HE
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS
 
 Spring Publications 
 
 OF 
 
 The Stuyvesant Press 
 
 A Woman of Uncertain Age 
 
 By MARY ANNE BERRY 
 
 After The Pardon 
 
 By MATILDE SERAO 
 
 The Woman Herself 
 
 AnomymcHM 
 
 The Isle of Temptation 
 
 By ARTHUR STANLEY COLLETON 
 
 The Woman, The Man and The 
 
 Monster 
 
 By CARLETON DAWE 
 
 The Diary of a Lost One 
 
 Ed. by MARGARETE BOHME 
 
 All the above, cloth, I2mo 
 
 $1.50 each
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE 
 WILDERNESS 
 
 BY 
 
 HUBERT WALES 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE YOKE," "MR AND MRS VILLIERS* 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE STUYVESANT PRESS 
 
 1909
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY 
 THE STUYVESANT PRESS 
 
 NEW YORK
 
 D. E. W. 
 Who knows more about "Bay" than the Author 
 
 S138826
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 IN Cynthia in the Wilderness Mr. Hubert 
 Wales (whose earnest and virile treatment of the 
 problems of sex the American, like the British pub- 
 lic, has now so heartily endorsed) attacks the cen- 
 tral citadel of smug and unintelligent convention. 
 He fearlessly exposes the average male immorality 
 that divides women into two classes one above, 
 the other below the healthy level of the normally 
 human. 
 
 Cynthia's husband strikingly exemplifies this 
 egregious male who considers his wife a valuable 
 ornament and a symbol of respectability and seeks 
 the satisfaction of his "coarser" proclivities be- 
 yond the boundaries of the social pale. Once she 
 protests and her husband has the indescribable in- 
 solence to be shocked. No one who contemplates 
 with clear vision the baffling comedy of conven- 
 tional society will fail to accord to Mr. Wales's 
 presentment of his case the high praise of essen- 
 tial truth. 
 
 vu
 
 viii FOREWORD 
 
 Nor does he palter with the inevitable results of 
 such a union. Cynthia, freed from the trammels 
 of that mockery which she must call her marital 
 home, meets a man in whom, as in herself, passion 
 and intellect blend and interpenetrate each other to 
 the formation of that harmonious human charac- 
 ter which, since the flowering of Hellenic culture, 
 the best minds have ever sought for and admired. 
 
 And this is, after all, the ideal which Mr. Wales 
 upholds in his drastic narratives. In The Yoke he 
 pleads for the primal right of passion as a legiti- 
 mate element in human character; in Mr. and 
 Mrs. Villiers for its recognition in the basic rela- 
 tion of marriage from the point of view of the 
 man; in Cynthia in the Wilderness he presents the 
 case of the woman. He protests here, as always, 
 against the impurity of secretiveness, of that ap- 
 parently perennial falsehood which, striving to 
 throttle or dismiss the most imperious of human 
 desires, serves only to pervert and degrade it. 
 
 This protest he voices once more in the last 
 member of his trilogy of novels, and voices it not 
 only with extraordinary fearlessness and frankness, 
 but with an even higher measure of dramatic 
 power and truth.
 
 Cynthia in the Wilderness 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 "A YOUNG widow must remarry," said Mrs. 
 Montressor, decidedly. 
 
 "Then why don't you, Bay?" said Mrs. Elwes, 
 settling the cushions in her chair. 
 
 "I intend to; but give me time. Oh, to live like 
 this for the remainder of my life!" she concluded, 
 with an expressive little shudder of disgust. 
 
 "It is all very well for you 1 to talk glibly in that 
 way ; you have a good income and no children ; you 
 will probably be able to do as you like. But sup- 
 posing it were some one in a different position? 
 Supposing there were some insuperable obstacle? 
 What then?" 
 
 "In that case," said Bay, "she would either die, 
 or or " 
 
 "Or she wouldn't?" 
 
 "Or she wouldn't," said Bay. 
 
 Cynthia Elwes suddenly lifted her dark eyes and 
 I
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 looked at her friend intently. "Do you really be- 
 lieve that?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "In every case ?" 
 
 "In nearly every case." 
 
 Cynthia laughed. "You are uncommonly 
 sweeping, Bay." 
 
 "I'm merely judging from how the matter ap- 
 peals to me personally, and I don't think I am con- 
 stitutionally vicious." 
 
 It was late in the evening, and the two women 
 were sitting alone in Cynthia's little drawing-room 
 in Neville Road. Painters had made Bay's flat 
 uninhabitable for the time being, and her friend 
 had given her a refuge. 
 
 "Has it ever occurred to you," said the latter, 
 after a pause, during which she had been gazing 
 meditatively at her pointed shoes, "that you might 
 marry and yet find your lot very little different 
 from what it is at present?" 
 
 "I have tried both," said Bay, with decision, 
 "and I don't agree with you." 
 
 "You were fortunate." 
 
 The remark, uttered in a low tone, was in the 
 nature of a reflective commentary, scarcely in- 
 tended to reach Bay's ears. But the latter was 
 sufficiently sharp to catch it.
 
 "I don't deny it," she said; "but why do you 
 tell me so?" 
 
 She was not inquisitive. She had a motive in 
 pressing the point. These two had been friends 
 since their school-days, and had been wont to treat 
 one another with complete spontaneousness. Cyn- 
 thia's marriage, six years ago, had marked the 
 beginning of a gradual, almost imperceptible, 
 change in those easy relations. A slight reserve 
 had grown up on her side a reserve which for the 
 very fact that it was not natural to her, but was 
 obviously forced upon herself for a definite reason, 
 was all the more keenly felt. Bay's faculties were 
 far too wide awake, her native observation was 
 far too shrewd, for her to be blind to the general 
 nature of that reason; and she cared not a straw 
 for particulars as mere information. Idle outside 
 gossip, however well authenticated, she would 
 have spurned. But she wanted Cynthia to trust 
 her. She knew the value of a confidante in secret 
 trouble, she knew her own discretion, and, above 
 all, she longed to break through the barrier 
 though it were but a gauze one without substance 
 which had come between herself and her friend. 
 Spontaneousness, openness, straightforwardness 
 were of the very air she breathed. In an atmos- 
 phere containing anything inimical to those ideas 
 she stifled and became unhappy. 
 
 3
 
 We will say here, lest we forget to say it at all, 
 that her baptismal name was not "Bay," but 
 "Mary." The short appellation had originally 
 been bestowed upon her by her own tiny lips at the 
 age of one, which could get no nearer a satisfactory 
 pronunciation of the word "Baby," and had clung 
 to her ever since. And somehow, though she was 
 now nearly thirty and had been through wifehood 
 and two years of widowhood, and was an intensely 
 independent and determined person to boot, she 
 still seemed well fitted by the childish name. 
 
 She was not pretty, and no one was more fully 
 aware of the fact than herself. She was fond of 
 relating that her husband had told her, in a mo- 
 ment of connubial candour, that she had pretty 
 ears and that those were the only redeeming fea- 
 tures of an otherwise plain face. Rather small, 
 with a neat, compact figure, her face was too square 
 and set for beauty, and her cheeks had too high a 
 colour. Her features more easily put on an expres- 
 sion of severity than of softness, and her manner 
 was inclined to be brusque; characteristics which 
 led many a casual acquaintance to miss the deep 
 tenderness and intense capacity to feel which un- 
 derlay her exterior. 
 
 Cynthia Elwes was as unlike Bay in outward 
 appearance as she was like her in many essential 
 qualities. In the first place, she was tall; in the 
 
 4
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 second place, she was pale and dark her hair, 
 almost black, waved loosely over her temples from 
 an unobtrusive division in the centre; in the third 
 place, she was beautiful. Her beauty was not of 
 the type which impels recognition at the first 
 glance: it grew upon you. You would admit her, 
 to be striking, but you would probably deny her, 
 absolute beauty until you knew her well, perhaps 
 until you had gained her friendship. But having 
 once conceded it, you would concede it without re- 
 serve and with enthusiasm. 
 
 A certain air of dilettante ease when reclining 
 in a low chair, as at present, gave her a fallacious 
 appearance of languor; and the same effect was 
 produced by a slight tendency to stoop when she 
 walked. It disappeared immediately she was 
 aroused or interested, leaving you in no doubt of 
 the innate fire and energy and ebullient life which 
 pervaded her. 
 
 She looked at the clock when Bay put her ques- 
 tion. She had looked at it once or twice before. 
 It was a quarter past eleven. Then she said sud- 
 denly : 
 
 'Bay, do you suppose I am happy?" 
 
 A simple question; but it broke the ice of six 
 years. 
 
 Bay replied without making it apparent in her 
 voice that she recognised that fact.. "I have never 
 
 Si
 
 CYNTHIA IN, THE WILDERNESS 
 
 supposed that your marriage was an ideal one," she 
 said. "I didn't think so on the day you made it. 
 But it was quite a voluntary one, and you are not 
 a fool. So I have always assumed that there must 
 be something in in Mr. Elwes that is hidden from 
 me." 
 
 "Deliciously Bayish!" said Cynthia, smiling. 
 "No one else in the world would have said that 
 quite like that. Can you see no redeeming feature 
 in Harvey?" 
 
 "Can you?" 
 
 "My dear girl, don't tell me what you think of 
 me quite so plainly. You may be justified, but it 
 isn't kind. And, after all, there is something to be 
 said for me. Harvey has a pleasant exterior and 
 some likeable superficial qualities; I was only 
 twenty, and I thought I was in love with him." 
 
 "When I was twenty I thought I was in love a 
 good many times," said Bay. 
 
 "Yes, but you always had an irritating habit of 
 being guided to some extent by reason; which no 
 woman has any right to be certainly not at 
 twenty." 
 
 She put out a slim hand and began playing with 
 the articles on a small silver table beside her. 
 
 "I feel an inclination to talk to you to-night, 
 Bay," she said, after a pause. "I must talk to 
 somebody sometime I can't cork myself up for 
 
 6
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 ever and ever and you are such a dear, safe 
 being." 
 
 "I want you to," said Bay; "I don't care about 
 what you have to say, but I want you to talk to 
 
 me." 
 
 Cynthia again looked at the clock. 
 
 "Harvey is not coming home to-night," she said 
 abruptly. 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 "Intuition and a knowledge of his habits. If he 
 doesn't come before twelve, he doesn't come at all. 
 He is ashamed of himself in the small hours. He 
 will say the cabman lost his way and took him to 
 Clapham ; he thinks no excuse is too idiotic for me 
 to accept." 
 
 Bay affected no surprise. "Where will he go 
 instead?" 
 
 "To-day is his golf day one of his golf days," 
 meditated Cynthia. "Either his friends there have 
 thought it best not to send him home, or or " 
 
 "Never mind," said Bay. 
 
 "Oh, of course he is not faithful," said Cynthia. 
 "But such is his placid belief in the abysmal sim- 
 plicity of women that he thinks I don't know." 
 
 "I don't mean," she went on, "that anyone has 
 supplanted me in his affections. No one is likely 
 to do that : he has put me on the top of a pedestal 
 and approaches me on his knees. His idea of a 
 
 z
 
 CYNTHIA IN. THE WILDERNESS 
 
 wife is of some delicate piece of bric-a-brac, to be 
 kept in a glass case and worshipped from afar. 
 Meanwhile he feeds on scraps by the roadside." 
 
 She had spoken quite quietly, in a matter-of-fact 
 tone touched with a faint note of cynicism, leaning 
 back idly in her chair. Bay, however, had been 
 working up to a state of intense indignation. 
 
 "Cynthia, why don't you boil?" she cried. 
 
 "I have too strong a sense of humour," said 
 Cynthia. "Through all, he is so ridiculously mild 
 and harmless. There is not enough malice or pur- 
 pose or or backbone in anything he does to make 
 one angry. He would never intentionally do me 
 an injury. His heart is as soft as putty. He sim- 
 ply lacks ballast and sense." 
 
 "But he drinks," said Bay, with disgust. 
 
 "Weakly, foolishly, stupidly. He often makes 
 me ashamed of him, but he will never be a hopeless 
 drunkard. That makes it worse, in a way. He 
 can't even plead a hereditary taint. With him it 
 is not a disease, it's a pastime." 
 
 "And he is consistently unfaithful," insisted Bay. 
 
 "Oh, he is quite capable of thinking that in that 
 he is even doing me a service saving me from the 
 grossnesses of life preserving the sanctity of my 
 glass case." She finished with a short laugh. 
 
 Bay moved her chair and came closer. "Are 
 you really serious, Cynthia?" 
 
 8
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Good gracious, yes," said Cynthia. u On the 
 very rare occasions when it occurs to him to re- 
 member our relation, he opens the door of my case 
 apologetically, takes me out for a few moments 
 with scrupulously careful fingers, and places me 
 back again with renewed apologies for months, 
 possibly for a year or two. It makes me think of 
 those people who have an everyday set of china, 
 and a 'best' set, which they keep to look at. I am 
 the 'best' set." 
 
 "How can I do anything but laugh at a man 
 like that?" she asked calmly. 
 
 "But he does me one injury," she cried the next 
 moment, with a first flash of bitterness, "and that is 
 a perpetual one : he exists." 
 
