used to jump, and clawed and bit it to matchwood, 
 and after spitting in fury at the blazing hoop, sprang at 
 
 Q
 
 242 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 the unhappy Quast as if he had been the contriver of 
 the indignities to which he was being]subjected. These 
 tales of fehne backsHding I used to hear from Lola, and 
 when I asked her why she devoted her energies to the 
 unproductive education of the uninspiring animals, 
 she would shrug her shoulders and regard me with a 
 Giaconda smile. 
 
 " In the first place it amuses me. You seem to for- 
 get I'm a dompteuse, a tamer of beasts ; it's my pro- 
 ession, I was trained to it. It's the only thing I can do, 
 and it's good to feel that I haven't lost my power. It's 
 odd, but I feel a different woman when I'm impressing 
 my will on these wretched cats. You must come one of 
 these days and see a performance, when I've got them 
 shipshape. They'll astonish you. And then," she 
 would add, " I can write to Anastasius and tell him how 
 his beloved cats are getting on." 
 
 Well, it was an interest in her life which, Heaven 
 knows, was not crowded with exciting incidents. Now 
 that I can look back on these things with a philosophic 
 eye, I can imagine no drearier existence than that of a 
 friendless, unoccupied woman in a flat in Cadogan 
 Gardens. At that time, I did not realise this as com- 
 pletely as I might have done. Because her old surgeon 
 friend, Sir Joshua Oldfield, now and then took her out 
 to dinner, I considered she was leading a cheerful if not 
 a merry life. I smiled indulgently at Lola's devotion 
 to the cats and congratulated her on having found 
 another means whereby to beguile the tcedium vitce which 
 is the arch-enemy of content. 
 
 " I wish I could find such a means myself," said I. 
 
 I not only had the wish, but the imperative need to do 
 so. To stand like Ajax defying the lightning is magnifi- 
 cent : but as a continuous avocation it is wearisome
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 243 
 
 and unprofitable, especially if carried on in a tiny 
 bachelor suite, an eyrie of a place, at the top of a block 
 of flats in Victoria Street. Indeed, if I did not add soon 
 to the meagre remains of my fortune, I should not be 
 able to afford the luxury of the bachelor suite. Con- 
 scious of this, I left the hghtning alone, after a last de- 
 nunciatory shake of the fist, and descended into the 
 busy waj^s of men to look for work. 
 
 Thus I entered on the second stage of my career — 
 that of a soldier of Fortune. At first I was doubtful as 
 to what path to glory and bread and butter I could 
 carve out for myself. Hitherto I had been Fortune's 
 darling instead of her mercenary, and she had most 
 politely carved out my paths for me, until she had 
 played her jade's trick and left me in the ditch. Now 
 things were different. I stood alone, ironical, ambition- 
 less, still questioning the utility of human effort, yet 
 determined to play the game of life to its bitter end. 
 What could I do ? 
 
 It is true that I had been called to the Bar in my 
 tentative youth, while I drafted documents for my 
 betters to pull to pieces and rewrite at the Foreign 
 Office ; but I had never seen a brief, and my memories 
 of Gaius, Justinian, Williams's " Real Property," and 
 Austin's "Jurisprudence" were as nebulous as those 
 of the Differential Calculus over whose facetiae I had 
 pondered during my schooldays. The law was as closed 
 to me as medicine. I had no profession. I therefore 
 drifted into the one pursuit for which my training had 
 qualified me namely, political journalism. I had 
 written much, in my amateur way, during my ten years' 
 membership of Parliament ; why, I hardly know — not 
 because I needed money, not because I had thoughts 
 which I burned to express, and certainly not through
 
 244 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 vain desire of notoriety. Perhaps the motive was two- 
 fold, an ingrained Puckish delight in the incongruous — 
 it seemed incongruous for an airy epicurean like myself 
 to spend stodgy hours writing stodgier articles on 
 Pauper Lunacy and Poor Law Administration — and 
 the same inherited sense of gentlemanly obligation to 
 do something for one's king and country as made my 
 ancestors, whether they liked it or not, clothe themselves 
 in uncomfortable iron garments and go about fighting 
 other gentlemen similarly clad, to their own great 
 personal danger. At any rate, it complemented my 
 work at St. Stephen's, and doubtless contributed to a 
 reputation in the House which I did not gain through 
 my oratory. I could the*"efore bring to editors the 
 stock-in-trade of a fairly accurate knowledge of current 
 political issues, an appreciation of personalities, and a 
 philosophical, subrident estimate of the bubbles that are 
 for ever rising on the political surface. I found Finch 
 of The Universal Review, James of The Weekly, and one or 
 two others more than willing to give me employment. 
 I put my pen also at the disposal of Raggles. It was as 
 uplifting and about as mechanical as tax-collecting ; 
 but it involved less physical exertion and less unpleasant 
 contact with my fellow-creatures. I could also keep 
 the ends of my moustache waxed, which was a great 
 consolation. 
 
 My sister Agatha commended my courage and energy, 
 and Lola read my articles with a glowing enthusiasm, 
 which compensated for lack of exact understanding ; 
 but I was not proud of my position. It is one thing to 
 stand at the top of a marble staircase and in a debonair, 
 jesting fashion to fling insmcere convictions to a 
 recipient world. It is another to sell the same worthless 
 commodity for money. I began, to my curious dis- 
 comfort, to suspect that life had a meaning after all.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 One day I had walked from Cadogan Gardens with a 
 gadfly phrase of Lola's tormenting my ears : 
 
 " You're not quite alive even yet." 
 
 I had spent most of the day over a weekly article for 
 James's high-toned periodical, using the same old 
 shibboleths, proclaiming Gilead to be the one place for 
 balm, juggling with the same old sophistries, and 
 proving that Pope must hasve been out of his mind 
 when he declared that an honest man was the noblest 
 work of God, seeing that nobler than the most honest 
 man was the disingenuous government held up to 
 eulogy ; and I had gone tired, dispirited, out of conceit 
 with myself to Lola for tea and consolation. I had not 
 been the merriest company. I had spoken gloomily of 
 the cosmos, and when Adolphus the Chow dog had 
 walked down the room on his hind legs, I had railed at 
 the futility of canine effort. To Lola, who had put 
 forth all her artillery of artless and harmless coquetry 
 in voice and gesture, in order to lure my thoughts into 
 pleasanter ways, I exhibited the querulous grumpiness 
 of a spoiled village octogenarian. We discussed the 
 weather, which was worth discussing, for the spring, after 
 long tarrying, had come. It was early May. Lola 
 laughed. 
 
 " The spring has got into my blood." 
 
 " It hasn't got into mine," I declared. " It never 
 will. I wonder what the deuce is the matter with me." 
 
 Then Lola had said, " My dear Simon, I know. 
 You're not quite alive even yet." 
 
 -45
 
 246 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 I walked homewards pestered by the phrase. What 
 did she mean by it ? I stopped at the island round the 
 clock-tower by Victoria Station and bought a couple of 
 newspapers. There, in the centre of the whirlpool where 
 swam dizzily omnibuses, luggage-laden cabs, whirling 
 motors, feverish, train-seeking humans, dirty newsboys, 
 I stood absently saying to myself, " You're not quite 
 alive even yet." 
 
 A hand gripped my arm and a cheery voice said 
 " Hallo ! " I started and recognised Rex Campion. I 
 also said " Hallo ! " and shook hands with him. We 
 had not met since the day when, having heard of my 
 Monte Cristo lavishness, he had called at the Albany 
 and had beguiled me into giving a thousand pounds to 
 his beloved " Barbara's Building," the prodigious 
 philanthropic institution which he had founded in the 
 slums of South Lambeth. In spite of my dead and 
 dazed state of being I was pleased to see his saturnine 
 black-bearded face, and to hear his big voice. He was 
 one of those men who always talked like a megaphone. 
 The porticoes of Victoria Station re-echoed with his 
 salutations. I greeted him less vociferously, but with 
 equal cordiality. 
 ^ I said " Hallo ! " 
 
 " You're looking very fit. I heard that you had 
 gone through a miraculous operation. How are you ? " 
 
 " Perfectly well," said I, " but I've been told that 
 I'm not quite alive even yet." 
 
 He looked anxious. " Remains of trouble ? " 
 
 " Not a vestige," I laughed. 
 
 " That's all right," he said breezily. " Now come 
 along and hear Milligan speak." 
 
 It did not occur to him that I might have work, 
 worries, or engagements, or that the evening's enter-
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 247 
 
 tainment which he offered me might be the last thing 
 I should appreciate. His head, for the moment, was 
 full of Milligan, and it seemed to him only natund that 
 the head of all humanity should be full of Milligan too. 
 I made a wry face. 
 
 " That son of thunder ? " 
 
 Milligan was a demagogue who had twice unsuccess- 
 fully attempted to get into Parliament in the Labour 
 interest. 
 
 " Have you ever heard him ? " 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! " said I in my pride. 
 
 " Then come. He's speaking in the Hall of the Lam- 
 beth Ethical Society." 
 
 I was tempted, as I wanted company. In spite of my 
 high resolve to out-Ishmael Ishmael, I could not kill a 
 highly developed gregarious instinct. I also wanted a 
 text for an article. But I wanted my dinner still more. 
 Campion condemned the idea of dinner. 
 
 " You can have a cold supper," he roared, " like the 
 rest of us." 
 
 I yielded. Campion dragged me helpless to a tram 
 at the top of Vauxhall Bridge Road. 
 
 " It will do Your Mightiness good to mingle with the 
 proletariat," he grinned. 
 
 I did not tell him that I had been mingling with it in 
 this manner for some time past or that I repudiated the 
 suggestion of its benign influence. I entered the tram 
 meekly. As soon as we were seated, he began : 
 
 " I bet you won't guess what I've done with your 
 thousand pounds. I'll give you a mUlion guesses." 
 
 As I am a poor conjecturer, I put on a blank expres- 
 sion and shook my head. He waited for an instant, and 
 then shouted with an air of triumph : 
 
 " I've founded a prize, my boy — a stroke of genius.
 
 248 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 I've called it by your name, ' The de Gex Prize for 
 Housewives.' I didn't bother you about it as I knew 
 you were in a world of worry. But just think of it. 
 An annual prize of thirty pounds — practically the 
 interest — for housewives ! " 
 
 His eyes flashed in his enthusiasm ; he brought his 
 heavy hand down on my knee. 
 
 " Well ? " I asked, not electrified by this announce- 
 ment. 
 
 " Don't you see ? " he exclaimed. " I throw the 
 competition open to the women in the district, with 
 certain qualifications, you know — I look after all that. 
 They enter their names by a given date and then they 
 start fair. The woman who keeps her home tidiest 
 and her children cleanest collars the prize. Isn't it 
 splendid ? " 
 
 I agreed. " How many competitors ? " 
 " Forty-three. And there they are working away, 
 sweeping their floors and putting up clean curtains and 
 scrubbing their children's noses till they shine like 
 rubies and making their homes like little Dutch pictures. 
 You see, thirty pounds is a devil of a lot of money for 
 poor people. As one mother of a large family said to me, 
 ' With that one could bury them all quite beautiful.' " 
 " You're a wonderful fellow," said I, somewhat 
 enviously. 
 
 He gave an awkward laugh and tugged at his beard. 
 " I've only happened to find my job, and am doing 
 it as well as I can," he said. " 'Tisn't very much, after 
 all. Sometimes one gets discouraged ; people are such 
 ungrateful pigs, but now and again one does help a lame 
 dog over a stile which bucks one up, you know. Why 
 don't you come down and have a look at us one of these 
 days ? You've been promising to do so for years."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 249 
 
 " I will," said I with sudden interest. 
 
 " You can have a peep at one or two of the competing 
 homes. We pop into them unexpectedly, at all hours. 
 That's part of the game. We've a complicated system 
 of marks which I'll show you. Of course, no woman 
 knows how she's getting on, otherwise many would lose 
 heart." 
 
 " How do the men like this disconcerting ubiquity of 
 soap and water ? " 
 
 " They love it ! " he cried. " They're keen on the 
 prize too. Some think they'll grab the lot and have 
 the devil's own drunk when the year's up. But I'll 
 look after that. Besides, when a chap has been living 
 in the pride of cleanliness for a year he'll get into the 
 way of it and be less likely to make a beast of himself. 
 Anyway, I hope for the best. My God, de Gex, if I 
 didn't hope and hope and hope," he cried earnestly, " I 
 don't know how I should get through with it. I don't 
 know how any one can get through anything without 
 hope and a faith in the ultimate good of things." 
 
 " The same inconvincible optimist ? " said I. 
 
 " Yes. Thank Heaven. And you ? " 
 
 I paused. There came a self-revelatory flash. " At 
 the present moment," I said, " I'm a perfectly con- 
 vincible vacuist." 
 
 We left the tram and the main thoroughfare, and 
 turned into frowsy streets, peopled with frowsy men 
 and women and raucous with the bickering play of 
 frowsy children. It was still daylight. Over London 
 the spring had fluttered its golden pinions, and I knew 
 that in more blessed quarters — m the great parks, in 
 Piccadilly, in Old Palace Yard, half a mile away — its 
 fragrance lingered, quickening blood already quickened 
 by hope, and making happier hearts already happy.
 
 250 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 But here the ray of spring had never penetrated either 
 that day or the days of former springs ; so there was no 
 lingering fragrance. Here no one heeded the aspects 
 of the changing year save when suffocated by sweltering 
 heat, or frozen in the bitter cold, or drenched by the 
 pouring rain. Otherwise in these grey, frowsy streets, 
 spring, summer, autumn, winter were all the same to 
 the grey, frowsy people. It is true that youth laughed 
 — pale, animal boys, and pale, flat-chested girls. But 
 it laughed chiefly at inane obscenity. 
 
 One of these days, when phonography is as practicable 
 as photography, some one will make accurate records 
 in these frowsy streets, and then, after the manner of 
 the elegant writers of Bucolics and Pastorals, publish 
 such a series of Urbanics and Pavimentals, phono- 
 graphic dialogues between the Colins and Dulcibellas of 
 the pavement and the gutter as will freeze up Hell with 
 horror. 
 
 An anaemic, flirtatious group passed us, the girls in 
 front, the boys behind. 
 
 " Good God, Campion, what can you do ? " I asked. 
 
 " Pity them, old chap," he returned quickly. 
 
 " What's the good of that ? " 
 
 " Good ? Oh, I see ! " He laughed, with a touch of 
 scorn. " It's a question of definition. When you see 
 a fellow-creature suffering and it shocks your refined 
 susceptibilities and you say * poor devil ' and pass on, 
 you think you have pitied him. But you haven't. You 
 think pity's a passive virtue. It isn't. If you really 
 pity anybody, you go mad to help him — you don't stand 
 by with the tears of sensibility running down your 
 cheeks. You stretch out your hand, because you've 
 damn well got to. If he won't take it, or wipes you 
 over the head, that's his look-out. You can't work
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 251 
 
 miracles. But once in a way he does take it, and then 
 — well, you work like hell to pull him through. And if 
 you do, what bigger thing is there in the world than the 
 salvation of a human soul ? " 
 
 "It's worth living for," said I. 
 
 " It's worth doing any confounded old thing for," he 
 declared. 
 
 I envied Campion as I had envied no man before. He 
 was alive in heart and soul and brain ; I was not quite 
 alive even yet. But I felt better for meeting him. I 
 told him so. He tugged his beard again and laughed. 
 
 "I am a happy old crank. Perhaps that's the 
 reason." 
 
 At the door of the hall of the Lambeth Ethical Society 
 he stopped short and turned on me ; his jaw dropped 
 and he regarded me in dismay. 
 
 " I'm the flightiest and feather-headedest ass that 
 ever brayed," he informed me. " I just remember I 
 sent Miss Faversham a ticket for this meeting about a 
 fortnight ago. I had clean forgotten it, though some- 
 thing uncomfortable has been tickling the back of my 
 head all the time. I'm miserably sorry." 
 
 I hastened to reassure him. " Miss Faversham and 
 I are still good friends. I don't think she'll mind my 
 nodding to her from the other side of the room." In- 
 deed, she had written me one or two letters since my 
 recovery perfect in tact and sympathy, and had put her 
 loyal friendship at my service. 
 
 " Even if we meet," I smiled, " nothing tragic will 
 happen." 
 
 He expressed his relief. 
 
 " But what," I asked, " is Miss Faversham doing in 
 this galley ? " 
 
 " I suppose she is displaying an intelligent interest in
 
 252 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 modern thought," he said, with boyish delight at the 
 chance I had offered him. 
 
 " Toiiche," said I, with a bow, and we entered the 
 hall. 
 
 It was crowded. The audience consisted of the better 
 class of artisans, tradesmen, and foremen in factories ; 
 there was a sprinkling of black-coated clerks and un- 
 skilled labouring men. A few women's hats sprouted 
 here and there among the men's heads like weeds in a 
 desert. There were women, too, in proportionately 
 greater numbers, on the platform at the end of the hall, 
 and among them I was quick to notice Eleanor Faver- 
 sham. As Campion disliked platforms and high places 
 in synagogues, we sat on one of the benches near the 
 door. He explained it was also out of consideration 
 for me. 
 
 " If Milligan is too strong for your proud, aristocratic 
 stomach," he whispered, " you can cut and run without 
 attracting attention." 
 
 Milligan had evidently just begun his discourse. I 
 had not listened to him for five minutes when I found 
 myself caught in the grip which he was famous for 
 fastening on his audience. With his subject — Nation- 
 alisation of the Land — and his arguments I had been 
 perfectly familiar for years. As a boy I had read 
 Henry George's " Progress and Poverty " with the 
 superciliousness of the young believer in the divine 
 right of Britain's landed gentry, and before the Eton 
 Debating Society I had demolished the whole theory to 
 my own and every one else's satisfaction. Later, as a 
 practical politician, I had kept myself abreast of the 
 Socialist movement, I did not need Mr. John Milligan, 
 whom my lingering flippancy had called a son of thun- 
 der, to teach me the elements of the matter. But at
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 253 
 
 this peculiar crisis of my life I felt that, in a queer, un- 
 known way, Milligan had a message for me. It was 
 uncanny. I sat and listened to the exposition of Utopia 
 with the rapt intensity of any cheesemonger's assistant 
 there before whose captured spirit floated the vision of 
 days to come when the land should so flow with milk 
 and money that golden cheeses would be had like butter- 
 cups for the plucking. It was not the man's gospel 
 that fascinated me, not his illuminated prophecy of the 
 millennium that produced the vibrations in my soul, but 
 the surging passion of his faith, the tempest of his en- 
 thusiasm. I had enough experience of public speaking 
 to distinguish between the theatrical and the genuine in 
 oratory. Here was no tub-thumping soothsayer, but 
 an inspired zealot. He lived his impassioned creed in 
 every fibre of his frame and faculties. He was Titanic, 
 this rough miner, in his unconquerable hope, divine in 
 his yearning love of humanity. 
 
 When he ended there was a dead silence for a second, 
 and then a roar of applause from the pale, earnest, city- 
 stamped faces. A lump rose in my throat. Campion 
 clutched my knee. A light burned in his eyes. 
 
 " Well ? What about Boanerges ? " 
 
 " Only one thing," said I, " I wish I were as alive 
 as that man." 
 
 A negligible person proposed a vote of thanks to 
 Milligan, after which the hall began to empty. Cam- 
 pion, caught by a group of his proletariat friends, 
 signalled to me to wait for him. And as I waited I 
 saw Eleanor Faversham come slowly from the platform 
 dowTi the central gangway. Her eyes fixed themselves 
 on me at once — for standing there alone I must have 
 been a conspicuous figure, an intruder from the gorgeous 
 West — and with a little start of pleasure she hurried
 
 252 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 modern thought," he said, with boyish dehght at the 
 chance I had offered him. 
 
 " Toiiche," said I, with a bow, and we entered the 
 hall. 
 
 It was crowded. The audience consisted of the better 
 class of artisans, tradesmen, and foremen in factories ; 
 there was a sprinkling of black-coated clerks and un- 
 skilled labouring men. A few women's hats sprouted 
 here and there among the men's heads like weeds in a 
 desert. There were women, too, in proportionately 
 greater numbers, on the platform at the end of the hall, 
 and among them I was quick to notice Eleanor Faver- 
 sham. As Campion disliked platforms and high places 
 in synagogues, we sat on one of the benches near the 
 door. He explained it was also out of consideration 
 for me. 
 
 " If Milligan is too strong for your proud, aristocratic 
 stomach," he whispered, " you can cut and run without 
 attracting attention." 
 
 Milligan had evidently just begun his discourse. I 
 had not listened to him for five minutes when I found 
 myself caught in the grip which he was famous for 
 fastening on his audience. With his subject — Nation- 
 alisation of the Land — and his arguments I had been 
 perfectly famUiar for years. As a boy I had read 
 Henry George's " Progress and Poverty " with the 
 superciliousness of the young believer in the divine 
 right of Britain's landed gentry, and before the Eton 
 Debating Society I had demolished the whole theory to 
 my own and every one else's satisfaction. Later, as a 
 practical politician, I had kept myself abreast of the 
 Socialist movement. I did not need Mr. John Milligan, 
 whom my lingering flippancy had called a son of thun- 
 der, to teach me the elements of the matter. But at
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 253 
 
 this peculiar crisis of my life I felt that, in a queer, un- 
 known way, Milligan had a message for me. It was 
 uncanny. I sat and listened to the exposition of Utopia 
 with the rapt intensity of any cheesemonger's assistant 
 there before whose captured spirit floated the vision of 
 days to come when the land should so flow with milk 
 and money that golden cheeses would be had like butter- 
 cups for the plucking. It was not the man's gospel 
 that fascinated me, not his illuminated prophecy of the 
 millennium that produced the vibrations in my soul, but 
 the surging passion of his faith, the tempest of his en- 
 thusiasm. I had enough experience of public speaking 
 to distinguish between the theatrical and the genuine in 
 orator^'. Here was no tub-thumping soothsayer, but 
 an inspired zealot. He lived his impassioned creed in 
 every fibre of his frame and faculties. He was Titanic, 
 this rough miner, in his unconquerable hope, divine in 
 his yearning love of humanity. 
 
 When he ended there was a dead silence for a second, 
 and then a roar of applause from the pale, earnest, city- 
 stamped faces. A lump rose in my throat. Campion 
 clutched my knee. A light burned in his eyes. 
 
 " Well ? What about Boanerges ? " 
 
 " Only one thing," said I, " I wish I were as alive 
 as that man." 
 
 A negligible person proposed a vote of thanks to 
 Milligan, after which the hall began to empty. Cam- 
 pion, caught by a group of his proletariat friends, 
 signalled to me to wait for him. And as I waited I 
 saw Eleanor Faversham come slowly from the platform 
 down the central gangway. Her eyes flxed themselves 
 on me at once — for standing there alone I must have 
 been a conspicuous figure, an intruder from the gorgeous 
 West — and with a little start of pleasure she hurried
 
 256 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Whittington touch about the music. The light on the 
 tower no longer mocked me. As I passed by the gates 
 of Palace Yard, a policeman on duty recognised me and 
 saluted. I strode on with a springier tread and noticed 
 that the next policeman, who did not know me, still 
 regarded me with an air of benevolence. A pale moon 
 shone in the heavens and gave me shyly to understand 
 that she was as much my moon as any one else's. As 
 I turned into Victoria Street, omnibuses passed me 
 with a lurch of friendliness. The ban was lifted. I 
 danced (figuratively) along the pavement. 
 
 What it portended I did not realise. I was conscious 
 of nothing but a spiritual exhilaration comparable 
 only with the physical exhilaration I experienced in 
 the garden in Algiers when my bodily health had been 
 finally established. As the body then felt the need of 
 expressing itself in violent action — in leaping and 
 running (an impulse which I firmly subdued), so now 
 did my spirit crave some sort of expression in violent 
 emotion. I was in a mood for enraptured converse 
 with an archangel. 
 
 Looking back, I see that Campion's friendly " Hallo " 
 had awakened me from a world of shadows and set me 
 among realities ; the impact of Milligan's vehement 
 personality had changed the conditions of my life from 
 static to dynamic ; and that a Providence which is 
 not always as ironical as it pleases us to assert had sent 
 Eleanor Faversham's graciousness to mitigate the 
 severity of the shock. I see how just was Lola's 
 diagnosis. " You're not quite alive even yet." I 
 had been going about in a state of suspended spiritual 
 animation. 
 - My recovery dated from that evening.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 Agatha proved herself the good soul I had represented 
 her to be. 
 
 " Certainly, dear," she said when I came the following 
 morning with my request. " You can have my boudoir 
 all to yourselves." 
 
 " I am grateful," said I, " and for the first time I 
 forgive you for calling it by that abominable name." 
 
 It was an old quarrel between us. Every lover of 
 language picks out certain words in common use that he 
 hates with an unreasoning ferocity. 
 
 " I'll change its title if you Lke," she said meekly. 
 
 "If you do, my dear Agatha, my gratitude will be 
 eternal." 
 
 " I remember a certain superior person, when Tom 
 and I were engaged, calling mother's boudoir — the only 
 quiet place in the house — the osculatorium." 
 
 She laughed with the air of a small bird who after long 
 waiting had at last got even with a hawk. But I did 
 not even smile. For the only time in our lives I con- 
 sidered that Agatha had committed a breach of good 
 taste. I said rather stiffly : 
 
 " It is not going to be a lovers' meeting, my dear." 
 
 She flushed. "It was silly of me. But why shouldn't 
 it be a lovers' meeting ? " she added audaciously. "If 
 nothing had happened, you two would have been 
 married by this time " 
 
 •" Not till June." 
 
 " Oh yes, you would. I should have seen about 
 that — a ridiculously long engagement. Anyhow, it 
 
 257 R
 
 258 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 was only your illness that broke it off. You were told 
 you were going to die. You did the only honourable 
 and sensible thing— both of you. Now you're in splen- 
 did health again " 
 
 "Stop, stop!" I interrupted. "You seem to be 
 
 entirely oblivious of the circumstances " 
 
 " I'm oblivious of no circumstances. Neither is 
 Eleanor. And if she still cares for you she won't care 
 twopence for the circumstances. I know I wouldn't." 
 And to cut off my reply she clapped the receiver of 
 the telephone to her ear and called up Eleanor, with 
 whom she proceeded to arrange a date for the interview. 
 Presently she screwed her head round. 
 
 " She says she can come at four this afternoon. Will 
 that suit you ? " 
 " Perfectly," said I. 
 
 When she replaced the receiver I stepped behind her 
 and put my hands on her shoulders. 
 
 " ' The mother of mischief,' " I quoted, " ' is no 
 bigger than a midge's wing,' and the grandmother is the 
 match-making microbe that lurks in every woman's 
 system." 
 
 She caught one of my hands and looked up into my 
 face. 
 
 " You're not cross with me, Simon ? " 
 Her tone was that of the old Agatha. I laughed, re- 
 membering the policeman's salute of the previous night, 
 and noted this recovery of my ascendancy as another 
 indication of the general improvement in the attitude of 
 London. 
 
 " Of course not, Tom-Tit," said I, calling her by her 
 nursery name. " But I absolutely forbid your thinking 
 of playing Fairy Godmother." 
 
 " You can forbid my playing," she laughed, " and I
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 259 
 
 can obey you. But >'0U can't prevent my thinking. 
 Thought is free." 
 
 " Sometimes, my dear," I retorted, "it is better 
 chained up." 
 
 With this rebuke I left her. No doubt she con- 
 sidered a renewal of my engagement with Eleanor 
 Faversham a romantic solution of difficulties. I could 
 only regard it as preposterous, and as I walked back to 
 Victoria Street I convinced myself that Eleanor's frank 
 offer of friendship proved that such an idea never entered 
 her head. I took vehement pains to convince myself. 
 Spring had come ; like the year, I had awakened from 
 my lethargy. T viewed life through new eyes ; I felt it 
 with a new heart. Such vehement pains I was not 
 capable of taking yesterday. 
 
 " It has never entered her head ! " I declared conclu- 
 sively. 
 
 And yet, as we sat together a few hours later in 
 Agatha's little room a doubt began to creep into the 
 corners of my mind. In her strong way she had brushed 
 away the scandal that hung around my name. She did 
 not believe a word of it. I told her of my loss of fortune. 
 My lunacy rather raised than lowered me in her esteem. 
 How then was I personally different from the man she 
 had engaged herself to marry six months before ? I 
 remembered our parting. I remembered her letters. 
 Her presence here was proof of her unchanging regard. 
 But was it something more ? Was there a hope throb- 
 bing beneath that calm sweet surface to which I did not 
 respond ? For it often happens that the more direct a 
 woman is, the more in her feminine heart is she elusive. 
 
 Clean-built, clean-hearted, clean- eyed, of that clean 
 complexion which suggests the open air, Eleanor im- 
 pressed you with a sense of bodily and mental whole-
 
 26o SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 someness. Her taste in dress ran in the direction of 
 plain tailor-made gowns (I am told, by the way, that 
 these can be fairly expensive), and shrank instinctively 
 from the frills and fripperies to which daughters of Eve 
 are notoriously addicted. She spoke in a clear voice 
 which some called hard, though I never found it so ; she 
 carried herself proudly. Chaste in thought, frank in 
 deed, she was a perfect specimen of the highly bred, 
 purely English type of woman who, looking at facts 
 squarely in the face, accepts them as facts and does not 
 allow her imagination to dally in any atmosphere where- 
 in they may be invested. To this type a vow is irre- 
 fragable. Loyalty is inherent in her like her blood. She 
 never changes. What feminine inconsistencies she has 
 at fifteen she retains at five-and-twenty, and preserves 
 to add to the charms of her old age. She is the exem- 
 plary wife, the great-hearted mother of children. She 
 has sent her sons in thousands to fight her country's 
 battles overseas. Those things which lie in the outer 
 temple of her soul she gives lavishly. That which is 
 hidden in her inner shrine has to be wrested from her 
 by the one hand she loves. Was mine that hand ? 
 
 It will be perceived that I was beginning to take life 
 seriously. 
 
 Eleanor must have also perceived something of the 
 sort ; for during our talk she said irrelevantly : 
 
 " You've changed ! " 
 
 " In what way ? " I asked. 
 
 " I don't know. You're not the same as you were. 
 I seem to know you better in some ways, and yet I seem 
 to know you less. Why is it ? " 
 
 I said, " No one can go through the Valley of the 
 Grotesque as I have done without suffering some 
 change."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 261 
 
 " I don t see why you should call it ' the Valley of 
 the Grotesque.' " 
 
 I smiled at her instinctive rejection of the fanciful. 
 
 " Don't you ? Call it the Valley of the Shadow, if 
 you like. But don't you think the attendant circum- 
 stances were rather mediaeval, gargoyley, Orcag- 
 nesque ? Don't you think the whole passage lacked 
 the dignity which one associates with the Valley of the 
 Shadow of Death ? " 
 
 " You mean the murder ? " she said with a faint 
 shiver. 
 
 " That," said I, " might be termed the central 
 feature. Just look at things as they happened. I am 
 condemned to death. I try to face it like a man and a 
 gentleman. I make my arrangements. I give up 
 what I can call mine no longer. I think I will devote 
 the rest of my days to performing such acts of helpful- 
 ness and charity as would be impossible for a sound man 
 with a long life before him to undertake. I do it in a 
 half-jesting spirit, refusing to take death seriously. I 
 pledge myself to an act of helpfulness which I regard at 
 first as merely an incident in my career of beneficence. 
 I am gradually caught in the tangle of a drama which at 
 times develops into sheer burlesque, and before I can 
 realise what is going to happen, it turns into ghastly 
 tragedy. I am overwhelmed in grotesque disaster — it 
 is the only word. Instead of creating happiness all 
 around me, I have played havoc with human lives. I 
 stand on the brink and look back and see that it is all 
 one gigantic devil-jest at my expense. I thank God I 
 am going to die. I do die — for practical purposes. I 
 come back to life and — here I am. Can I be quite the 
 same person I was a year ago ? " 
 
 She reflected for a few moments. Then she said :
 
 262 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " No. You can't be — quite the same. A man of 
 your nature would either have his satirical view of life 
 hardened into bitter cynicism or he would be softened 
 by suffering and face things with new and nobler ideals. 
 He would either still regard life as a jest — but instead 
 of its being an odd, merry jest it would be a grim, mean- 
 ingless, hideous one ; or he would see that it wasn't a 
 jest at all, but a full, wonderful, big reality. I've ex- 
 pressed myself badly, but you see what I mean." 
 
 " And what do you think has happened ? " I asked. 
 
 " I think you have changed for the better." 
 
 I smiled inwardly. It sounded rather dull. I said 
 with a smile : 
 
 " You never liked my cap and bells, Eleanor." 
 
 " No ! " she replied emphatically. " What's the use 
 of mockery ? See where it led you." 
 
 I rose, half laughing at her earnestness, half ashamed 
 of myself, and took a couple of turns across the room. 
 
 " You're right," I cried. " It led me to perdition. 
 You might make an allegory out of my career and 
 entitle it, ' The Mocker's Progress.' " I paused for a 
 second or two, and then said suddenly, " Why did you 
 from the first refuse to believe what everybody else does 
 — before I had the chance of looking you in the eyes ? " 
 
 She averted her face. " You forget that I had had 
 the chance of searching deep beneath the mocker." 
 
 I cannot, in reverence to her, set down what she said 
 she had found there. I stood humbled and rebuked, as 
 a man must do when the best in him is laid out before 
 his sight by a good woman. 
 
 A maidservant brought in tea, set the table, and 
 departed. Eleanor drew off her gloves and my glance 
 fell on her right hand. 
 
 "It's good of you to wear my ring to-day," I said.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 263 
 
 " To-day ? " she echoed, with the tiniest touch of 
 injury in her voice. " Do you think I put it on just to 
 please you to-day ? " ^ 
 
 " It would have been gracious of you to do so," said I. 
 " It wouldn't," she declared. " It would have been 
 mawkish and sentimental. When we parted I told you 
 to do what you liked with the ring. Do you remember ? 
 You put it on this finger "—she waved her right hand— 
 " and there it has stayed ever since." 
 
 I caught the hand and touched it lightly with my lips. 
 She coloured faintly. 
 
 " Two lumps of sugar and no milk, I think that's 
 right ? " She handed me the tea-cup. 
 
 " It's like you," said I, " not to have forgotten." 
 " I'm a practical person," she replied with a laugh. 
 Presently she said, " Tell me more about your illness 
 — or rather your recovery. I know nothing except that 
 you had a successful operation which all the London 
 surgeons said was impossible. Who nursed you ? " 
 " I had a trained nurse," said I. 
 " Wasn't Madame Brandt with you ? " 
 " Yes," said I. " She was very good to me. In fact, 
 I think I owe her my life." 
 
 Hitherto the delicacy of the situation had caused me 
 to refer to Lola no more than was necessary, and in my 
 narrative I had purposely left her vague. 
 " That's a great debt," said Eleanor. 
 " It is, indeed," said I. 
 
 " You're not the man to leave such a debt unpaid ? " 
 " I try to repay it by giving Madame Brandt my 
 devoted friendship." 
 Her eyes never wavered as they held mine. 
 " That's one of the things I wanted to know. Tell 
 me something about her."
 
 264 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 I felt some surprise, as Eleanor was of a nature too 
 proud for curiosity. 
 
 " Why do you want to know ? " 
 
 " Because she interests me intensely. Is she young ? " 
 
 " About thirty-two." 
 
 " Good-looking ? " 
 
 " She is a woman of remarkable personality." 
 " Describe her." 
 
 I tried, stumbled, and halted. The effort evoked in 
 my mind a picture of Lola, lithe, seductive, exotic, with 
 gold flecks in her dusky, melting eyes, with strong 
 shapely arms that had as yet only held me motherwise, 
 with her pantherine suggestion of tremendous strength 
 in languorous repose, with her lazy gestures and parted 
 lips showing the wonderful white even teeth, with all 
 her fascination and charm — a picture of Lola such as I 
 had not seen since my emergence from the Valley — a 
 picture of Lola, generous, tender, wistful, strong, yield- 
 ing, fragrant, lovable, desirable, amorous — a picture of 
 Lola which I could not put before this other woman 
 equally brave and straight, who looked at me com- 
 posedly out of her calm, blue eyes. 
 
 My description resolved itself into a loutish cata- 
 logue. 
 
 " It is not painful to you to talk of her, Simon ? " 
 
 " Not at all," said I. " There are not many great- 
 hearted women going about. It is my privilege to 
 know two." 
 
 " Am I the other ? " 
 
 " Who else ? " 
 
 " I'm glad you have the courage to class Madame 
 Brandt and myself together." 
 
 " Why ? " I asked. 
 
 " It proves beyond a doubt that you are honest with 
 me. Now teU me about a few externals — things that
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 265 
 
 don't matter — but help one to form an impression. Is 
 she educated ? " 
 
 " From books, no ; from observation, yes." 
 
 " Her manners ? " 
 
 " Observation has educated them." 
 
 " Accent ? " 
 
 " She is sufficiently polyglot to have none." 
 
 " She dresses and talks and behaves generally like a 
 lady ? " 
 
 " She does," said I. 
 
 "In what way then does she differ from the women of 
 our class ? " 
 
 " She is less schooled, less reticent, franker, more 
 natural. What is on her tongue to say, she says." 
 
 " Temper ? " 
 
 " I have never heard her say an angry word to or of 
 a human creature. She has queer delicacies of feeling. 
 For instance " 
 
 I told her of Anastasius Papadopoulos's tawdry, gim- 
 crack presents which Lola has suffered to remain in her 
 drawing-room so as not to hurt the poor little wretch. 
 
 " That's very touching," she said. " Where does she 
 live ? " 
 
 " She has a flat in Cadogan Gardens." 
 
 " Is she in London now ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " 1 should very much like to know her," she said calmly. 
 
 I vow and declare again that the more straightforward 
 and open-eyed, the less subtle, temperamental, and 
 neurotic are women, the more are they baffling. I had 
 wondered for some time whither the catechism tended, 
 and now, with a sudden jerk, it stopped short at this 
 most unexpected terminus. It was startling. I rose 
 and mechanically placed my empty tea-cup on the tray 
 by her side.
 
 266 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " The wish, my dear Eleanor," said I, quite formally, 
 " does great credit to your heart," 
 
 There was a short pause, marking an automatic close 
 of the subject. Deeply as I admired both women, I 
 shrank from the idea of their meeting. It seemed 
 curiously indelicate, in view both of my former engage- 
 ment to Eleanor and of Lola's frank avowal of her feel- 
 ings towards me before what I shall always regard as 
 my death. It is true that we had never alluded to it 
 since my resurrection ; but what of that ? Lola's 
 feelings, I was sure, remained unaltered. It also flashed 
 on me that, with all the good will in the world, Eleanor 
 would not understand Lola. An interview would develop 
 into a duel. I pictured it for a second, and my sudden 
 fierce partisanship for Lola staggered me. Decidedly 
 an acquaintance between these two was preposterous. 
 
 The silence was definite enough to mark a period, but 
 not long enough to cause embarrassment. Eleanor 
 commented on my present employment. I must find 
 it good to get back to politics. 
 
 " I find it just the contrary," said I, with a laugh. 
 " My convictions, always lukewarm, are now stone-cold. 
 I don't say that the principles of the party are wrong. 
 But they're wrong for me, which is all-important. If 
 they are not right for me, what care I how right they 
 be ? And as I don't believe in those of the other side, 
 I'm going to give up politics altogether." 
 
 " What will you do ? " 
 
 " I don't know," I repHed. " I honestly don't. But 
 I have an insistent premonition that I shall soon find 
 myself doing something utterly idiotic, which to me will 
 be the most real thing in life." 
 
 I had indeed awakened that morning with an ex- 
 hilarating thrill of anticipation, comparable to that of 
 the mountain climber who knows not what panorama
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 267 
 
 of glory may be disclosed to his eyes when he reaches 
 the summit. I had whistled in my bath — a most un- 
 usual thing. 
 
 " Are you going to turn Socialist ? " 
 
 " Qui lo sa ? I'm willing to turn anything alive and 
 honest. It doesn't matter what a man professes so 
 long as he professes it with all the faith of all his soul." 
 
 I broke into a laugh, for the echo of my words rang 
 comic m my ears. 
 
 " Why do you laugh ? " she asked. 
 
 " Don't you think it funny to hear me talk like a 
 twopenny Carlyle ? " 
 
 " Not a bit," she said seriously. 
 
 " I can't undertake to talk like that always," I said 
 warningly. 
 
 " I thought you said you were going to be serious." 
 
 " So I am ; but platitudinous — Heaven forbid ! " 
 
 The little clock on the mantelpiece struck six. 
 Eleanor rose in alarm, 
 
 " How the time has flown ! I must be getting back. 
 Well ? " 
 
 Our eyes met. " Well ? " said I. 
 
 " Are we ever to meet again ? " 
 
 " It's for you to say." 
 
 " No," she said. And then very distinctly, very 
 deliberately, " It's for you." 
 
 I understood. She made the offer simply, nobly, un- 
 reservedly. My heart was filled with a great gratitude. 
 She was so true, so loyal, so thorough. Why could I 
 not take her at her w^ord ? I murmured : 
 
 " I'll remember what you say." 
 
 She put out her hand. " Good-bye ! " 
 
 " Good-bye and God bless you ! " I said. 
 
 I accompanied her to the front door, hailed a passing 
 cab, and waited till she had driven off. My pulses
 
 268 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 throbbed. I was moved to the depths of me. Was 
 there ever a sweeter, grander, more loyal woman ? The 
 three little words had changed the current of my being. 
 
 I returned to take leave of Agatha. I found her in the 
 drawing-room reading a novel. She twisted her head 
 sideways and regarded me with a bird-like air of 
 curiosity. 
 
 " Eleanor gone ? " 
 
 Her tone jarred on me. I nodded and dropped into a 
 chair. 
 
 " Interview passed off satisfactorily ? " 
 
 " We were quite comfortable, thank you. The only 
 drawback was the tea. Why a woman in your position 
 can't give people China tea instead of that Ceylon syrup 
 will be a mystery to me to my dying day." 
 
 She rose in her wrath and shook me. 
 
 " You're the most aggravating wretch on the earth ! " 
 
 " My dear Tom-Tit," said I gravely, " remember 
 the moral tale of Bluebeard." 
 
 " Look here, Simon " — she planted herself in front of 
 me — " I'm not a bit inquisitive. I don't in the least 
 want to know what passed between you and Eleanor. 
 But what I would give my ears to understand is how 
 you can go through a two hours' conversation with the 
 girl you were engaged to — a conversation which must 
 have affected the lives of both of you — and then come 
 up to me and talk drivel about China tea and Blue- 
 beard." 
 
 " Once on a time, my dear," said I, "I flattered my- 
 self on being an artist in life. I am humbler now and 
 acknowledge myself a wretched, bungling amateur. 
 But I still recognise the value of chiaroscuro." 
 
 " You're hopeless," said Agatha, somewhat crossly. 
 " You get more flippant and cynical every day."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 I WENT home to my solitar}^ dinner, and afterwards took 
 down a volume of Emerson and tried to read. I 
 thought the cool and spacious philosopher might allay 
 a certain fever in my blood. But he did nothing of the 
 kind. He wrote for cool and spacious people like him- 
 self ; not for corpses like me revivified suddenly with an 
 overcharge of vital force. I pitched him — how much 
 more truly companionable is a book than its author ! — 
 I pitched him across the room, and thrusting my hands 
 in my pockets and stretching out my legs, stared in a 
 certain wonder at myself. 
 
 I, Simon de Gex, was in love ; and, horribile dictu, in 
 love with two women at once. It was Oriental, Mor- 
 monic, New Century, what you will ; but there it was. 
 I am ashamed to avow that if, at that moment, both 
 women had appeared before me and said " Marry us," 
 I should have — well, reflected seriously on the proposal. 
 I had passed through curious enough experiences, 
 Heaven knows, already ; but none so baffling as this. 
 The two women came alternately and knocked at my 
 heart, and whispered in my ear their irrefutable claims 
 to my love. I listened throbbingly to each, and to each 
 I said, " I love you." 
 
 I was in an extraordinary psychological predicament. 
 Lola had remarked, " You are not quite alive even yet." 
 I had come to complete life too suddenly. This was 
 the result. I got up and paced the bird-cage, which 
 the house-agents termed a reception-room, and won- 
 dered whether I were going mad. It was not as if one 
 woman represented the flesh and the other the spirit. 
 
 269
 
 270 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Then I might have seen the way to a decision. But 
 both had the large nature that comprises all. I could 
 not exalt one in any way to the abasement of the other. 
 All my inherited traditions, prejudices, predilections, 
 all my training ranged me on the side of Eleanor. I 
 was clamouring for the real. Was she not the incarna- 
 tion of the real ? Her very directness piqued me to a 
 perverse and delicious obliquity. And I knew, as I 
 knew when I parted from her months before, that it 
 was only for me to awaken things that lay virginally 
 dormant. On the other hand stood Lola, with her 
 magnetic seduction, her rich atmosphere, her great 
 wide simplicity of heart, holding out arms into which 
 I longed to throw myself. 
 
 It was monstrous, abnormal. I hated the abomin- 
 able indelicacy of weighing one against the other, as I 
 had hated the idea of their meeting. 
 
 I paced my bird-cage until it shrank to the size of a 
 rat-trap. Then I clapped on my hat and fled down 
 into the streets. I jumped into the first cab I saw and 
 bade the driver take me to Barbara's Building. Cam- 
 pion suddenly occurred to me as the best antidote to 
 the poison that had entered my blood. 
 
 I found him alone, clearing from the table the remains 
 of supper. In spite of his soul's hospitable instincts, he 
 stared at me. 
 
 " Why, what the ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know. You're surprised to see me bursting 
 in on you like a wild animal. I'm not going to do it 
 every night, but this evening I claim a bit of our old 
 friendship." 
 
 " Claim it all, my dear de Gex ! " he said cordially. 
 " What can I do for you ? " 
 
 It was characteristic of Campion to put his question 
 in that form. Ninety-nine men out of a hundred would
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 271 
 
 have asked what was the matter with me. But Cam- 
 pion, who all his life had given, wanted to know what 
 he could do. 
 
 " Tell me fairy tales of Lambeth and idylls of the 
 Waterloo Bridge Road. Or light your pipe and talk to 
 me of Barbara." 
 
 He folded up the tablecloth and put it in the side- 
 board drawer. 
 
 " If it's elegant distraction you want," said he, " I 
 can do better than that." He planted himself in front 
 of me. " Would you like to do a night's real work ? " 
 
 " Certainly," said I. 
 
 " A gentleman of my acquaintance named Judd is in 
 the ramping stage of delirium tremens. He requires a 
 couple of men to hold him down so as to prevent him 
 from getting out of bed and smashing his furniture and 
 his wife and things, I was going to relieve one of the 
 fellows there now, so that he can get a few hours' sleep, 
 and if you like to come and relieve the other, you'll be 
 doing a good action. But I warn you it won't be funny." 
 
 " I'm in a mood for anything," I said. 
 
 " You'll come ? " 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 " That's splendid ! " he shouted. " I hardly thought 
 you were in earnest. Wait till I telephone for some 
 medicine to be sent up from the dispensary. I 
 promised to take it round with me." 
 
 He telephoned instructions, and presently' a porter 
 brought in the medicine. Campion explained that it 
 had been prescribed by the doctor attached to the 
 institution who was attending the case. 
 
 " You must come and see the working of our surgery 
 and dispensary ! " he cried enthusiastically, " We 
 charge those who can afford it sixpence for visit and 
 medicine. Those who can't are provided, after inquiry,
 
 272 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 with coupons. We don't want to encourage the well- 
 to-do to get their medical advice gratis, or we wouldn't 
 be able to cope with the really poor. We pay the doctor 
 a fixed salary, and the fees go to the general fund of the 
 Building, so it doesn't matter a hang to him whether a 
 patient pays or not." 
 
 " You must be proud of all this, Campion ? " I said. 
 
 " In a way," he replied, hghting his pipe ; " but it's 
 mainly a question of money — my poor old father's 
 money which he worked for, not I." 
 
 I reminded him that other sons had been known to 
 put their poor old father's money to baser uses. 
 
 " I suppose Barbara is more useful to the community 
 than steam yachts or racing stables ; but there, you see, 
 I hate yachting because I'm always sea-sick, and I 
 scarcely know which end of a horse you put the bridle 
 on. Every man to his job. This is mine. I like it." 
 
 " I wonder whether holding down people suffering 
 from delirium tremens is my job," said I. "If so, I'm 
 afraid I shan't like it." 
 
 " If it's really your job," replied Campion, " you will. 
 You must. You can't help it. God made man so." 
 
 It was only an hour or two later when, for the first 
 time in my Hfe, I came into practical touch with human 
 misery, that I recognised the truth of Campion's per- 
 fervid optimism. No one could like our task that night 
 in its outer essence. For a time it revolted me. The 
 atmosphere of the close, dirty room, bedroom, kitchen, 
 dining-room, sitting-room, bathroom, laundry — all in 
 one, the home of man, wife, and two children, caught 
 me by the throat. It was sour. The physical contact 
 with the flesh of the unclean, gibbering, shivering, 
 maniacal brute on the foul bed was unutterably repug- 
 nant to me. Now and again, during intervals of com- 
 parative calm, I was forced to put my head out of the
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 273 
 
 window to breathe the air of the street. Even that 
 was tainted, for a fried-fish shop across the way and a 
 pubhc-house next door billowed forth their nauseating 
 odours. After a while access to the window was denied 
 me. A mattress and some rude coverings were stretched 
 beneath it — the children's bed — on which we persuaded 
 the helpless, dreary wife to lie down and try to rest. A 
 neighbour had taken in the children for the night. The 
 wife was a skinny, grey-faced, lined woman of six-and- 
 twenty. In her attitude of hopeless incompetence she 
 shed around her an atmosphere of unspeakable depres- 
 sion. Although I could not get to the window, I was 
 glad when she lay down and spared me the sight of her 
 moving fecklessly about the room or weeping huddled 
 up on a broken-backed wooden chair and looking more 
 like a half-animated dish-clout than a woman. 
 
 The poor wretch on the bed was a journeyman tailor 
 who, when sober, could earn fair wages. The cry of the 
 wife, before Campion awed her into comparative silence, 
 was a monotonous upbraiding of her husband for bring- 
 ing them down to this poverty. It seemed impossible 
 to touch her intelligence and make her understand that 
 no words from her or any one could reach his conscious- 
 ness. His violence, his screams, his threats, the horrors 
 of his fear left her unmoved. We were there to guard 
 her from physical danger, and that to her was all that 
 mattered. 
 
 In the course of an hour or so the nausea left me. I 
 felt braced by the grimness of the thing, and during the 
 paroxysms I had no time to think of anything but the 
 mechanical work in hand. It was all that Campion and 
 I, both fairly able-bodied men, could do to keep the 
 puny little tailor in his bed. Horrible shapes menaced 
 him from which he fought madly to escape. He 
 writhed and shrieked with terror. Once he caught my
 
 274 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 hand in his teeth and bit it, and Campion had some diffi- 
 culty in relaxing the wretch's jaw. Between the 
 paroxysms Campion and I sat on the bed watching him, 
 scarcely exchanging a word. The wife, poor creature, 
 whimpered on her mattress. It was not a pleasant 
 vigil. It lasted till the grey dawn crept in pitilessly 
 intensifying the squalor of the room, and until the dawn 
 was broadening into daylight. Then two of Campion's 
 men from Barbara's Building arrived to relieve us. 
 Before we went, however, the neighbour who had taken 
 charge of the children came in to help the slatternly 
 wife light a fire and make some tea. I have enjoyed 
 few things more than the warm, bitter stuff which I 
 drank out of the broken mug in that strange and de- 
 pressing company. 
 
 I went out into the street with racked head and 
 nerves and muscles. Campion kept his cloth cap in his 
 hand, allowing the morning wind to ruffle his shaggy 
 black hair, and drew a long breath. 
 
 " I think the worst is over now. As soon as he can 
 be moved, I'll get him down to the annexe at Broad- 
 stairs. The sea air will pull him round." 
 
 " Isn't it rather hopeless ? " I asked. 
 
 He turned on me. " Nothing's hopeless. If you 
 once start the hopeless game down here you'd better 
 distribute cyanide of potassium instead of coals and 
 groceries. I've made up my mind to get that man 
 decent again, and, by George, I'm going to do it ! 
 Fancy those two weaklings producing healthy offspring. 
 But they have. Two of the most intelligent kids in the 
 district. If you hold up your hands and say it's awful 
 to contemplate their upbringing you're speaking the 
 blatant truth. It's the contemplation that's awful. 
 But why contemplate when you can do something ? " 
 
 I admitted the justice of the remark. He went on :
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 275 
 
 " Look at yourself now. If you had gone in with me 
 last night and just stared at the poor devil howling with 
 D.T. in that filthy place, you'd have come out sick and 
 said it was awful. Instead of that, you buckled to and 
 worked and threw off everything save our common 
 humanity, and have got interested in the Judds in spite 
 of yourself. You'll go and see them again and do what 
 you can for 'em, won't you ? " 
 
 I was not in a merry mood, but I laughed. Campion 
 had read the intention that had vaguely formulated 
 itself at the back of my mind. 
 
 " Of course I will," I said. 
 
 We walked on a few steps down the still silent, dis- 
 heartening street without speaking. Then he tugged 
 his beard, half halted, and glanced at me quickly. 
 
 " See here," said he, " the more sensible people I can 
 get to help us the better. Would you like me to hand 
 you over the Judd famUy en bloc ? " 
 
 This was startling to the amateur philanthropist. 
 But it is the way of all professionals to regard their own 
 business as of absorbing interest to the outside world. The 
 stockbroking mind cannot conceive a sane man indiffer- 
 ent to the fluctuations of the money market, and to the 
 professional cricketer the wide earth revolves around a 
 wicket. How in the world could I be fairy godfather to the 
 J udd family ? Campion took my competence for granted. 
 
 " You may not understand exactly what I mean, my 
 dear Campion," said I ; " but I attribute the most un- 
 holy disasters of my life to a ghastly attempt of mine to 
 play Deputy Providence." 
 
 " But who's asking you to play Deputy Providence ? " 
 he shouted. "It's the very last idiot thing I want done. 
 I want you to do certain definite practical work for that 
 family under the experienced direction of the authorities 
 at Barbara's Building, There, do you understand now ? "
 
 276 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " Very well," said I. " Te duce et auspice Barbara, 
 I'll do anything you like." 
 
 Thus it befell that I undertook to look after the moral, 
 material, and spiritual welfare of the family of an alco- 
 holic tailor by the name of Judd who dwelt in a vile 
 slum in South Lambeth. My head was full of the pros- 
 pect when I awoke at noon, for I had gone exhausted to 
 sleep as soon as I reached home. If good will, backed 
 by the experience of Barbara's Building, could do aught 
 towards the alleviation of human misery, I determmed 
 that it should be done. And there was much misery to be 
 alleviated in the Judd family. I had no clear notion of 
 the means whereby I was to accomplish this ; but I knew 
 that it would be a philanthropic pursuit far different 
 from my previous eumoirous wanderings about London 
 when, with a mind conscious of well-doing, I distributed 
 embarrassing five-pound notes to the poor and needy. 
 
 I had known — what comfortable, well-fed gentleman 
 does not ? — that within easy walking distance of his 
 London home thousands of human beings live like the 
 beasts that perish ; but never before had I spent an 
 intimate night in one of the foul dens where the living 
 and perishing take place. The awful pity of it entered 
 my soul. 
 
 So deeply was I impressed with the responsibility of 
 what I had undertaken, so grimly was I haunted by the 
 sight of the pallid, howling travesty of a man and the 
 squeezed-out, whimpering woman, that the memory of 
 the conflicting emotions that had driven me to Campion 
 the night before returned to me with a shock. 
 
 " It strikes me," I murmured, as I shaved, " that I am 
 living very intensely indeed. Here am I in love with 
 two women at once, and almost hysterically enthusiastic 
 over a delirious tailor." Then I cut my cheek and 
 murmured no more, until the operation was concluded.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 277 
 
 I had arranged to accompany Lola that afternoon to 
 the Zoological Gardens. This was a favourite resort of 
 hers. She was on intimate terms with keepers and 
 animals, and her curious magnetism allowed her to play 
 such tricks with lions and tigers and other ferocious 
 beasts as made my blood run cold. As for the bears, 
 they greeted her approach with shrieking demonstra- 
 tions of affection. On such occasions I felt the same 
 curious physical antipathy as I did when she had domi- 
 nated Anastasius's ill-conditioned cat. She seemed to 
 enter another sphere of being in which neither I nor 
 anything human had a place. 
 
 With some such dim thoughts in my head, I reached 
 her door in Cadogan Gardens. The sight of her electric 
 brougham that stood waiting switched my thoughts 
 into another groove, but one running oddly parallel. 
 Electric broughams also carried her out of my sphere. I 
 had humbly performed the journey thither in an omnibus. 
 
 She received me in her big, expansive way. 
 
 " Lord ! How good it is to see you. I was getting the 
 — I was going to say * the blind hump' — but you don't 
 like it. I was going to turn crazy and bite the furniture." 
 
 " Why ? " I asked with masculine directness. 
 
 " I've been trying to educate myself — to read poetry. 
 Look here " — she caught a small brown-covered octavo 
 volume from the table. " It's Browning. ' Sordello ' 
 is the name of the poem. I can't make head or tail of 
 it. It proved to me that it was no use. If I couldn't 
 understand poetry, I couldn't understand anything. 
 It was no good trying to educate myself. I gave it up. 
 And then I got what you don't like me to call the hump." 
 
 "You dear Lola ! " I cried, laughing. " I don't be- 
 lieve any one has ever made head or tail out of ' Sor- 
 dello.' There once was a man who said there were only 
 two intelligible lines in the poem — the first and the last
 
 278 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 — and that both were lies. ' Who will, may hear Sor- 
 dello's story told,' and ' Who would, has heard Bordello's 
 story told.' Don't worry about not understanding it." 
 
 " Don't you ? " 
 
 " Not a bit," said I. 
 
 " That's a comfort," she said, with a generous sigh of 
 relief. " How well you're looking ! " she cried sud- 
 denly. " You're a different man. What have you 
 been doing to yourself ? " 
 
 " I've grown quite alive." 
 
 " Good ! Delightful ! So am I. Quite alive now, 
 thank you." 
 
 She looked it, in spite of the black outdoor costume. 
 But there was a dash of white at her throat and some 
 white lilies of the valley in her bosom, and a white 
 feather in her great black hat poised with a Gains- 
 borough swagger on the mass of her bronze hair. 
 
 " It's the spring," she added. 
 
 " Yes," said I, " it's the spring." 
 
 She approached me and brushed a few specks of dust 
 from my shoulder. 
 
 " You want a new suit of clothes, Simon." 
 