 Suddenly she started up in her chair, her eyes 
 flaming. "You say a young widow must marry 
 again." She turned on Bay almost fiercely. "What 
 am /to do?" 
 
 Bay made no reply; indeed, none was expected. 
 Cynthia's gust of emotion passed as quickly as it 
 had come. She sank back again and for a time 
 became pensive. 
 
 "And I could so live if I had a husband who 
 was real," she said presently. "I could surrender 
 everything utterly, absolutely everything to 
 him." 
 
 Bay surveyed the slender, supple form of her 
 
 9
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 friend with leisurely admiration. "Your husband 
 is a fool," she said deliberately. 
 
 "In a sense, perhaps," said Cynthia, "but he 
 lives the life that fits him best. There is not ca- 
 pacity in his being for great things great love, 
 great sorrow, or great sin. In spite of his miser- 
 able, squalid infidelities, he is a prude in his way, 
 and he would be very highly shocked if he heard 
 me speak as I spoke just then." 
 
 Bay suddenly jumped up with an exclamation 
 of impatience. She took half a dozen quick steps 
 across the room and came back again and sat down 
 with a thump. "Oh, it makes me wild to hear of 
 a man like that. Why don't you do something, 
 Cynthia? Why don't you shake him ? If he were 
 my husband I would put flour in his hat and peas 
 in his boots. I would hide his sleeping-suits and 
 dose him with cayenne pepper. Oh, he would 
 have an uncommonly lively time until he discovered 
 the way to keep me quiet!" 
 
 Cynthia laughed. "You have my full permis- 
 sion to experiment, if you like," she said. "You'll 
 irritate the animal, but you won't change his spots. 
 Inherent feebleness is not remedied by practical 
 jokes. You can shake a bottle of soda-water as long 
 as you like, but you won't turn it into champagne." 
 
 "Divorce him, then," said Bay, emphatically. 
 
 "I can't," said Cynthia; "he treats me 'kindly.' 
 10
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 1 can have a separation : scandalise everybody, lose 
 my home, and be no more free than at present." 
 
 "It's hideous," said Bay; "but at least you have 
 Eric." 
 
 "That from you, Bay, from you! How can a 
 child take the place of a husband? I love that 
 darling; I think my heart would break if I lost 
 him ; I love to feel his little hands on my face and 
 his little arms round my neck. But that is not all- 
 sufficing when a woman is twenty-seven. I want 
 arms that can grip ; I want to be held till there is 
 no breath in me. Sometimes it seems to me that if 
 you can't have that, there is nothing in the world 
 worth keeping. 
 
 "And I'm getting older, Bay," she went on 
 strenuously, "while I sit in my case older older. 
 Men want me now could want me. In a dozen 
 years they won't. I will have love," she cried, with 
 a burst of passion, "while I may. Show me a man 
 to love, and I'll love him." 
 
 Bay quietly dropped from her chair and sat at 
 Cynthia's feet. She put her arms on her friend's 
 lap and looked up into her face. 
 
 "Cynthia, have you ever tried him? Does he 
 know ? Have you ever made any any advance ?" 
 
 "A woman can't do that." 
 
 "Can't ?" The innocent widening of Bay's eyes, 
 the innocent note of wonder in her voice, provided 
 
 ii
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 one of those occasions when her name seemed so 
 appropriate. 
 
 "Oh, gladly, willingly, if she is sure of a re- 
 sponse. But not otherwise." 
 
 "Try, Cynthia." Bay's voice softened, as she 
 rarely allowed it to do. 
 
 "But why, Bay?" Cynthia looked at the insist- 
 ent, earnest face with slightly perplexed affection. 
 "Why should I submit myself to a wholly unneces- 
 sary rebuff?" 
 
 "Because I can't conceive a rebuff to me pos- 
 sible," said Bay, "and because I love you so much 
 and want you to be happy." She laid her cheek on 
 Cynthia's cool, white hand. 
 
 "What an obstinate, unbelieving person you 
 are!" said Cynthia. She looked down softly at 
 the warm, unruly mass of dark brown hair on her 
 lap. "Very well, you shall have your way. As 
 soon as conveniently may be, I will duly humble 
 myself to please Mrs. Montressor, and she shall 
 hear the result." 
 
 Whereat Mrs. Montressor lifted a smiling face 
 and kissed her. 
 
 12
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 WHEN the up-train for Waterloo reached Hal- 
 ley Bush station at eleven o'clock on the same even- 
 ing, one of the first-class smoking compartments 
 contained only a single passenger a staid, elderly 
 gentleman, reading an evening paper. Here he was 
 joined by a second a younger and rather spare 
 man of medium height, wearing a well-fitting suit 
 of dark flannel, tan shoes and a bowler hat. He 
 had a sunburnt complexion and a slight dark mous- 
 tache, and there was almost a canine softness in 
 his brown eyes an effect which was enhanced by 
 the light film of glistening moisture which lay in 
 them. On the whole, a good-looking man, in a 
 weak, characterless way. 
 
 He parted on the platform with an older com- 
 panion, who cast some facetious remarks in his 
 wake, to which he replied with studied serenity. 
 On entering, he tripped slightly over the elderly 
 gentleman's foot and apologised carefully. His 
 original intention appeared to be to go to the fur- 
 ther end of the compartment, but this small mishap 
 
 13
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 modified his purpose, and he sat down a little 
 abruptly in the place opposite the seated pas- 
 penger. 
 
 He gazed at his vis-a-vis with irreproachable 
 steadiness and informed him that he had been play- 
 ing golf. He further stated that, having been 
 pressed to make up a four at bridge after the game, 
 he had missed his usual train, and in those circum- 
 stances had accepted the invitation and the hospi- 
 tality of his friend on the platform, which ac- 
 counted for his late return. His manner was 
 exceedingly sedate. Receiving a courteous ac- 
 knowledgment of these remarks, he went on to say 
 that he had been wondering how the unfortunate 
 incidents referred to should affect his conduct when 
 he reached town. His present feeling was that it 
 would be more considerate to accept the temporary 
 inconvenience of hotel accommodation than to dis- 
 turb his wife at so late an hour. The stranger 
 suggested that his wife might be anxious; to which 
 he immediately agreed, said that that was a view 
 of the matter which had not hitherto occurred to 
 him, and thanked his fellow-passenger for putting 
 it into his mind thanked him several times. 
 
 "My name is Harvey Elwes," he intimated. 
 "You may have heard it. I was asked to stand 
 for Parliament at the last election a Shropshire 
 division. I didn't think it was worth while." He 
 
 14
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 paused for emphasis. "I didn't think it was worth 
 while." 
 
 The train started with a jerk, and his hat fell off. 
 Mr. Harvey Elwes ignored it indeed, appeared 
 to be unaware of its declension. He gazed at the 
 elderly gentleman with unchanging calm and asked 
 him if he played golf. The latter picked up the 
 hat and returned it a slight service which brought 
 a beaming smile of acknowledgment to Mr. 
 Elwes's soft eyes. 
 
 At the same time his companion informed him 
 that he was not personally a golfer. 
 
 "It's the most difficult game there is," said Har- 
 vey Elwes. "I was playing rather well to-day. I 
 did the last two holes in three each. Long holes. 
 I did them in three each." 
 
 Tending to droop forward, he drew himself up 
 and returned the stranger's gaze with a tranquillity 
 which conveyed almost a challenge. 
 
 "Last week I was down at Sandwich," he pro- 
 ceeded. "I played several rounds with Lord George 
 Montague. A very nice man. I liked him." 
 
 He uttered his sentences quickly, with a sharp 
 break between each. 
 
 The elderly gentleman turned his paper. "Did 
 you enjoy the game?" he asked politely. 
 
 "I think it's an overrated course. There's noth- 
 ing in the carries. I like Deal better." 
 
 15
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 "I prefer Deal." 
 
 "That is also a golf course ?" 
 
 "They join," said Harvey, with a slight, indul- 
 gent smile. "You can play over both the same 
 day. But I prefer Deal." 
 
 He indicated the importance of this statement 
 by a sapient jerk of his head; and again suffered 
 the temporary loss of his hat. 
 
 The elderly gentleman surveyed him for the 
 first time with distinct suspicion. He was a man 
 who held rigid views upon temperance and other 
 questions. Harvey, however, returned his glance 
 with unwavering composure and proceeded with 
 his remarks. 
 
 "Your hat," said the stranger, coldly, restoring 
 it to him. 
 
 Mr. Elwes admitted, after examining it, that it 
 was undoubtedly his; replaced it with care; and 
 proceeded still keeping his eyes fixed upon the 
 other with defensive tranquillity to feel in his 
 pockets for his tobacco. In the course of time he 
 discovered it and filled a pipe, and then made his 
 first attempt to light it. It had the appearance of 
 a truss of hay at the top of a fork, and his repeated 
 efforts to induce it to draw were viewed by the gen- 
 tleman opposite with increasing disgust. Harvey 
 expressed his views apologetically, from time to 
 
 16
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 time, in monosyllabic undertones. Presently it oc- 
 curred to him that the draught from the window 
 was detrimental. In bending to avoid it his hat 
 toppled over his eye, hovered for a moment or two, 
 finally found its old place on the floor. 
 
 This time the elderly gentleman permitted it to 
 remain there and returned pointedly to his evening 
 paper. 
 
 A little later Mr. Elwes decided that he would 
 not smoke after all. He restored his pipe and the 
 remains of his matches to his pockets, straightened 
 himself, stared composedly at the evening paper, 
 and asked pleasantly if its peruser were one of 
 those men who were good at games. 
 
 The gentleman addressed took off his eye- 
 glasses, wiped them on his handkerchief, carefully 
 readjusted them, and proceeded with his reading. 
 
 "Tennis is a good game," intimated Harvey. "I 
 daresay you know it. I've won several tourna- 
 ments. But I've given it up." 
 
 The paper was turned impatiently. 
 
 "I've given it up." 
 
 Harvey awaited an incredulous rejoinder with a 
 glistening smile. He retained it on his counte- 
 nance for several seconds, loth to believe that he 
 was addressing a man of apathetic mind. Realis- 
 ing that this was unhappily the case, he relapsed for 
 a time into silence.
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Presently he aroused himself again. "You play 
 billiards, perhaps ? I'm very fond of billiards. I 
 once made a hundred-and-ninety break. I've played 
 all the best professionals. I've played John 
 Roberts." 
 
 He paused, expectantly. 
 
 "It was a good game. He made some wonder- 
 ful strokes." 
 
 Still no response. 
 
 Harvey pulled himself together. "I beat him. 
 He had hard luck." 
 
 "He had hard luck," he repeated modestly. 
 
 The paper was removed for two seconds, and the 
 elderly gentleman bent a stern glance upon him 
 over his glasses. 
 
 "I presume you play billiards before dinner?" 
 he said witheringly. 
 
 "It just depends," said Harvey, lightly, pleased 
 to have extracted a remark; "sometimes it suits 
 me better at one time, sometimes at another. I 
 can generally spare an hour or so after lunch. You 
 get very good billiards at the First Avenue. You 
 see, I'm a barrister," he added, smiling with gen- 
 uine delight at remembering such a striking piece 
 of information. 
 
 The evening paper, however, had again hidden 
 the occupant of the opposite seat. Recognising 
 with regret, after some further attempts at con- 
 
 18
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 vcrsation, that his fellow-passenger was not alive 
 to ordinary courtesies, Harvey dropped his chin 
 on his chest and dozed for the remainder of the 
 journey. 
 
 He awoke with a start at Waterloo. His oppo- 
 site neighbour had folded his paper and stretched 
 out his hand to the door. 
 
 "Allow me," said Harvey, politely. 
 
 His hand wavered over the handle, then clutched 
 it and turned it, and the door flew open, just ap- 
 preciably before he was ready. He recovered in- 
 stantaneously and courteously allowed the stranger 
 to pass. 
 
 He made a great effort to achieve especial im- 
 pressiveness in a final speech. "I must thank you," 
 he said, "for reminding me that my wife might be 
 anxious. I think you are right; I think it would 
 be better to go home. I shall take your advice." 
 
 The elderly gentleman stepped over his hat. 
 
 "I shall take your advice," he repeated to the 
 retreating back. 
 
 He picked up his hat, then alighted from the 
 carriage and walked down the platform with great 
 dignity. 
 
 Force of habit had carried him to the middle of 
 Waterloo Bridge before he again remembered his 
 intention to drive straight home. He looked round 
 for a cab. Failing to see one, he addressed some 
 
 19 
 V
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 caustic comments to himself upon the subject of the 
 paucity of cabs in London, and went on again. As 
 he turned the corner of the Strand, he ran into a 
 man of rubicund countenance with a glassy eye. 
 
 "Hel/o, old bhoy!" said the latter, boisterously. 
 
 Harvey regarded him with his glistening smile. 
 "Awful good luck!" he said. "Where have you 
 sprung from, Masters?" 
 
 "The usual round," said Masters. "Come and 
 have a drink." 
 
 "Better without," said Harvey, piously. "I've 
 been playing golf" he began. 
 
 "Darned sight better within, old chap," said 
 Masters, and they turned into a bar. 
 
 On emerging, half an hour later, Harvey's care- 
 ful calm had perceptibly increased. He stood on 
 the pavement to bid good-night to Masters with 
 the dignity of a duke's butler. His friend had 
 hailed a hansom. He lived in Maida Vale. 
 