 " Dear me ! " said I, glancing hastily over the blue 
 serge suit in which I had lounged at Mustapha Supe- 
 rieur. " I suppose I do." 
 
 It occurred to me that my wardrobe generally needed 
 replenishing. I had been unaccustomed to think of 
 these things, the excellent Rogers and his predecessors 
 having done most of the thinking for me. 
 
 " I'll go to Poole's at once," said I. 
 
 And then it struck me, to my whimsical dismay, that 
 in the present precarious state of my finances, especially 
 in view of my decision to abandon political journalism 
 in favour of I knew not what occupation, I could not 
 afford to order clothes largely from a fashionable tailor.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 279 
 
 " I shouldn't have mentioned it," said Lola apolo- 
 getically, " but you're always so spick and span." 
 
 " And now I'm getting shabby ! " 
 
 I threw back my head and laughed at the new and 
 comical conception of Simon de Gex down at heel. 
 
 " Oh, not shabby ! " echoed Lola. 
 
 " Yes, my dear," I said. " The days of purple and 
 fine linen are voybei. You'll have to put up with me in 
 a threadbare coat and frayed cuffs and ragged hems to 
 my trousers." 
 
 Lola declared that I was talking rubbish. 
 
 " Not quite such rubbish as you may think, my dear. 
 Shall you mind ? " 
 
 " It would break my heart. But why do you talk so ? 
 You can't be — as poor — as that ? " 
 
 Her face manifested such tragic concern that I 
 laughed. Besides, the idea of personal poverty amused 
 me. When I gave up my political work I should only 
 have what I had saved from the wreck — some two hun- 
 dred a year — to support me until I should find some 
 other means of livelihood. It was enough to keep me 
 from starvation, and the little economies I had begun 
 to practise afforded me enjoyment. On the other hand, 
 how folks regulated their balance-sheets so as to live on 
 two hundred a year I had but a dim notion. In the 
 course of our walk from Barbara's Building to the Judds 
 the night before I had asked Campion. He had laughed 
 somewhat grimly. 
 
 " I don't know. I don't run an asylum for spend- 
 thrift plutocrats ; but if you want to see how people live 
 and bring up large families on fifteen shillings a week, I 
 can show you heaps of examples." 
 
 This I felt would, in itself, be knowledge of the 
 deepest interest ; but it would in no way aid me to solve 
 my own economic difficulty. I was always being brought
 
 28o SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 up suddenly against the problem in some form or another, 
 and, as I say, it caused me considerable amusement. 
 
 " I shall go on happily enough," said I, reassuringly. 
 " In the meantime, let us go and see the lions and 
 tigers." 
 
 We started. The electric brougham glided along 
 comfortably through the sunlit streets. A feeling of 
 physical and spiritual content stole over me. Our 
 hands met and lingered a long time in a sympathetic 
 clasp. Whatever fortune held in store for me here at 
 least I had an inalienable possession. For some time 
 we said nothing, and when our eyes met she smiled. I 
 think she had never felt my heart so near to hers. At 
 last we broke the silence and talked of ordinary things. I 
 told her of my vigil overnight and my undertaking to look 
 after the Judds. She listened with great interest. When 
 I had finished my tale, she said almost passionately : 
 
 " Oh, I wish I could do something like that ! " 
 
 " You ? " 
 
 " Why not ? I came from those people. My grand- 
 father swept the cages in Jamrach's down by the docks. 
 He died of drink. He used to live in one horrible, 
 squalid room near by. I remember my father taking me 
 to see him when I was a little girl — we ourselves weren't 
 very much better off at that time. I've been through 
 it," she shivered. " I know what that awful poverty is. 
 Sometimes it seems immoral of me to live luxuriously 
 as I do now without doing a hand's turn to help." 
 
 " Chacun a son metier, my dear," said I. There's no 
 need to reproach yourself." 
 
 " But I think it might be my metier," she replied 
 earnestly, " if only I could learn it." 
 
 " Why haven't you tried then ? " 
 ' I've been lazy and the opportunity hasn't come my 
 way."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 281 
 
 " I'll introduce you to Campion, I said, " and doubt- 
 less he'll be able to find something for you to do. He 
 has made a science of the matter. I'll take you down 
 to see him." 
 " Will you ? " 
 
 " Certainly," said I. There was a pause. Then an 
 idea struck me. " I wonder, my dear Lola, whether you 
 could apply that curious power you have over savage 
 animals to the taming of the more brutal of humans." 
 " I wonder," she said thoughtfully. 
 " I should like to see you seize a drunken coster- 
 monger in the act of jumping on his wife by the scruff of 
 the neck, and reduce him to such pulp that he sat up on 
 his tail and begged." 
 
 " Oh, Simon ! " she exclaimed reproachfully. " I 
 quite thought you were serious." 
 
 " So I am, my dear," I returned quickly, " as serious 
 as I can be." 
 
 She laughed. " Do you remember the first day you 
 came to see me ? You said that I could train any 
 human bear to dance to whatever tune I pleased. I 
 wonder if the same thought was at the back of your head." 
 " It wasn't," said I. " It was a bad and villainous 
 thought. I came under the impression that you were 
 a dangerous seductress." 
 
 She turned her dark golden eyes on me and there was 
 a touch of mockery in their tenderness. 
 " And I'm not ? " 
 
 Oh, that spring day, that delicious tingle in the air, 
 that laughing impertinence of the budding trees in the 
 park through which we were then driving, that envelop- 
 ing sense of fragrance and the nearness and the dearness 
 of her ! Oh, that overcharge of vitality ! I leaned my 
 head to hers so that my lips nearly touched her ear. 
 My voice shook.
 
 282 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " You're a seductress and a witch and a sorceress and 
 an enchantress." 
 
 The blood rose to her dark face. She half closed her eyes. 
 
 " What else am I ? " she murmured. 
 
 But, alas ! I had not time to answer, for the brougham 
 stopped at the gates of the Zoological Gardens. We 
 both awakened from our foolishness. My hand was on 
 the door-handle when she checked me. 
 
 " What's the good of a mind if you can't change it ? 
 I don't feel in a mood for wild beasts to-day, and I know 
 you don't care to see me fooling about with them. I 
 would much rather sit quiet and talk to you." 
 
 With a woman who wants to sacrifice herself there is 
 no disputing. Besides, I had no desire to dispute. I 
 acquiesced. We agreed to continue our drive. 
 
 " We'll go round by Hampstead Heath," she said to 
 the chauffeur. As soon as we were in motion again, she 
 drew ever so little nearer and said, in her lowest, richest 
 notes, and with a coquetry that was bewildering on 
 account of its frankness : 
 
 " What were we talking of before we pulled up ? " 
 
 " I don't know what we were talking of," I said, " but 
 we seem to have trodden on the fringe of a fairy-tale." 
 
 " Can't we tread on it again ? " She laughed happily. 
 
 " You have only to cast the spell of your witchery 
 over me again." 
 
 She drew yet a little nearer and whispered : ''I'm 
 trying to do it as hard as I can." 
 
 An adorable softness came into her eyes, and her hand 
 instinctively closed round mine in its boneless clasp. 
 The long pent-up longing of the woman vibrated from 
 her in waves that shook me to my soul. My senses 
 swam. Her face quivered glorious before me in a black 
 world. Her lips were parted. Careless of all the eyes 
 in all the houses in the Avenue Road, St. John's Wood,
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 283 
 
 and in the head of a telegraph-boy whom I only noticed 
 afterwards, I kissed her on the lips. 
 
 All the fulness and strength of life danced through 
 my veins. 
 
 "" 1 told you I was quite alive ! " I said with idiotic 
 exultation. 
 
 She closed her eyes and leaned back. " Why did you 
 do that ? " she murmured. 
 
 " Because I love you," said I. " It has come at last." 
 
 Where we drove I have no recollection. Presumably 
 an impression of green rolling plain with soft uplands in 
 the distance signified that we passed along Hampstead 
 Heath ; the wide thoroughfare with villa residences on 
 either side may have been Kilburn High Road ; the 
 flourishing, busy, noisy suburb may have been Kilburn ; 
 the street leading thence to the Marble Arch may have 
 been Maida Vale. To me they were paths in Dream- 
 land. We spoke but little and what we did say was in 
 the simple, commonplace language which all men use 
 in the big crises of life. 
 
 There was no doubt now of my choice. I loved her. 
 Love had come to me at last. That was all I knew at 
 that hour and all I cared to know. 
 
 Lola was the first to awake from Dreamland. She 
 shivered. I asked her whether she felt cold. 
 
 " No. I can't beheve that you love me. I can't. 
 I can't ! " 
 
 I smiled in a masterful way. " I can soon show you 
 
 that I do." 
 
 She shook her head. " I'm afraid, Simon, I'm afraid." 
 
 " What of ? " 
 " Myself." 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " I can't tell you. I can't explain. I don't know how 
 to. I've been wrong — horribly wrong. I'm ashamed."
 
 284 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 She gripped her hands together and looked down at 
 them. I bent forward so as to see her face, which was 
 full of pain. 
 
 " But, dearest of all women," I cried, " what in the 
 world have you to be ashamed of ? " 
 
 She paused, moistened her lips with her tongue, and 
 then broke out : 
 
 " I'll tell you. A decent lady like your Eleanor 
 Faversham wouldn't tell. But I can't keep these 
 things in. Didn't you begin by saying I was a seduc- 
 tress ? No, no, let me talk. Didn't you say I could 
 make a man do what I wanted ? Well, I wanted you 
 to kiss me. And now you've done it, you think you 
 love me ; but you don't, you can't." 
 
 " You're talking the wickedest nonsense that ever 
 proceeded out of the lips of a loving woman," I said 
 aghast. " I repeat in the most solemn way that I 
 love you with all my heart." 
 
 " In common decency you couldn't say otherwise." 
 Again I saw the futility of disputation. I put my 
 hand on hers. 
 
 " Time will show, dear. At any rate, we have had 
 our hour of fairyland." 
 
 " I wish we hadn't," she said. " Don't you see it 
 was only my sorcery, as you call it, that took us there ? 
 I meant us to go." 
 
 At last we reached Cadogan Gardens. I descended 
 and handed her out, and we entered the hall of the 
 mansions. The porter stood with the lift door open. 
 " I'm coming up to knock all this foolishness out 
 of your head." 
 
 " No, don't, please, for Heaven's sake ! " she 
 whispered imploringly. " I must be alone — to think 
 it all out. It's only because I love you so. And don't 
 come to see me for a day or two — say two days. This
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 285 
 
 is Wednesday. Come on Friday. You think it over 
 as well. And if it's really true — I'll know then — when 
 you come. Good-bye, dear. Make Gray drive you 
 wherever you want to go." 
 
 She wrung my hand, turned and entered the lift. 
 The gates swung to and she mounted out of sight. I 
 went slowly back to the brougham, and gave the 
 chauffeur the address of my eyrie. He touched his hat. 
 I got in and we drove off. And then, for the first time, 
 it struck me that an about-to-be-shabby gentleman 
 with a beggarly two hundred a year ought not, in 
 spite of his quarterings, to be contemplating marriage 
 with a wealthy woman who kept an electric brougham. 
 The thought hit me like a stone in the midriff. 
 
 What on earth was to be done ? My pride rose up 
 like the deus ex machina in a melodrama and forbade 
 the banns. To live on Lola's money — the idea was 
 intolerable. Equally intolerable was the idea of 
 earning an income by means against the honesty of 
 which my soul clamoured aloud. 
 
 " Good God ! " I cried. " Is life, now I've got to 
 it, nothing but an infinite series of dilemmas ? No 
 sooner am I off one than I'm on another. No sooner 
 do I find that Lola and not Eleanor Faversham is the 
 woman sent dowTi by Heaven to be my mate than I 
 realise the same old dilemma — Lola on one horn and 
 Eleanor replaced on the other by Pride and Honour 
 and all sorts of capital-lettered considerations. Life is 
 the very Deuce," said I, with a wry appreciation of 
 the subtlety of language. 
 
 Why did Lola say : " Your Eleanor Faversham " ? 
 
 I had enough to think over for the rest of the evening. 
 But I slept peacefully. Light loves had come and gone 
 in the days past ; but now for the first time love that 
 was not light had come into my life.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 " The Lord will find a way out of the dilemma," said I 
 confidently to myself as I neared Cadogan Gardens two 
 days after the revelatory drive. " Lola is in love with 
 me and I am in love with Lola, and there is nothing to 
 keep us apart but my pride over a matter of a few 
 ha'pence." I felt peculiarly jaunty. I had just posted 
 to Finch the last of the articles I had agreed to write 
 for his reactionary review, and only a couple of articles 
 for another journal remained to be written in order to 
 complete my literary engagements. Soon I should be 
 out of the House of Bondage in which I had been a 
 slave, at first willingly and now rebelliously, from my 
 cradle. The great wide world with its infinite oppor- 
 tunities for development received my liberated spirit. 
 I had broken the shackles of caste. I had thrown off 
 the perfumed garments of epicureanism, the vesture of 
 my servitude. My emotions, once stifled in the 
 enervating atmosphere, now awoke fresh and strong in 
 the free air. I was elemental — the man wanting the 
 woman ; and I was happy because I knew I was going 
 to get her. Such must be the state of being of a dragon- 
 fly on a sunny day. And — shall I confess it ? — I had 
 obeyed the dragon-fly's instinct and attired myself in 
 the most resplendent raiment in my wardrobe. My 
 morning-coat was still irreproachable, my patent leather 
 boots still gleamed, and having had some business in 
 Piccadilly I had stepped into my hatter's and emerged 
 with my silk hat newly ironed. I positively strutted 
 along the pavement. 
 
 286 
 
 I
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 287 
 
 For two days I had not seen her or heard from her or 
 written to her. I had scrupulously respected her wishes, 
 foohsh though they were. Now was I on my way to 
 convince her that my love was not a moment's surge of 
 the blood on a spring afternoon. I would take her into 
 my arms at once, after the way of men, and she, after 
 the way of women, would yield adorably. I had no 
 doubt of it, I tasted in anticipation the bliss of that 
 first embrace, as if I had never kissed a woman in my 
 life. And, indeed, what woman had I kissed with the 
 passion that now ran through my veins ? In that 
 embrace all the ghosts of the past women would be laid 
 for ever and a big and lusty future would make glorious 
 beginning. " By Heaven," I cried, almost articulately, 
 " with the splendour of the world at my command why 
 should I not write plays, novels, poems, rhapsodies, so as 
 to tell the blind, groping, loveless people what it is like ? 
 
 " Take me up to Madame Brandt ! " said I to the lift- 
 porter. " Madame Brandt is not in town, sir," said 
 the man. 
 
 I looked at him open-mouthed. " Not in town ? " 
 
 " I think she has gone abroad, sir. She left with a 
 lot of luggage yesterday and her maid, and now the flat 
 is shut up." 
 
 " Impossible ! " I cried, aghast. 
 
 The porter smiled. " I can only tell you what has 
 happened, sir." 
 
 " Where has she gone to ? " 
 
 " I couldn't say, sir." 
 
 " Her letters ? Has she left no address to which 
 they are to be forwarded ? " 
 
 " Not with me, sir." 
 
 " Did she say when she was coming back ? " 
 
 " No, sir. But she dismissed her cook with a month's
 
 288 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 wages, so it seems as though she was gone for a good 
 spell." 
 
 " What time yesterday did she leave ? " 
 
 " After lunch. The cabman was to drive her to 
 Victoria- — London, Chatham and Dover Railway." 
 
 "That looks hke the 2.20 to Paris," said I. 
 
 But the lift-porter knew nothing of this. He had 
 given me all the information in his power. I thanked 
 him and went out into the sunshine a blinking, dazed, 
 bewildered and piteously crushed man. 
 
 She had gone, without drum or trumpet, maid and 
 baggage and all, having dismissed her cook and shut up 
 the flat. It was incredible. I wandered aimlessly about 
 Chelsea trying to make up my mind what to do. Should 
 I go to Paris and bring her back by main force ? But 
 how did I know that she had gone to Paris ? And if 
 she was there how could I discover her address ? 
 Suddenly an idea struck me. She would not have left 
 Quast and the cattery in the same unceremonious fashion 
 to get on as best they might. She would have given 
 Quast money and directions. At any rate, he would 
 know more than the lift-porter of the mansions. I 
 decided to go to him forthwith. 
 
 By means of trains and omnibuses I arrived at the 
 house in the httle street off Rosebery Avenue, Clerken- 
 well, where the maker of gymnastic appliances had his 
 being. I knocked at the door. A grubby man 
 appeared. I inquired for Quast. 
 
 Quast had left that morning in a van, taking his 
 cages of cats with him. He had gone abroad and was 
 never coming back again, not if he knew it, said the 
 grubby man. The cats were poison and Quast was a 
 low-down foreigner, and it would cost him a year's rent 
 to put the place in order again. Whereupon he slammed
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 289 
 
 the door in my face and left me disconsolate on the 
 doorstep. 
 
 The only other person with whom I knew Lola to be 
 on friendly terms was Sir Joshua Oldfield, I entered 
 the first public telephone office I came to and rang him 
 up. He had not seen Lola for a week, and had heard 
 nothing from her relating to her sudden departure. 
 I went sadly home to my bird-cage in Victoria Street, 
 feeling that now at last the abomination of desolation 
 had overspread my life. 
 
 Why had she gone ? What was the meaning of it ? 
 Why not a line of explanation ? And the simultaneous 
 disappearance of Quast and the cats — what did tha-t 
 betoken ? Had she been summoned, for any reason, 
 to the maison de sante where Anastasius Papadopoulos 
 was incarcerated ? If so, why this secrecy ? Why 
 should Lola of all people side with Destiny and make a 
 greater Tom Fool of me than ever ? This could be no 
 other than the final jest. 
 
 I do not care to remember what I did and said in the 
 privacy of my little room. There are things a man 
 locks away even from himself. 
 
 I was in the midst of my misery when the bell of my 
 tiny fiat rang. I opened the door and found my sister 
 Agatha smiling on the threshold. 
 
 " Hallo ! " said I, gazing at her stupidly. 
 
 " You're not effusive in your welcome, my dear 
 Simon," she remarked. " Won't you ask me to come 
 in? " 
 
 " By all means," said I. " Come in ! " 
 
 She entered and looked round my little sitting-room. 
 
 " What a pill-box in the sky ! I had no idea it was 
 as tiny as this. I think I shall call you Saint Simon 
 Styhtes."
 
 290 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 I was in no mood for Agatha. I bowed ironically and 
 inquired to what I owed the honour of the visit. 
 
 " I want you to do me a favour — a great favour. I'm 
 dying to see the new dancers at the Palace Theatre. 
 They say they dance on everything except their feet. 
 I've got a box. Tom promised to take me. Now he 
 finds he can't. I've telephoned all over the place for 
 something uncompromising in or out of trousers to 
 accompany me and I can't get hold of anybody. So 
 I've come to you." 
 
 " I'm vastly flattered ! " said I. 
 
 She dismissed my sarcasm with bird-like impatience. 
 
 " Don't be silly. If I had thought you would like 
 it, I should have come to you first. I didn't want to 
 bore you. But I did think you would pull me out of 
 a hole." 
 
 " What's the hole ? " I asked. 
 
 " I've paid for a box and I can't go by myself. How 
 can I ? Do take me, there's a dear." 
 
 " I'm afraid I'm too dull for haunts of merriment," 
 said I. 
 
 She regarded me reproachfully. 
 
 " It isn't often I ask you to put yourself out for me. 
 The last time was when I asked you to be baby's god- 
 father. And a pretty godfather you've been. I bet 
 you anything you don't remember the name." 
 
 " I do," said I. 
 
 ' What's it then ? " 
 
 " It's — it's " I snapped my fingers. The brat's 
 
 name had for the moment gone out of my distracted 
 head. She broke into a laugh and ran her arm through 
 
 mme. 
 
 " Dorcas." 
 
 Yes, of course — Dorcas, I was going to say so.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 291 
 
 " Then you were going to say wrong, for it's Dorothy. 
 Now you must come — for the sake of penance." 
 
 " I'll do anything you please ! " I cried in desperation, 
 " so long as you'll not talk to me of my own affairs and 
 will let me sit as glum as ever I choose." 
 
 Then for the first time she manifested some interest 
 in my mood. She put her head to one side and scanned 
 my face narrowly. 
 
 " What's the matter, Simon ? " 
 
 " I've absorbed too much life the last few days," 
 said I, " and now I've got indigestion." 
 
 " I'm sorry, dear old boy, whatever it is," she said 
 affectionately. " Come round and dine at 7.30, and 
 I promise not to worry you." 
 
 What could I do ? I accepted. The alternative to 
 procuring Agatha an evening's amusement was pacing 
 up and down my bird-cage and beating my wings 
 (figuratively) and perhaps my head (literally) against 
 the bars. 
 
 " It's awfully sweet of you," said Agatha. " Now 
 I'll rush home and dress," 
 
 I accompanied her down the lift to the front door, 
 and attended her to her carriage. 
 
 " I'll do you a good turn some day, dear," she said 
 as she drove off. 
 
 I rather flatter myself that Agatha had no reason to 
 complain of my dulness at dinner. In my converse 
 with her I was faced by various alternatives. I might 
 lay bare my heart, tell her of my love for Lola and my 
 bewildered despair at her desertion ; this I knew she 
 would no more understand tlian if I had proclaimed a 
 mad passion for a young lady who liad waited on me at 
 a tea-shop, or for a cassowary at the Zoo ; even the best 
 and most affectionate of sisters have their sympathetic
 
 292 3IM0N THE JESTER 
 
 limitations. I might have maintained a mysterious 
 and Byronic gloom ; this would have been sheer bad 
 manners. I might have attributed my lack of spon- 
 taneous gaiety to tooth-ache or stomach-ache ; this 
 would have aroused sisterly and matronly sympathies, 
 and I should have had the devil's own job to escape 
 from the house unpoisoned by the nostrums that lurk 
 in the medicine-chest of every well-conducted family. 
 Agatha, I knew, had a peculiarly Borgiaesque equip- 
 ment. Lastly, there was the worldly device, which I 
 adopted, of dissimulating the furnace of my affliction 
 beneath a smiling exterior. Agatha, therefore, found 
 me an entertaining guest and drove me to the Palace 
 Theatre in high good humour. 
 
 There, however, I could resign my role of entertainer 
 in favour of the professionals on the stage. I sat back 
 in my corner of the box and gave myself up to my 
 harassing concerns. Young ladies warbled, comic 
 acrobats squirted syphons at each other and kicked 
 each other in the stomach, jugglers threw plates and 
 brass balls with dizzying skill, the famous dancers 
 gyrated pyrotechnically, the house applauded with 
 delight, Agatha laughed and chuckled and clapped her 
 hands and I remained silent, unnoticed and unnoticing 
 in my reflective corner, longing for the foolery to end. 
 Where was Lola ? Why had she forsaken me ? What 
 remedy, in the fiend's name, was there for this heart 
 torture within me ? The most excruciating agonies of 
 the little pain inside were child's play to this. I bit my 
 lips so as not to groan aloud and contorted my features 
 into the semblance of a smile. 
 
 During a momentary interval there came a knock at 
 the box door. I said, " Come in ! " The door opened, 
 and there, to my utter amazement, stood Dale Kyn-
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 293 
 
 nersley — Dale, sleek, alert, smiling, attired in the very 
 latest nicety of evening dress affected by contemporary 
 youth — Dale such as I knew and loved but six months 
 ago. 
 
 He came forward to Agatha, who was little lesis 
 astounded than myself. 
 
 " How d'ye do, Lady Durrell. I'm in the stalls with 
 Harry Essendale. I tried to catch your eye, but 
 couldn't. So I thought I'd come up." He turned to 
 me with frank outstretched hand, " How do, Simon ? " 
 
 I grasped his hand and murmured something un- 
 intelligible. The thing was so extraordinary, so un- 
 expected that my wits went wandering. Dale carried 
 off the situation lightly. It was he who was the man of 
 the world, and I the unresourceful stumbler. 
 
 " He's looking ripping, isn't he, Lady Durrell ? I 
 met old Oldfield the other day, and he was raving about 
 your case. Thing has never been done before. Says 
 they're going mad over your chap in Paris — they've 
 given him medals and wreaths and decorations till he 
 goes about like a prize bull at a fair. By Jove, it's 
 good to see you again." 
 
 " You might have taken an earlier opportunity," 
 Agatha remarked with some acidity. 
 
 " So I might," retorted Dale blandly ; " but when 
 a man's a born ass it takes him some time to cultivate 
 sense ! I've been wanting to see you for a long time, 
 Simon — and to-night I just couldn't resist it. You 
 don't want to kick me out ? " 
 
 " Heaven forbid," said I, somewhat brokenly, for the 
 
 welcome sight of his face and the sound of his voice 
 
 aroused emotions which even now I do not care to 
 
 analyse. " It was generous of you to come up." 
 
 He coloured. " Rot ! " said he, in his breezy way.
 
 294 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " Hallo ! The curtain's going up. What's the next 
 item ? Oh, those fool dogs ! " 
 
 *' I adore performing dogs ! " said Agatha, looking 
 toward the stage. 
 
 He turned to me. " Do you ? " 
 
 The last thing on earth I desired to behold at that 
 moment was a performing animal. My sensitiveness 
 led me to suspect a quizzical look in Dale's eye. 
 Fortunately, he did not wait for my answer, but went 
 on in a boyish attempt to appease Agatha. 
 
 " I don't despise them, you know, Lady Durrell, but 
 I've seen them twice before. They're really rather 
 good. There's a football match at the end which is 
 quite exciting." 
 
 " Oh, the beauties ! " cried Agatha over her shoulder 
 as the dogs trotted on to the stage. I nodded an 
 acknowledgment of the remark, and she plunged into 
 rapt contemplation of the act. Dale and I stood at 
 the back of the box. Suddenly he whispered : 
 
 " Come out into the corridor. I've something to 
 say to you." 
 
 " Certainly," said I, and followed him out of the box. 
 
 He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked at me 
 with the defiant and you-be-damned air of the young 
 Briton who was about to commit a gracious action. I 
 knew what he was going to say. I could tell by his 
 manner. I dreaded it, and yet I loved him for it. 
 
 " Why say anything, my dear boy ? " I asked. " You 
 want to be friends with me again, and God knows I 
 want to be friends again with you. Why talk ? " 
 
 " I've got to get it off my chest," said he, in his so 
 familiar vernacular. " I want to tell you that I've 
 been every end of a silly ass and I want you to forgive 
 
 me."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 295 
 
 I vow I have never felt so miserably giiilty towards 
 any human being as I did at that moment. I have 
 never felt such a smug-faced hypocrite. It was a 
 humiliating position. I had inflicted on him a most 
 grievous wrong, and here he was pleading for forgiveness. 
 I could not pronounce the words of pardon. He mis- 
 interpreted my silence. 
 
 " I know I've behaved rottenly to you since you've 
 been back, but the first step's always so difficult. You 
 mustn't bear a grudge against me." 
 
 " My dear boy ! " I cried, my hand on hie shoulder, 
 touched to the heart by his simple generosity, " don't 
 let us talk of grudges and forgiveness. All I want to 
 know is whether you're contented ? " 
 
 " Contented ? " he cried. " I should just think I 
 am. I'm the happiest ass that doesn't eat thistles ! " 
 
 " Explain yourself, my dear Dale," said I, relapsing 
 into my old manner. 
 
 "I'm going to marry Maisie EUerton." 
 
 I took him by the arm and dragged him inside the 
 box. 
 
 " Agatha," said I, " leave those confounded dogs for 
 a moment and attend to serious matters. This young 
 man has not come up to see either of us, but to obtain 
 our congratulations. He's going to marry Maisie 
 EUerton." 
 
 " Tell me all about it," said Agatha, intensely inte- 
 rested. 
 
 A load of responsibility rolled off my shoulders like 
 Christian's pack. I looked at the dog football match 
 with the interest of a Sheffield puddler at a Cup-tie, and 
 clapped my hands. 
 
 An hour or so later, after we had seen Agatha home, 
 and Dale had incidentally chucked Lord Essendale
 
 296 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 (the phrase is his own), we were sitting over whisky 
 and soda and cigars in my Victoria Street fiat. The 
 ingenuousness of youth had insisted on this prolongation 
 of our meeting. He had a thousand things to tell me. 
 They chiefly consisted in a reiteration of the statement 
 that he had been a rampant and unimagined silly ass, 
 and that Maisie, who knew the whole lunatic story, was 
 a brick, and a million times too good for him. When 
 he entered my humble lodging he looked round in a 
 bewildered manner, 
 
 " Why on earth are you living in this mouse-trap ? " 
 
 " Agatha calls it a pill-box. I call it a bird-cage. I live 
 here, my dear boy, because it is the utmost I can afford." 
 
 " Rot ! " said he ; " I've been your private secretary 
 and know what your income is." 
 
 I sighed heavily. " I shall have to get a leaflet 
 printed setting out the causes that led to my change of 
 fortune. Then I can hand it to such of my friends as 
 manifest surprise." 
 
 Indeed, I had grown so used to the story of my 
 lamentable pursuit of the eumoirous that I rattled it off 
 mechanically after the manner of the sturdy beggar 
 telling his mendacious tale of undeserved misfortune. 
 To Dale, however, it was fresh. He listened to it open- 
 eyed. When I had concluded, he brought his hand 
 down on the arm of his chair. 
 
 " By Jove, you're splendid ! I always said you were. 
 Just splendid ! " 
 
 He gulped down half a tumbler of whisky and soda to 
 hide his feelings. 
 
 " And you've been doing all this whUe I've been 
 making a howling fool of myself ! Look here, Simon, 
 you were right all along the line — from the very first 
 when you tackled me about Lola. Do you remember ? "
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 297 
 
 " Why refer to it ? " I asked. 
 
 " I must ! " he burst in quickly. " I've been 
 longing to put myself square with you. By the way, 
 where is Lola ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said I, with grim truthfulness. 
 
 " Don't know ? Has she vanished ? " 
 
 " Yes," said I. 
 
 " That's the end of it, I suppose. Poor Lola ! She 
 was an awfully good sort, you know ! " said Dale, " and 
 I won't deny I was hit. That's when I came such a 
 cropper. But I realise now how right you were. I 
 was just caught by the senses, nothing else ; and when 
 she wrote to say that it was all off between us my 
 vanity suffered — suffered damnably, old chap. I lost 
 the election through it. Didn't attend to business. 
 That brought me to my senses. Then Essendale took 
 me away yachting, and I had a quiet time to think ; 
 and after that I somehow took to seeing more of Maisie. 
 You know how things happen. And I'm jolly grateful to 
 you, old chap. You've saved me from God knows what 
 complications ! After all, good sort as Lola is, it's rot 
 for a man to go outside his own class, isn't it ? " 
 
 " It depends upon the man — and also the woman," 
 said I, beginning to derive peculiar torture from the 
 conversation. 
 
 Dale shook his wise head. " It never comes off," 
 said he. After a pause he laughed aloud. " Don't you 
 remember the lecture you gave me ? My word, you 
 did talk ! You produced a string of ghastly instances 
 where the experiment had failed. Let me see, who 
 was there ? Paget, Merridew, Bullcn. Ha ha ! No, 
 I'm well out of it, old chap — thanks to you." 
 
 " If any good has come out of this sorry business," 
 said I gravely, " I'm only too grateful to Providence."
 
 298 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 He caught the seriousness of my tone. 
 
 " I didn't want to touch on that side of it," he said 
 awkwardly. " I know what an infernal time you had ! 
 It must have been Gehenna. I realise now that it was 
 on my account, and so I can never do enough to show 
 my gratitude." 
 
 He finished his glass of whisky and walked about the 
 tiny room. 
 
 " What has always licked me," he said at length, 
 " is why she never told me she was married. It's so 
 curious, for she was as straight as they make 'em. It's 
 devilish odd ! " 
 
 " Yes," I assented wearily, for every word of this 
 talk was a new pain. " Devilish odd ! " 
 
 " I suppose it's a question of class again." 
 
 " Or sex," said I. 
 
 " What has sex to do with being straight ? " 
 
 " Everything," said I. 
 
 " Rot ! " said Dale. 
 
 I sighed. " I wish your dialectical vocabulary were 
 not so limited." 
 
 He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. 
 
 " Still the same old Simon. It does my heart good 
 to hear you. May I have another whisky ? " 
 
 I took advantage of this break to change the con- 
 versation. He had told me nothing of his own affair 
 save that he was engaged to Maisie Ellerton. 
 
 " Heavens ! " cried he. " Isn't that enough ? " 
 
 " An engagement isn't an occupation." 
 
 " Isn't it, by Jove ? " He laughed boyishly. " I 
 manage, however, to squeeze in a bit of work now and 
 then. The mater has always got plenty on hand for me, 
 and I do things for Raggles. He has been awfully 
 decent. The first time I met him or any of the chiefs
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 299 
 
 after the election I was in a blue funk. But no one 
 seemed to blame me ; they all said they were sorry ; and 
 now Raggles is looking out for a constituency for me to 
 nurse for the next General Election. Then things will 
 hum, I promise you ! " 
 
 He waved his cigar with the air of a young paladin 
 about to conquer the world. In spite of my own de- 
 pression, I could not help smiling with gladness at the 
 sight of him. With his extravagantly cut waistcoat, his 
 elaborately exquisite white tie, his perfectly fitting even- 
 ing clothes, with his supple ease of body, his charming 
 manner, the preposterous fellow made as gallant a show 
 as any ruffling blade in powder and red-heeled shoes. 
 He had acquired, too, an extra touch of manhood since 
 I had seen him last. I felt proud of him, conscious that 
 to the making of him I had to some small degree con- 
 tributed. 
 
 " You must come out and lunch with Maisie and 
 me one day this week," said he. " She would love to 
 see you." 
 
 " Wait till you're married," said I, " and then we'll 
 consider it. At present Maisie is under the social 
 dominion of her parents." 
 
 " Well— what of it ? " 
 
 " Just that," said I. 
 
 Then the truth dawned on him. He grew excited and 
 said it was damnable. He wasn't going to stand by and 
 see people believe a lot of scandalous lies about me. He 
 had no idea people had given me the cold shoulder. He 
 would jolly well (such were his words) take a something 
 (I forget the adjective) megaphone and trumpet about 
 society what a splendid fellow I was. 
 
 " I'll tell everybody the whole silly-ass story about 
 myself from beginning to end," he declared.
 
 300 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 I checked him. " You're very generous, my dear 
 boy," said I, " but you'll do me a favour by letting folk 
 believe what they like." And then I explained, as 
 delicately as I could, how his sudden championship 
 could be of httle advantage to me, and might do him 
 considerable harm. 
 
 In his impetuous manner he cut short my carefully 
 expressed argument. 
 
 " Rubbish ! Heaps of people I know are already 
 convinced that I was keeping Lola Brandt and that you 
 took her from me in the ordinary vulgar way " 
 
 " Yes, yes," I interrupted, shrinking. " That's why 
 I order you, in God's name, to leave the whole thing 
 alone." 
 
 " But confound it, man ! " he said. " I've come out 
 of it all right, why shouldn't you ? Even supposing 
 Lola was a loose woman " 
 
 I threw up my hand. " Stop ! " 
 
 He looked disconcerted for a moment. 
 
 " We know she isn't,but for the sake of argument " 
 
 " Don't argue," said I. " Let us drop it." 
 
 " But hang it all ! " he shouted in desperation. " Can't 
 I do something ? Can't I go and kick somebody ? " 
 
 I lost my self-control. I rose and put both my hands 
 on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. 
 
 " You can kick anybody you please whom you hear 
 breathe a word against the honour and purity of 
 Madame Lola Brandt." 
 
 Then I walked away, knowing I had betrayed myself, 
 and tried to light a cigar with fingers that shook. There 
 was a pause. Dale stood with his back to the fireplace, 
 one foot on the fender. The cigar took some lighting. 
 The pause grew irksome. 
 
 " My regard for Madame Brandt," said I at last, " is 
 such that I don't wish to discuss her with any one."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 301 
 
 I looked at Dale and met his keen eyes fixed on me. 
 The faintest shadow of a smile played about his mouth. 
 
 " Very well," said he dryly, " we won't discuss her. 
 But all the same, my dear Simon, I can't help being 
 interested in her ; and as you're obviously the same, 
 it seems rather curious that you don't know where 
 she is." 
 
 " Do you doubt me ? " I asked, somewhat staggered 
 by his tone. 
 
 " Good heavens, no. But if she has disappeared, I'm 
 convinced that something has happened which I know 
 nothing of. Of course, it's none of my business." 
 
 There was a new and startling note of assurance in his 
 voice. Certainly he had developed during the past few 
 months. What I had done. Heaven only knows. Mis- 
 fortune, which is supposed to be formative of character, 
 seemed to have turned mine into pie. How can I other- 
 wise account for my not checking the lunatic impulse 
 that prompted my next words. 
 
 " Well, something has happened," said I, " and if 
 we're to be friends, you had better know it. Two days 
 ago, for the first time, I told Madame Brandt that I 
 loved her. This very afternoon I went to get her 
 answer to my question — would she marry me ? — and 
 I found that she had disappeared without leaving an 
 address behind her. So whenever you hear her name 
 mentioned you can just teU everybody that she's the 
 one woman in the whole wide world I want to marry." 
 
 " Poor old Simon," said Dale. " Poor old chap." 
 
 " That's exactly how things stand," said I. 
 
 " Lord, who would have thought it ? " said Dale. 
 
 " How I've borne with you talking about her all this 
 evening the devil only knows," I cried. " You've 
 driven me half crazy." 
 
 " You should have told me to shut up."
 
 302 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Poor old Simon. I'm so sorry — but I had no idea 
 you had fallen in love with her." 
 
 " Fallen in love ! " said I, losing my head. " She's 
 the only woman on God's earth I've ever cared for. I 
 want her as I've wanted nothing in the universe before." 
 
 " And you've come to care for her as much as that ? " 
 he said sympathetically, " Poor old Simon." 
 
 " Why the devil shouldn't I ? " I shouted, nettled by 
 his " poor old Simons." 
 
 " Lola Brandt is hardly of your class," said Dale, 
 
 I broke out furiously. " Damn class ! I've had 
 enough of it. I'm going to take my life into my own 
 hands and do what I like with it. I'm going to choose 
 my mate without any reference to society. I've cut 
 myself adrift from society. It can go hang. Lola 
 Brandt is a woman worth any man's loving. She is 
 a woman in a million. You know nothing whatever 
 about her." 
 
 The last words were scarcely out of my mouth when 
 an echo from the distance came and, as it were, banged 
 at my ears. Dale himself had shrieked them at me in 
 exactly the same tone with reference to the same woman. 
 I stopped short and looked at him for a moment rather 
 stupidly. Then the imp of humour, who for some time 
 had deserted me, flew to my side and tickled my brain. 
 I broke into a chuckle, somewhat hysterical I must 
 admit, and then, throwing myself into an arm-chair, 
 gave way to uncontrollable laughter. 
 
 The scare of the unexpected rose in Dale's eyes. 
 
 " Why, what on earth is the matter ? " 
 
 " Can't you see ? " I cried, as far as the paroxysms of 
 my mirth would let me. " Can't you see how ex- 
 quisitely ludicrous the whole thing has been from be-
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 303 
 
 ginning to end ? Don't you realise that you and I are 
 playing the same scene as we played months ago in my 
 library, with the only difference that we have changed 
 roles ? I'm the raving, infatuated youth, and you're 
 the grave and reverend mentor. Don't you see ? 
 Don't you see ? " 
 
 " I can't see anything to laugh at," said Dale sturdily. 
 
 And he couldn't. There are thousands of bright, 
 flame-like human beings constituted like that. Life 
 spreads out before them one of its most side-splitting, 
 topsy-turvy farces and they see in it nothing to laugh at. 
 
 To Dale the affair had been as serious and lacking in 
 the fantastic as the measles. He had got over the 
 disease and now was exceedingly sorry to perceive that 
 I had caught it in my turn. 
 
 " It isn't funny a bit," he continued. " It's quite 
 natural. I see it all now. You cut me out from the 
 very first. You didn't mean to — you never thought of 
 it. But what chance had I against you ? I was a 
 young ass and you were a brilliant man of the world. I 
 bear you no grudge. You played the game in that way. 
 Then things happened — and at last you've fallen in love 
 with her — and now just at the critical moment she has 
 gone off into space. It must be devilish painful for 
 you, if you ask me." 
 
 " Oh, Dale," said I, shaking my head, the only 
 fitting end to the farce would be if you wandered 
 over Europe to find and bring her back to me." 
 
 " I don't know about that," said he, " because I'm 
 engaged, and that, as I said, gives me occupation ; but 
 if I can do anything practicable, my dear old Simon, 
 you've only got to send for me." 
 
 He pulled out his watch. 
 
 " My hat ! " he exclaimed. " It's past two o'clock."
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 I AM a personage apart from humanity. I vary from 
 the kindly ways of man. A curse is on me. 
 
 Surely no man has fought harder than I have done to 
 convince himself of the deadly seriousness of existence ; 
 and surely before the feet of no man has Destiny cast 
 such stumbling-blocks to faith. I might be an ancient 
 dweller in the Thebaid struggling towards dreams of 
 celestial habitations, and confronted only by grotesque 
 visions of hell. No matter what I do, I'm baffled. I 
 look upon sorrow and say, " Lo, this is tragedy ! " and 
 hey, presto ! a trick of lighting turns it into farce. I 
 cry aloud, in perfervid zeal, " Life is real, life is earnest, 
 and the apotheosis of the fantastic is not its goal," and 
 immediately a grinning irony comes to give the lie to 
 my credo. 
 
 Or is it that, by inscrutable decree of the Almighty 
 Powers, I am undergoing punishment for an old un- 
 regenerate point of view, being doomed to wear my 
 detested motley for all eternity, to stretch out my hand 
 for ever to grasp realities and find I can do naught but 
 beat the air with my bladder ; to listen with strained ear 
 perpetually expectant of the music of the spheres, and 
 catch nothing but the mocking jingle of the bells on my 
 fool's cap ? 
 
 I don't know. I give it up. 
 
 Such were my thoughts on the morning after my 
 interview with Dale, when I had read a long, long letter 
 from Lola, which she had despatched from Paris. 
 
 The letter lies before me now, many pages in a curious, 
 
 304
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 305 
 
 half-formed foreign hand. Many would think it an ill- 
 written letter — for there are faults of spelling and faults 
 of grammar — but even now, as I look on those faults, 
 the tears come into my eyes. Oh, how exquisitely, 
 pathetically, monumentally, sublimely foolish ! She 
 had little or nothing to do with it, poor dear ; it was 
 only the Arch-Jester again, leading her blindly away, so 
 as once more to leave me high and dry on the Hill of 
 Derision. 
 
 "... My dear, you must forgive me ! My heart is 
 breaking, but I know I'm doing right. There is nothing 
 for it but to go out of your life for ever. It terrifies me 
 to think of it, but it's the only way. I know you think 
 you love me, dear ; but you can't, you can't really love 
 a woman so far beneath you, and I would sooner never 
 see you again than marry you and wake up one day and 
 find that you hated and scorned me. ..." 
 
 Can you wonder that I shook my fist at Heaven and 
 danced with rage ? 
 
 "... Miss Eleanor Faversham called on me just a 
 few minutes after you left me that afternoon. We had 
 a long, long talk. Simon, dear, you must marry her. 
 You loved her once, for you were engaged, and only 
 broke it off because you thought you were going to die ; 
 and she loves you, Simon, and she is a lady with all the 
 refinement and education that I could never have. She 
 is of your class, dear, and understands you, and can help 
 you on, whereas I could only drag you down. I am not 
 lit to black her boots. . . ." 
 
 And so forth, and so forth, in the most heartrending 
 strain of insensate self-sacrifice and heroic self-abase- 
 ment. The vainest and most heartless dog of a man 
 stands abashed and helpless before such things in a 
 woman. 
 
 u
 
 3o6 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 She had not seen or written to me because she would 
 not have her resolution weakened. After the great 
 wrench, succeeding things were easier. She had taken 
 Anastasius's cats and proposed to work them in the 
 music-halls abroad and send the proceeds to be ad- 
 ministered for the little man's comfort at the maison de 
 sante. As both her name and the Papadopoulos troupe 
 of cats were well known in the "variety " world, it would 
 be a simple matter to obtain engagements. She had 
 already opened negotiations for a short season some- 
 where abroad. I was not to be anxious about her. She 
 would have plenty of occupation. 
 
 " . . . I am not sending you any address, for I 
 don't want you to know where I am, dear. I shan't 
 write to you again unless I scribble things and tear them 
 up without posting. This is final. When a woman 
 makes such a break she must do it once and for all. Oh, 
 Simon, when you kissed me two days ago you thought 
 you loved me ; but I know what the senses are and how 
 they deceive people, and I had only just caught your 
 senses on that spring afternoon, and I made you do it, 
 for I had been aching, aching for months for a word of 
 love from you, and when it came I was ashamed. But I 
 should have been weak and shut my eyes to everything 
 if Miss Faversham had not come to me like God's good 
 angel. . . ." 
 
 At the fourth reading of the letter I stopped short at 
 these words. God's good angel, indeed ! Could any- 
 thing have been more calculated to put a man into a 
 frenzy ? I seized my hat and stick and went in search 
 of the nearest public telephone office. In less than ten 
 minutes I had arranged an immediate interview with 
 Eleanor Faversham at my sister Agatha's, and in less 
 than half an hour I was pacing up and down Agatha's
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 307 
 
 sitting-room waiting for her. God's good angel ! The 
 sound of the words made me choke with wrath. There 
 are times when angehc interference in human destinies 
 is entirely unwarrantable. I stamped and I fumed, 
 and I composed a speech in which I told Eleanor exactly 
 what I thought of angels. 
 
 As I had to wait a considerable time, however, before 
 Eleanor appeared, the raging violence of my wrath 
 abated, and when she did enter the room, smihng and 
 fresh, with the spring in her clear eyes and a flush on her 
 cheek, I just said : " How d'ye do, Eleanor ? " in the 
 most commonplace way, and offered her a chair. 
 
 " I've come, you see. You were rather peremptory, 
 so I thought it must be a matter of great importance." 
 
 " It is," said I. " You went to see Madame Brandt." 
 
 " I did," she replied, looking at me steadily, " and I 
 have tried to write to you, but it was more difficult than 
 I thought." 
 
 " Well," said I, " it's no use writing now, for you've 
 managed to drive her out of the country." 
 
 She half rose in her chair and regarded me with wide 
 blue eyes. 
 
 " I've driven her out of the country ? " 
 
 " Yes ; with her maid and her belongings and Anas- 
 tasius Papadopoulos's troupe of performing cats, and 
 Anastasius Papadopoulos's late pupil and assistant, 
 Quast. She has given up her comfortable home in 
 London and now proposes to be a wanderer among the 
 music-halls of Europe." 
 
 " But that's not my fault ! " cried Eleanor. " Indeed 
 it isn't." 
 
 " She says in a letter I received this morning bearing 
 no address, that if you nadn't come to her like God's 
 good angel, she would have remained in London."
 
 3o8 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Eleanor looked bewildered. " I thought I had made 
 it perfectly clear to her." 
 
 " Made what clear ? " 
 
 She blushed a furious red. " Can't you guess ? You 
 must be as stupid as she is. And, of course, you're 
 wildly angry with me. Aren't you ? " 
 
 " I certainly wish you hadn't gone to see her," said I. 
 
 " Was it merely to tell me this that you ordered me to 
 come here ? " she asked, with a touch of anger in her 
 voice, for however much like God's good angels young 
 women maybe, they generally have a spirit of their own. 
 
 I felt I had been wanting in tact ; also that I had put 
 myself — through an impetuosity foreign to what I had 
 thought to be my character — in a foolish position. If I 
 replied affirmatively to her question, she would have 
 treated me perfectly rightly in tossing her head in the 
 air and marching indignantly out of the room. I tem- 
 porised. 
 
 " In order to understand the extraordinary conse- 
 quences of your interview, I should like to have some 
 idea of what took place. I know, my dear Eleanor," I 
 continued as gently as I could, " I know that you went 
 to see her out of the very great kindness of your 
 heart " 
 
 " No, I didn't," said Eleanor. 
 
 I made a little gesture in lieu of reply. There was a 
 span of silence. Eleanor played with the silky ears of 
 Agatha's little Yorkshire terrier which had somehow 
 strayed into the room and taken possession of her lap. 
 
 " Don't you see, Simon," she said at last, half tear- 
 fully, without taking her eyes off the dog, " don't you 
 see that by accusing me in this way you make it almost 
 impossible for me to speak } And I was going to be so 
 loyal to you."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 309 
 
 A tear fell down her cheek on to the dog's back, and 
 convicted me of unmitigated brutality. 
 
 " What else could you be but loyal ? " I murmured. 
 " Your attitude all through has shown it." 
 
 She flashed her hand angrily over her eyes, and looked 
 at me. " And I wanted to be loyal to the end. If you 
 had waited and she had waited, you would have seen. 
 As soon as I could have conveyed it to you decently, I 
 
 should have shown you Ah ! " She broke off, 
 
 put the Yorkshire terrier on the sofa beside her, and 
 rose with an impatient gesture. " You want to know 
 why T called on Lola Brandt ? I felt I had to know for 
 myself what kind of woman she was. She was the 
 woman between us — you and me. You don't suppose 
 I ceased to care for you just because what we thought 
 was a fatal illness broke off our engagement ! I did 
 care for you. I cared for you — in a way ; I say ' in a 
 way ' — I'll tell you why later on. When we met here 
 the last time do you think I was not moved ? I knew 
 your altered position would not allow you to suggest a 
 renewal of the engagement so I offered \'ou the oppor- 
 tunity. Do you remember ? But I could not tell 
 whether you still cared for me or whether you cared for 
 the other woman. So I had to go and see her. I 
 couldn't bear to think that you might feel in honour 
 bound to take me at my word and be caring all the time 
 for some one else. I went to see her, and then I realised 
 that I didn't count. Don't ask why. Women know 
 these things. And I found that she loved you with a 
 warmth and richness I'm incapable of. I felt I had 
 stepped into something big and splendid, as if I had been 
 a caterpillar walking into the heart of a red rose. I felt 
 prim and small and petty. Until then I had never 
 known what love meant, and I didn't feel it ; I couldn't
 
 3IO SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 feel it. I couldn't give you a millionth part of what 
 that woman does. And I knew that having lived in 
 that atmosphere, you couldn't possibly be content with 
 me. If you had waited, I should have found some 
 means of telling you so. That's what I meant by saying 
 I was loyal to you. And I thought I had made it clear 
 to her. It seems I didn't. It isn't my fault." 
 
 " My dear," said I, when she had come to the end of 
 this astonishing avowal, and stood looking at me some- 
 what defiantly and twisting her lingers nervously in front 
 of her, " I don't know what in the world to say to you." 
 
 " You can tell me, at least, that my instinct was 
 right." 
 
 " Which one ? A woman has so many." 
 
 " That you love Lola Brandt." 
 
 I lifted my arms in a helpless gesture and let them 
 drop to my sides. 
 
 " One is not one's own master in these things." 
 
 " Then you do ? " 
 
 " Yes," said I in a low voice. 
 
 Eleanor drew a long breath, turned and sat down 
 again on the sofa. 
 
 " And she knows it ? " 
 
 " I have told her so." 
 
 " Then why in the world has she run away ? " 
 
 " Because you two wonderful and divinely foolish 
 people have been too big for each other. While you 
 were impressed by one quality in her she was equally 
 impressed by another in you. She departed, burning 
 her ships, so as to go entirely out of my life for the simple 
 reason, as she herself expresses it, that she was not fit to 
 black your boots. So," said I, taking her left hand in 
 mine and patting it gently, " between you two dear, 
 divine angel fools, I fall to the ground."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 311 
 
 A while later, just before we parted, she said in her 
 frank way : 
 
 " I know many people would say I've behaved with 
 shocking impropriety — immodestly and all that. You 
 don't, do you ? I believe half the unhappiness in life 
 comes from people being afraid to go straight at things. 
 Perhaps I've gone too straight this time — but you'll 
 forgive me ? " 
 
 I smiled and squeezed her hand. " My dear," said I, 
 " Lola Brandt was right. You are God's good angel." 
 
 I went away in a chastened mood, no longer wrathful, 
 for what could woman do more for mortal man than 
 what Eleanor Faversham had attempted ? She had 
 gone to see whether she should stand against her rival, 
 and with a superb generosity, unprecedented in her sex, 
 she had withdrawn. The magnanimity of it over- 
 whelmed me. I walked along the street exalting her to 
 viewless pinnacles of high-heartedness. And then, 
 suddenly, the Devil whispered in my ear that execrated 
 word " eumoiriety." It poisoned the rest of the day. 
 It confirmed my conviction of the ironical designs of 
 Destiny. Destiny, not content with making me a vic- 
 tim of the accursed principle in my own person, had 
 used these two dear women as its instruments in dealing 
 me fresh humiliation. Where would it end ? Where 
 could I turn to escape such an enemy ? If I had been 
 alone in green fields instead of Sloane Square, I should 
 have clapped my hands to my head and prayed God not 
 to drive me crazy. I should have cried wild vows to the 
 winds and shaken my fist at the sky and rolled upon 
 the grass and made a genteel idiot of myself. Nature 
 would have understood. Men do these things in time of 
 stress, and I was in great stress. I loved a woman for 
 the first time in my hfe — and I was a man nearly forty.
 
 312 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 I wanted her with every quivering nerve in me. And 
 she was gone. Lost in the vast expanse of Europe 
 with a parcel of performing cats. Gone out of my hfe, 
 loving me as I loved her, all on account of this Hell- 
 invented principle. Ye gods ! If the fierce, pure, deep, 
 abiding love of a man for a woman is not a reality, what 
 in this world of shadows is anything but vapour ? I 
 grasped it tight, hugged it to my bosom — and now she 
 was gone, and in my ears rang the derisive laughter of 
 the enemy. 
 
 Where would it end ? What would happen next ? 
 Nothing was too outrageously, maniacally impossible. 
 I walked up Sloane Street, a street which for impec- 
 cable respectability, security of life and person, comfort- 
 able, modem, twentieth-century, prosperous smugness 
 has no superior in all the smug cities of the earth, and 
 I was prepared to encounter with a smile of recognition 
 anything that the whirhng brains of Bedlam had ever 
 conceived. Why should not this little lady tripping 
 along with gold chain-bag and anxious, shopping knit of 
 the brow, throw her arms round my neck and salute me 
 as her long-lost brother ? Why should not the patient 
 horses in that omnibus suddenly turn into grifhns and 
 begin to snort fire from their nostrils ? Why should not 
 that pohceman, who, on his beat, was approaching me 
 with heavy, measured tread, suddenly arrest me for 
 complicity in the Pazzi Conspiracy or the Rye House 
 Plot ? Why should not the whole of the decorous 
 street suddenly change into the inconsequence of an 
 Empire ballet ? Why should not the heavens fall 
 down and universal chaos envelop all ? 
 
 The only possible reason I can think of now is that 
 the Almighty Powers did not consider it worth while to 
 go to quite so much trouble on my account.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 313 
 
 This, however, gives you some idea of my state of 
 mind. But though it lasted for a considerable time, I 
 would not have you believe that I fostered it unduly. 
 Indeed, I repudiated it with some disgust. I took it 
 out, examined it, and finding it preposterous, set to 
 work to modify it into harmony with the circumstances 
 of my everyday life. Even the most sorely tried of 
 men cannot walk abroad shedding his exasperation 
 around like a pestilence. If he does, he is put into a 
 lunatic asylum. 
 
 If a man cannot immediately assuage the hunger of 
 his heart, he must meet starvation with a smiling face. 
 In the meantime, he has to eat so as to satisfy the hunger 
 of his body, to clothe himself with a certain discrimina- 
 tion, to attend to polite commerce with his fellow-man 
 and to put to some fair use the hours of his day. I did 
 not doubt that by means of intelligent inquiry which I 
 determined to pursue in every possible direction I 
 should sooner or later obtain news of Lola. A lady 
 with a troupe of performing cats could not for long 
 remain in obscurity. True, I might have gone in gallant 
 quest of her ; but I had had enough of such fool adven- 
 tures. I bided my time, consulted with Dale, who took 
 up the work of a private detective agency with his usual 
 zeal, writing letters to every crony who languished in 
 the exile of foreign embassies, and corresponding (un- 
 known to Lady Kynnersley) with the agencies of the 
 International Aid Society, did what I could on my own 
 account, and turned my attention seriously to the re- 
 generation of the Judds. 
 
 As the affairs of one drunken tailor's family could not 
 afford me complete occupation for my leisure hours, I 
 began to find myself insensibly drawn by Campion's 
 unreflecting enthusiasm into all kinds of small duties
 
 314 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 connected with Barbara's Building. Before I could 
 realise that I had consented, I discovered myself in 
 charge of an evening class of villainous-looking and un- 
 cleanly youths who assembled in one of the lecture- 
 rooms to listen to my recollections of the history of 
 England. I was to continue the course begun by a 
 young Oxford man, who, for some reason or other, had 
 migrated from Barbara's Building to Toynbee Hall. 
 
 " I've never done any schoolmastering in my life. 
 Suppose," said I, with vivid recollections of my school- 
 days, " suppose they rag me ? " 
 
 " They won't," said Campion, who had come to intro- 
 duce me to the class. 
 
 And they did not. I found these five-and-twenty 
 youthful members of the proletariat the most attentive, 
 respectable, and intelligent audience that ever listened 
 to a lecture. Gradually I came to perceive that they 
 were not as villainous-looking and uncleanly as at first 
 sight I had imagined. A great many of them took 
 notes. When I had come to the end of my dissertation 
 on Henry VIII., I went among them, as I discovered the 
 custom to be, and chatted, answering questions, explain- 
 ing difficulties, and advising as to a course of reading. 
 The atmosphere of trust and friendliness compensated 
 for the lack of material sweetness. Here were young 
 men pathetically eager to learn, grateful for every 
 crumb of information that came from my lips. They 
 reminded me of nothing more than the ragged class of 
 scholars around a teacher in a mediaeval university. 
 Some had vague dreams of eventually presenting them- 
 selves for examinations, the Science and Art Depart- 
 ment, the College of Preceptors, the Matriculation 
 of the University of London. Others longed for educa- 
 tion for its own sake, or rather as a means of raising
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 315 
 
 themselves in the social scale. Others, bitten by the 
 crude Socialism of their class, had been persuaded to 
 learn something of past movements of mankind so as to 
 obtain some basis for their opinions. All were in deadly 
 earnest. The magnetic attraction between teacher 
 and taught estabhshed itself. After one or two lectures, 
 I looked forward to the next with excited interest. 
 