 "Mustn't keep the missus waiting after one," 
 he said. "Want a lift, old bhoy? Where are you 
 sleeping to-night?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" very fiercely. 
 
 "Wife at home?" 
 
 "Yes." He was struck by a thought and added, 
 "I must be going; she gets anxious if I'm late." 
 
 "Keep your spirits up," said Masters, humor- 
 20
 
 ously; "there's always a chance she mayn't hear 
 you come in. So long." 
 
 Harvey continued carefully westward. It was 
 a fine night one of those nights when one could 
 walk part of the way home without discomfort, 
 and the air did one good. 
 
 "Haven't seen you for a long time," said a voice 
 behind him. 
 
 Harvey stopped and looked at the girl who had 
 spoken. He steadied himself and looked again. 
 
 "I've never seen you before," he said. 
 
 "Not for nearly a month," said the girl. She 
 put her arm quietly through his. "Let me take 
 your arm : you'll get along better." 
 
 "Leave me aloqe, please. I don't know you." 
 
 "Don't you? You've a very short memory. 
 Where are you going now?" 
 
 "Home," said Harvey. "My wife gets anxious 
 if I'm late." 
 
 The girl laughed. "You can't go home like 
 this," she said. 
 
 Harvey looked at her steadily, his soft, dog-like 
 eyes gradually assuming an expression which was 
 intended to be severe, but which was really in- 
 creasingly drowsy. Suddenly he straightened him- 
 self and, poking his face towards hers, "I prefer 
 to go home," he said, enunciating the words care- 
 fully: "I prefer to." 
 
 21
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Come along, then; I'll see you part of the 
 way." 
 
 She kept her arm through his and led him north- 
 ward. 
 
 "I'm late," said Harvey, when they had walked 
 some distance in silence. "I've been playing golf. 
 I did the last two holes in two." 
 
 "Two each?" 
 
 "Two altogether," said Harvey, determined to 
 make an impression. 
 
 "That was very good." 
 
 "I'm good at most games," said Harvey, pleas- 
 antly; "it's a knack cricket, tennis. Play much 
 tennis?" 
 
 "No," said the girl. 
 
 "You ought to pers'vere. It's a good game for 
 girls. I met a girl at a garden-party " 
 
 Suddenly she turned on him fiercely. Angry 
 tears stood in her eyes. "Don't talk to me about 
 tennis. Don't talk to me about garden-parties, and 
 things like that. D'y' hear?" 
 
 Wholly mystified by her vehemence, Harvey 
 bestowed upon her a slightly terrified, mollifying 
 smile. They crossed Oxford Street in silence, and 
 still continued northward. 
 
 Abruptly Harvey came to a halt. A thought 
 had struck him. "Are you'n immoral woman?" 
 he said severely. 
 
 22
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Oh, no; I let rooms to single gentlemen." She 
 smiled a little. 
 
 "I'm glad to hear it." 
 
 She said nothing. 
 
 "I'm glad to hear it," he repeated. "I think 
 im im'ral " He looked at her with increas- 
 ing severity and started again : "I think it's a great 
 evil, the great curse of the country. I think so." 
 
 "Well, come on," said the girl, gently pulling at 
 his arm. 
 
 Harvey drew himself together. 
 
 "Come on, dear." 
 
 "Please don't call me by familiar names. My 
 name is Harvey Elwes. I was asked to stand 
 for " 
 
 "Yes, I know; you've told me that before." 
 
 "My wife gets very anxious," proceeded Har- 
 vey. "I don't know this street." 
 
 "You can't go home to-night," said the girl. 
 "Don't be silly. It's much too late. Your wife 
 has gone to bed long ago and locked up. She 
 knows you often get kept overnight on business." 
 
 Harvey pondered. "I think you're right. I'll 
 take your advice. I'll go to a hotel." 
 
 "There are no hotels about here. I can let you 
 a comfortable room, if that's what you want." 
 
 "Is it far?" 
 
 "Oh, no ; quite close." 
 23
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 He assumed an air of patronage. "I'll take 
 your room," he said. 
 
 She gripped his arm firmly and steadied him 
 onward. "You don't mind me being there, too, 
 I suppose? I've nowhere else to go." 
 
 And Harvey didn't. 
 
 24
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 HARVEY ELWES had one considerable advan- 
 tage over many others of his kind: he could turn 
 out fresh in the morning, however inglorious his 
 condition of the night before. He walked down 
 Holborn at ten o'clock on the day following his 
 late return from Halley Bush bright and clean, 
 bronzed and elastic, nodding a smiling greeting to 
 an occasional acquaintance. His whole appear- 
 ance was pleasantly suggestive of health and the 
 open air. 
 
 After breakfast a brandy-and-soda he pro- 
 ceeded to his chambers in Lincoln's Inn. These 
 were in a building which he shared with two other 
 men : a convenient arrangement, since, as they none 
 of them employed clerks, it enabled clients who 
 found a member of the trio temporarily absent 
 to obtain information concerning him from one 
 of the others. The expedient of pinning a paper 
 on the outside of his door is not grateful to the 
 soul of a member of the Bar. In Harvey's case, 
 however, the contingency of an incursion of clients 
 
 25
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 could be regarded with equanimity. Even his 
 uncle, a solicitor with a large City practice, had 
 given up sending him work. On the first day of 
 every third month he received a cheque for two 
 hundred pounds from his father's trustees. That 
 constituted his income. He neither made nor ex- 
 pected to make any emolument from his profession. 
 Up to a certain time he had put forth a conscien- 
 tious effort to succeed in it: he had diligently at- 
 tacked the work which his uncle provided for him, 
 had regularly attended the Courts, had spent hours 
 at a stretch searching volumes of law reports. But 
 by degrees the constant difficulties and disappoint- 
 ments he encountered, the stiff up-hill struggle 
 which faces every young barrister, had proved too 
 much for him and he had succumbed. 
 
 In these later days his visits to his Chambers 
 were mechanical and perfunctory. He arrived on 
 normal days at about half-past ten, looked at his 
 correspondence (if there were any to look at), 
 read the morning paper (particularly the sporting 
 and betting news), wrote a private letter or two, 
 and lunched lunched for the rest of the day. 
 
 He lunched, that is to say, he drank, or to use 
 the only word which can convey just what it was 
 he "nipped," simply and solely because he had 
 nothing else to do. Had the discouragements in 
 his profession been less severe, or had he had grit 
 
 26
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 to get through in spite of them, it is probable he 
 would never have become a drinker. Those who 
 succeed in any career, but particularly at the Bar, 
 have opportunities of work showered upon them. 
 Commonly they accept it all : more than they need, 
 more than they can give full attention to, some- 
 times more than their strength can sustain. Per- 
 haps, human nature being what it is, it would be 
 unreasonable to expect them to do otherwise. But 
 there remains the fact that persistent and disheart- 
 ening failure to obtain some of the work with 
 which they are over-gorged drives many a defeated 
 young man into the waste ways of life. 
 
 This morning Harvey found two letters and a 
 telegram awaiting him. They had all arrived on 
 the previous day. The telegram was from Cynthia 
 asking him to order some oysters at the Stores. 
 This gave him acute distress: not because his con- 
 science pricked him for his employment of the 
 previous day and night, nor because he felt any 
 doubt of his ability to explain his absence plausibly, 
 but simply because of his failure in the matter of 
 the oysters. A lady to dine, an oysterless dinner, 
 and through him ! Cynthia should not have been 
 let down in that way; he was very much to blame. 
 He sat with his elbows on the desk, staring out of 
 the window with furrowed brow. Then he slowly 
 folded the telegram and put it in his pocket. Yes, 
 
 27
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Cynthia ought to have had the oysters ; they ought 
 to have been sent. 
 
 The first of the two letters contained an "Ac- 
 count rendered" from a tradesman, accompanied 
 by a printed form respectfully asking for an early 
 remittance. "I've paid it," was his mental com- 
 ment; "I must have paid it." He looked in his 
 cheque-book, and found that he had omitted to 
 fill in most of the counterfoils. U A very slack 
 habit," he said to himself; "I must get out of it. 
 Hang it I but I know I've paid it." He put the bill 
 in a drawer and took up a second letter. 
 
 This was from a lady signing herself "Girlie." 
 She reminded him that the morrow was early clos- 
 ing day in her neighbourhood and that she would 
 meet him as usual at Charing Cross at two o'clock. 
 There were two or three crosses at the bottom. 
 Harvey looked at the date and then at the post- 
 mark. It had come by the previous evening's de- 
 livery, so the appointment was for the present af- 
 ternoon. Yes, of course, it was Thursday; it was 
 always a Thursday. Hang it ! He didn't feel like 
 it; he was tired of her; she had nothing in her; 
 in fact, it was a beastly nuisance. But he should 
 go. Some men wouldn't, but he should. You 
 couldn't leave a girl standing about at a place like 
 Charing Cross. She might get spoken to. Little 
 inclination as he had, he should certainly go. You 
 
 28
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 saw the man of fine perceptions and sound conduct 
 in Harvey's face as he restored the letter to its 
 envelope and put it in his pocket. It came in con- 
 tact with Cynthia's telegram. In a moment the 
 letter was withdrawn, torn across, and dropped 
 into the waste-paper basket. Then he took out the 
 telegram, lightly dusted it with his fingers, and re- 
 placed it. There was no doubt that those oysters 
 ought to have been sent: he was very much to 
 blame ; very, very much to blame. 
 
 To many people it may seem that Harvey's mail 
 was not a very important one; yet the sum of it 
 caused him considerable perturbation of mind. He 
 fretted about his room, unable to settle, unable to 
 make his customary calculations, upon the results 
 of the previous day's racing, of the suppositional 
 profits of his theoretical system of backing horses 
 successfully, which was infallible, provided you 
 had sufficient capital and sufficient courage. It 
 appeared to him that he had come upon one of 
 those days when everything meant to go wrong. 
 One after the other his troubles obtruded them- 
 selves. He was tired of this girl; to himself he 
 could admit plainly that he was tired of her: she 
 was common, she was not his class; their aims and 
 outlooks were necessarily entirely different. In her 
 way she was a nice girl, and he knew she was fond 
 of him; of course he should stand by her; no de- 
 
 29
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 cent man could do anything else ; but At this 
 
 point the tradesman's account swam into his ken. 
 He knew there would be trouble about it before 
 he was through with it. He searched his drawers 
 for the receipt, unsuccessfully. He didn't accuse 
 them of dishonesty, but he thought it a pity that 
 tradesmen could not be businesslike. He would go 
 out and buy a file and hang it up in his room and 
 begin keeping his receipted bills systematically. No 
 doubt he ought to have done so before : it was part- 
 ly his own fault. If it hadn't come on the top of 
 
 Cynthia's telegram Oh, he wouldn't have 
 
 let Cynthia down for the world. She would never 
 trust to him again. 
 
 He sat down in his chair and sighed. There was 
 precious little that made life worth living, if one 
 looked into it. The fellows one met, the things 
 one did very pleasant in their way but how 
 much did it all amount to? Men came and went 
 in the world, and nobody minded. If he, for in- 
 stance he, Harvey Elwes went, probably his 
 place would soon be filled. He dropped his chin 
 on his knuckles, picked at his moustache, and pon- 
 dered over the vanity of things. He didn't justify 
 suicide personally he believed he could never de- 
 scend to it it was cowardly but there were times 
 when he could understand it. 
 
 He went out and bought his file, found three 
 
 30
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 receipts and stabbed them upon it, and then spent 
 some time determining upon which hook in his 
 room it would be at the same time unobtrusive and 
 convenient. At a quarter to two he brushed his 
 hat, locked his door behind him, and walked brisk- 
 ly down the Strand to Charing Cross. 
 
 He looked into the precincts of the station. See- 
 ing no sign of the young lady he had come to meet, 
 he went into a bar and had a sherry-and-bitters. 
 Five minutes later he emerged and again glanced 
 into the station. Still he looked in vain. Exhibit- 
 ing some slight, natural annoyance, he went back 
 into the bar and had another sherry-and-bitters. 
 On issuing from it for the second time, he went 
 right into the station, and immediately came upon 
 the object of his search. 
 
 This was a girl of about twenty, rather demure 
 in appearance, quietly dressed and decidedly pretty, 
 seated on a bench in the booking-hall. 
 
 Harvey hurried up to her. "Where have you 
 been hiding?" he said breathlessly. "I've been 
 looking for you all over the place." 
 
 "I've been here for the last quarter of an hour," 
 said the girl, quietly. 
 
 She looked up at him, and the most casual ob- 
 server, seeing the look, would have known how she 
 was disposed to him. To this little shop-girl (she 
 was in the baby-linen department in a South Lon-
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 don drapery establishment) Harvey Elwes repre- 
 sented the whole world. Round his personality her 
 being centred and by their weekly meetings she 
 measured her life. 
 
 "I looked in several times," said Harvey. "I 
 must have missed you in the crowd. I'm awfully 
 sorry." 
 
 "You couldn't help it," said the girl, getting up. 
 "I don't mind, now you've come." 
 
 "Surely you didn't think I wasn't coming?" 
 
 "No, I didn't, really." 
 