 Other things Campion off-handedly put into my 
 charge. I went on tours of inspection round the houses 
 of his competing housewives. I acted as his deputy at 
 the police court when ladies and gentlemen with a good 
 record at Barbara's got into trouble with the constabu- 
 lary. I investigated cases for the charity of the institu- 
 tion. In quite a short time I realised with a gasp that 
 I had become part of the machineiy of Barbara's Build- 
 ing, and was remorselessly and helplessly whirled hither 
 and thither with the rest by the force of the driving 
 wheel which was Rex Campion. 
 
 The amazing, the astounding, the utterly incredible 
 thing about the whole matter was that I not only liked 
 it, but plunged into it heart and soul as I had never 
 plunged into work before. I discovered s^Tnpathies 
 that had hitherto lain undreamed of within me. In my 
 electioneering days I had, it is true, foregathered with 
 the sons of toil. I had shaken the homy hands of men 
 and the soapsuddy hands of women. I had flattered 
 them and cajoled them and sho\vn myself mighty 
 affable, as a sensible and aspiring Parliamentary can- 
 didate should do ; but the way to their hearts I had 
 never found, I had never dreamed of seeking. And now 
 it seemed as if the great gift had been bestowed on me 
 — and I examined it with a new and almost tremulous 
 delight. 
 
 Also, for the first time in all my life, I had taken pain
 
 3i6 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 to be the companion of my soul. All my efforts to find 
 Lola were fruitless. I became acquainted with the heart- 
 ache, the longing for the unattainable, and agony of 
 spirit. The only anodyne was a forgetfulness of self, the 
 only compensation a glimmer of a hope and the shadow 
 of a smile in the grey and leaden lives around me. 
 
 On Whit Monday evening I was walking along the 
 Thames Embankment on my way home from Waterloo 
 Station, wet through, tired out, disappointed, and look- 
 ing forward to the dry, soft raiment, the warm, cosy 
 room, the excellent dinner that awaited me in my flat. 
 I — with several others — had been helping Campion 
 with his annual outing of factory girls and young hooli- 
 gans. The weather, which had been perfect on Satur- 
 day, Sunday, and when we had started, a gay and 
 astonishing army, at seven o'clock, had broken before 
 ten. It had rained, dully, miserably, insistently all 
 day long. The happy day in the New Eorest had been 
 a damp and dismal fiasco. I was returning home, 
 thinking I might walk off an incipient chill, as depressed 
 as no one but the baffled philanthropist can be, when I 
 perceived a tattered and dejected man sitting on a 
 bench, a clothes-basket between his feet, his elbows on 
 his knees, his head in his hands, and sobbing as if his 
 heart would break. As the spectacle of a grown-up 
 man crying bitterly in a public thoroughfare was some- 
 what remarkable, I paused, and then in order to see 
 whether his distress was genuine, and also not to arouse 
 his suspicions, I threw myself in an exhausted manner 
 on the bench beside him. He continued to sob. At 
 last I said, raising my voice : 
 
 " You seem to be pretty miserable. What's wrong ? " 
 He turned bleared, yet honest-looking eyes upon me.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 317 
 
 " The whole blasted show ! " said he. " There's 
 nothing right in it, s'welp me Gawd." 
 
 I gave a modihed assent to the proposition and drew 
 my coat-collar over my eyes. " Being wet through 
 doesn't make it any better," said I. 
 
 " Who would ha' thought it would come down as it 
 has to-day ? Tell me that. It's enough to make a 
 man cut his throat ! " 
 
 I was somewhat surprised. " You're not in such a 
 great distress just because it has been a rainy day ! " 
 
 " Ain't I just ! " he exclaimed. " It's been and gone 
 and ruined me, this day has. Look 'ere, guv'nor, I'll 
 tell you all about it. I've been out of work, see ? I 
 was in 'orspital for three months and I couldn't get 
 nothing regular to do when I come out. I'm a packer 
 by trade. I did odd jobs, see ? and the wife she earned a 
 little, too, and we managed to keep things going and 
 to scrape together five shillings, that's three months' 
 savings, against Whitsun Bank Holiday. And as the 
 weather was so fine, I laid it all out in paper windmills 
 to sell to the kids on 'Amstead 'Eath. And I started 
 out this morning with the basket full of them all so fine 
 and pretty, and no sooner do I get on the 'Eath than the 
 rain comes down and wipes out the whole blooming lot, 
 before I could sell one. Look 'ere ! " 
 
 He drew a bedraggled sheet of newspaper from the 
 clothes-basket and displayed a piteous sodden welter of 
 sticks and gaudy pulp. At the sight of it he broke down 
 again and sobbed like a child. 
 
 " And there's not a bite in the 'ouse, nor not likely to 
 be for days ; and I daren't go home and face the missus 
 and the kids — and I wish I was dead." 
 
 I had already seen many pitiful tragedies during my 
 brief experience with Campion ; but the peculiar pitiful-
 
 3i8 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 ness of this one wrung my heart. It taught me as 
 nothing had done before how desperately humble are 
 the aspirations of the poor. I thought of the cosy com- 
 fort that awaited me in my own home ; the despair that 
 awaited him in his. 
 
 I put my hand in my pocket. 
 
 " You seem to be a good chap," said I. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. The consciousness of 
 applauded virtue offered no consolation. I drew out a 
 couple of half-crowns and threw them into the basket. 
 
 " For the missus and the kids," said I. 
 
 He picked them out of the welter, and holding them 
 in his hand, looked at me stupidly. 
 
 " Can you afford it, guv'nor ? " 
 
 At first I thought this remark was some kind of iU- 
 conditioned sarcasm ; but suddenly I realised that 
 dripping wet and covered with mud from head to foot, 
 with a shapeless, old, green Homburg hat drooping for- 
 lornly about my ears, I did not fulfil his conception of 
 the benevolent millionaire. I laughed, and rose from 
 the bench. 
 
 " Yes. Quite well. Better luck next time." 
 
 I nodded a good-bye, and walked away. After a 
 minute, he came running after me. 
 
 " 'Ere," said he, " I ain't thanked yer. Gawd knows 
 how I'm going to do it. I carn't ! But, 'ere — would 
 you mind if I chucked a lot of the stuff into the river 
 and told the missus I had sold it, and just got back my 
 money ? She's proud, she is, and has never accepted a 
 penny in charity in her life. It's only because it would 
 be better for 'er." 
 
 He looked at me with such earnest appeal that I saw 
 that the saving of the wife's pride was a serious matter. 
 
 " Of course," said I, " and here's a few ha'pence to 
 add to it, so as to give colour to the story."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 319 
 
 He saw that I understood. " Thank you kindly, sir," 
 said he. 
 
 " Tell me," said I, " do you love your wife ? " 
 
 He gaped at me for a moment ; obviously the ques- 
 tion had never been put to him either by himself or any- 
 body else. Then seeing that my interest was genuine, 
 he spat and scratched his head. 
 
 " We've been together twenty years," he said, in a 
 low voice, emotion struggling with self-consciousness, 
 " and I've had nothing agin her all that time. She's a 
 bloomin' wonder, I tell you straight." 
 
 I held out my hand. " At any rate, you've got what 
 I haven't," said I. "A woman who loves you to wel- 
 come you home." 
 
 And I went away longing, longing for Lola's arms and 
 the deep love in her voice. 
 
 Now that I come to view my actions in some sort of 
 perspective, it seems to me that it was the underlying 
 poignancy of this trumpery incident — a poignancy 
 which, nevertheless, bit deep into my soul, that finally 
 determined the current of my life. 
 
 A short while afterwards. Campion, who for some 
 time past had found that the organisation of Barbara's 
 Building had far outgrown his individual power of con- 
 trol, came to me with a proposal that I should under- 
 take the management of the institution under his 
 general directorship. As he knew of my financial 
 affairs and of my praiseworthy but futile efforts to live 
 on two hundred a year, he offered me another two hun- 
 dred by way of salary and quarters in the Building. I 
 accepted, moved the salvage of my belongings from 
 Victoria Street to Lambeth, and settled down to the 
 work for which a mirth-loving Providence had destined 
 me from my cradle. 
 
 When I told Agatha, she nearly fainted.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 No sooner had I moved into Barbara's Building and 
 was preparing to begin my salaried duties, than I re- 
 ceived news which sent me off post haste to Berlin. 
 And just as it was not I but Anastasius Papadopoulos 
 who discovered Captain Vauvenarde, so, in this case, it 
 was Dale who discovered Lola. 
 
 He burst in upon me one day, flourishing a large 
 visiting-card, which he flung down on the table before 
 my eyes. 
 
 " Do you recognise that ? " 
 
 It was the familiar professional card of the unhappy 
 Anastasius. 
 
 " Yes," said I. 
 
 " Do you see the last line ? " 
 
 I read " London Agents : Messrs. Conto and Blag, 
 172 Maiden Lane, W.C." I looked up. " Well ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 "It has done the trick," said he triumphantly. 
 " What fools we were not to have thought of it before. 
 I was rooting out a drawer of papers and came across 
 the card. You remember he handed us one all round 
 the first day we met him. I put it away — I'm rather a 
 methodical devil with papers, as you know. When I 
 found it, I danced a hornpipe all round the room and 
 went straight off to Conto and Blag. I made certain 
 she would work through them, as they were accustomed 
 to shop the cats, and I found I was right. They know 
 all about her. Wouldn't give her address, but told me 
 that she was appearing this week as ever is at the Winter 
 
 320
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 321 
 
 Garten at Berlin. Why that pudding-headed quagga, 
 Bevan, at the Embassy, hasn't kept his eyes open for 
 me, as he promised," he went on a while later, " I don't 
 know ! I can understand Eugen Pattcnhausen, the 
 owl-eyed coot who runs the International Aid Society, 
 not doing a hand's turn to aid anybody — but Bevan ! 
 For Heaven's sake, while you're there call at the Em- 
 bassy and kick him." 
 
 " You forget, my dear boy," said I, with a laugh, for 
 his news had made me light-hearted, " you forget that 
 I have entered upon a life of self-denial, and one of the 
 luxuries I must deny myself is that of kicking attaches." 
 
 " I've a good mind to go with you and do it myself. 
 But it'll keep. Do you know, it's rather quaint, isn't 
 it ? " he said, after a pause, as if struck by a luminous 
 idea — " it's rather quaint that it should be I who am 
 playing the little tin god on wheels for you two, and say- 
 ing ' Bless you, my children.' " 
 
 " I thought the humour of the situation couldn't fail 
 to strike you at last." 
 
 " Yes," said he, knitting his brows into an air of dark 
 reflection, " it is funny. Devilish funny ! " 
 
 I dismissed him with grateful words, and in a flutter 
 of excitement went in search of Campion, whom I was 
 lucky to find in the building. 
 
 " I'm sorry to ask for leave of absence," said I 
 " before I've actually taken up my appointment ; but 
 I must do so. I am summoned at once to Berlin on 
 important business." 
 
 Campion gave willing consent. " How long will you 
 be away ? " 
 
 " That depends," said I, with a smile which I meant 
 to be enigmatic, but assuredly must have been fatuous, 
 " upon my powers of persuasion." 
 
 X
 
 322 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 ^_ '•I had bright thoughts of gomg to Beiiin and back in 
 a meteoric flash, bringing Lola with me on my return 
 journey, to marry her out of hand as soon as we reached 
 London. Cats and Winter Gardens concerned me but 
 httle, and of trifles Uke contracts I took no account. 
 
 "If you're there any time," said Campion, tugging 
 thoughtfully at his black beard, " you might look into 
 what the Germans are doing with regard to Female 
 Rescue Work. You might pick up a practical tip or 
 two for use down here." 
 
 What a thing it is to be a man of one idea ! I gave 
 him an evasive answer and rushed away to make the 
 necessary preparations for my journey. I was absurdly, 
 boyishly happy. No doubt as to my success crossed 
 my mind. It was to be my final and triumphant ad- 
 venture. Unless the High Powers stove a hole in the 
 steamer or sent another railway train to collide with 
 mine, the non- attainment of my object seemed impos- 
 sible. I had but to go, to be seen, to conquer. 
 
 I arrived safely in Berlin at half-past seven in the 
 evening, and drove to a modest hotel in the Kaiser- 
 strasse, where I had engaged a room. My first inquiry 
 was for a letter from Lola. To my disappointment 
 nothing awaited me. I had telegraphed to her at the 
 Winter Garten the day before, and I had written as well. 
 A horrible surmise began to dance before me. Suppose 
 Messrs. Conto and Blag had given Dale erroneous in- 
 formation ! I grew sick and faint at the thought. 
 What laughter there would be in Olympus over my fool 
 journey ! In great agitation I clamoured for a pro- 
 gramme of the Winter Garten entertainment. The 
 hotel clerk put it into my trembling hands. There 
 was no mention of Madame Lola Brandt, but to my 
 unspeakable comfort I saw the announcement :
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 323 
 
 " Professorin Anastasuis Papadopotdos tmd ihrc wun- 
 derbarcn Katzen." 
 
 Lola was working the cats under the little man's 
 name. That was why she had baffled the inquiries in- 
 stituted by Dale and myself and had not received my 
 telegram. I scribbled a hasty note in which I told her 
 of my arrival, my love, and my impatience ; that I 
 proposed to witness the performance that evening, and 
 to meet her immediately afterwards at the stage door. 
 This, addressed to the Professorin Anastasius Papado- 
 poulos, I despatched by special messenger to the Winter 
 Garten. After a hasty toilet and a more hurried meal, 
 I went out, and, tocr impatient to walk, I hailed a 
 droshky, and drove through the wide, cheery streets of 
 Berlin. It was a balmy June evening. The pave- 
 ments were thronged. Through the vast open fronts 
 of the cafes one saw agglutinated masses of people just 
 cleft here and there by white- jacketed waiters darting 
 to and fro with high-poised trays of beer and coffee. 
 Save these and the folk in theatres all Berlin was in the 
 streets, taking the air. A sense of gaiety pervaded the 
 place, organised and recognised, as though it were as 
 much part of a Berliner's duty to himself, the Father- 
 land, and the Aknighty to be gay when the labours of 
 the day are over as to be serious during business hours. 
 He goes through it with a grave face and enjoys himself 
 prodigiously. Your Latin when he fills the street with 
 jest and laughter obeys the ebullience of his tempera- 
 ment ; your Teuton always seems to be conscientiously 
 obeying a book of regulations. 
 
 I soon arrived at the Winter Garten and secured a 
 stall near the stage. The vast building was packed with 
 a smoking and perspiring multitude. In shape it was 
 like a long tunnel or a long, narrow railway station, an
 
 324 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 impression intensified by a monotonous barrel roof. 
 This was, however, painted|blue and decorated with 
 myriads of golden stars. Along one side ran a gallery 
 where those who liked to watch the performance and 
 eat a six-course dinner at the same time could do so in 
 elaborate discomfort. In the centre of the opposite side 
 was the stage, and below it, grouped in a semicircle, the 
 orchestra. Beneath the starry roof hung long wisps of 
 smoky clouds. 
 
 The performance had only just begun and Lola's turn 
 was seventh on the list. I reflected that greater delibe- 
 ration in my movements would have better suited the 
 maturity of my years, besides enabling me to eat a 
 more digestible dinner. I had come with the unreason- 
 ing impatience of a boy, fully conscious that I was too 
 early, yet desperately anxious not to be too late. I 
 laughed at myself indulgently and patted the boy in 
 me on the head. Meanwhile, I gave myself up with 
 mild interest to the entertainment provided. It was 
 the same as that at any music-hall, winter garden, or 
 variety theatre the world over. The same brawny 
 gentlemen in tights made human pyramids out of them- 
 selves and played football with the little boys and 
 minced with their aggravating step down to the foot- 
 lights ; the same red-nosed clown tried to emulate his 
 dashing companion on the horizontal bars, pulling him- 
 self up, to the eternal delight of the audience, by the 
 seat of his baggy breeches, and hanging his hat on the 
 smooth steel upright ; the same massive lady with the 
 deep chest sang sentimental ballads ; the same China- 
 man produced warrens of rabbits and flocks of pigeons 
 from impossible receptacles ; the same half-dozen 
 scantily clad damsels sang the same inane chorus in the 
 same fiat baby voices and danced the same old dance.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 325 
 
 Mankind in the bulk is very young ; it is very easily 
 amused and, like a child, clamours for the oft-repeated tale. 
 
 The curtain went down on the last turn before Lola's. 
 I felt a curious suspense, and half wished that I had not 
 come to see the performance. I shrank from finding her 
 a million miles away from me, a new, remote creature, 
 impersonal as those who had already appeared on the 
 stage. Mingled with this was a fear lest she might not 
 please this vast audience. Failure, I felt, would be as 
 humiliating to me as to her. Agatha, I remembered, 
 confessed to the same feeling with regard to myself 
 when I made my first speech in the House of Commons. 
 But then I had an incontrovertible array of facts and 
 arguments drawn up by an infallible secretary and 
 welded into cunning verbiage by myself which I learned 
 off by heart. And the House, as I knew it would, had 
 been half asleep. I couldn't fail. But Lola had to 
 please three thousand wideawake Berlin citizens, who 
 had paid their money for entertainment, with no other 
 equipment than her own personality and the tricks of a 
 set of wretched irresponsible cats. 
 
 The orchestra struck up the act music. The curtains 
 parted, and revealed the brightly polished miniature 
 gymnasium I had seen at Anastasius's cattery ; the row 
 of pussies at the back, each on a velvet stand, some 
 white, some tabby, some long-furred, some short-furred, 
 all sitting with their forepaws doubled demurely under 
 their chests, wagging their tails comically, and blinking 
 with feline indifference at the footlights ; a cage in a 
 corner in which I descried the ferocious wild tom-cat ; 
 and, busily putting the last touches to the guy-ropes, 
 the pupil and assistant Quast, neatly attired in a close- 
 fitting bottle-green uniform with brass buttons. Al- 
 most immediately Lola appeared, in a shimmering gold
 
 326 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 evening gown, and with a necklet of barbaric gold round 
 her neck. I had never seen her so magnificently, so 
 commandingly beautiful. I was conscious of a ripple 
 of admiration running through the huge assembly — and 
 it was a queer sensation, half pride, half angry jealousy. 
 My immediate neighbours were emphatic in their 
 praise. Applause greeted her. She smiled acknow- 
 ledgments and, flicking the little toy whip which she 
 carried in her hand, she began the act. First of all, the 
 cats jumped from their stands, right-turned like a mili- 
 tary line, and walked in procession round the stage. At 
 a halt and a signal each pussy put its front paws on its 
 front neighbour and the march began again. Then Lola 
 did something with voice and whip, and each cat 
 dropped on its paws, and as if by magic there appeared 
 a space between every animal. 
 
 At a further word the last cat jumped over the one in 
 front and over the one in front of that and so on until, 
 having cleared the first cat, it leaped on to its stand, 
 where it began to lick itself placidly. Meanwhile, the 
 penultimate cat had begun the same evolution, and 
 then the antepenultimate cat, until all the cats had 
 cleared the front one and had taken their positions on 
 their stands. The last cat, left alone, looked round, 
 yawned in the face of the audience, and, turning tail, 
 regained its stand with an air of unutterable boredom. 
 The audience, delighted, applauded vehemently. I 
 raised my hands as I clapped them, trying vainly and 
 foolishly to catch Lola's eye. 
 
 At a tap of her whip a white angora and a sleek tabby 
 jumped from the stands and took up their positions one 
 at each end of a miniature tight-rope. Lola stuck a 
 tiny Japanese umbrella in the collar of each and sent 
 them forth on their perilous journey. When they met
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 327 
 
 in the middle, they spat and caterwauled and argued 
 spitefully. The audience shrieked. Then by a miracle 
 the cats cleared each other and pursued their sedate and 
 cautious ways to their respective ends of the rope. The 
 next act was a team of a dozen rats drawing a gilded 
 chariot driven by a stolid coal-black cat with green, 
 expressionless eyes, down an aisle formed by the other 
 cats, who sat in solemn contemplation on their tails. 
 There was no doubt of Lola's success. The tricks were 
 as marvellous in themselves as their execution was flaw- 
 less. During the applause I noticed her eagerly scan- 
 ning the sea of faces. Her eyes seemed to be turned in 
 my direction. I waved my handkerchief, and instinct 
 told me that at last she recognised the point of pink 
 and the flutter of white as me. 
 
 Then the stage was cleared of the gentle cats and the 
 wire cage containing Hephcestus was pushed forward 
 by Quast. He showed off the ferocious beast's quality 
 by making it dash itself against the wires, arch its huge 
 back, and shoot out venomous claws. Lola commanded 
 him by sign to open the cage. He approached in simu- 
 lated terror, Hephaestus uttering blood-curdling howls, 
 and every time he touched the handle of the door 
 Hephaestus sprang at him like a tiger with the tom-cat's 
 hateful hiss. At last, amid the laughter of the audience 
 (for this was prearranged business), Quast suddenly 
 refused to obey his mistress any more, and w'cnt and 
 sat on the floor in a corner of the stage. Then Lola, 
 with a glance of contempt at him for his poltroonery 
 and a glance of confidence at the audience, opened the 
 cage door and dragged the gigantic and malevolent 
 brute out by the scruff of its neck and held it up like a 
 rabbit, as she had done in Anastasius's cattery. 
 
 Suddenly her iron grip seemed to relax ; she made
 
 328 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 one or two ineffectual efforts to retain it and the brute 
 dropped to the ground. She looked at it for a second 
 disconcerted as if she had lost her nerve, and then, in a 
 horrible flash, the beast sprang at her face. She uttered 
 piercing screams. The blood spurted from the ghastly 
 claws. Quick as lightning Quast leapt forward and 
 dragged it off. Lola clapped both hands to her eyes, 
 and reeled and tottered to the wings, where I saw a 
 man's two arms receive her. The last thing I saw was 
 Quast kneeling on the beast on the floor mastering him 
 by some professional clutch. Then there rang out a 
 sharp whistle and the curtain went down with a run. 
 
 I rose, sick with horror, barely conscious of the gasp- 
 ing excitement that prevailed around me, and blindly 
 groped my path through the crowded rows of folk to- 
 wards the door. I had only proceeded half-way when 
 a sudden silence made me turn, and I saw a man address- 
 ing the audience from the stage. Apparently it was 
 the manager. He regretted to have to inform the 
 audience that Madame Papadopoulos would not be able 
 to conclude her most interesting performance that 
 evening as she had unfortunately received injuries of a 
 very grave nature. Then he signalled to the orchestra, 
 who crashed into a loud and vulgar march with clanging 
 brass and thundering drum. It sounded so cynically 
 and hideously inhuman that I trampled recklessly over 
 people in my mad rush to the exit. 
 
 I found the stage-door, where a knot of the per- 
 formers was assembled, talking horribly of the acci- 
 dent. I pushed my way shiveringly through them, and 
 tried to rush into the building, but was checked by a 
 burly porter and a gruff " Was wollen Sie?" I ex- 
 plained incoherently in my rusty German. I came for 
 news of Madame Papadopoulos. I was her Vcrlobter, I
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 329 
 
 declared, with a gush of inspiration. Whether he be- 
 Heved that I was her affianced I know not, but he bade 
 me wait, and disappeared with my card, I became at 
 once the object of the curiosity of the loungers. I 
 heard them whispering together as they pointed me out 
 and pitying me. The cat had torn her face away ! said 
 one woman. It was schrccklich ! I put my hands over 
 my ears so as not to hear. Presently the porter re- 
 turned with a stout person in authority, who drew me 
 into the stage-doorkeeper's box. 
 
 " You are a friend of Frau Papadopoulos ? " 
 
 " Friend ! " I cried. " She is to be my wife. I am 
 in a state of horror and despair. UmgoUcswillcn, tell 
 me what has happened." 
 
 Seeing my condition, he laid aside his official manner 
 and became human. It was a dreadful accident, said 
 he. The beast had apparently got its claws in near her 
 eye ; but what were her exact injuries he could not tell, 
 as her face was all over blood and she had fainted with 
 the pain. The doctor was with her. He had tele- 
 phoned for an ambulance. I was to be quite certain 
 that she would receive every possible attention. He 
 would give my card to the doctor. Meanwhile I was 
 quite at liberty to remain in the box till the ambulance 
 came. I thanked him. 
 
 " In the meantime," said I, " if you can let me have 
 a word with Fraiilein Dawkins, her maid, should she be 
 in the theatre, or Quast, her attendant, I should be 
 grateful." 
 
 He promised and withdrew. The doorkeeper gave 
 me a wooden chair, and there I sat for an unconscion- 
 able time, faint and dizzy with suspense. The chance 
 words I had heard in the crowd, the manager's remark 
 about the claws, the memory of the savage spring at the
 
 330 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 beloved face made me feel sick. Every now and then, 
 as some doors leading to the stage swung open, I could 
 hear the orchestra and the laughter and applause of the 
 audience. Both Dawkins and Quast visited me. The 
 former was in a helpless state of tears and hand-wring- 
 ing. As she knew no word of German she could under- 
 stand nothing that the doctors or others said. Madame 
 was unconscious. Her head was tightly bandaged. 
 That was all the definite information she had. 
 
 " Did Madame know I was in front to-night ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Oh yes, sir ! I think she had a letter from you. 
 She was so pleased, poor dear Madame. She told me 
 that you would see the best performance she had ever 
 given." 
 
 Whereupon she broke down and was useless for fur- 
 ther examination. Then Quast came. He could not 
 understand how the accident had occurred. Hephcestus 
 had never before tried to attack her. She had absolute 
 mastery over him, and he usually behaved with her as 
 gently as any of the other cats. With himself it was 
 quite different. He was accustomed to Hephaestus 
 springmg at him ; but then he beat hun hard with a 
 great stick until he was so sore that he could neither 
 stand up nor lie down. 
 
 " I have always implored Madame to carry some- 
 thing heavier than that silly little whip, and now it's all 
 over. She will never be able to control him again. 
 Hephcestus will have to be killed, and I will be desolate. 
 Ach, what a misfortune ! " 
 
 He began to weep. 
 
 " Good God ! " I cried ; " you don't mean to say that 
 you're sorry for the brute ? " 
 
 " One can't help being fond of him — das arme Tier ! 
 We have been for five years inseparable companions ! "
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 331 
 
 I had no sympathy to fling away on him at that 
 moment. 
 
 " How do you account for his spring at Madame to- 
 night ? That's all I want to know." 
 
 " She must have been thinking of something else 
 when she grabbed him, gnadiger Hery. For she missed 
 her grip. Then he fell and was frightened, and she 
 must have lost her nerve. Hephaestus knew it, and 
 sprang. That is always the case when wild animals 
 turn. All accidents happen like that." 
 
 His words filled me with a new and sickening dread. 
 " She must have been thinking of something else." Of 
 what else but of my presence there ? That stupid, 
 selfish wave of the handkerchief ! I sat gnawing my 
 hands and cursing myself. 
 
 The ambulance arrived. Men hurried past my box. 
 I waited again in agony of mind. At last the porter 
 came and cleared the passage and doorway of loungers, 
 and I heard the tread of footsteps and gruff directions. 
 The manager and a man in a frock-coat and black tie, 
 whom I recognised as the doctor, came down the pas- 
 sage, followed by two great men carrying between them 
 a stretcher covered by a sheet on which lay all that I 
 loved in life. Dawkins followed, weeping, and then 
 came several theatre folk. I went outside and saw 
 the stretcher put into the ambulance-van, and then I 
 made myself known to the doctor. 
 
 " She has received very grave injuries — chiefly the 
 right cheek and eye. So much so that she needs an 
 oculist's care at once. I have telephoned to Dr. Stein- 
 holz, of No. 4 Thiergarten, one of our ablest oculists, 
 to receive her now into his clinique. If you care to do 
 so, you are welcome to accompany me." 
 
 I drove through the gay, flaring streets of Berlin like 
 a man in a phantasmagoria of horror.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 The first time they allowed me to see her was after many 
 days of nerve-racking anxiety. I had indeed called at 
 the clinique two or three times a day for news, and I 
 had written short letters of comfort and received 
 weirdly-spelt messages taken down from Lola's dictation 
 by a nurse with an imperfect knowledge of English. 
 These kept the heart in me ; for the doctor's reports 
 were invariably grave — possible loss of sight in the 
 injured eye and permanent disfigurement their most 
 hopeful prognostications. I lived, too, in a nervous 
 agony of remorse. For whatever happened I held 
 myself responsible. At first they thought her life was 
 in danger. I passed nightmare days. Then the 
 alarming symptoms subsided, and it was a question of 
 the saving of the eye and the decent healing of the 
 cheek torn deep by the claws of the accursed brute. 
 When Quast informed me of its summary execution I 
 felt the primitive savage arise in me, and I upbraided 
 Quast for not having invited me to gloat over its ex- 
 piring throes. How the days passed I know not. I 
 wandered about the streets, looking into the windows of 
 the great shops, buying flowers and fruit for Lola in 
 eccentric quantities, or sitting in beerhouses reading the 
 financial pages of a German paper held upside down. I 
 could not return to London. Still less could I investi- 
 gate the Germanlphilanthropic methods of rescuing 
 fallen women. I wrote to Campion a brief account of 
 what had happened and besought him to set a deputy 
 to work on the regeneration of the Judds. 
 
 332
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 333 
 
 At last they brought me to where Lola lay, in a 
 darkened room, with her head tightly bandaged. A 
 dark mass spread over the pillow which I knew was her 
 glorious hair, I could scarcely see the unbandaged 
 half of her face. She still suffered acute pain, and I was 
 warned that my visit could only be of brief duration, and 
 that nothing but the simplest matters could be discussed. 
 I sat down on a chair by the left side of the bed. Her 
 wonderful nervous hand clung round mine as we talked. 
 The first thing she said to me, in a weak voice, Hke 
 the faint echo of her deep tones, was : 
 
 " I'm going to lose all my good looks, Simon, and you 
 won't care to look at me any more." 
 
 She said it so simply, so tenderly, without a hint of 
 reproach in it, that I almost shouted out my horrible 
 remorse ; but I remembered my injunctions and re- 
 frained. I strove to comfort her, telling her mythical 
 tales of surgical reassurances. She shook her head 
 sadly. 
 
 " It was like you to stay in Berlin, Simon," she said 
 after a while. " Although they wouldn't let me see 
 you, yet I knew you were within call. You can't con- 
 ceive what a comfort it has been." 
 
 " How could I leave you, dear," said I, " witli the 
 thought of you throbbing in my head night and day ? " 
 
 " How did you fmd me ? " 
 
 " Through Conto and Blag. I tried all other means, 
 you may be sure. But now I've found you I shan't let 
 you go again." 
 
 This was not the time for elaborate explanations. 
 She asked for none. When one is very ill one takes the 
 most unlikely happenings as commonplace occurrences. 
 It seemed enough to her that I was by her side. We 
 talked of her nurses, who were kind ; of the skill of Dr.
 
 334 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Steinliolz, who brought into his dinique the rigid dis- 
 cipUne of a man-of-war. 
 
 " He wouldn't even let me have your flowers," she 
 said. " And even if he had I shouldn't have been able 
 to see them in this dark hole." 
 
 She questioned me as to my doings. I told her of 
 my move to Barbara's Building. 
 
 " And I'm keeping you from all that splendid work," 
 she said weakly. " You must go back at once, Simon. 
 I shall get along nicely now, and I shall be happy now 
 that I've seen you again." 
 
 I kissed her fingers. " You have to learn a lesson, 
 my dear, which will do you an enormous amount of 
 good." 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 " The glorious duty of selfishness," said I. 
 
 Then the minute hand of the clock marked the end 
 of the interview, and the nurse appeared on the click 
 and turned me out. 
 
 After that I saw her daily ; gradually our interviews 
 lengthened, and as she recovered strength our talks 
 wandered from the little incidents and interests of the 
 sick-room to the general topics of our lives. I told her 
 of all that had happened to me since her flight. And I 
 told her that I wanted her and her only of all women. 
 
 " Why — oh, why, did you do such a foolish thing ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " I did it for your good." 
 
 " My dear," said I, " have you ever heard the story 
 of the tender-hearted elephant ? No ? It was told 
 in a wonderful book published years ago and called 
 ' The Fables of George Washington .Esop.' This is it. 
 There was once an elephant who accidentally trod on 
 the mother of a brood of newly hatched chickens.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 335 
 
 Her tender heart filled with remorse for what she had 
 done, and, overflowing with pity for the fluffy orphans, 
 she wept bitterly, and addressed them thus : ' Poor 
 little motherless things, doomed to face the rough 
 world without a parent's care, I myself will be a mother 
 to you.' Whereupon, gathering them under her with 
 maternal fondness, she sat down on the whole brood." 
 
 The unbandaged half of her face lit up with a wan 
 smile. " Did I do that ? " 
 
 " Something like it," said I. 
 
 " I didn't conceive it possible that you could love me 
 except for the outside things." 
 
 " You might have waited and seen," said I in mild 
 reproof. 
 
 She sighed. " You'll never understand. Do you 
 remember my saying once that you reminded me of an 
 English duke ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You made fun of me ; but you must have known 
 what I meant. You see, Simon, you didn't seem to 
 care a hang for me in that way — until quite lately. You 
 were goodness and kindness itself, and I felt that you 
 would stick by me as a friend through thick and thin ; 
 but I had given up hoping for anything else. And^I 
 knew there was some one only waiting for you, a real 
 refined lady. So when you kissed me, I didn't dare 
 beheve it. And I had made you kiss me. I told you so, 
 and I was as ashamed as if I had suddenly turned into 
 a loose woman. And when Miss Faversham came, I 
 knew it would be best for you to marry her, for all the 
 flattering things she said to me, I knew " 
 
 " My dear," I interrupted, " you didn't know at all. 
 1 loved you ever since I saw you first lying like a wonder- 
 ful panther in your chair at Cadogan Gardens. You
 
 336 SIMON THE HESTER 
 
 wove yourself into all my thoughts and around all my 
 actions. One of these days I'll show you a kind of 
 diary I used to keep, and you'll see how I abused you 
 behind your back." 
 
 Her face — or the dear half of it that was visible — 
 fell. " Oh, why ? " 
 
 " For making me turn aside from the nice little 
 smooth path to the grave which I had marked out for 
 myself. I regarded myself as a genteel semi-corpse, 
 and didn't want to be disturbed." 
 
 " And I disturbed you ? " 
 
 " Until I danced with fury and called down on your 
 dear head maledictions which for fulness and snap would 
 have made a mediaeval Pope squirm with envy." 
 
 She pressed my hand. " You are making fun again. 
 I thought you were serious." 
 
 " I am," said I. " I'm telling you exactly what 
 happened. Then, when I was rapidly approaching the 
 other world, it didn't matter. At last I died and came 
 to life again ; but it took me a long time to come really 
 to life. I was like a tree in spring which has one bud 
 which obstinately refuses to burst into blossom. At 
 last it did burst, and all the love that had been working 
 in my heart came to my lips ; and, incidentally, my 
 dear, to yours." 
 
 This was at the early stages of her recovery, when one 
 could only speak of gentle things. She told me of her 
 simple Odyssey — a period of waiting in Paris, an en- 
 gagement at Vienna and Budapest, and then Berlin. 
 Her agents had booked a week in Dresden, and a fort- 
 night in Homburg, and she would have to pay the 
 forfeit for breach of contract. 
 
 " I'm sorry for Anastasius's sake," she said. " The 
 poor little mite wrote me rapturous letters when he
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 337 
 
 heard I was out with the cats. He gave me a long 
 special message for each, which I was to whisper in its 
 
 ear." 
 
 Poor httle Anastasius Papadopoulos ! She showed 
 me his letters, written in a great, round, flourishing, 
 sanguine hand. He seemed to be happy enough at the 
 maison dc sante. He had formed, he said, a school for 
 the cats of the establishment, for which the authorities 
 were very grateful, and he heralded the completion of 
 his gigantic combinations with regard to the discovery 
 of the assassin of the horse Sultan. Lola and I never 
 spoke of him without pain ; for in spite of his crazy 
 and bombastic oddities, he had qualities that were 
 lovable. 
 
 " And now," said Lola, " I must tell him that 
 Hephaestus has been killed, and the rest are again 
 idhng under the care of the faithful Quast. It seemed a 
 pity to kill the poor beast." 
 
 " I wish to Heaven," said I, " that he had been, 
 strangled at birth ! " 
 
 " You never Hked him." She smiled wanly. " But 
 he is scarcely to be blamed. I grew unaccountably 
 nervous and lost control. All savage animals are like 
 that." And, seeing that I was about to protest 
 vehemently, she smiled again. " Remember, I'm a 
 hon-tamer's daughter, and brought up from childhood 
 to regard these things as part of the show. There must 
 always come a second's failure of concentration. Lots 
 of tamers meet their deaths sooner or later for the same 
 reason — just a sudden loss of magnetism. The beast 
 gets frightened and springs." 
 
 Exactly what' Quast had told me. Exactly what I 
 myself had divined at the sickening moment. I bowed 
 my head and laid the back of her cool hand against it, 
 
 Y
 
 338 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 and groaned out my remorse. If I had not been there ! 
 If I had not distracted her attention ! She would not 
 listen to my self-reproach. It had nothing to do with 
 me. She had simply missed her grip and lost her head. 
 She forbade me to mention the subject again. The 
 misery of thinking that I held myself to blame was 
 unbearable. I said no more, realising the acute 
 distress of her generous soul, but in my heart I made a 
 deep vow of reparation. 
 
 It was, however, with no such chivalrous feelings, but 
 out of the simple longing to fulfil my hfe that I asked 
 her definitely, for the first time, to marry me as soon as 
 she could get about the world again. I put before her 
 with what deUcacy I could that if she had foohsh ideas 
 of my being above her in station, she was above me in 
 worldly fortune, and thus we both had to make some 
 sacrifices to our pride. I said that my work was found 
 — that our lives could be regulated as she wished. 
 
 She Hstened, without saying a word, until I had 
 finished. Then she took my hand. 
 
 " I'm grateful," she said, " and I'm proud. And I 
 know that I love you beyond all things on earth. But 
 I won't give you an answer till I'm up and about on my 
 feet again." 
 
 " Why ? " I insisted. 
 
 " Don't ask. And don't mention the matter again. 
 You must be good to me, because I'm ill, and do what I 
 
 say." 
 
 She smiled and fondled my hand, and cajoled a 
 reluctant promise from me. 
 
 Then came days in which, for no obvious reason, 
 
 Lola received me with anxious frightened diffidence, 
 
 and spoke with constraint. The cheerfulness which she 
 
 :had hitherto exhibited gave place to dull depression.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 339 
 
 She urged me continually to leave Berlin, where, as she 
 said, I was wasting my time, and to return to my work 
 in London. 
 
 " I shall be all right, Simon, perfectly all right, and as 
 soon as I can travel, I'll come straight to London." 
 
 " I am not going to let you slip through my fingers 
 again," I would say laughingly. 
 
 " But I promise you, I'll swear to you I'll come back ! 
 Only I can't bear to think of you idling around a 
 woman's sick-bed, when you have such glorious things to 
 do at home. That's a man's work, Simon. This isn't." 
 
 " But it is a man's work," I would declare, "to devote 
 himself to the woman he loves and not to leave her 
 helpless, a stranger in a strange land." 
 
 *' I wish you would go, Simon. I do wish you would 
 go ! " she would say wearily. " It's the only favour I've 
 ever asked you in my life." 
 
 Man-like, I looked within myself to find the reason 
 for these earnest requests. In casting off my jester's 
 suit had I also divested myself of the power to be a 
 decently interesting companion ? Had I become 
 merely a dull, tactless, egotistical bore ? Was I, in 
 simple, naked, horrid fact, getting on an invalid's 
 delicate nerves ? I was scared at the new picture of 
 myself thus presented. I became self-conscious and 
 made particular efforts to bring a little gaiety into our 
 talk ; but though she smiled with her hps, the cloud, 
 whatever it was, hung heavily on her mind, and at the 
 first opportunity she came back to the ceaseless 
 argument. 
 
 In despair I took her nurse into my confidence. 
 
 " She is right," said the nurse. " You are doing her 
 more harm than good. You had much better go away 
 and write to her daily from London."
 
 340 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 " But why — but why ? " I clamoured. " Can't you 
 give me any reason ? " 
 
 The nurse glanced at me with a touch of feminine 
 scorn, 
 
 " The bandages will soon be removed." 
 
 " Well ? " said I. 
 
 " The sight of the one eye may be gone." 
 
 " I know," said I. " She is reconciled to it. She 
 has the courage and resignation of a saint." 
 
 " She has also the very common and natural fears 
 of a woman." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake," I cried, " tell me plainly what 
 you mean." 
 
 " We don't quite know what disfigurement will 
 result," said the nurse bluntly. "It is certain to be 
 very great, and the dread of your seeing her is making 
 her ill and retarding her recovery. So if you have any 
 regard for her, pack up your things and go away." 
 
 " But," I remonstrated, " I'm bound to see her 
 sooner or later." 
 
 The nurse lost patience. " Ach ! Wie durum sind 
 die Manner ! Can't you get it into your head that it is 
 essential it should be later, when she is strong enough 
 to stand the strain and has realised the worst and made 
 her little preparations ? " 
 
 I accepted the rebuke meekly. The situation, when 
 explained, was comprehensible to the meanest masculine 
 intelligence. 
 
 " I will go," said I. 
 
 When I announced this determination to Lola she 
 breathed a deep sigh of relief. 
 
 " I shall be so much happier," she said. 
 
 Then she raised both her arms and drew my head 
 down until our lips met. " Dear," she whispered, still
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 341 
 
 holding me, " if I hadn't run away from you before I 
 should run away now ; but it would be so silly to do it 
 twice. So I'll come to London as soon as the doctor 
 will let me. But if you find you don't and can't 
 possibly love me I shan't feel hurt with you. I've had 
 some months, I know, of your love, and that will last 
 me all my life ; and I know that whatever happens 
 you'll be my very dear and devoted friend." 
 
 " I shall be your lover always ! " I swore. 
 
 She shook her head and released me. A great pity 
 welled up in my heart, for I know now why she had 
 forbidden me to speak of marriage, and in some dim 
 way I got to the depth of her woman's nature. I 
 realised, as far as a man can, how the sudden blasting 
 of a woman's beauty must revolutionise not only her 
 own attitude towards the world, but her conception of 
 the world's attitude towards her. Only a few weeks 
 before she had gone about proudly conscious of her 
 superb magnificence. It was the triumphant weapon 
 in her woman's armoury, to use when she so chose. It 
 had illuminated a man's journey (I knew and felt it now) 
 through the Valley of the Shadow. It had held his 
 senses captive. It had brought him to her feet. It was 
 a charm that she could always offer to his eyes. It was 
 her glory and her pride to enhance it for his delectation. 
 Her beauty was herself. That gone, she had nothing 
 but a worthless soul to offer, and what woman would 
 dream of offering a man her soul if she had no casket 
 in which to enshrine it ? If I had presented this other 
 aspect of the case to Lola, she would have cried out, 
 with perfect sincerity : 
 
 "My soul ! You get things like mine anywhere for 
 twopence a dozen." 
 
 It was the blasting of her beauty that was the infinite
 
 342 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 matter. All that I loved would be gone. She would 
 have nothing left to give. The splendour of the day 
 had ceased, and now was coming the long, long dreary 
 night, to meet which with dignity she was nerving her 
 brave heart. 
 
 The tears were not far from my eyes when I said 
 again softly : 
 
 " Your lover always, dear." 
 
 " Make no promises," she said, *' except one." 
 
 " And that is ? " 
 
 " That you will write to me often until I come home." 
 
 " Every day," said I. 
 
 So we parted, and I returned to London and to my 
 duties at Barbara's Building. I wrote daily, and her 
 dictated answers gave me knowledge of her progress. 
 To my immense relief, I heard that the oculist's skill 
 had saved her eyesight ; but it could not obliterate 
 the traces of the cruel claws. 
 
 The days, although fuller with work and interests, 
 appeared long until she came. I saw but little of the 
 outside world. Dale, my sister Agatha, Sir Joshua 
 Oldfield, and Campion were the only friends I met. 
 Dale was ingenuously sympathetic when he heard of 
 the calamity. 
 
 " What's going to happen ? " he asked, after he had 
 exhausted his vocabulary of abuse on cats. Providence 
 and Anastasius Papadopoulos. " What's the poor dear 
 going to do ? " 
 
 " If I am to have any voice in the matter," said I, 
 " she is going to marry me." 
 
 He wrung me by the hand enthusicistically and 
 declared that I was the splendidest fellow that ever 
 lived. Then he sighed. 
 
 " I am going about like a sheep without a leader.
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 343 
 
 For Heaven's sake, come back into politics. Form 
 an hilarious little party of your own — anything — so long 
 as you're back and take me with you." 
 
 " Come to Barbara's Building," said I. 
 
 But he made a wry face, and said that he did not 
 think Maisie would like it. I laughed and put my 
 hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " My son," said I, " you have a leader already, and 
 she has already tied a blue riband round your woolly 
 neck, and she is pulling you wherever she wants to go. 
 And it's all to the infinite advantage of your eternal 
 soul." 
 
 Whereupon he grinned and departed to the sheepfold. 
 
 At last Lola came. She begged me not to meet her 
 at the station, but to go round after dinner to Cadogan 
 Gardens. 
 
 Dawkins opened the door for me and showed me 
 into the familiar drawing-room. The long summer day 
 was nearing its end, and only a dim twilight came 
 through the open windows. Lola was standing rigid 
 on the hearthrug, her hand shielding the whole of the 
 right side of her face. With the free hand she checked 
 my impetuous advance. 
 
 " Stop and look ! " she said, and then dropped the 
 shielding hand, and stood before me with twitching lips 
 and death in her eyes. I saw in a flash the devastation 
 that had been wrought ; but, thank God, I pierced 
 beneath it to the anguish in her heart. The pity — the 
 awful, poignant pity — of it smote me. Everything 
 that was man in me surged towards her. What she saw 
 in my eyes I know not ; but in hers dawned a sudden 
 wonder. There was no recoil of shock, such as she had 
 steeled herself to encounter. I sprang forward and 
 clasped her in my arms. Her stiffened frame gradually
 
 344 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 relaxed and our lips met, and in that kiss all fears and 
 doubts were dissolved for ever. 
 
 Some hours later she said : "If you are blind enough 
 to care for a maimed thing like me, I can't help it. I 
 shall never understand it to my dying day," she added 
 with a long sigh. 
 
 " And you wiU marry me ? " 
 
 " I suppose I've got to," she replied. And with the 
 old pantherine twist of her body she slid from her easy 
 chair to the ground and buried her face on my knees. 
 
 And that is the end of my story. We were quietly 
 married three weeks afterwards. Agatha, wishing to 
 humour a maniac for whom she retained an unreason- 
 able affection, came to the wedding and treated Lola 
 as only a sweet lady could. But my doings passed her 
 understanding. As for Jane, my other sister, she 
 cast me from her. People who did these things, she 
 maintained, must bear the consequences. I bore them 
 bravely. It is only now that my name is beginning to 
 be noised abroad as that of one who speaks with some 
 knowledge on certain social questions that Jane holds 
 out the olive branch of fraternal peace. After a brief 
 honeymoon Lola insisted on joining me in Barbara's 
 Building. A set of rooms next to mine was vacant, 
 and Campion, who welcomed a new worker, had the 
 two sets thrown into what house-agents term a com- 
 modious fiat. She is now Lady Superior of the Insti- 
 tution. The title is Campion's, and for some old 
 feminine reason Lola is delighted with it. 
 
 Yes, this is the end of the story which I began (it 
 seems in a previous incarnation) at Murglebed-on-Sea. 
 
 The maiming of Lola's beauty has been the last jest 
 which the Arch- J ester has practised on me. I fancy
 
 ■ ■ SIMON THE JESTER 345 
 
 he thought that this final scurvy trick would wipe Simon 
 de Gex for ever out of the ranks of his rivals. But I 
 flatter myself that, having snapped my fingers in his 
 face, the last laugh has been on my side. He has 
 withdrawn discomfited from the conflict and left me 
 master of the ground. Love conquers all, even the 
 Arch-Jester. 
 
 There are some who still point to me as one who has 
 deliberately ruined a brilliant career, who pity me as 
 one who has gone under, who speak with shrugged 
 shoulders and uplifted eyebrows at my unfortunate 
 marriage and my obscure and cranky occupation. The 
 world, they say, was at my feet. So it was. But what 
 the pitying critics lack the grace to understand is that 
 better than to have it under one's feet is to have it, or 
 that of it which matters, at one's heart. 
 
 I sit in this tiny hotel by the sea and reflect that 
 it is over three years since I awoke from death and 
 assumed a new avatar. And since my marriage, what 
 have been the happenings ? 
 
 Dale has just been elected for the Fensham Division 
 of Westmorland, and he has already begun the line of 
 sturdy young Kynnersleys, of which I had eumoirous 
 dreams long ago. Quast and the cats have passed into 
 alien hands. Anastasius Papadopoulos is dead. He 
 died three months ago of angina pectoris, and Lola was 
 with him at the end. Eleanor Faversham has married 
 a colonial bishop. Campion, too, has married — and 
 married the last woman in the world to whom one 
 would have thought of mating him — a frivolous butter- 
 fly of a creature who drags him to dinner-parties and 
 Ascot and suppers at the Savoy, and holds Barbara's 
 Building and all that it connotes in vixenish detestation. 
 He roars out the agony of his philanthropic spirit to
 
 346 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 Lola and myself, who administer consolation and the 
 cold mutton that he loves. The story of his marriage 
 is a little lunatic drama all to itself and I will tell it 
 some day. But now I can only rough-sketch the facts. 
 He works when he can at the beloved creation of his 
 life and fortune ; but the brain that would be inade- 
 quate to the self-protecting needs of a ferret controls 
 the action of this masterful enthusiast, and his one 
 awful despair in life is to touch a heart that might beat 
 in the bosom of a vicious and calculating haddock. I 
 only mention this to explain how it has come to pass 
 that Lola and I are now all-powerful in Barbara's 
 Building. It has become the child of our adoption, 
 and we love it with a deep and almost fanatic affection. 
 Before Lola my influence and personality fade into 
 nothingness. She is the power, the terror, the adora- 
 tion of Lambeth. If she chose she could control the 
 Parliamentary vote of the borough. Her great, direct, 
 large-hearted personality carries all before it. And 
 with it there is something of the uncanny. A feat of 
 hers in the early days is by way of becoming legendary. 
 
 A woman, on the books of the BuUding, was about 
 to bring a hopeless human fragment into a grey world. 
 Lola went to see what aid the Building could provide. 
 In front of the door lounged the husband, a hulking 
 porter in a Bermondsey factory. Glowering at his feet 
 lay a vicious mongrel dog — bull-terrier, Irish terrier, 
 mastiff — so did Lola with her trained eye distinguish 
 the strains. When she asked for his wife in travail the 
 chivalrous gentleman took his pipe from his mouth, spat, 
 and after the manner of his kind referred to the dis- 
 figurement of her face in terms impossible to transcribe. 
 She paid no attention. 
 
 "I'm coming upstairs to see your wife."
 
 SIMON THE JESTER 347 
 
 " If you pass that door, s'welp mc Gawd, I'll set the 
 dog on yer." 
 
 She paused. He urged on the dog, who bristled and 
 growled and showed his teeth. Lola picked the animal 
 up, as she would have picked up a sofa cushion, and 
 threw him across the street. She went to where he 
 had fallen, ordered him to her feet, and the dog licked 
 her hand. She came back with a laugh. 
 
 " I'll do the same to you if you don't let me in ! " 
 
 She pushed the hulking brute aside. He resisted and 
 laid hands on her. By some extraordinary tamer's art 
 of which she has in vain tried to explain to me the 
 secret, and with no apparent effort, she glided away 
 from him and sent him cowering and subdued some feet 
 beyond the lintel of the door. The street, which was 
 watching, went into a roar of laughter and applause. 
 Lola mounted the stairs and attended to the business in 
 hand. When she came down the man was still stand- 
 ing at the threshold smoking an obfuscated pipe. He 
 blinked at her as if she had been a human dynamo. 
 
 " Come round to Barbara's Building at six o'clock 
 and tell me how she is." 
 
 He came on the stroke of six. 
 
 The fame of Lola spread through the borough, and 
 now she can walk feared, honoured, unmolested by 
 night or day through streets of horror and crime, which 
 neither I nor any other man — no matter how courageous 
 — dare enter at certain hours without the magical 
 protection of a policeman. 
 
 Sunshine has come at last, both into this little back- 
 water of the world by the sea and into my own life, 
 and it is time I should end this futile record. 
 
 Yesterday as we lay on the sands, watching the waves 
 idly lap the shore, Lola brought herself nearer to me
 
 348 SIMON THE JESTER 
 
 with a rhythmic movement as no other creature form 
 of woman is capable of, and looked into my eyes. And 
 she whispered something to me which led to an infinite 
 murmuring of foolish things. I put my arms round 
 her and kissed her on her lips and on her cheek — 
 whether the beautiful or the maimed I knew not — and 
 she sank into a long, long silence. At last she said : 
 
 " What are you thinking of ? " 
 
 I said, " I'm thinking that not a single human being 
 on the face of the earth has a sense of humour." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she asked. 
 
 " Simply this," said I, " that what has occurred 
 billions of billions of millions of times on the earth we 
 are now regarding as the only thing that ever happened." 
 
 " Well," said Lola, " so it is — for us — the only thing 
 that ever happened." 
 
 And the astounding woman was right. 
 
 The End
 
 NOVELS BY W. J. LOCKE 
 
 The Beloved Vagabond 
 
 Crown 8to, 68. p,.„, Opinitns 
 
 Morning Post. — " It would not be surprising if * BeloTed Vagabond ' 
 became tne favourite novel of the season. . . . This fantastic and enlivening 
 book." 
 
 Truti. — " Certainly it is the most brilliant piece of work Mr. Locke has 
 done." 
 
 Dui/y Telegraph. — " Mr. Locke, who has a happy gift for characterisation, 
 and who writes in the easy, cultured style of the scholar, has been quite 
 successful in delineating his hero." 
 
 Liverpool Courier. — "'The Morals of Marcus Ordcyne ' was emphatically 
 the book of a year. It was irresistible. 'The Beloved Vagabond ' is in 
 many respects a better book. Mr. Locke is an artist in method and in 
 style. English so distinguished and so unaffected as he employs is a re- 
 freshment to the reader, and the spirit of the tale, with its beautiful, touching 
 and mellow humanity, its wisdom and its poetry, is deeply impressive. It 
 is a memorable book." 
 
 Globe. — "Mr. Locke's novel abounds in delightful dialogue." 
 
 Evening Standard. — " Mr. Locke can hardly fail to write beautifully. He 
 has not failed now." 
 
 'Daily Graphic. — "There is a distinctive and exotic flavour about 'The 
 Beloved Vagabond.' In cleverness . . . the book is indefinably attractive." 
 
 Onlooker. — "In Mr. William Locke \vc have a novelist of rare distinction 
 and of unconvential originality, gifted with a literary sense — that happy blend 
 of delicacy of thought with felicity of expression — which promises to assure 
 him high rank among contemporary writers of fiction. . . . Mr. Locke's work 
 has a distinctive cachet and flavour that makes it worthy to rank among 
 the 'belles lettres ' of current literature. Mr. Locke has given us one of 
 those rare books which it will always be a pleasure to take up and read over 
 again more than once." 
 
 fVestminuer Gazette. — "Mr. Locke, like his hero Paragot, has 'the divine 
 sense of humour which rainbows the tears of the world.' This quality of 
 restraint goes hand in hand with Mr. Locke's cultured style, and the com- 
 bination gives a wonderful charm to his writing, for the real power of the 
 author is perfectly obvious. It was not an easy task to create a character 
 to follow Marcus Ordeyne and challenge comparison. It was even harder 
 to devise an atmosphere which could satisfy us as a successor to that in which 
 the philosopher moved and had his being. But with ' The Beloved Vagabond ' 
 Mr. Locke has triumphed ; he has given us something entirely fresh and 
 original, coloured with his own personality — a personality which has a very 
 prominent position in the ranks of modern novelists." 
 
 Pull Mall Gazette. — " In two respects Mr. Locke has achieved a triumph. 
 He has conceived a really great character in Paragot, the brilliant, fantastic, 
 self-indulgent artist, and he has told his story of the Picaresque with all the 
 skill and delicate art of the French schools, of which he is manifestly a close 
 and devoted student ; like the best of his masters, Mr. Locke has placed 
 character and method before everything else, and the result is a delightful 
 and fascinating book."
 
 NOVELS BY W. J. LOCKE 
 
 The Morals of 
 Marcus Ordeyne 
 
 Crown 8vO| 68. 
 
 Preis Opinions 
 
 Truth. — " Mr. Locke's new novel is one of the most artistic pieces of 
 work I have met with for many a day. He tells his story with just that 
 gentle ironic touch the subject requires, with altogether delightful results." 
 
 xAthenaum. — "Clever throughout ... the successs of the book is the 
 figure of the girl Carlotta." 
 
 Mr. James Douglas, in Star. — " This fascinating romance." 
 
 Mr. W. L, Courtney, in Daily Telegraph. — " The writing is so good and 
 so clever and so amusing that it affords a perpetual delight, a continuous 
 stirring of the intellectual pulse." 
 
 Scotsman. — " The literary charm is exquisite . . . A delightful romance." 
 
 Evening Standard. — " A strong, whimsical, original work." 
 
 Mr. C. K. Shorter, in Sphere.—" A book which has just delighted my 
 heart." 
 
 Pelican. — "Exceedingly interesting and very remarkable." 
 
 Saturday Re-vieiv. — " Mr. Locke has achieved something of a new success. 
 The story is unconventional, it is interesting and it is well written." 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette. — " A rare achievement ... a wholly delightful 
 book." 
 
 World. — " Mr. Locke's masterpiece." 
 
 T>aily Graphic. — " Carlotta is one of the most ingeniously and ingenuously 
 charming figures in modern fiction." 
 
 Onlooker. — " Compared with the ordinary novel of to-day it distinctly 
 stands out as an original and clever creation, and as a mere story it is full of 
 interest because, once again, it deals with the passionate side of human 
 nature with delicacy and profound insight." 
 
 Westminster Gazette. — " Mr. Locke writes with a very true hand ; his 
 portrait of Judith is extraordinarily sympathetic." 
 
 J
 
 NOVELS BY W. J. LOCKE 
 
 Derelicts 
 
 Crown 8vo, 6i. 
 
 Press Opinions 
 
 Daily Chronicle. — " Mr. Locke tells his story in a very true, very moving 
 and very noble book. If any one can read the last chapter with dry eyes we 
 shall be surprised. 'Derelicts' is an impressive and important book. 
 Yvonne is a character that any artist might be proud of." 
 
 Pall Mall Ga%ette. — ** An exceptionally fine novel . . . vigorous and 
 manly. The two chief characters are masterpieces of careful and sym- 
 pathetic delineation. The book abounds in original and often dramatic 
 situations, in the handling of which the author leaves positively no loophole 
 for adverse criticism. We shall look forward with pleasurable anticipation 
 to the appearance of Mr. Locke's next book." 
 