 "You ought to know me better than that, 
 Marie." 
 
 His tone was a little cold. It was so difficult to 
 make her comprehend that she must not associate 
 with him the loose standards of her own class. 
 
 "I say I didn't think so. Of course I didn't. 
 Don't be stupid." 
 
 They walked out of the station. Harvey real- 
 ised that her last remark ought not to be passed 
 unreproved ; but she always took even the slightest 
 correction so seriously, and no doubt she meant no 
 impertinence. 
 
 They crossed Trafalgar Square in silence. Marie 
 was never talkative in Harvey's company, and he 
 could think of nothing material to say. They were 
 walking on without any fixed purpose. 
 
 "Where shall we go?" he asked presently. 
 32
 
 "I don't mind." 
 
 "You never do. I wish you would say." 
 
 "I don't want to have to think: I'm quite 
 happy." 
 
 "Tofeano's might do." 
 
 "Oh, don't let us bother with lunch," she said 
 quickly. "Let's get out into the country." 
 
 "You haven't had it?" a little apprehensively. 
 
 "No, but we can get some biscuits: I'm not 
 hungry." 
 
 Harvey's lunch, however, was a function not to 
 be disposed of in this airy manner. 
 
 "Oh, you oughtn't to do that," he said seriously; 
 "it's playing with your constitution." 
 
 He took her to a restaurant in Soho. They had 
 a small room to themselves, and he pressed her 
 hand between the courses. When the waiter had 
 finally left them, he sat with his coffee and his 
 creme-de-menthe: his legs were crossed and his 
 table-napkin was on the floor beside him. Three- 
 quarters of a bottle of champagne had fallen to his 
 share, and his eyes were beginning to assume their 
 watery glaze, their studied calm. He broke his 
 cigarette-ash on his plate and looked at Marie. 
 It occurred to him that he had been deprecating 
 her unfairly in his mind. She was undoubtedly 
 pretty; also she was pleasant; also she was a dear 
 girl and fond of him. 
 
 33
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 He stretched an arm round her waist and drew 
 her towards him. 
 
 "A penny for your thoughts," he said. 
 
 "I'll tell you presently." She laid her head on 
 his shoulder with a little sigh. 
 
 Harvey put down his cigarette and kissed her. 
 He felt a tremor go through her. 
 
 "What's the matter?" with foolish anxiety. 
 "Are you cold?" 
 
 "No, no; don't be silly." She clung to him. 
 
 "Why don't you talk?" 
 
 "I can't talk." Her head was still on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 He took up his cigarette again and smoked for a 
 few minutes rather awkwardly. 
 
 After a time she raised her head. She had col- 
 oured a little and her lip trembled. "I want to say 
 something." 
 
 "Yes?" said Harvey. 
 
 "When are we going away again?" 
 
 Harvey disposed of his creme-de-menthe. To do 
 so, having only one hand at his command, he was 
 obliged again temporarily to relinquish his 
 cigarette. 
 
 "I've been wondering about that," he said. "I've 
 been wondering if it's worth the risk?" 
 
 She looked at him without speaking. Her eyes 
 were mystified and vaguely reproachful. 
 
 34
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "It would be an awful thing if anything hap- 
 pened," he went on solemnly. "It would be an 
 awful thing," he repeated. 
 
 "It's been all right before." 
 
 "That's because you can trust me to do all I can. 
 You couldn't trust some men." 
 
 "I don't want to trust some men." 
 
 "I've never done any girl any harm." He 
 paused to allow the statement full weight. "I'm 
 not going to behave like a bounder," he said with 
 emphasis. 
 
 He rang the bell for another creme-de-menthe. 
 
 "The point is I'm married." 
 
 "Oh, why do you keep telling me that?" cried 
 Marie, fiercely. "You tell me every time I see 
 you." 
 
 Harvey smiled on her indulgently. "It shuts 
 the door in case of accidents. You see what I 
 mean?" 
 
 "Of course I see what you mean." She spoke 
 slowly, with a note in her voice almost of disdain. 
 "You mean you can never marry me." 
 
 "That's the point. I want to behave squarely 
 I don't want to behave like a bounder." 
 
 "Well, if I'm willing to risk it," said Marie, 
 after a pause, "I don't think you ought to mind." 
 
 "No, not if you really understand. I'm only 
 showing you the danger. I'm not like some fel- 
 
 35
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 lows. I can't take advantage of a girl.. I can't 
 do it." 
 
 "When shall we go?" 
 
 Harvey pondered. "This week-end, if you 
 like." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "1*11 let you know. Some quiet place. Have 
 you got the ring?" 
 
 She showed him her hand. "I always wear it 
 when I come out with you." 
 
 "How nice of you !" His soft eyes glistened. 
 
 "Oh, Harvey " 
 
 "Yes ?" He put his arms round her. 
 
 "I do love you so."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 CHANCING to look out of the drawing-room win- 
 dow between six and seven that evening, Bay saw 
 the master of the house coming along on the other 
 side of the street with short, quick steps and a very 
 businesslike air. 
 
 "Here he is," she said to Cynthia. 
 
 Cynthia glanced at the clock. "Half-past six," 
 she said. "Important conference, Cynthia dear. 
 Big men briefed on both sides. I'm lucky to be 
 in it." She had mimicked Harvey's tone. "Stop 
 me when I do that, Bay," she said the next mo- 
 ment. "I don't want to, and it's so easy to get into 
 a habit." 
 
 When Harvey came in she noticed, almost with- 
 out looking at him, the slight glaze of his eyes and 
 their unnatural steadiness. These were familiar 
 signs. She did not move from her chair indeed, 
 scarcely appeared to have noticed his entrance. He 
 hurried past Bay with a quick greeting and went 
 up to his wife. 
 
 "Cynthia dear, I'm most awfully sorry about 
 
 37
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 those oysters. I was playing golf; I didn't get 
 your wire. I'm most awfully sorry." 
 
 "What? Oh, never mind," said Cynthia, care- 
 lessly. 
 
 "Was it very inconvenient?" 
 
 "Oh, no. I remembered afterwards that you 
 usually played golf.on Wednesday." 
 
 Her indifferent, even tone contrasted with Har- 
 vey's short, sudden sentences. Just now the latter's 
 genuine concern increased his normal tendency to' 
 speak in jerks. 
 
 "I've been worrying about it all day, wondering 
 what you would do. I know you won't have oys- 
 ters from shops. Were you able to get anything 
 else?" 
 
 "Don't obtrude these domestic details." She 
 smiled and looked at Bay. "I believe if I asked 
 Harvey to get' me a shoe-lace he would tell me his 
 experiences before a crowd of people. 'It's a new 
 thing. I was lucky to get it. So the man said ; and 
 he said you ought to lace it criss-cross.' Bay ! What 
 did I tell you, Bay?" 
 
 But Bay had gone to the window and was look- 
 ing out. She appeared, to a man passing in the 
 street, to have a sense of humour. 
 
 Presently she turned round. Cynthia seemed 
 inclined to pass the previous night's absence with- 
 
 38
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 out even comment. This was more than Bay's 
 indignant spirit could suffer. 
 
 "You were unfortunate last night, Mr. Elwcs," 
 she said calmly. 
 
 "Yes, I was sorry not to get home. I stayed the 
 night with Morgan. I went to his house after 
 golf. We were playing bridge and I missed the 
 last train. They were awfully nice he and his 
 wife but I was afraid Cynthia would be anxious. 
 You got my wire?" 
 
 He was hardly conscious of deceit. These petty 
 deceptions had become so habitual that the line 
 dividing the base of truth, upon which his stories 
 were invariably founded, from the superstructure 
 of fable was now blurred and well-nigh obliterated 
 in his mind. He knew that he had dined with 
 Morgan and that he had played bridge with him. 
 To have slept with him was a natural sequel 
 which his brain in the course of the day had trans- 
 lated into virtual fact. 
 
 "Yes," replied Bay, "at half-past ten this morn- 
 ing. It was handed in at Holborn." 
 
 Harvey was not abashed. "I couldn't send it 
 from Halley Bush : I was sorry about that. Mor- 
 gan runs it so fine : we had a rush for the train." 
 
 "Why not have wired from Waterloo?" said 
 Bay, inexorably. 
 
 "Oh, it wouldn't have made much difference, 
 
 39
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Bay," said Cynthia. Such a patent deception was 
 not worth exposing. 
 
 Harvey's features composed themselves into 
 their unchanging smile. He thought Bay had been 
 rather officious, and he could see that Cynthia 
 thought so, too. But he should not allow it to 
 make any difference in his manner. He was not 
 that sort of man. 
 
 He sat down beside her, swung his knee between 
 his hands, and proceeded to play the host. 
 
 "Have you ever tried golf, Mrs. Montressor?" 
 
 "Golf has tried me," said Bay. 
 
 He shed the light of a generously sympathetic 
 countenance upon her. "You must come and let 
 me give you a few lessons," he said kindly. 
 
 "I suppose you play very well?" said Bay, in- 
 genuously. 
 
 "I've had a good deal of practice," he confessed 
 modestly. "I was playing very well yesterday. I 
 was driving a very long ball. It put Morgan off 
 his game." 
 
 "Do you ever lose a match?" Bay's eyes were 
 innocently round. 
 
 Sarcasm was lost on Harvey. "Very rarely," 
 he said. "I began young," he offered in explana- 
 tion of his good fortune. "It's a great thing to 
 begin young. All the best players did. I began 
 
 40
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 young," he said, with his gentle smile, and rested 
 his steady, watery gaze upon her. 
 
 Bay turned from him abruptly; but he was un- 
 conscious of the little shudder of disgust. His 
 attention had been transferred to his wife. 
 
 "You arc looking pale, Cynthia dear." 
 
 There was genuine fussy anxiety in his voice. 
 He had an intense admiration of his wife, an in- 
 tense concern for her, which were demonstrated 
 in little officious ways. 
 
 "I am always rather pale," said Cynthia. 
 
 "Yes, but you look tired. Don't bother to dress 
 to-night. Dine just as you are." 
 
 "What nonsense!" said Cynthia. 
 
 "I think you overtax yourself. You run about 
 too much after the boy. Couldn't you leave him 
 more to nurse ? We pay her her wages. 
 
 "Don't do any more of that embroidery," he 
 continued, getting up: "it strains your eyes." 
 Cynthia laid it down with a slight sigh. "Let me 
 lift your cushion a bit higher. That's better, isn't 
 it? Aren't you in a draught from the window?" 
 
 He fluttered about her exuding busy solicitude. 
 She submitted with an air of quiet resignation, 
 which he completely failed to attribute to its true 
 cause. 
 
 "Oh, sit down, Harvey," she said at last. 
 
 He obeyed, smiling at Bay, to show her that
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 this was not a rebuff, but a slight, intelligible femi- 
 nine vapour which he could afford to treat as such. 
 
 After dinner that night Cynthia remembered a 
 letter she had forgotten to write. She left Bay 
 with a book and returned to the dining-room, 
 where she kept her escritoire. Hearing her step, 
 Harvey hastily emptied his glass and put the stop- 
 per in the port decanter. He could have spared 
 himself the trouble: Cynthia was not deceived by 
 the cup of coffee and the cigarette. 
 
 He rose and leaned upon the mantelpiece, flick- 
 ing his ash into the hearth, and occasionally glan- 
 cing at the graceful figure writing at the escritoire. 
 She had her back to him. After a time he looked 
 at her more often, and his glances became medita- 
 tive. His mind was yielding pleasantly to the full 
 consciousness that this was his wife, his property; 
 this desirable being his private and exclusive pos- 
 session. It was a comfortable thought and con- 
 tributed agreeably to his self-esteem. No man of 
 inferior endowments, it was obvious, could have 
 won so fair a prize. 
 
 It appeared to him presently that something of 
 this appreciation of his good fortune, in justice to 
 its subject, might properly find expression. 
 
 "How nice you are looking to-night, Cynthia," 
 he said. "I like that dress." 
 
 42
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Rather low in the neck, perhaps," said Cynthia, 
 smiling at her letter. 
 
 "Yes, it is, a little; but still in spite of that I 
 like it. It suits you. Altogether" he hesitated 
 "altogether you are much nicer-looking than most 
 men's wives." 
 
 Cynthia stopped writing. She had suddenly re- 
 membered her promise to Bay. She would never 
 have a better opportunity to redeem it. After mo- 
 mentary hesitation, she put down her pen and 
 turned round in her chair. 
 
 She looked Harvey frankly in the face. "I'm 
 glad you like my dress," she said; "I'm glad you 
 think I look nice." 
 
 Harvey smiled foolishly. He was surprised by 
 the sudden change from preoccupation, and a little 
 abashed by the honesty and candour of the eyes 
 that looked straight into his. To hide his embar- 
 rassment he fidgeted to the dining-table for another 
 cigarette and fidgeted back to the mantelpiece to 
 light it. 
 
 "Harvey " Cynthia stopped. "Do you 
 
 mind sitting down?" she said. "I want to talk 
 quietly." 
 
 He pulled a chair from beneath the table, turned 
 it towards her and sat upon it. He felt curiously 
 nervous. He could hardly have said why. 
 
 "Has it ever occurred to you," said Cynthia, 
 43
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 picking up theapen again and making marks on her 
 blotting-pad, "that you and I are a very extraor- 
 dinary couple ?" 
 
 Harvey stared at her blankly. He was far from 
 prepared for such a bomb. The guiding principle 
 upon which he conducted his life was to act as 
 other people did, to dress as other people did, to 
 think as other people did in a phrase, to be ordi- 
 nary. To behave unconventionally, to wear clothes 
 a year ahead of or behind the fashion, to hold un- 
 popular opinions those were things outside the 
 little system in which his personality revolved. And 
 now he was told by his own wife that he was one 
 of an extraordinary couple ! It almost amounted, it 
 seemed to him, to a reflection on his character. 
 
 "I mean," proceeded Cynthia, "that our mar- 
 riage to say the least is paradoxical." 
 
 An astounding thought occurred to Harvey. 
 "Aren't you happy, Cynthia?" he said, with sur- 
 prised distress. 
 
 "You go your own way," she continued, "and 
 you apparently expect me to go mine. At all events, 
 you leave me alone." 
 
 Harvey's conscience suddenly pricked him. "I 
 go away for a night or two occasionally," he said, 
 "but never for long." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mean you are not in the house. I 
 mean I am alone in essentials. You have your own 
 
 44
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 interests and concerns, and I am your housekeeper, 
 your dressed doll, your pretty picture-lady." 
 
 Harvey was becoming perturbed. He felt in- 
 clined to cry; he thought Cynthia was unjust and 
 unreasonable. This after all his care for her, all 
 his concern and solicitude ! 
 
 "I didn't know you felt like that," he said: "I've 
 always tried to be kind." 
 
 He had the feeling that he was stating his case 
 with touching moderation. 
 
 "Yes," cried Cynthia, "foolishly, unnecessarily, 
 irritatingly kind in superficialities. Essentially 
 you neglect me." She paused. "Surely you won't 
 make me speak definitely. Can't you understand ?" 
 
 His mild eyes looked back at her with an almost 
 frightened expression. "I don't like to say I do," 
 he said. "I should think it would be an insult." 
 
 His pusillanimity provoked her out of patience. 
 
 "Do you suppose" her voice rose to a note of 
 indignation "do you suppose that a woman mar- 
 ries for a doll's house to play with and pretty fur- 
 niture to put into it, to be mollycoddled and fussed 
 about and praised for her good looks and occa- 
 sionally reverently kissed ? Do you suppose that ?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Harvey, too disturbed to 
 say more. 
 
 "She marries," cried Cynthia, with naming eyes, 
 
 45
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "for a husband's love, and perhaps to become the 
 mother of children." 
 
 Harvey stared at her incredulously dumb. He 
 was miserably agitated. He felt as if a great ca- 
 thedral had toppled about him and strewn its com- 
 ponent stones. 
 
 Cynthia bent over her desk and again began to 
 make pen lines on the blotting-paper. There was 
 a soft flush on her cheek. 
 
 "Have you nothing to say?" she said in a low 
 tone. 
 
 "I can't think what to say," he stammered at 
 length. "I never connected you with with ideas 
 of that sort. I thought you I thought you were 
 above them. Those sorts of things always seem to 
 me rather rather coarse sorts of things." 
 
 Cynthia got up. 
 
 "Very well, Harvey." She had turned to stone. 
 Her words came like a stream of ice. "Never 
 never till I die will I speak of it again." 
 
 "Oh, Cynthia dear ! Cynthia ! I " 
 
 But the door had closed. He was alone. 
 
 Cynthia swept through the hall and burst into 
 the drawing-room. She flung herself on her knees 
 at Bay's feet and buried her face in her lap, in a 
 flood of tears. 
 
 "Oh, Bay, why did you make me humiliate my- 
 self in this way?" 
 
 46
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "You have spoken to him?" 
 
 "Yes. He says I am coarse he says I am 
 coarse, Bay." 
 
 "Oh-h-h-h!" Bay drew in her breath with a 
 deep hiss. 
 
 Later in the evening, when she had gone to her 
 room, she opened the window and mentally ad- 
 dressed an imaginary Harvey in the back-garden. 
 
 "I am anxious to be quite fair to you, Mr. Har- 
 vey Elwes," she said, "but I think we may say, 
 without doing you an injustice, that you have had 
 your chance." 
 
 47
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THERE is an end of all things even of painters 
 and paperhangers. They put us through a night 
 of tribulation, but assuredly joy cometh in the 
 morning. So Bay thought, as she sat in unwonted 
 idleness and looked round at the pristine fairness 
 of her white and pale-blue drawing-room that 
 pristine fairness which a London room can only 
 diffuse during the few weeks following a thorough 
 overhaul. It was a warm day in June and the 
 windows were all open. She had interviewed her 
 cook and arranged for the day's domestic needs; 
 she had answered all her letters and made a con- 
 scientious attempt to check her private accounts; 
 she had lunched ; she had gone up to Regent. Street 
 and done some shopping ; she had been to her club ; 
 she had called on two friends and found neither at 
 home; and now it was half-past five, and she had 
 nothing to do. Consequently she was not dis- 
 pleased to hear the sharp whirr of the hall-door 
 bell. She felt she could endure even a bore for 
 half an hour. 
 
 48
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 The maid opened the door and announced "Mr. 
 Frank Cheyne" a young man who followed quiet- 
 ly, dragging off his gloves. He was inclined to be 
 tall and inclined to be thin, but was not quite 
 either, and would have struck a new acquaintance 
 rather by his narrow and slightly pointed features 
 and his gentle manners. He was wearing a dark- 
 blue double-breasted suit, with somewhat tight 
 trousers, was clean-shaven, and apparently about 
 thirty years old. 
 
 Bay got up to greet him with a smile, which she 
 suddenly checked, and looked at him soberly. 
 
 "I'm never very pleased to see you, Frank." 
 
 "I'm sorry for that, Bay. Why not?" He was 
 quite undisturbed. 
 
 "Because I never can make you angry." 
 
 "Such nonsense I" 
 
 He smiled easily and pleasantly and sat down. 
 He was Bay's cousin, and looked upon an invitation 
 to change from the perpendicular as an unneces- 
 sary formality between them. 
 
 "Well, I shall try your patience this afternoon. 
 I feel in a wild mood. I have spent the day in my 
 own society." 
 
 "Am I expected to say the obvious thing?" 
 
 "Of course not. You never could pay a com- 
 pliment. But I thought I would give you a chance. 
 It is some time since I have seen you, so there was 
 
 49
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 a possibility you might have changed. Why didn't 
 you tell me you were coming to town ?" 
 
 "I am telling you now. It is only for a few 
 days. I am staying at the Ritz " 
 
 "You could have stayed with me." 
 
 "What about Mrs. Grundy?" 
 
 "I don't know the lady." 
 
 Frank Cheyne smiled paternally on his cousin. 
 He rarely laughed outright. Quietness and kindli- 
 ness were the dominant factors in his constitution. 
 
 "Have you had tea?" said Bay. 
 
 "No, but I don't want any." 
 
 "You had better have some; it will help to pass 
 the time." She rang the bell. 
 
 "How do you like my new wall-paper?" 
 
 He looked round carefully. "Very nice. I 
 hadn't noticed it was different." 
 
 "You are very nearly hopeless. Look at the 
 carpet; see how it shades into the curtains, and 
 those into the blue chintzes; everything getting 
 paler and paler till you come to the white paint. 
 It has all cost weeks of thought. Don't you think 
 it is the most delightful room in London?" 
 
 "There is another palpable thing to say," said 
 her cousin. 
 
 "Oh, no, I am the only unpretty thing in it." 
 
 "Thank you," said Cheyne. 
 50
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Bay smiled. "Yes, I gave you that. Well, now 
 you shall have some tea." 
 
 While the maid was placing the things she ex- 
 amined her visitor with disapproval. 
 
 "Do you mind if I say something?" she asked 
 when they were again alone. 
 
 "I don't suppose it would make much difference 
 if I did." 
 
 "If I had six thousand a year, I think I should 
 dress a little better." 
 
 He looked down at the slighted garments with 
 the affection of ownership. "These are all right," 
 he said. 
 
 "They are old," said Bay, decidedly, "and they 
 are not fitted for town. I remember them last 
 year you wore them yachting." 
 
 "They are comfortable, and I'm fond of them," 
 he pleaded. 
 
 She looked at him judicially. "You are the kind 
 of man who would pay for dressing, Frank." 
 
 "Well, most people do that," said Frank. 
 
 "All these things will return on your head before 
 you go," said Bay, firmly. "Don't suppose you 
 will escape." 
 
 She dropped two lumps of sugar into his tea and 
 passed it to him. 
 
 Cheyne stirred the sugar. "I've come to ask 
 you a favour," he began, "rather a big one "
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Then he broke off and said abruptly, "You know 
 Laurence is home again?" 
 
 Bay suddenly dived for the bread-and-butter, 
 which was on a shelf beneath the table. "Yes, of 
 course," she replied. "He was in town in the 
 spring; I saw quite a lot of him." 
 
 "Oh, yes; I had forgotten. He hasn't changed 
 much in three years?" 
 
 "Very little," said Bay. "Won't you have some 
 bread-and-butter ?" 
 
 "I'm glad we have got him back again," said 
 Frank, "but I am afraid he won't stay long." 
 
 "What makes you say that?" rather sharply. 
 
 "He never does." 
 
 "You two brothers," said Bay, after a moment's 
 pause, "always seem to me to have been born in 
 the wrong order. Laurence is much the elder, and 
 yet you are the one who stays at home and man- 
 ages the estate and lives in the old house, while 
 he wanders all over the world." 
 
 "Oh, Laurence couldn't be happy without a rail- 
 way to build or half a continent to survey. He 
 gets moped if he stays too long in England. He 
 says you are always coming to the end of it, which- 
 ever way you go." 
 
 "Goat!" said Bay. 
 
 "Who ?" anxiously. 
 
 "Laurence. Here is, a man who can live any- 
 
 52
 
 CYNTHIA IN. THE WILDERNESS 
 
 where he cares on the earth's surface, and he 
 chooses Africa and Brazil I" 
 
 "Oh, there is no sense or reason in it; of course 
 we are all agreed about that," said Frank; "but, 
 then, we are not all born engineers, and we have 
 not all got this spirit of space." 
 
 "There is one thing about Laurence," he went 
 on, "which seems to me to explain a good deal that 
 he does. So far as I can see, he is impervious to 
 your sex. He gets on with you all very pleasantly, 
 and you all like him and he likes you. Outwardly 
 he is almost what is called a ladies' man ; but they 
 never strike under the surface." 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 She spoke rather sharply, and he replied with 
 more seriousness than he had put into his previous 
 speech : 
 
 "I don't know, of course ; I am only judging by 
 impressions ; but I think I am right." 
 
 Bay laughed suddenly. Frank felt vaguely that 
 she regretted her momentary flash of poignancy 
 and wanted to cover it. 
 
 "Then don't traduce my sex for what you have 
 been saying is a hideous libel on them or I won't 
 grant your favour. By-the-bye, you haven't told 
 me what it is." 
 
 Cheyne put down his cup. "Laurence and I have 
 taken a shoot in Scotland for the season," he said; 
 
 53
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "not a large one about five hundred head. It is 
 too far for the Mater to go besides, it is not quite 
 in her line so we want you to come and be 
 hostess?" 
 
 "Who is going to be there?" said Bay. 
 
 "Arthur Nugent and Hibbert and his wife are 
 the only ones we have decided on at present," he 
 replied. "Four guns will be enough, probably, 
 but we want you to get us some more ladies. There 
 is room in the lodge for nine or ten altogether. 
 We shall have a car up there, and there is a burn 
 close to the lodge, with some fair fishing; so there 
 ought to be something for everyone to do. We 
 want to make it a jolly party, if we can." 
 
 Bay reflected. "There might be someone to 
 suit," she said. 
 
 Frank looked at her circumspectly. He knew 
 Bay pretty well. 
 
 "I am looking for a husband," she informed him 
 gravely. 
 
 "What about Arthur Nugent?" said her cousin. 
 "He would teach you how to hold a gun and read 
 the Field to you every evening." 
 
 "Arthur Nugent bores me," said Bay. "I ob- 
 ject to him." 
 
 "If you are unable to make a selection from the 
 patterns at present submitted we shall be happy to 
 furnish a further instalment. In the meantime, 
 
 54
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 there is always Laurence. He will have to marry 
 soon, if he is going to marry at all. He was forty 
 on Thursday." 
 
 "He doesn't look more than thirty-five." 
 
 "Why not say twenty-five ?" 
 
 "It wouldn't be true, thank Heaven. Callow 
 youths make me ill." She looked across at him 
 seriously. "Does that represent the whole of your 
 stock?" 
 
 "No; the remaining item is personally pre- 
 sented." 
 
 "You used to think of proposing to me in the 
 old days," said Bay, "before I married." 
 
 "The question was reviewed in the face of 
 pointed discouragement." 
 
 "I should have accepted you, if you had." 
 
 He bowed profoundly. 
 
 "For your money," said Bay. 
 
 He looked up with a smile no one ever saw 
 him ruffled. 
 
 Bay was moved by his unshakable good humour 
 to one of her rare moments of softness. "I told 
 you what to expect," she said. 
 