 Standard. — "Well written, and with a strong moral purpose carefully 
 subordinated to the artistic exigencies of a romance. * Derelicts ' is worthy 
 of notice and well above the average of novels." 
 
 fVestminster Gazette. — "A story excellently told. Mr. Locke writes 
 interestingly and the characters are all very human and real. There is 
 something very charming about the sanity of his standpoints. Mr. Locke 
 is to be thanked for a very interesting and clever book." 
 
 Book and Neivs Trade Gazette. — " A real good book. Mr. Locke has 
 written a book which is calculated to make the oldest reviewer dream for a 
 little while that to be a reviewer is to be an enviable person." 
 
 H^hltehall l^cvlev). — *' Mr. Locke has written a book which is bound to 
 be widely discussed and greatly admired. It is written with directness 
 I . . there is earnestness in every line of it. The characters are well 
 drawn . . . will gain for its author wider reputation than he has hitherto 
 enjoyed." 
 
 Saturday Rcvletv. — "The author can draw a male man and a female 
 woman and can write good English — three things less easy than they sound. 
 Moreover, he can make his story interesting. We found the book readable 
 right through." 
 
 JVoman. — " Mr. Locke has done nothing beiore so good as * Derelicts.' 
 It is a fine book, written with dignity and great strength." 
 
 Liverpool Mercury. — "The author's reputation, deservcdlygreat as it already 
 is, will be enhanced by this most charming and touching story. We have 
 nothing but commendation for this powerful and impressive work." 
 
 Academy. — "This is a really fine novel. What strikes one as of peculiar 
 excellence is the skill with which Mr. Locke portrays the soft and sympa- 
 thetic nature of Yvonne."
 
 NOVELS BY W. ]. LOCKE 
 
 Idols 
 
 Crown 8vo, 63. 
 
 Preu Opinions 
 
 Daily TeUgiapb. — "A brilliantly-written and eminently readable btx)k." 
 
 Daily Mail. — "One of the very few distinguiihcd noTels of this present 
 book season." 
 
 The Baron de B.-W. in P««f//.— "The Baron strongly recommends Mr. 
 William J, Locke's ' Idols ' to all novel-readers. It is well written ; no 
 time is wasted in superfluous descriptions ; there is no fine writing for fine 
 writing's sake 5 but the story, the general probability of which is not to any 
 appreciable extent discounted by two improbabilities, will absorb the reader. 
 At all events, it is a novel thatj once taken up, cannot willingly be put down 
 until finished." 
 
 Spectator. — "A decidedly powerful story with a most ingenious plot." 
 
 Truth. — "It is a relief to turn to the undeniably powerful work that 
 marks Mr. W. J. Locke's • Idols. ' A book to be read, and being read, to be 
 remembered." 
 
 Outlook. — "The book may be commended as excellent. It is vigorous and 
 extremely interesting." 
 
 Saturday Review. — "'Idols' is a remarkable novel, Mr. Locke has 
 shown before this that he is a thorough workman. The book is distinctly 
 above the average run of novels." 
 
 Fanity Fair. — "One of the best novels that I have had the pleasure of 
 reading during the past twelve months— a novel in the true sense of the 
 word, full of real human passion, with characters that live and curl them- 
 selves round your heart and stay there. Mr. Locke has placed himself in 
 the first rank. 'Idols' contains all the essentials of a first-class story. 
 The book should send up Mr. Locke's reputation by leaps and bounds." 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette. — " A book to be read when one's mind is tired . . . 
 a very good book." 
 
 Whitehall Rei>ie%v. — "Mr. Locke has produced an unquestionably power- 
 ful book, full of nervous force, individualism, and strong dramatic conception. 
 'Idols ' is a very remarkable book, and one which is likely to cause no 
 little attention — a tribute which its merit, its strength, and originality 
 undoubtedly deserve." 
 
 Globe. — "Mr. Locke's 'Idols* must certainly rank among the very best 
 of the season, as a book of considerable permanent value." 
 
 Daily Chronicle. — " « Idols ' has interested us and we read it with no 
 inclination to skip."
 
 NOVELS BY W. J. LOCKE 
 
 The White Dove 
 
 Crown 8vo, 63. 
 
 Press Opinions 
 
 Morning Tost.—" It is an interejting storjr. The characters are strongly 
 ConceiTcd and Titidly presented, and the dramatic moments are powerfully 
 realised." 
 
 Literature.—" Mr. Locke writes well. ... He has the seeing eye for 
 character, the capacity for emotion. We have nothing but praise to give 
 his able character-drawing, while the attitude of the Lanyons— father and 
 son — to each other is singularly beautiful and touching." 
 
 Star. — •« The plot-intervention is extremely brilliant, not only in detail, 
 but in the interweaving of incidents." 
 
 GrapJiic.—"Mr. William J. Locke's 'The White Dove' has a very 
 exceptional claim to attention." 
 
 Canity Fair. — "The writing is good, showing fine descriptive power, and 
 the quality of quiet patience in the working out of what is really a capital 
 story." 
 
 Times. — " An interesting story full of dramatic scenes." 
 Scotsman. — "A moving tale of human passion and a powerful study of 
 conduct and motive." 
 
 Bookman. — "A Strong, tender and beautiful story." 
 
 Author. — "'The White Dove' is a clever and interesting book." 
 
 Christian fVorU. — "A notable book and one that will take high rank. 
 The story will appeal to the best instincts of every reader. ... A book 
 that can be honestly commended to everybody." 
 
 Madame. — " Mr. Locke writes with force and spirit. The characterisation 
 is excellent." 
 
 Bookman. — " In this well-written book there are two careful and clever 
 studies." 
 
 Pall Mali Gazette. — " The characters in ' The White Dove ' arc well 
 drawn, and the story is well told." 
 
 'Birmingham Post. — "The book is well written. It is also earnestly 
 written. Mr. Locke has combined obvious earnestness over his subject 
 with good interesting writing in a most successful way. Some ot the passages 
 are genuinely beautiful. The book is one that should be read." 
 
 Publishers' Circular. — " The story is undoubtedly interesting and is related 
 with great artistic judgment and skill."
 
 NOVELS BY W. J. LOCKE 
 
 The Usurper 
 
 Crown 8vo, 6s. 
 
 Press Optnloni 
 
 Daily Telegraph. — " Arresting is the right word to apply to Mr. Locke's 
 book. Beyond all the excellence of the characterisation and the interest 
 the story evokes, which makes it one of the most attractive novels of the 
 year, there is true insight in dealing with several of the problems of humanity, 
 the stimulus to thought which is alike rare and unforgettable." 
 
 Spectator. — " Character and plot are most ingeniously wrought, and the 
 conclusion, when it comes, is fully satisfying.'* 
 
 Times. — "An impressive romance." 
 
 Daily Netvs. — " An ingenious and readable story," 
 
 Literature. — "Mr. Locke Is decidedly one of the most promising of our 
 younger novelists.'' 
 
 Standard. — "The book should be read, since it is full of good things." 
 
 Globe. — " It is agreeably interesting and will have many appreciative 
 readers. The characterisation is adequate throughout." 
 
 Academy. — "A straightforward well-told story. Mr. Locke has the gift 
 of handling melodramatic situations delicately." 
 
 Catholic Herald. — "A book to be read and re-read, and placed near at 
 hand to be taken up lovingly time and again." 
 
 World. — " This quite uncommon novel. Mr. Locke displays originality 
 of design." 
 
 Gentle-woman. — " Few novelists of to-day surpass Mr. W. J. Locke in the 
 art of portraiture. There remains nothing but praise for the book, which is 
 throughout full of literary grace, vivid scenes and real human passion." 
 
 Christian World. — "Mr. Locke has once more shown himself capable of 
 really good work. He has a Meredithian manner, and a turn for psycho- 
 logical situations, He has great dramatic ability, his colours are never 
 crude, and the healthy robustness of his work is refreshing." 
 
 Sunday Sun. — "'Usurper' is a first book, and it is one very full indeed 
 of promise. It has vigour and freshness of style." 
 
 Graphic. — " A very able and interesting novel. A work with real 
 virility and backbone in it which is infinitely refreshing to read." 
 
 Morning Post. — "'The Usurper' allows us to welcome it as one of the 
 few novels that ' every one should read.' " 
 
 St. James's Gaxette. — "'The Usurper,' like'thejrest of its author's work, 
 is long, interesting, and well written. The love story is enough in itself 
 to make the book remarkable."
 
 NOVELS BY W. J. LOCKE 
 
 Where Love Is 
 
 Crown 8vo, 68. 
 
 Prett Opiniont 
 
 Daily Chrtnlch. — "Mr. Locke writes unaffectedly and well . . . the 
 novel is excellent. . . . Mr. Locke is one of the few who are to be taken 
 seriously, whose work counts." 
 
 Truth. — "A very clever and interesting novel." 
 
 Mr. James Douglas, in Star. — " I do not often praise a book with this 
 exultant gusto, but it gave me so much spiritual stimulus and moral pleasure 
 that I feel bound to snatch the additional delight of commending it to those 
 readers who long for a novel that is a piece of literature as well as a piece 
 of life." 
 
 Thnes. — "The author has the true gift : his people are alive." 
 
 Morning Post. — " It is a long time since we have had such a strong 
 character as Jimmie Padgate, the painter." 
 
 Standard. — " Must be counted the best thing he has done . . . a brilliant 
 piece of work." 
 
 Vanity Fair. — " The most notable and most lovable character in the 
 fiction of the new century ... is Jimmy. . • . Jimmy should take his 
 place ... in the great gallery of British Art." 
 
 At the Gate of Samaria 
 
 Crown 8vo, 68. 
 
 Presi Ofinions 
 
 Daily Chronicle. — "The heroineof this clever story attracts our interest. . . . 
 She is a clever and subtle study. . . . We congratulate Mr. Locke." 
 
 Vanity Fair. — " A well-written novel, whose characters seem ' hewn 
 from life' and act as men and women really act. Mr. Locke's book 
 deserves to be read, and may be recommended." 
 
 Sun. — " Charmingly written, and expresses much that is both new and 
 true. The scenes and characters are drawn with that subtle touch which 
 makes the reader identify himself with their thoughts and lives." 
 
 Morning Post. — "A cleverly written tale . . . the author's pictures of 
 Bohemian life are bright and graphic." 
 
 Scotsman. — " The story never drags and can be read from end to end. 
 The characterisation is broad, human, and natural."
 
 NOVELS BY W. J. LOCKE 
 
 A Study in Shadows 
 
 Crown 8vo, 6s. 
 
 PRESS OPINIONS 
 
 Times. — " In a sense this novel is belated, being a straggler 
 from the procession of books more or less directly concerned 
 with the New Woman. This is a pity, for it is perhaps the 
 best of the novels that have vindicated or mocked at that 
 tiresome female. . . . Still it may be allowed that here 
 we meet with less cant, less rancour, less prurience, less 
 affectation of omniscience, more genuine philosophy, and a 
 more careful style and more real literary power than in any 
 other novel of the same school." 
 
 AthmcBum. — "The character-drawing is distinctly good. All 
 the personages stand out well defined with strongly marked 
 
 individualities." 
 
 Literary World.—"- A striking and cleverly written book." 
 
 Daily Chronicle. — *' This clever and somewhat audacious 
 story. . . . We congratulate W. J. Locke, and shall be sur- 
 prised if the reception accorded to his book is not such as to 
 cause him to congratulate himself. . . . Mr. Locke has 
 achieved a distinct success in this novel. He has struck many 
 emotional chords, and struck them all with a firm, sure hand. 
 In the relations with Katherine Raine he had a delicate 
 problem to handle, and he has handled it delicately." 
 
 The Demagogue 
 and Lady Phayre 
 
 Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. 
 
 John Lane, The Bodley Head, Vigo St., London, W.
 
 NEW FICTION 
 
 According to Maria 
 
 By Mrs. John Lane, Author of "The Champagne Stan- 
 dard." " Kitwyk," &c. With lo Illustrations and a Cover 
 Design by J. W. Gofton. Crown 8vo, 6s. 
 
 "According to Maria" has all the witty and wise 
 characteristics which made "The Champagne Standard" one 
 of the most fascinating books of the season. It has even more, 
 for besides its sparkling wit a charming love story runs 
 through the book. It deals with Maria's life and her social 
 aspirations, and the love story of Diana — her only child — 
 is deftly woven through the chapters dealing with familiar 
 society functions and episodes, such as Afternoon Calls, At 
 Homes, Wedding Presents, On Choosing a Church, Charity 
 Concerts and Bazaars, the Royal Academy, and Prince's 
 Skating Rink. Maria's delightful, unconscious humour per- 
 vades the whole book ; and, indeed, each chapter bubbles 
 over with the fun and amusing cynicism which is associated 
 with the author's work. 
 
 The Way Up 
 
 A Novel by M. P. Willcocks, Author of "A Man of Genius," 
 " The Wingless Victory " and " Widdicombe." Crown 8vo, 
 6s. 
 
 Michael Strode, the ironmaster, who is the central figure of 
 Miss Willcocks's new novel, devotes his life to the work of 
 showing the Way Out of the economic jungle of poverty by 
 means of co-operative production ; he is prepared to sacrifice 
 everything : he is a fanatic, possessed by an idea. But Strode 
 the thinker is also Strode the man, bound by closest ties to a 
 woman of the oldest type in the world. The siren refuses to 
 lend either her money or herself to further his scheme. The 
 novel is one, therefore, that touches three burning questions of 
 the hour— capital and labour, the claims of the individual 
 against those of the State, the right of a woman to her own 
 individuality. In the clash of passion and duty, blow follows 
 blow, revelation succeeds revelation, till the wrappings that 
 shroud reality are stripped from it and both dreamers awake, 
 but to what reality must be read in the pages of the book itself, 
 which, besides being a picture of a group of modem men and 
 women, is also a study of certain social tendencies of to-day 
 and possibly to-morrow.
 
 The New Pocket Library 
 
 Printed from clear type, upon a thin and opaque 
 paper specially manufactured for the Series. Pott 
 8vo, 6x3! inches. Price, bound in Cloth, 
 IS. net; Leather, 2S. net. Postage 3d. extra. 
 
 By the E&rl of 
 Be&consfield 
 
 Sybil 
 
 Tancred 
 
 Venctia 
 
 Contarini Fleming 
 
 Coningsby 
 
 Henrietta Temple 
 
 Vivian Grey 
 
 The Young Duke, etc. 
 
 Alroy, &c. 
 
 By George Borrow 
 
 Lavengro 
 The Romany Rye 
 The Bible in Spain 
 The Zincali 
 Wild Wales 
 
 By Henry Brooke 
 
 A Fool of Quality (2 vols.) 
 
 By George Eliot 
 
 Adam Bede 
 Scenes of Clerical Life 
 The Mill on the Floss 
 Silas Marner 
 
 By Edward Fitzgerald 
 
 Euphranor 
 
 By Nathaniel Hawthorne 
 
 The Scarlet Letter 
 The House of the Seven 
 Gables 
 
 By Herman Melville 
 
 Typee 
 Omoo 
 
 By Captain Marryat 
 
 Mr. Midshipman Easy 
 Peter Simple 
 The King's Own 
 The Phantom Ship 
 
 By Anthony Trollope 
 
 Dr. Thome 
 The Warden 
 Barchester Towers 
 Framley Parsonage 
 The Bertrams 
 The Three Clerks 
 Castle Richmond 
 The MacDermonts of 
 
 Ballycloran 
 Orley Farm (a vols.) 
 Rachel Ray 
 The Kellys and the 
 
 O'Kellys 
 The Small House at 
 
 AUington (2 vols.) 
 Can You Forgive Her ? 
 
 (2 vols.) 
 
 John Lane, The Bodley Head, Vigo St., London, W,
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
 BY ARTHUR H. ADAMS. 
 
 GALAHAD JONES. A Tragic Farce. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 With i6 iiiU-page Illustrations by Norman Lindsay. 
 
 *»* Galahad Jones is a middle-aged banic clerk, with a family. One day, on 
 his way home, a letter falls to his feet from the balcony of a house he is passing. 
 It is addressed "To You," and on reading it he discovers that he is requested 
 to meet the writer in the garden of the house at lo o'clocli that night. In a spirit 
 of knight-errantry, he decides to do so, and learns that the writer — a young gif 1 — 
 is kept practically in prison by her father, because of her affection for a man of 
 whom he does not approve. The chivali-y of Galahad Jones plunges him into 
 many difficulties, and leads to some very awkward and e.xtremely amusing 
 situations. 
 
 BY FRANCIS ADAMS. 
 
 A CHILD OF THE AGE. Crown 8vo. i/- 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette — " It comes recognisably near to great excellence. There is 
 a love episode in this book which is certainly fine. Clearly conceived and 
 expressed with point. 
 
 BY JEAN AICARD. 
 
 THE DIVERTLVG ADVENTURES OF MAURIN. Cr. 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Translated from the French by Alfred AUinson, M.A. 
 
 H'es/ininstcr Gazette — Maurin, hunter, poacher, boaster, and lover of women, 
 is a magnificently drawn type of the Meridional, who is in some ways the Irishman 
 of France. . . . a fine, sane, work. . . . The translation is excellent." 
 
 Morning Leader—''' Indubitably laughable. An encyclopaedia of the best 
 form of foolishness." 
 
 MAURIN THE ILLUSTRIOUS. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Translated from the French by Alfred Allinson, M.A. 
 
 Evening Standard — "If he had never done anything else M. Aicard would 
 have earned his seat in the French Academy by his creation of Maurin. For 
 Maurin is an addition to the world's stock of fictional characters — to that picture 
 gallery where no restOJer is ever wanted." 
 
 BY GRANT ALLEN. 
 
 THE BRITISH BARBARIANS. Crown Svo. 3/6 
 
 Also Canvas Back 1/6 
 
 Saturday Rcvieio — " Mr. Allen takes occasion to say a good many things that 
 require saying, and suggests a good many reforms that would, if adopted, bring 
 our present legal code more into harmony with modern humanity and the 
 exigencies of its development." 
 
 BY MAUDE ANNESLEY. 
 
 THE WINE OF LIFE. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette—" The story is full of life and interest and the startling 
 denouement ie led up to wiili considerable skill." 
 
 THE DOOR OF DARKNESS. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette—" An enthralling story, powerfully imagined and distin- 
 guished for artistry of no mean order."
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 ELIZABETH'S CHILDREN. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Daily Telegraph— The book is charming . . . the author . . . has a delicate 
 lanciful touch, a charming imagination . . . skilfully suggests character and 
 moods ... is bright and witty, and writes about children with exquisite know- 
 ledge and sympathj'." 
 
 HEl-EN ALLISTON. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 By the author of " Elizabeth's Children." 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette — " The book has vivacity, fluency, colour, more than a touch 
 of poetry and passion. . . , We shall look forward with interest to future work 
 by the author of ' Helen AUiston.' " 
 
 THE YOUNG O'BRIENS. 
 
 By the author of " Elizabeth's Children," and " Helen Alliston." 
 Saturday Revieiv — " Delightful . . . the author treats them (the Young 
 O'Briens) very skilfully." 
 
 THE MS. IN A RED BOX. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Speaker — 'It is that rarest and most welcome of works, a good romance of 
 pure fiction. . . . The use made of local colour and historical incident is one of 
 the author's unknown triumphs. ... In these respects ... it is the best novel 
 that has appeared since ' Lorna Doone.' One of the most exciting books of its 
 own kind that we have ever read." 
 
 BY W. M. ARDAGH. 
 
 THE MAGADA. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Pall Mall Gazelle — " 'The Magada' is a store-house of rare and curious learn- 
 ing ... it is a well-written and picturesque story of high adventure and deeds 
 of derring-do." 
 
 Observer— ^'■T\\& book has admirably caught the spirit of romance." 
 Daily Chrotticlc — "'The Magada' is a fine and finely told story, and we 
 congratulate Mr. Ardagh." 
 
 BY GERTRUDE ATHERTON. 
 
 SENATOR NORTH . Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Ncw York Herald— '■'■ In the description of Washington life Mrs. Atherton. 
 shows not only a very considerable knowledge of externals, but also an insight 
 into the underlying political issues that is remarkable." 
 
 Outlook — "The novel has genuine historical value." 
 
 THE ARISTOCRATS. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Also in paper boards, cloth back, at i/6. 
 
 The Times — " Clever and entertaining. . . . This gay volume is written by 
 some one with a pretty wit, an eye for scenery, and a mind quick to grasp natural 
 as well as individual characteristics. Her investigations into the American 
 character are acute as well as amusing." 
 
 THE DOOMSWOMAN . Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Morning Post—'' A fine drama, finely conceived and finely executed. 
 ^//zf;ia«>«— "Eminently picturesque . . . gorgeous colouring."
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
 
 BY GERTRUDE ATHERTON -co»»/;«»cy/. 
 A WHIRL ASUNDER . Paper Cover. i/- 
 
 Bvs/aiidcr—" It can be recommended as a fine romcnce. . . . There is plenty 
 of incident." . . , , , . , 
 
 Outiook— "The story is a curious achievement in the violently and crudely 
 picturesque style that is peculiar to the author writer." 
 
 BY ARNOLD BENNETT 
 
 A MAN FROM THE NORTH. Crown 8vo. 3/6 
 
 Black and IVIiite—" A work that will come to the jaded novel reader as a 
 splendid surprise." 
 
 Daily Chronicle—" Admirably fresh and brisk, vibrating with a wild, young 
 ecstasy.'' 
 
 BY EX-LIEUTENANT BILSE. 
 
 LIFE IN A GARRISON TOWN. Crown 8vo. i/- 
 
 The suppressed German Novel. With a preface written by the 
 author whilst in London, and an introduction by Arnold White. 
 
 7-^,<//,_"'f he disgraceful exposures of the book were expressly admitted to 
 be true by the Minister of War in the Reichstag. What the book will probably 
 suggest to you is. that German militarism is cutting its own throat, and will one 
 day be hoist with its own petard." 
 
 BY SHELLAND BRADLEY. 
 
 EXPERIENCES OF AN A.D.C . Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 VVeslmiii.slcr Gaztite—" . . . makes better and more entertaining reading 
 than nine out ot every ten novels of the d ay. . . . Those who know nothing about 
 Anglo-Indian social life will be as well entertained by this story as those who 
 know everything about it." 
 
 Times—" Full of delightful humour." 
 
 BY JOHN BUCHAN. 
 
 JOHN BURNET OF B.\RNS. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Trulh— "In short, this is a novel to lay aside and read a second time, nor 
 should we forget the spirited snatches of song which show that the winner of the 
 Newdigate has the soul of the poet." 
 
 A LOST LADY OF OLD YEARS. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Athcnoeiitn—" Written in strong and scholarly fashion." 
 Morning Fast—" We have nothing but praise for Mr. Buchan. The book 
 ol sterling merit and sustained interest." 
 
 Evening Standard — "Stirring and well told." 
 
 BY GILBERT K- CHESTERTON. 
 
 THE NAPOLEON OF NOTTING HILL. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 With 6 Illustrations by W. Graham Robertson. 
 
 Daily Matl—" Mr. Chesterton, as our laughing philosopher, is at his best in 
 this delTghtful fantasy." 
 
 IVeslniinslcr Gazelle—" It is undeniably clever. It scintillates that is ex.-ictly 
 the right word— with bright and epigrammatic observations, and it is written 
 througliout with undoubted literary skill."
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
 
 BY T. B. CLEGG. 
 
 THE LOVE CHILD . Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Truth — " A singularly powerful book. . . . The painful story grips you from 
 first to last." 
 
 Daily Telegraph — "A strong and interesting story, the fruit of careful 
 thought and conscientious workmanship. . . . Mr. Clegg has presented intensely 
 dramatic situations without letting them degenerate into the melodramatic." 
 
 THE WILDERNESS. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Daily Telegraph — " A really admirable story." 
 
 Athenaum — "Mr. Clegg claims the gift of powerful and truthful writing." 
 
 THE BISHOP'S SCAPEGOAT. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Athcnoeum — " Inspired with a deep sense of the beautiful in Nature and the 
 instinctive goodness of the human heart, and the divine meaning of life." 
 
 Daily Mail — "A really good novel. It is so good that we hope Mr. Clegg 
 will give us some more from the same store." 
 
 JOAN OF THE HILLS. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Times — "Another of Mr. Clegg's admirable novels of Australian life." 
 Globe — "A good story, interesting all through." 
 
 BY FREDERICK BARON CORYO. 
 
 IN HIS OWN IMAGE. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 IVestminsicr Gazette — "The book is cleverly written and the author has 
 obviously a very pretty literary talent." 
 
 Pall Mall Gaselte—'^ Always delightful and well worth reading." 
 
 BY YICTORIA CROSS. 
 
 THE WOMAN WHO DIDN'T. Crown 8vo. i/- 
 
 Speaker — "The feminine gift of intuition seems to be developed with uncanny 
 strength, and what she sees she has the power of flashing upon her readers with 
 wonderful vividness and felicity of phrase. ... A strong and subtle study of 
 feminine nature, biting irony, restrained passion, and a style that is both forcible 
 and polished." 
 
 BY A. J. DAWSON. 
 
 MIDDLE GREYNESS. (Canvas-back Library). i/6 
 
 Daily Telegraph— ''Th& novel has distinct ability. The descriptions of up- 
 country manners are admirable." 
 
 MERE SENTIMENT Crown Svo. 3/6 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette—'' There is some clever writing in Mr. Dawson's short 
 stories collected to form a new ' Keynotes ' volume under the title of Mere Senti- 
 ment." ... A very clever piece of work. . . . Mr. Dawson has a pretty style 
 . . . Shows dramatic instinct."
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
 BY GEORGE EGERTON. 
 
 KEYNOTES. Crown 8vo. 3/(3 net. Ninth Edition. 
 
 SI. Jntness Gazeltf—" This is a collection of eight of the prettiest short 
 stories that have appeared lor many a day. They turn for the most part on 
 feminine trails of character ; in fact, the book is a little psychological study of 
 woman under various circumstances. The characters are so admirably drawn, 
 and the scenes and landscapes are described with so much and so rare vividness, 
 that we cannot help being almost spell-bound by their perusal." 
 
 DISCORDS. Crown 8vo. 3/6 net. Sixth Edition. 
 
 Duiiv Telegraph— "These masterly word-sketches." 
 
 Speaker—" TTie book is true to human nature, for the author has genius, and 
 let us add, has heart. It is representative ; it is, in the hackneyed phrase, 
 a human document." 
 
 SYMPHONIES. Crown 8vo. 6/- net. Second Edition. 
 
 St. James's Gnst7/i#— "There is plenty of pathos and no little power in the 
 volume before us." 
 
 Daily Netvs — " The impressionistic descriptive passages and the human 
 touches that abound in the book lay hold of the imagination and linger in the 
 memory of the reader." 
 
 FANTASIAS. Crown 8vo. 3/6 net. Canvas back, 1/6 net. 
 
 Daily C/irouick— "These ' Fantasias ' are pleasant reading— typical scenes or 
 tales upon the poetry and prose of life, prostitution, and the beauty of dreams 
 and truth." 
 
 BY A. C. FOX DAYIES. 
 
 THE D.\NGERVILLE INHERITANCE. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Second Edition. 
 
 Morning Post—" Mr. Fox-Davies has written a detective story of which 
 Gaboriau might have been proud." 
 
 Daily Telegraph—" The story is one that, once begun, must be finished." 
 
 THE MAULEVERER MURDERS. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Also i/- net. 
 
 Evening Staruiarti—" An entertaining blend of the Society novel and the 
 detective story." 
 
 lycstmiuster Ga£etU—"'We heartily recommend this book for a holiday or a 
 railway journey. An exciting and ingenious tale." 
 
 THE FINANCES OF SIR JOHN KYNNERSLEY. 
 
 Crown Svo. 6/— 
 
 Puiicl^—" I read every word of the book, and enjoyed nearly all of them." _ 
 Morning Post — " Mr. Fox-Davies' extremely clever and entertaining book." 
 
 BY HAROLD FREDERIC. 
 
 MARCH HARES. Crown 8vo. 3/6. Third Edition. 
 
 Dmly Chronicle—" Buoyant, fanciful, stimulating, a pure creation of fancy 
 and high spirits. ' March Hares' has a joyous impetus which carries everything 
 before it ; and it enriches a class of fiction which unfortunately is not copious."
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
 
 BY HAROLD FREDERIC— conthmcd. 
 MRS. ALBERT GRUNDY. Observations in Philistia. 
 
 F'Cap. 8vo. 3/6. Second Edition. 
 
 Pail Mali Gazette — " Mr. Frederic is at his very best in this light and delicate 
 satire, which is spread with laughter and good humour." 
 
 BY RICHARD GARNETT. 
 
 THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 Crown 8vo. 6/- Second Edition. 
 
 Daily Chronicle — " A subtle compound of philosophy and irony. Let the 
 reader take these stories as pure fun — lively incident and droll character — and he 
 will be agreeably surprised to find how stimulating they are." /■ 
 
 Times — " Here is learning in plenty, drawn from all a2;es and most languages, 
 but of dryness or dulness not a sentence. The book bubbles with laughter. . . . 
 His sense of humour has a wide range." 
 
 BY ELIZABETH GODFREY. 
 
 THE WINDING ROAD . Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Literary World — "A carefully written story. . . . Miss Godfrey has the mind 
 of a poet;"her pages breathe ot the beautiful in nature without giving long 
 description, while the single-hearted love between Jasper and Phenice is des- 
 cribed with power and charm." 
 