 Frank Cheyne sat back in his chair. "Why talk 
 this nonsense?" he said. "What do you want a 
 husband for?" 
 
 She looked back at him with pained surprise. 
 
 55
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "If you have come to ask me questions of that 
 sort " 
 
 He smiled almost in spite of himself. "You are 
 really too bad, Bay. I mean you are all right as 
 you are." 
 
 "Do you mind talking about something you un- 
 derstand?" said Bay. 
 
 "Will you come to Tannadice?" 
 
 "Is that the shoot?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Do you expect me to keep house?" 
 
 "Please." 
 
 "Nearest town twenty miles away?" 
 
 "No, only ten; and we shall have the car." 
 
 "I am going up to Yorkshire next month," said 
 Bay, "to stay with Helen Farquharson; she has a 
 house-party." 
 
 "That makes it all the simpler; you can come on 
 from there ; we are not going till the twelfth." 
 
 "The twelfth of August?" 
 
 "Call it the 'twelfth of August' to Arthur 
 Nugent and see what he says." 
 
 "Very well," said Bay, "you may book me for 
 the twelfth." 
 
 "Hurray!" said her cousin, fervently; "that is 
 a load off my mind. Now, what ladies can you 
 ask?" 
 
 "Young or old," said Bay, "grave or gay?" 
 
 56
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "We must have someone to leaven Mrs. Hib- 
 bert," said Frank. "You haven't met her, have 
 you? No one but Hibbert could have married 
 her. She is one of those tall, handsome women, 
 with rather loud, jolly kind of voices. She gives 
 you the impression at first that she is no end of a 
 good sort." 
 
 "I suppose she is just the reverse?" 
 
 "Just," said Frank. 
 
 "How ghastly!" said Bay. "A prim prude is 
 objectionable, but at least she is honest; but a prude 
 who takes a laughing, ready-for-anything tone is 
 an abomination not to be endured. Mrs. Hibbert, 
 almost thou persuadest me to recant." 
 
 "Let us pass to the next business on the agenda," 
 said Frank, hastily. 
 
 "I shall not be responsible for my actions when 
 I meet her," said Bay. "A person of that type has 
 an extraordinary effect upon me. I shall behave 
 atrociously. I shall shock her purposely. It will 
 not be my fault. An imp rises up inside me and 
 makes me say things that have not even passed 
 through my mind." 
 
 "The next business," insisted Frank, "is the 
 selection of ladies to fill the vacant seats on the 
 board." 
 
 "At the board," suggested Bay. 
 
 "Whichever way you like." 
 57
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "The Templeman twins would be glad to come, 
 probably," she intimated, after a little reflection. 
 "They are ultra-modern and rather rowdy, but 
 they are high-spirited, and men usually like them 
 for a time." 
 
 "Tick them off," said Frank. "Anyone else ?" 
 
 "I wonder " said Bay, slowly. Suddenly her 
 
 eyes lighted and she laughed. "I wonder if I could 
 manage to get Cynthia to come without without 
 the incubus?" And she laughed again. 
 
 "Who is Cynthia ? And who is the incubus ?" 
 
 "Cynthia? Oh, my lovely Cynthia!" She 
 pointed a finger at him. "Three months hence" 
 she glanced at the date-rack "on the sixteenth of 
 September I will remind you that you said to me 
 to-day, 'Who is Cynthia?' and we will see if you 
 believe it." 
 
 "Still you haven't told me who the goddess is," 
 said Frank. 
 
 "Cynthia is Mrs. Harvey Elwes, and my very 
 dearest friend. If I give you the priceless, im- 
 measurable blessing of her society, I do it upon an 
 understanding. From morning, noon to night she 
 is to be amused and kept happy. I lay that to 
 your charge to your charge personally, Frank 
 Cheyne." 
 
 "I should just wonder if it was worth it," said 
 Frank, coolly. 
 
 58
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Ough!" cried Bay, impatiently, u you haven't 
 seen her. She compels homage." 
 
 "In that case," he replied, in the same tone, 
 "you have no need to make a bargain. If there 
 is no help for it if I must fall down and worship, 
 then I must. But what about her husband?" 
 
 "Her husband doesn't count." 
 
 Without being a Puritan or pusillanimous, 
 Frank felt a vague distrust of anything or anyone 
 diverging at all from standard conditions. Very 
 slightly his tone changed. "Is there nobody else ?" 
 he said. 
 
 Bay froze him with a look. "Eat that! Not 
 three months hence not five minutes hence 
 now!" 
 
 And Frank Cheyne tremulously did so. 
 
 He would have been perplexed had he : een Bay 
 when she returned into the drawing-room ifter his 
 departure. She stood quite still in the rriddle of 
 the room, her two hands pressed flat upon her 
 bosom. Her eyes were shining. She drew a breath 
 deeply and a slight tremor went through her. Pres- 
 ently she looked upward with intense earnestness. 
 
 "Thank you," she said in a low voice that shook 
 a little. 
 
 59
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 HARVEY said that, so far as he was concerned, 
 he could manage it. 
 
 "I can always get away," he added, with par- 
 donable pride in the fact of his happy position, so 
 far removed from the commonplace trammels of 
 ordinary masculinity. 
 
 After that it was difficult for the others to sug- 
 gest that the claims of wives and children had to 
 be considered. In fact, it was difficult to mention 
 wives and children to admit them. 
 
 "Couldn't we make it Cromer?" said another of 
 the four, after a pause, a little diffidently. They 
 were sitting in the Club-house at Halley Bush. 
 
 The only bachelor cleared his throat with a little 
 characteristic laugh. He was a level-headed being, 
 who gave his views quietly. "You can hardly move 
 on the links in August," he said. "They have a 
 band there and a promenade, and that sort of 
 thing. If you want a fashionable watering-place, 
 I should say go to Cromer. But if you want golf, 
 go to Brancaster. Don't you think so, Elwes?" 
 
 60
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "You don't get good golf at Cromer in August," 
 said Harvey, sapiently. 
 
 "What about Sheringham ?" said the man who 
 had suggested Cromer. He was somewhat thin in 
 face and frame, with a fair moustache and slightly 
 curling hair, a sanguine complexion and good- 
 humoured eyes. His Christian names were John 
 Jacob. If he had inherited a patronymic from his 
 ancestors, it was apparently unknown to his fellow- 
 members of the Club. 
 
 "That's just as bad," said the bachelor. "Be- 
 sides, the whole idea of a golf holiday is to go to 
 a place where we can stay all together in the Club- 
 house, or somewhere near, so that we can have a 
 rubber of bridge at night. Just the four of us." 
 He again coughed lightly. 
 
 "Hear, hear, old chap !" said the third benedict 
 in a boisterous voice, speaking for the first time. 
 He was the rubicund, glassy-eyed gentleman whom 
 we last saw in the Strand. "Matches in the morn- 
 ing, foursomes in the afternoon, and bridge at 
 night. That's my idea of heaven." He handled 
 his empty glass. 
 
 "How about drinks, Masters?" said the 
 bachelor. 
 
 "Thanks, old chap. I'll have the same." 
 
 "I meant in heaven," said the other; but he 
 laughed and ordered the glasses to be refilled, 
 
 61
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Oh, in heaven," said Masters, quoting from the 
 sermon of an eccentric divine, " 'for those who pre- 
 fer light refreshment, there will be light refresh- 
 ment.' Here's luck!" 
 
 "Free drinks and no bunkers!" cried John 
 Jacob. "I wondered why Elwes had been going 
 to church. Before breakfast!" he shouted, as the' 
 full incongruity of a .recent incident recurred to 
 him. "Someone saw him. Before breakfast! 
 Elwes!" He laughed loudly, with an honest ring 
 of pure enjoyment. 
 
 "Thank the Lord," said Masters, with a vivid 
 recollection of unpleasant experiences, "there won't 
 be any tearing great sand-pit in front of the thir- 
 teenth tee. All the same, I ought to have won that 
 hole to-day, Elwes. You'd no right to ground on 
 the edge. That's a hazard. Bateman," he called 
 out to the secretary, who was sitting in a corner 
 with a small Skye terrier on his knee, endeavouring 
 to keep the smoke from a cigarette out of his eyes 
 while he wrote a letter, "that's a hazard, isn't it, 
 those cubs of the Rocky Mountains between the pit 
 and the fence?" 
 
 "If Elwes grounded it was certainly a hazard," 
 said the secretary, and went on stroking his dog. 
 
 Harvey smiled broadly. He believed he could 
 take a joke against himself as well as anybody. 
 
 "I think I could have lifted," he said, in his 
 62
 
 CYNTHIA IN "THE WILDERNESS 
 
 quick tones. "I think it was ground under repair. 
 I ought to have done it in five. I got a beautiful 
 approach. I was playing my iron shots well 
 to-day." 
 
 "You were, old chap," said Masters; "especially 
 the one you bored into the mud at the eleventh and 
 couldn't find." 
 
 "Let us settle about Brancaster," said the bache- 
 lor, who saw his holiday scheme in danger of being 
 swamped beneath a flood of desultory talk. "You 
 are a certainty, Elwes?" 
 
 "Yes; I can always get away," said Harvey 
 again. 
 
 "And you, too, Masters?" 
 
 "Right you are, old bhoy." 
 
 "And what about you, John Jacob?" 
 
 "If I can get the lady of the establishment to go 
 and stay with her mother I shall be there swiftly." 
 
 Harvey looked at him kindly. A husband who 
 permitted himself to be henpecked was not a man 
 he could respect, but this crushed benedict was an 
 amiable person and he felt sorry for him. 
 
 "Have a cigarette, John Jacob?" he said. 
 
 "We will give you another week to think it 
 over," said the bachelor. "If you can't promise 
 definitely by then we shall have to get someone else. 
 That's fair, isn't it?" 
 
 "Set fair, if the missis doesn't damage the fam- 
 
 63
 
 ily barometer." He laughed joyously, showing his 
 white teeth, and looked gaily round for approba- 
 tion of his witticism. 
 
 "More likely Very dry,' old chap," said Mas- 
 ters, emptying his tumbler. 
 
 "We can consider that settled then." The bach- 
 elor coughed lightly, and took out his pipe and to- 
 bacco. Then he looked at the clock. "Are we 
 going to have a rubber to-night? It's only six." 
 
 "I wanted to catch the six-twenty-four," said 
 Harvey, jumping up rather like a startled bird. 
 
 It was the only train which could get him home 
 in passable time for dinner. 
 
 "Just one rubber, old bhoy!" 
 
 "Sit down, Elwes," said John Jacob, who had 
 seated himself at the card-table. "I'll cut you for 
 pennies while Masters is ordering the liquid." He 
 spread a pack of cards across the table and laughed 
 uproariously. Masters had a reputation for being 
 none too prone to "order the liquid." 
 
 "What gaol were you locked in on Tuesday?" 
 he continued merrily, as he drew cards against 
 Harvey. "Masters and I went to look you up at 
 your Chambers. We nearly knocked the place 
 down, but we couldn't make anyone hear. At last 
 one of those jokers from below came up one of 
 those barrister chaps. He was quite chippy. We 
 asked him if he knew what pub you were buried 
 
 64
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 in, and he said he didn't. 'It's all right,' said 
 Masters, 'we'll serve him another day. Haugh! 
 haughl We'll serve him another day.' What's 
 yours? Six. Eight. One to John Jacob." 
 
 "You won't make much at that game," said the 
 bachelor, cynically, after the sixth cut had left them 
 as they started. "Come along: cut for partners." 
 He spread-eagled another pack. ("Lift me an ace, 
 John Jacob," said Masters, who was standing at 
 the bar.) They turned cards. "You and I, Elwes." 
 
 They took their places, and the bachelor dealt 
 the cards. A period of solemn silence. 
 
 "Leave it." 
 
 "Hearts," said Harvey, with a snap. 
 
 "May I play to hearts, pard?" 
 
 "Thou mayest." Masters sampled "the liquid" 
 to console himself for a moderate hand. 
 
 "The four of spades," said John Jacob, with 
 great distinctness, playing the card. 
 
 Harvey laid down his hand and beamed across 
 at his partner. 
 
 "I was glad you left it," he said. 
 
 "What ho, pard!" said Masters, facetiously. 
 "Give him time to pull the rest out of his sleeve." 
 
 The bachelor examined the cards through his 
 pince-nez, coughed lightly, and proceeded to make 
 five tricks. 
 
 65
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 It was nine o'clock when Harvey reached home. 
 There was no one about. He looked into the din- 
 ing-room. It diffused an air of peace. There was 
 a marked absence of activity about it. The white 
 cloth was still on the table, but there was nothing 
 on the white cloth. He hardly knew what to do. 
 Going back into the hall, he heard sounds from the 
 servants' quarters which he knew meant washing- 
 up. He peered anxiously up the stairs, and then 
 went into the drawing-room for the second time. 
 His hand hovered over the bell, but he did not 
 press it. He disliked giving orders to the servants, 
 especially orders involving an addition to tbtiC 
 usual duties. He felt that that was an office which 
 did not belong to him. The oddness of his situa- 
 tion struck him almost humorously. He told him- 
 self he felt inclined to laugh. Everything was so 
 absurdly quiet. Conceiving a necessity to do some- 
 thing, he finally sat down in an easy-chair. There 
 was a feeling of permanency about it which did not 
 appeal to him ; so he changed it for an upright one. 
 Still sensitive of an insufficiency of occupation, he 
 took up the evening paper which he had brought 
 home with him and read in the train. He was 
 distinctly conscious that he was hungry. 
 
 Presently Cynthia came down from the nursery. 
 
 "Have you had dinner?" she said coldly. She 
 had dined alone. 
 
 66
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "No, I haven't had time," said Harvey, a little 
 breathlessly. "I was rather rushed." 
 
 "Then why are you sitting here ? Are you go- 
 ing to change ?" She pressed the bell. 
 
 "I thought I would let you know. I'll go and 
 change now." 
 
 "I am afraid everything will be cold." 
 
 "It doesn't matter. Anything will do. Some 
 cold meat anything. Don't put them to any 
 trouble. I hate giving trouble." 
 
 He heard the servant's step in the hall and 
 hastened past her up the stairs. 
 
 Having satisfied his bodily needs, he felt once 
 more in a condition to cope with the world to ad- 
 vantage. Indeed, he felt, to say the truth, that 
 if it should unfortunately come to a conflict, the 
 world would have a sorry time. But he would al- 
 ways be generous. He could never hit a man when 
 he was down. That was characteristic of him. It 
 suddenly burst upon him, as he was opening the 
 drawing-room door, that that was essentially char- 
 acteristic of him. 
 
 Cynthia was sitting beneath the light, reading. 
 It struck him that she looked pensive even lonely. 
 His heart welled out to her. 
 
 "We haven't been doing much this year, Cynthia 
 dear," he said. "I think we ought to do more. 
 I'll get some theatre tickets." He sat down beside 
 
 67
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 her; and, as she had made no reply, "I'll get some 
 theatre tickets," he said again, pointedly. 
 
 She looked up indifferently. "Do you think it 
 is worth it, Harvey? I can't sit through another 
 musical comedy this year." 
 
 "But it would do you good," said Harvey. "I'm 
 getting quite worried about you; you've seemed 
 completely out of spirits lately." His small face 
 was puckered with genuine frightened concern as 
 he looked at her. "Musical comedies are bright,'* 
 he went on, importing just a hint of condescension 
 into his tone; "there's some very clever work in 
 them. I think they are rather good, some of them 
 some of those Gaiety things." 
 
 "Do you?" said Cynthia. 
 
 She resumed her reading. Harvey thought he 
 would return to the subject later perhaps when 
 she came to the end of a chapter. In the mean- 
 time, to reassure her of the sheltering care that sur- 
 rounded her, he took up the hand which lay on the 
 arm of her chair, holding a publisher's book-mark, 
 and touched it reverently with his lips. She with- 
 drew it, but without emphasis. 
 
 "You'll be better when you've been away," he 
 said, when he had contained his soul in peace as 
 long as he was able. "London gets stewy at this 
 time of year. The time is getting on. We ought 
 to talk it over. We ought to make some plans." 
 
 68
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Cynthia looked up from her book and inserted 
 the marker. She perceived it was no use to at- 
 tempt to read for the present. 
 
 "Eric must have a change, of course," she said. 
 
 "The seaside?" 
 
 "If you like. Personally, I don't look upon the 
 sea as the indispensable condition that some people 
 do. But he must have a change." 
 
 "There were some men at Halley Bush this af- 
 ternoon talking about Brancaster. That is at the 
 seaside. But I'm afraid it wouldn't be very good 
 for children." 
 
 "Is that the place where there is a golf-course 
 and a club-house and nothing else?" 
 
 "Yes ; I said I didn't think it would be very good 
 for children," said Harvey, hurriedly. 
 
 "Obviously not." 
 
 "It was Stillwell's idea," he proceeded quickly. 
 "He has no one to think of but himself. He was 
 very keen about it too keen." He ruminated the 
 point and then repeated, as a considered view: "He 
 was too keen." 
 
 "What was he too keen about?" 
 
 "About Brancaster," said Harvey, vaguely. 
 
 "You mean you want to go away without us? 
 I wish you would be straightforward, Harvey." 
 
 "No, I don't," said he; "I don't want to go/' 
 And there was no doubt that he was declaring his 
 
 69
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 feeling of the moment quite truthfully. "I would 
 rather not." 
 
 "I see," said Cynthia, with the faint satirical in- 
 flection that was always lost on him: "You feel 
 you must." 
 
 "It puts me in an awkward position. They want 
 a fourth for foursomes and bridge. Stillwell is too 
 keen. It puts me in an awkward position." 
 
 "I'm sorry for you, Harvey," said Cynthia. 
 "The strain of divided duty is always trying. How- 
 ever, I can relieve you. I shall not press my claim. 
 That disposes of the matter," she concluded, and 
 took up her book again. 
 
 "But, Cynthia dear, it's most awfully good of 
 you, but I wouldn't go if I thought you would 
 mind if I thought you would think it unkind." 
 
 She glanced up momentarily. "I don't mind in 
 the least where you go, Harvey." 
 
 He felt there was an indefinite something in the 
 atmosphere, in her manner, which left the position 
 vaguely unsatisfactory. But there seemed nothing 
 more to be said. He was free to carry out his en- 
 gagement with the Brancaster party, and she did 
 not appear to feel aggrieved. 
 
 "But there's you and Eric," he said, after a 
 pause. 
 
 "Yes," said Cynthia, abstractedly. 
 
 "We must arrange about that." After an in- 
 70
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 terval of silence he repeated the remark: "We 
 must arrange about that, Cynthia." 
 
 She put a slim finger at her place on the page. 
 "What are you saying, Harvey? What must we 
 arrange about?" 
 
 "About you and Eric. About where you are to 
 go." 
 
 "Oh, yes. I must think about it. I had an invi- 
 tation to Scotland the other day. We might go 
 there." 
 
 He bristled like a terrier at the sight of an en- 
 emy. "You didn't tell me." 
 
 "Didn't I ? Probably I thought it was too mani- 
 festly out of the question. You were not asked." 
 
 "I think I ought to have been. I didn't know 
 you knew anyone in Scotland. I think I ought to 
 have been asked." 
 
 "It came from Bay. She is going to keep house 
 for some cousins who have taken a house up there 
 for the shooting season." 
 
 Harvey got up and walked agitatedly about the 
 room. "Rather strange sort of people !" he said. 
 
 He was annoyed with Stillwell for forcing the 
 obnoxious Brancaster scheme down his throat; he 
 was annoyed with these impertinent cousins of 
 Bay; he was annoyed with Cynthia for taking their 
 impertinence so lightly.
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 At last he stopped in front of her chair. She 
 had returned to her book. 
 
 "Cynthia dear, of course that's out of the ques- 
 tion? Of course you wouldn't dream of going?" 
 
 She looked up, and for the first time her face 
 broke into a smile. "I shall give it my serious con- 
 sideration, Harvey." 
 
 She spoke half facetiously; but when she went 
 up to her room she unlocked a drawer, took out 
 Bay's letter and re-read it. It was addressed from 
 the house in Yorkshire where she was visiting. We 
 will peep over Cynthia's shoulder after she has 
 turned the second page : 
 
 "Don't write at once and refuse. I know that 
 is what you will be inclined to do, Because at first 
 it will seem impracticable. But the most seem- 
 ingly impracticable things often become simple in 
 the end. I have an utterly selfish and personal 
 reason for wanting you particularly. The feminine 
 element without you is too desperate to contem- 
 plate a boisterous prude and two irresponsible 
 girls. But, really, I am glad to go. Perhaps some 
 day I may tell you why. One reason is that I shall 
 be so thankful to get away from here. I am en- 
 during a horrible experience. A certain gentleman 
 in his dotage has chosen to consider me worthy 
 of his regard. My days are spent in avoiding him 
 
 72 
 
 J
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 or trying to ; his methods are so hideously crude. 
 So far I have succeeded in warding off a proposal, 
 but it is obviously inevitable. He is uninsultable, 
 and he talks such drivelling rubbish I could some- 
 times kill him with pleasure. I ask you, in all sober 
 earnestness, do I look or act like a 'sweet little 
 kinsy-winsy' ? That preposterous name, whatever 
 it may.mean, has been applied to your raging 
 
 "BAY. 
 
 "When Frank Cheyne came to see me I told 
 him I should ask you to Tannadice, and I painted 
 you in glowing colours. You couldn't help liking 
 him everybody does. So come, and look your 
 loveliest and be your sweetest, to do me credit." 
 
 Cynthia folded the letter and put it back in its 
 envelope. The next morning she had made up her 
 mind. She sent a telegram to Bay : 
 
 "I am coming to Tannadice. CYNTHIA."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 ONE of the small steamers which travellers in 
 Scotland owe to the enterprise of the late Mr. 
 David MacBrayne was forging its way steadily up 
 the loch. Two long lines of black smoke streamed 
 from its funnels, and it was followed by a flock of 
 sea-gulls. The moors rose steeply on either hand, 
 their purple sides interspersed with regular patches 
 of brown, where the keepers had burned the 
 heather. The engines throbbed rhythmically, the 
 paddles monotonously beat the black water into 
 foam, and the distant pier of Williamstown became 
 each moment imperceptibly nearer. 
 
 Among the crowd of passengers on the saloon 
 deck Cynthia stood near the hand-rail with Eric 
 by her side. From time to time she bent to read- 
 just his little reefer coat or to wrap the comforter 
 more closely about his chest. She herself was en- 
 veloped in a long, brown, fur-edged coat, and her 
 hat was tied on with a motor veil of old gold. It 
 was mid-August, but a keen wind coming down 
 the loch met them and drove summer-clad tourists 
 
 74
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 shivering into the saloons. At a little distance 
 from Cynthia and Eric the nurse sat with her back 
 to a skylight, faithfully grasping a toy schooner 
 and surrounded by a miscellaneous assortment of 
 hand-baggage. 
 
 Eric was athirst for information upon a variety 
 of matters. 
 
 "When shall we get to Williamstown, mummy?" 
 
 "In about half an hour, I think." 
 
 "Will Auntie Bay be there?" 
 
 "Yes, I expect so." 
 
 "Anyone else?" 
 
 "I don't know. Well, I suppose there will be 
 a man to drive us." 
 
 "Do we have to drive?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "How far?" 
 
 "About ten miles." 
 
 "Hurrah !" He executed an expressive pas 'de 
 seul. 
 
 This small gentleman of five had left London 
 the previous right at half-past eight. It was now 
 eleven o'clock in the morning. 
 
 "Is it a big house, mummy, where we're going 
 to?" 
 
 "I don't know, dear. I've never been there, you 
 know. I don't think it is very big." 
 
 "Bigger 'an ours?" 
 
 75
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Oh, yes, much bigger." 
 
 "Bigger 'an the King's?" 
 
 "No, no, not nearly so big. It is what is called 
 a shooting lodge." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "A house where people stay to shoot." 
 
 "What do they shoot?" 
 
 "Grouse." 
 
 "What's grouse?" 
 
 "Little birds." 
 
 "Why do they shoot them for?" 
 
 "Why? Oh, because they like to. Don't ask 
 so many questions, Eric." 
 
 "Isn't it cruel to shoot little birds?" 
 
 "Not these sorts of birds." 
 
 "Why isn't it cruel, mummy?" 
 
 "Well, because we eat them." 
 
 "Doesn't it hurt so much when they're good to 
 eat?" 
 
 "Eric, if you ask so many foolish questions I 
 shall send you back to nurse." 
 
 That gave him temporary pause. But his in- 
 terest in the wonderful new things he was seeing 
 and was going to see could not be kept under by 
 threats of nurse. 
 
 "Will there be a pony for me to ride?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know." 
 
 "Do you think there will, mummy?" 
 76
 
 CVNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Perhaps. No, I don't think so," she amended 
 hastily. "You chatter so much, Eric, I don't know 
 what I'm saying." 
 
 'Is all the people on the steamer going to 
 Williamstown ?" 
 
 "Oh, no." 
 
 "Where are they going?" 
 
 "Lots of places. They may be touring." 
 
 "What's touring?" 
 
 "Travelling from place to place." 
 
 "Are we touring?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Is that gentleman touring?" 
 
 "Sh-h! Perhaps." 
 
 "What is he reading?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "Why is he so fat, mummy?" 
 
 Cynthia bent down to make some unnecessary 
 rearrangement of his jacket. She looked at him 
 sternly. "Eric, if you say things of that kind, 
 mother will be very cross very, very cross." 
 
 He contritely undertook to avoid personal ob- 
 servations for the remainder of his life, and again 
 lapsed into interested silence, until the engines 
 switched to half-speed, stopped and reversed, as 
 they drew up to Williamstown. 
 
 "There's Auntie Bay!" he shouted. 
 
 She stood on the pier trying to pick them out 
 
 77
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 among the crowd on deck, and beside her a big 
 man with a heavy moustache and a complexion 
 bronzed under tropical suns. Bay's small figure 
 looked ridiculously diminutive by his side. 
 
 She got to the bottom of the gangway as Cyn- 
 thia came down it, holding Eric's hand. 
 
 "You darling!" she cried. "You have really 
 come ! Are you a wreck? And is Eric dead?" 
 