 THE BRIDAL OF ANSTACE . Crown Bvo. 6/- 
 
 Westmiiister Gazette— '■^ P^n individual charm and a sympathetic application 
 have gone to the conception of Miss Godfrey's book, a remarkable power of 
 characterisation to its making, and a refined literary taste to its composition." 
 
 Truth — " Charmingly told. ... A story in which your interest gains and 
 deepens from the beginning." 
 
 THE CRADLE OF A POET. Crown Bvo. 6/- 
 
 *** The poet is a product of the stone quarry region of Dorsetshire, and the 
 story concerns itself with his development aad a conflict between ancient traditioa 
 and modern spirit. 
 
 BY A. R. GORING THOMAS. 
 
 MRS. GRAMERCY PARK. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 ffo/W—" In the language of the heroine herself this, her story, is delight- 
 fully 'bright and cute.' " 
 
 Observer — " Fresh and amusing." 
 
 BY HANDASYDE. 
 
 FOR THE WEEK-END. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Standard—'''- Only a woman, surely, would write such deep and intimate 
 truth about the heart of another woman and the things that give her joy whea a 
 man loves her." 
 
 A GIRL'S LIFE IN A HUNTING COUNTRY. Crown Bvo. 3/6 
 
 Daily News — "A sweet and true representation of a girl's romance." 
 Scotsman — " There are some admirable character sketches in the book and a 
 
 lot of quaint philosophy, whimsical thoughts and quoted verse, all of which 
 
 should greatly entertain the reader."
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
 BY HENRY HARLAND. 
 
 THE CARDINALS SNUFF BOX. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Illustrated by G. C. Wilmhurst. 165th. Thousand. 
 
 x4ca«/*»i>'— "The drawings are all excellent in style and really illustrative ot 
 the tale." 
 
 Saturday Review— ^'VihoWy delightful." 
 Patl Mall Gazelle—" Dainty and delicious." 
 Times — " A book among a thousand." 
 Spectalor — "A charming romance." 
 
 MY FRIEND PROSPERO . Crown 8vo. 6/- Third Edition. 
 
 Times—" There is no denying the charm of the work, the delicacy and 
 fragrancy of the style, the sunny play of the dialogue, the vivacity of the wit, and 
 the graceful flight of the fancy. ' 
 
 kVorUi — "The reading ot it is a pleasure rare and unalloyed." 
 
 THE LADY PARAMOUNT. Crown 8vo. 6/- 55th Thousand. 
 
 7"<»ifs— " A fantastic, delightful love-idyll." 
 
 Spectator — "A roseate romance without a crumpled rose leaf." 
 
 Daily Mail — " Channing, dainty, delightful." 
 
 COMEDIES AND ERRORS. Crown Svo. 6/- Third Edition. 
 
 Mr. Henry James, in Fortnis/illy Review — "Mr. Harland has clearly thought 
 out a form. . . . He has mastered a method and learned how to paint. . .. Hi3 
 art is all alive with felicities and delicacies." 
 
 GREY ROSES. Crown Svo. 3/6 Fourth Edition. 
 
 Daily Telegrabh—" ' Grey Roses ' " are entitled to rank among the choicest 
 flowers of the realms of romance." 
 
 Spectator—" Really delightful. ' Castles near Spain ' is as near perfection as 
 it could well be." 
 
 Daily Chronicle — " Charming stories, simple, full of freshness." 
 
 MADEMOISELLE MISS . Crown Svo. 3/6 Third Edition. 
 
 Speaker — " All through the book we are pleased and entertained." 
 Bookman — "An interesting collection of early work. In it may be noted the 
 undoubted delicacy and strength of Mr. Harland s manner." 
 
 BY ALICE HERBERT. 
 
 THE MEASURE OF OUR YOUTH. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Evening Standard— " A. very human, intelligible book. . . . exceedingly 
 clever and earnestly real." 
 
 Morning Post — " Reveals an unusual clearness of vision and distinction of 
 Style and thought." 
 
 BY MURIEL HINE. 
 
 HALF IN EARNEST. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 *,* Derrick Kilmarney, the secretary of a famous politician, is a young man 
 with the disposition to take the best that life oflfers him, and skirk the respon- 
 sibilities. He falls in love with a girl but shudders at the idea ot the bondage of 
 marriage. His love is emancipated, unfettered. He is ambitious, politically, 
 allows himself to become entangled with his chief's wife, and is too indolent to 
 break with her even in justice to the girl he loves. Eventually there comes a 
 time when all the threads have to be gathered together, when love has to be 
 weighed with ambition, and in Kilmarney's case the denouement is unexpected 
 and startling.
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
 
 BY ARNOLD HOLCOMBE. 
 
 THE ODD MAN. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Morniiis; Post — " One of the most refreshing and amusing books that we have 
 read for some months. ... ' The Odd Man ' is a book to put on one's shelves 
 and Mr. Holcombe's is a name to remember." 
 
 Times — " A clever and competent piece of work." 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette— "The brightness, spontaneity, and constant flow of its 
 humour make ' The Odd Man ' a feast of fun." 
 
 BY WILFRID SCARBOROUGH JACKSON. 
 
 NINE POINTS OF THE LAW. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Manchester Guardian — "The kindly humorous philosophy of this most divert- 
 ing story is as remarkable as its attractive style. There is hardly a page without 
 something quotable, some neat bit of phrasing or apt wording of a truth." 
 
 HELEN OF TROY. N.Y. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Daily C/ironicle—^' The story is at once original, impossible, artificial, and 
 very amusing. Go, get the work and read." 
 
 Evening Standard—" There is a rollicking yet plausible tone that carries the 
 reader along." 
 
 TRIAL BY MARRIAGE. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Globc—" Written with all Mr. Jackson's simple, unafifected charm." 
 
 World " One can confidently promise the reader of this skilfully treated and 
 unconventional novel that he will not find a page of it dull. It is one that will be 
 not only read but remembered." 
 
 BY MRS. JOHN LANE. 
 
 KITWYK. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 A Story with numerous illustrations by Howard Pyle, 
 Albert Sterner and George Wharton Edwards. 
 
 Times — " Mrs. Lane has succeeded to admiration, and chiefly by reason of 
 being so much interested in her theme that she makes no conscious effort to 
 please. . . . Everyone who seeks to be diverted will read ' Kitwyk ' for its 
 obvious qualities of entertainment." 
 
 THE CHAMPAGNE STANDARD. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Morning Post—" The author's champagne overflows with witty sayings too 
 numerous to cite." 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette—" Mrs. Lane's papers on our social manners and foibles are 
 the most entertaining, the kindest and the truest that have been offered us for a 
 longtime. . . . The book shows an airy philosophy that will render it of service 
 to the social student." 
 
 Athenceutn — " Mrs. Lane treats each subject with such freshness and origi- 
 nality that the work is as entertaining as it is suggestive."
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
 
 BY MRS. JOHN LA^E— continued. 
 ACCORDINC. TO MARIA. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Dailv Teii!,'ra/>h—" A more entertaining, companionable, good-natured, and 
 yet critical piece of portraiture we have not nad the pood luck to encounter these 
 manj seasons. . . . 'According to Maria' is as fresh, amusing, and human a 
 book as any man, woman, or girFcould desire to bewitch a jaded moment, or drive 
 away a fit of the dumps. " 
 
 Uhscrz'er—" The world 'according to Maria ' is a most diverting place. She 
 is a delight, and must be secured at once for every home." 
 
 Ddify CAro;nW<r— "Thisdeliphlful novel, sparkling with humour. . . . Maria's 
 world is real. . . . Mrs. Lane is remarkably true to life in thatworld. . . . Maria 
 is priceless, and Mrs. Lane is a satirist wh<»6e life may be indefaiigably joyous in 
 satiric art. For her eyes harvest the little absurdities, and her hand makes 
 sheaves of them. . . . Thackeray might have made such sheaves if he had been 
 a woman." 
 
 BALTHASAR AXD OTHER STORIES . Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Translated by Mrs. JOHW Lane from the French of Anatole France 
 
 Ddiiy Graphic— "The original charm and distinction of the author's style has 
 survived the clifiScult ordeal of appearing in another language. . . . 'The Cure's 
 Mignonette" is as perfect in itself as some little delicate flower." 
 
 Globe — " Every oue of them is interesting." 
 
 BY RICHARD LE GALLIENNE. 
 
 THE BOOK BILLS OF NARCISSUS. Crown 8vo. 3/6 
 
 Second Edition. 
 
 Daily Chronicle— " One of the most winsome volumes— winsome is surely the 
 one epilliet — which have so far been given to us during the last decade of a dying 
 century." 
 
 C. di B. (Mr. BernErd Shaw) iu the Star—" Ifan unusuallvfine literary instinct 
 could make it a solid book, Mr. le Gallienne would be at no loss for an enduring 
 reputation . . . Nothing could be prettier than his pleas and persuasions on 
 benalf of Narcissus and George Muncaster." 
 
 THE WORSHIPPER OF THE IMAGE. Crown 8vo. 3/6 
 
 Daily C/iro/ziV/*— "Contains passages of a poignancy which Mr. Le Gallienne 
 has never before compassed." 
 
 THE QUEST OF THE GOLDEX GIRL. Cr. 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Fifteenth Edition. 
 
 Daily Netvs—" A piece of literary art which compels our admiration." 
 Mr. Max Beerbohin in Z)ai'/v .VaiV— " Mr. Le Gallienne's eentle, high spirits, 
 and his sympathy with existe'nce is exhibited here. . . . His poetry, like his 
 humour, suffuses the whole book and gives a charm to the most prosaic objects 
 and incidents of life. . . . The whole book is delightful, for this reason, that no 
 one else could have written a book ol the same kind." 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF ZION CHAPEL. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 ^"""""""""^"""^"^""""""^^"^"""""^"^ Second Edition. 
 
 St. James's Gasettf—" Mr. Le Gallienne's masterpiece." 
 
 Times—" Extremely clever and pathetic. As for sentiment Dickens might 
 have been justly proud of poor Jenny's lingering death, and readers whose hearts 
 have the mastery over their heads will certainly weep over it,"
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
 
 BY RICHARD LE GALLIEHHE— continued. 
 
 PAINTED SHADOWS. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Scolsnian—" Material and workmanship are of the finest." 
 
 Queen—" Really delightful stories, Mr. Le Gallienne writes prose like a poet." 
 
 LITTLE DINNERS WITH THE SPHINX. Cr. 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Duily Telegraph—" Here is the same delicate phrasing, the same tender revela- 
 tion ofemotio'nsj always presented with a daintiness of colouring that reveals the 
 true literary artist." 
 
 Star—" Mr. Le Gallienne touches with exquisite tenderness on the tragedy of 
 things that change and pass and fade." 
 
 BY A. E. J. LEGGE. 
 
 MUTINEERS. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Speakcr — " An interesting story related with admirable lucidity and remark- 
 able grasp of character. Mr. Legge writes with polish and grace." 
 
 Literary World— " K novel sure to win applause. . . . 'Mutineers' can 
 safely be recommended as a novel well constructed and well written. It gave us 
 two pleasant hours." 
 
 BOTH GREAT AND SMALL. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Sntiirday Review—" We read on and on with increasing pleasure." 
 
 Times—" The style of this book is terse and witty." 
 
 Spectator—" Full of quiet and clever observation and written with a good deal 
 of descriptive talent." 
 
 THE FORD. Crown Svo. 6/- Second Edition. 
 
 Standard— " An impressive work . . . clever and thoughtful. 'The Ford,' 
 deserves to be largely read." 
 
 Mr. James Douglas, in Star—" It is full of finely phrased wit and costly satire. 
 It is modern in its handling, and it is admirably written." 
 
 BY W. J. LOCKE. 
 
 DERELICTS. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Daily Chronicle—" Mr. Locke tells his story in a very true, very moving, and 
 very noble book. If anyone can read the last chapter with dry eyes we shall be 
 surprised. ' Derelicts ' is an impressive and important book." 
 
 Morning Post— Mr. Locke's clever novel. One of the most effective stories 
 that have appeared for some time past." 
 
 IDOLS. Crown Svo, 6/- 
 
 Daily Telegraph—" A brilliantly written and eminently readable book." 
 
 Daily Mail— One of the most distinguished novels of thepresentbookseason." 
 
 Pm«cA—" The Baron strongly recommends Mr. \V. J. Locke's 'Idols' to all 
 novel readers. It is well written. No time is wasted in superfluous descriptions ; 
 there is no fine writing for fine writing's sake, but the story will absorb the 
 reader. ... It is a novel that, once taken up, cannot willingly be put down 
 until finished." 
 
 10
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
 
 BY W. J. LOCKE— cc;/»//«//ci/. 
 A STUDY IX SHADOWS. Crown 8vo. 3/6 
 
 Daily ClirontcU — "Mr. Locke has achieved a distinct success in this novel. 
 He has struck many emotional chords and struck them all with a firm sure hand." 
 
 Atltcnaum — "The character-drawine is distinctly good. All the personages 
 stand out well defined with strongly marked individualities." 
 
 THE WHITE DOVE. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Times—" An interesting story,, full of dramatic scenes." 
 
 Morning Post — "An interesting story. The characters are strongly con- 
 ceived and vividly presented, and the dramatic moments are powerfully realized."' 
 
 THE USURPER. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 IVorld — "This quite uncommon novel." 
 
 Spectator — " Character and plot are most ingeniously wrought, and the con- 
 clusion, when it comes, is fully satisfying." 
 Times — "An impressive romance." 
 
 THE DEMAGOGUE AND LADY PHAYRE . Cr. 8vo. 3/6 
 
 AT THE GATE OF SA.MARIA. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Daily Chronicle — " The heroine of this clever story attracts our interest. . . . 
 She is a clever and subtle study. . . . We congratulate Mr. Locke." 
 
 Mortiim; Post — "A cleverly written tale . . . the author's pictures of 
 Bohemian life are bright and graphic." 
 
 WHERE LOVE IS. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Mr. J.\MES DouGL.iiS, in Sfar—^' I do not often praise a book with this 
 exultant gusto, but it gave me so much spiritual stimulus and moral pleasure that 
 I feel bound to snatch the additional delight of commending it to those readers 
 who long for a novel that is a piece of literature as well as a piece of life." 
 
 Standard — "A brilliant piece of work." 
 
 Tintta — " The author has the true gift ; his people are alive." 
 
 THE MORALS OF MARCUS ORDEYNE . Cr. 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Mr. C. K. Shokier, in Sphere—"' A. hook \w\V\ch has just delighted my heart." 
 Truth. — "Mr. Locke's new novel is one of the most artistic pieces of work I 
 
 have met with for many a day." 
 
 Daily Chronicle. — " Mr. Locke succeeds, indeed, in every crisis of this most 
 
 originalstory." 
 
 THE BELOVED VAGAbOND. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Triith. — "Certainly it is the most brilliant piece of work Mr. Locke has done." 
 Evening Standard. — " Mr. Locke can hardly fail to write beautifully. He has 
 not failed now. " 
 
 SIMON THE JESTER. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 *jf* The central figure of Mr. Locke's new novel is one Simon de Gex, M.P., 
 who having met life with a gay and serene philosophy is suddenly called upon to 
 face Death. This he does gallantly and jests at Death until he discovers to his 
 confusion that Destiny is a grecter jester than he. Eventually by surrendering 
 his claims he attains salvation. The heroine is Lola Brandt, an ex-trainer of 
 animals, and an important figure in the story is a dwarf. Professor Anastasius 
 Papadopoulos, who has a troupe of performing cats. The scene of the novel is 
 laid in London and Algiers. 
 
 II
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
 BY INGRAHAM LOYELL. 
 
 MARGARITAS SOUL. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Punch. — "There have been a great many itigc'nues (mock or real) in modern 
 fiction, and doubtless one or two in actual life ; but there never was one inside a 
 book or out of it who came within a four-mile cab radius of Margarita. The book 
 is well worth reading." 
 
 Westminster Gaseltc.—"' A book which does not let the reader's interest flag 
 for a moment It is full of laughter and smiles, of seriousness, comfortable philo- 
 sophy and a few tears." 
 
 BY A. NEIL LYONS. 
 
 ARTHUR'S. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Tinies.—" Not only a very entertaining and amusing work, but a very kindly 
 and tolerant work also. Incidentally the work is a mirror of a phase of the low 
 London life of to-day as true as certain of Hogarth's transcripts in the eighteenth 
 century, and far more tender." 
 
 Punch.—" Mr. Neil Lyons seems to get right at the heart of things, and I con- 
 fess to a real admiration for this philosopher of the coffee-stall." 
 
 SIXPENNY PIECES. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette.—" It is pure, fast, sheer life, salted with a sense of humour." 
 
 Evening Standard. — "' Si-Kpenny Pieces ' is as good as 'Arthur's', and that 
 
 is saying a great deal. A book full of laughter and tears and hits innumerable 
 
 that one feels impelled to read aloud. ' Sixi>enny Pieces ' would be very hard 
 
 indeed to beat." 
 
 BY FIONA MACLEOD (William Sharp). 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN LOVERS. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Litcrary IVorld.—" We eagerly devour page after page ; we are taken captive 
 by the speed and poetry of the book." 
 
 Graphic.—'" It is as sad, as sweet, as the Hebridean skies themselves, but 
 with that soothing sadnessof Nature which is so blessed a relief after a prolonged 
 dose of the misery of ' mean streets.' " 
 
 BY ALLAN McAULAY. 
 
 THE EAGLE'S NEST. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Athenceutn. — "We should describe the book as a brilliant tour de force. . . . 
 The stoiy is spirited and interesting. The love interest also is excellent and 
 pathetic." 
 
 Spectator. — " This is one of those illuminating and stimulating romances which 
 set people reading histoi-y." 
 
 BY FREDERICK NIYEN. 
 
 THE LOST CABIN MINE. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Athenesum. — "The book should be read by lovers of good fiction." 
 IVcstininstcr Gazette.— "The whole story is told with an amount of spirit and 
 realism that grips the reader throughout." 
 
 THE ISLAND PROVIDENCE. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Daily Graphic. — " Its descriptive power is remarkable. The author 'springs 
 imagination,' to use George Meredith's words, and springs it with no more than 
 the few words prescribed by that master." 
 
 Academy. — " Vigorous writing." 
 
 12
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
 BY FRANK NORRIS. 
 
 THE THIRD CIRCLE. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Montim; Posl. — "As a sketch by a great artist often reveals to the amateur 
 more of his power and skill than a large finished work in which the effect is con- 
 cealed, so in these virile little studies we are made to realise quite clearly what 
 powers of observation and what a keen eye for effective incident Mr. Norris had." 
 
 Spectator. — "A series of remarkable sketches and short stories by the late 
 Mr. trank Norris . . . well worth readinj?." 
 
 BY F. J. RANDALL. 
 
 LOVE AND THE IRO.N'MOXGER. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Dailv Telegraph. — "Since the gay days when Mr. I'". Anstey was writing his 
 inimitable series of humourous novels, we can recall no book of purely farcical 
 imagination, so full of excellent entertainment as this first effort of Mr. F. J. 
 Randall. ' Love and the Ironmonger' is certain to be a success." 
 
 Times—'' As diverting a comedy of errors as the reader is likely to meet with 
 for a considerable time." 
 
 Mr. Clement Shorter in The Sphere — " I thank the author for a delightful 
 hour's amusement." 
 
 BY STEPHEN REYNOLDS. 
 
 A POOR MAX'S HOUSE. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Daily Mail — "This is a remarkable book, and we hope it will receive the 
 attention it deserves." 
 
 Atheticcum—" h. remarkably vivid and sympathetic picture. It is an achieve- 
 ment of conspicuous merit." 
 
 THE HOLY MOUNTAIN. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Funch — " . . . deserves nothing but praise . . . a clever story well told, and 
 an endlessly amusing caricature of the petty side of life." 
 IVestmiiistcr Gazette — "Vivid and brilliant." 
 Standard—" Here at last is an honest strong piece of work." 
 
 ALONGSHORE. WHERE MAN AND SEA ARE FACE TO FACE 
 
 Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 BY HENRY ROWLAND. 
 
 GER.MAINE. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Athcnctiim—" A conspicuously uncommon story." 
 
 Daily Chrotticle — "A well written story of distinctly original flavour." 
 Outlook—" We have in ' Germaine' a really vital and original book— passion- 
 ate yet pure, full of the deep things of life, yet abrim with whimsical humour. ' 
 
 BY HUGH DE SELINCOURT. 
 
 A BOY'S MARRI.\GE. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 £zwn>i^' S/rtMf/tjn/—" E.xceedingly realistic . . . but does not give the impres- 
 sion that anything is expatiated upon for the sake of effect. A daring but sincere 
 and simple book. . . . likely to attract a good deal of attention." 
 
 Atfienceiim — "The best points in Mr. de Stlincourt's novel are his delicacy of 
 treatment and sense of character. . . . He has the making of a fine novelist."
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
 
 BY HUGH DE SELmCOU'RT— continued. 
 
 THE STRONGEST PLUME. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Academy — " An uncomfortable story for the conventionally minded. It deals 
 a deadly blow to the ordinary accepted notions of the respectable." 
 
 Daily Telegraph — " The story is a very commendable as well as a very inter' 
 esting piece o? work." 
 
 Daily Mail — " A neat, artistic story." 
 
 THE HIGH ADVENTURE. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Evening Standard. — "A novel for all lovers of the poetry of life ' uttered or 
 nnexpressed.' 
 
 Morning Post. — " Mr. de Selincourt certainly has a talent for describing rather 
 nice young men." 
 
 Obsert'er. — "A clever and refreshing story.' 
 
 THE WAY THINGS HAPPEN. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Morning Post. — "The book has moments ol grace and charm that few contem- 
 porary writers give us." 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette.—'' ' The Way Things Happen ' confirms a long-settled con- 
 viction that among the young generation of writers there are few who can compete 
 with Mr. de Selincourt for pride of place." 
 
 Times. — " Reading this book is a surprising and a rare experience." 
 
 BY H. SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 THE FIELD OF GLORY. Cr. 8vo. 6/- Fifth Thou.sand. 
 
 S/^c^ator. — " A spirited, picturesque romance . . . full of adventures, related 
 with all the author's picturesqueness of detail and vigour of outline." 
 
 Evening Standard. — "As a vital, humourous and extraordinarily effective 
 presentment of a childish, heroic, lovable race, it deserves to be read and remem- 
 bered . . . worthy of Dumas." 
 
 BY G. S- STREET. 
 
 THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A BOY. F'cap. 8vo. 3/6 
 
 Fifth Edition. 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette. — "A creation in which there appears to be no flaw." 
 Speaker.— " The conception is excellent and the style perfect. One simmers 
 with laughter from first to last." 
 
 THE TRIALS OF THE BANTOCKS. Crown 8vo. 3/6 
 
 IVestminsler Gazette. — " Since Mr. Matthew Arnold left us we remember 
 nothing so incisive about the great British Middle, and we know of nothing of 
 Mr. Street's that we like so well." 
 
 .Saturday Review. — " Mr. Street has a very delicate gift of satire." 
 
 Times. — "A piece of irony that is full of distinction and wit." 
 
 THE WISE AND THE WAYWARD. Crown 8vo. 6/- 
 
 Mr. W. L. Courteney in Daily Telegraph.—" Mr. Street has given us a novel- 
 of rare distinction and charm. The fineness of his execution yields as much 
 artistic and literary delight as the delicacy of his perceptions and the acuteness 
 of his analysis." 
 
 14
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF F1CTI(3N 
 
 BY HERMANN SUDERMANN. 
 
 REGINA ; or THE SINS OF THE FATHERS. 
 
 Crown Svo. 6/- Third Edition. 
 
 A Translation of " Der Katzensteg'," by Beatrice Marshall. 
 
 St. James's Gaaette. — "A striking piece of work, full of excitement and strongly 
 drawn character." 
 
 Globe. — "The novel is a striking one, and deserves a careful and critical 
 attention." 
 
 BY CLARA YIEBIG. 
 
 ABSOLUTION. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Times.—" There is considerable strength in 'Absolution' . . . As a realistic 
 study the story has mnch merit." 
 
 Daily Telegraph. — The tale is powerfully told . . . the tale will prove absorb- 
 ing with its minute characterisation and real passion." 
 
 OUR DAILY BREAD. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 AI/ienaeuM.—" The story is not only of great human interest, but also extremely 
 valuable as a study of the conditions in which a large section of the poorer classes 
 and small tradespeople of German cities spendjtheir lives. Clara Viebig manipu- 
 lates her material with extraordinary vigour. . . . Her characters are alive." 
 
 Daily Telegraph. — "Quite excellent." 
 
 BY MRS. WILFRID YYARD. 
 
 THE LIGHT BEHIND . Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Alhen(xnnt. — " Qualities of a very desirable kind, united to a quiet moderate 
 manner, do not belong to the common novel. It is perhaps superfluous to say 
 that Mrs. Wilfrid Ward's new story is not a common novel and that it abounds in 
 this pleasing combination." 
 
 Punch. — "This is a book to read, and to keep to read again." 
 
 BY H. B. MARRIOTT YifATSON. 
 
 GALLOPING DICK. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Daily Telegraph. — " We have an always attractive theme worked up in an 
 unpretentious t^ut thoroughly effective style." 
 
 AT THE FIRST CORNER . Crown Svo. 3/6 
 
 Saturday Review. — "Admirably conceived and brilliantly finished ; the book 
 will be read." 
 
 THE HEART OF MIRAND.\ . Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Spectaior. — " Mr. Marriott Watson's literary gift is unmistakable." 
 
 BY EDITH Y?HARTON. 
 
 THE GRE.ATER INCLIN.^TION. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Dailv Telegriiph. — "Teems with literary ability and dramatic force." 
 Outlook. — " Miss Wharton writes with a sympathy, insight and understanding 
 that we have seldom seen equalled." 
 
 15
 
 JOHN LANE'S LIST OF FICTION 
 BY M. P. WILLCOCKS. 
 
 WIDDICOMBE. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Li'eniiig ^/anJani. — " Wonderfully alive and pulsating with a curious fervour 
 which brings round the reader the very atmosphere whicn the author describes' 
 . . . A fine,' rather unusual novel. . . . There are some striking studies of women." 
 
 Truth. — " A first novel of most unusual promise." 
 
 Queen. — "An unusually clever book." 
 
 THE WINGLESS VICTORY. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Tniits. — " Such books are worth keeping on the shelves even by the classics, 
 
 for thej' are painted in colours that do not fade.' 
 
 Daily Telegraph.— " A novel of such power as should win for its author a 
 
 position in the front rank of contemporary writers of fiction." 
 
 A MAN OF GENIUS . Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 JJiitlv Teh:i(Taph. — " ' Widdicombe' was good, and 'The Wingless Victory" 
 was perhaps better, but in ' A Man of Genius ' the author has given us something 
 that should ssure her place in the front rank of our living novelists. In this 
 latest novel there is so much of character, so much of incident, and to its writing 
 has gone so much insight and observation that it is not easy to praise it without 
 seeming exaggeration." 
 
 Punch.— '^ There is no excuse for not reading ' A Man of Genius ' and making 
 a short stay in the 'seventh Devon of delight." 
 Globe. — " Exquisite." 
 
 THE WAY UP. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 %* Michael Strode, the ironmaster, who is the central figure of Miss Willcocks' 
 new novel, devotes his life to the work of showing the Way Out of the economic 
 jungle of poverty by means of co-operative production ; he is prepared to sacrifice 
 everything : he is a fanatic, possessed by an idea. But Strode the thinker is also 
 Strode the man, bound by closest ties to a woman of the oldest type in the world. 
 The siren refuses to lend either her money or herself to further his scheme. The 
 novel is one, therefore, that touches three burnin" questions of the hour — capital 
 and labour, the claims of the individual against those of the State, the right of a 
 woman to her own individuality. In the clash of passion and duty, blow follows 
 blow, revelation succeeds revelation, till the wrappings that shroud reality are 
 stripped from it and both dreamers awake, but to what reality must be read in the 
 pages of the book itself, which, besides being a picture of a group of modern men 
 and women, is also a study of certain social tendencies of to-day and possibly 
 to-morrow. 
 
 BY F. E. MILLS YOUNG. 
 
 A MISTAKEN MARRIAGE. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Fall Mall Gazelle.-'' It is a very sincere and moving story. The heroine 
 claims our sympathies from the first, and we follow her fortunes with absorbed 
 interest." 
 CHIP. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 Mornifig Post.—" Original, vivid and realistic." 
 Athenceum. — "A tale ... of unusual romantic interest." 
 
 ATONEMENT. Crown Svo. 6/- 
 
 %* The story, which is laid in South Africa, shows how Harborough, a man 
 of naturally honourable character, becomes entangled with Sylvia Wentworth, a 
 girl who cfeliberately sets to work to fascinate him while already engaged to 
 Sydney Ainleigh. When Harborough offers to marry her, Sylvia refuses and 
 steadily adheres to her determination to marry her fiance. Harborough meets 
 and falls passionately in love with Naomi Bruce, the beautiful daughter of the 
 farmer on whose farm he is working. How he endeavours to conquer his love, 
 and how circumstances combine to bring Iiim and Naomi together, the tale reveals. 
 Naomi is in ignorance of Harborough's former entanglement at the time of her 
 marriage. Later he confesses it to her, and she, disillusioned and horrified, leaves 
 him. How the tale ends the reader must find out for himself. 
 
 i6
 
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 DATE DUE 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 GAYLORO 
 
 
 
 PRINTED IN U S A
 
 i/IIMl|ni 
 
 ^^ 000 643 038 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CA RIVERSIDE LIBRARY 
 
 3 1210 01269 7650
 
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