 In the crowd she managed to draw her friend 
 unobtrusively a little aside. 
 
 "This is Laurence Cheyne," she whispered, "not 
 Frank. The chauffeur has sprained his wrist, so 
 he has given up his day's shooting to drive us over. 
 It is rather sweet of him, but don't tell him so 
 he is horribly conceited." 
 
 Then she produced her cousin and made the 
 formal introduction. 
 
 Cheyne removed his motor-cap, revealing a 
 close-cropped covering of dark hair slightly tinged 
 with grey. He was a good-looking man, tall and 
 massive, but without superfluous flesh. He smiled 
 as he took Cynthia's hand a smile of comprehen- 
 sive kindliness which completely discounted the 
 somewhat severe aspect of his strong features. 
 
 "I shall be eternally ashamed," he said, "for 
 bringing you so far for such wretched entertain- 
 ment as we can give you up here." 
 
 "Rubbish, Laurence!" cried Bay. "We have 
 78
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 delightful times. I am the mistress of ceremonies, 
 remember, and every word you utter in disparage- 
 ment of Tannadice is a reflection on me and will 
 have to be expiated." 
 
 Before they had left the pier, Eric was trustingly 
 holding the big man's hand. 
 
 "I have a motor-car outside," said the latter, 
 confidentially. 
 
 "Am I going to ride in it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And is mummy?" 
 
 "Yes; that is why I brought it." 
 
 The news was almost too much for Eric. He 
 found his voice in a stage whisper. "I've often 
 wanted to ride in a motor-car," he said, feeling 
 that too great a show of enthusiasm would not be 
 seemly before this stranger. 
 
 "Well, then, you shall sit next to me, and I'll 
 show you the trick of it." 
 
 Eric looked round sharply for his mother, to 
 communicate this stirring intelligence, but she had 
 already passed through the turnstile with Bay. 
 His confidence oozed a little, however, at the sight 
 of the great machine; and when Cheyne started 
 the engine he clung to Cynthia's hand. He strug- 
 gled hard to refrain from relinquishing the post 
 of honour at the driver's left hand, but his courage 
 had finally to be reinforced by the condition of his 
 
 79
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 mother's presence on the other side of him. This 
 relegated Bay to the seat behind, with the nurse. 
 
 Eric watched his new friend's manipulation of 
 the levers with absorbed interest ; and after a time, 
 when they had cleared the town and were running 
 smoothly along the open road, his confidence re- 
 turned to him. 
 
 "Will there be a pony where we're going?" he 
 said. "Mummy says she thinks perhaps there will." 
 
 Cheyne turned his eyes for one moment from the 
 road to give Cynthia a reassuring smile. It said 
 plainly that he estimated correctly a child's irre- 
 sponsible chatter. It was a smile which bound 
 them in a sort of camaraderie of understanding of 
 Eric. Cynthia recognised it as such and she felt 
 grateful to him. She liked this man. His face 
 spelt force, it spelt decision, it spelt benevolence. 
 While he bent over the wheel, staring steadily 
 ahead, there was something stern in his appearance, 
 something merely strong. She thought of him do- 
 ing the work of empire with gangs of half-savage 
 labourers under his control, and it seemed to her 
 he was well qualified for the task. When he turned 
 and looked at her this impression was not dispelled, 
 but another and very different one was added to 
 it. His eyes were gentle and full of sympathy. 
 They told her that he could not commit a cruel 
 act and that he could not commit a mean one. 
 
 80
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 He brought his face instantly back to the road 
 and smiled as he answered Eric. 
 
 "That's a matter that will have to be looked 
 into, old chap," he said. "There's a big stable at 
 Tannadice with nothing in it but an old cob that 
 goes out to fetch the game. But I think I know 
 where a pony can be hired. This afternoon, if you 
 are not too sleepy and your mother can trust us 
 not to get into mischief, you and I will go for a 
 walk together and see if we can find it." 
 
 They were rounding a bend of the road as he 
 spoke. Suddenly Eric burst into a delighted peal 
 of laughter. Cheyne put on his brakes and stopped 
 the car. A farmer's light cart, coming sedately in 
 their direction, had turned completely round at 
 sight of them, and two women had slipped from 
 the back seat with marvellous celerity. Cheyne 
 left his place and took the horse's bridle. Patting 
 and talking to it, he led it past the car. He said 
 a few words to the women, helped them up into 
 their seats, and came back. 
 
 "You see, there is still a place in the world," 
 he said to Cynthia, as he got in, "where horses are 
 frightened of motor-cars." 
 
 As he met her eyes he realised for the first time, 
 with somewhat of a shock of surprise, that he was 
 carrying back to his shooting lodge a woman of 
 remarkable beauty; one, too, whose beauty was 
 
 81
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 remarkable because of the strong individuality 
 which obviously underlay it. As often happened 
 in the case of Cynthia, he had not particularly no- 
 ticed her at the moment of meeting. Now she 
 was flushed; the excitement of speed had brought 
 out some of her dormant fire. Moreover, she was 
 happy; the spirit of adventure, of freedom, had 
 got hold of her. He had learnt that she was a 
 wife with a husband who "did not count," and the 
 fact had struck him at first, as it had struck Frank, 
 with a little misgiving. But undoubtedly it en- 
 dowed her with peculiar interest. And when, in 
 addition, it was apparent that she was an unde- 
 niably lovely woman, that interest was appreciably 
 enhanced. 
 
 As they went on, Cynthia became more and more 
 absorbed in admiration of his skill as a driver. 
 There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in his 
 handling of the levers: he touched them with the 
 instinctive, unerring confidence with which a master 
 musician touches the keys of a piano. He appeared 
 to know the machine as if it had sprung integrate 
 from his brain not vaguely and a little fearfully, 
 as an ordinary owner knows his car, but intimately, 
 through and through, wheel by wheel and cog by 
 cog. To him there was nothing wonderful, noth- 
 ing dangerous about it: he could have made it, he 
 could have pulled it into little bits and put it to- 
 
 82
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 gether again with his own hands. It moved and 
 answered to his touch like a sentient being. Cynthia 
 was seeing him, at the first meeting, in the environ- 
 ment which suited him best. Engineer to the mar- 
 row, he shone on a car as a sailor shines on his 
 ship. 
 
 "Would you like to go fast for a mile or two," 
 he said to her, "or would you be nervous?" 
 
 "No, I don't mind how fast we go," said Cyn- 
 thia. She was leaning back confidently in her cor- 
 ner, her eyes happy, her veil fluttering. 
 
 "You are not a nervous person?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, sometimes very sometimes atrocious- 
 ly," she replied, with a laugh. 
 
 "To-day is an exception?" 
 
 "Oh well, I don't mind how fast we go," she 
 repeated, after a slight hesitation. 
 
 She could not tell him it seemed scarcely deli- 
 cate after so short an acquaintance that he had 
 inspired her with such confidence in his capacity 
 and resource that, if he were driving, she could sit 
 luxuriously in any car, at any speed. 
 
 "What about this little chap?" He spoke to 
 Eric. 
 
 "Aren't we going as fast as we can?" asked Eric, 
 with wonder. 
 
 "Not nearly." 
 
 "I want to," he said eagerly. 
 83
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Cheyne spoke over his shoulder. "Do you mind 
 if we make some speed, Bay?" 
 
 Bay leaned forward. She could not hear. 
 
 "Do you mind if we make some speed over the 
 level stretch?" 
 
 "Goat !" She sank back again. 
 
 "Will the nurse mind?" 
 
 He waited for a definite reply, while Cynthia put 
 the question. 
 
 The nurse was not timorous, so he opened the 
 throttle and advanced his spark. The car was a 
 powerful one, the road good and empty. The 
 steady pant of the great machine changed to a 
 resolute hum as it gathered impetus, until they 
 were swinging through air at a speed approaching 
 fifty miles an hour. The exhilaration of pace swept 
 into Cynthia's blood; but she scarcely thought of 
 herself; she was fascinated in watching Cheyne. 
 There was no strain in his face, no excitement even, 
 no change of any kind. Holding their lives in a 
 twist of his hand, he was as reposeful and confi- 
 dent as he had been before. 
 
 The swift flight came to an end at a long rise, 
 which they climbed steadily on the third speed. 
 Gradually the character of the scenery changed as 
 they went up. The trees and enclosed lands by 
 the margin of the loch were left behind, and the 
 wild, untenanted moor opened before them. The 
 
 84
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 road became rough. They were crossing a marshy 
 table-land of heather and coarse grass, bounded 
 on either side by purple hills rising into the mists. 
 Long-haired Highland cattle gazed without won- 
 der at the strange product of man's inventive 
 genius; startled sheep, browsing by the roadside, 
 jumped the dykes at their approach; occasionally 
 they heard distant gun-shots. 
 
 They ran steadily over the ridge of moor and 
 for the next two or three miles slowly and care- 
 fully descended. They had crossed a narrow penin- 
 sula, and Cynthia could now see another loch, far 
 below, at the end of a wooded valley. A rocky 
 stream flowed along the base of the latter, and 
 their road was visible at intervals running above 
 and parallel with it, like a streak of white tape. 
 Some craggy mountain-tops on the far side of the 
 loch filled in the picture. The whole party grad- 
 ually dropped into silence, gazing with a sense of 
 pleasant content at the view before them. Cheyne 
 was occupied with his brakes, as they picked their 
 way round the numerous sharp turns of the de- 
 scent. 
 
 For some time Cynthia had been able to make 
 out the red roof of a house among the trees be- 
 tween the stream and the road, about half a mile 
 inland from the loch. 
 
 "Tannadice," said Cheyne, looking towards it: 
 
 85,
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "the Palace of Informality. I hope you won't be 
 very much shocked by our boorish manners." 
 
 A few minutes later they turned in at the gate. 
 Cheyne lifted out Eric and then gave his hand to 
 Cynthia. 
 
 "Please forget about the pony," she said to him. 
 He smiled without replying. 
 
 "Please please. I shall be very unhappy if 
 you don't." She spoke with quick earnestness. 
 
 "The child would be disappointed. I promised 
 him." 
 
 Suddenly she laughed. "Do you ever give way?" 
 
 "Don't I look like it?" 
 
 "No." Her dark eyes were lifted steadily to 
 his. "I believe you usually get what you mean to 
 get." 
 
 86
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 AT lunch Cynthia met the remaining ladies of 
 the party. First, Mrs. Hibbert a woman of flam- 
 boyant type, good-looking, built in a generous 
 mould, with great cow-like black eyes, with hardly 
 perceptible whites, almost absurdly soft. She was 
 well-meaning, but was unfortunate in possessing a 
 style at variance with her nature. She was neither a 
 malicious nor an insistent prude. Rigour and con- 
 ventionality were innate in her and inalienable, but 
 her manner was spirited, even boisterous. It was 
 an irritating combination which, in spite of her 
 obvious strenuous efforts to be otherwise, made her 
 unpopular, except with her intimate friends, who 
 knew both her good intentions and her inherent 
 limitations and were careful to keep off her corns. 
 
 She struggled heroically to be the life and soul 
 of the party at Tannadice, but, rather pathetically, 
 succeeded in becoming something appreciably re- 
 sembling a wet blanket. One after another hosts 
 and guests fell into the traps she undesignedly laid 
 for them. Everyone respected her prejudices 
 
 87
 
 CYNTHIA IN, THE WILDERNESS 
 
 even Bay, in spite of her bellicose utterances to 
 Frank Cheyne but there was a suspicion of a dis- 
 position to avoid her. 
 
 She was seated opposite Cynthia at lunch, and 
 immediately set about to make the latter feel at 
 home. 
 
 "We have such glorious Bohemian times here, 
 Mrs. Elwes," she said, with an animated smile. 
 "I am sure you will enjoy it. It is all such inno- 
 cent fun." 
 
 She uttered the last phrase in a peculiar tone 
 of her own. It was one that was frequently on 
 her tongue : a fact which was made quite apparent 
 to Cynthia by an accidental glimpse of Bay, who 
 was choking a ferocious interjection with an espe- 
 cially large mouthful of chicken. 
 
 "Oh, I am prepared to be very foolish," said 
 Cynthia. "I think it is delightful here." 
 
 "And you have a dear little boy. He will be 
 a great acquisition." 
 
 "I hope you will think so," said Cynthia, "after 
 you have heard him make himself thoroughly ob- 
 jectionable." 
 
 "Children are always high-spirited," said Mrs. 
 Hibbert, brightly. "We should be very sorry to 
 have them anything else. He must be a great com- 
 fort to you," she added, slightly subduing the 
 smile. 
 
 88
 
 CYNTHIA IN, THE WILDERNESS 
 
 She assumed Cynthia to be a widow. She as- 
 sumed every matron to be a widow who was unable 
 immediately to produce a husband. 
 
 "Oh, my husband is decidedly alive," said the 
 latter, frankly. 
 
 Mrs. Hibbert drew partly into her shell. But 
 there was still a simple explanation. 
 
 "He is coming later? He couldn't leave London 
 so early?" she said, smiling. 
 
 "Good gracious, no!" said Cynthia, jocularly. 
 "I shouldn't be so happy if that were in prospect.'* 
 
 "You've put your foot into it !" exclaimed a spir- 
 ited voice at her elbow in a solemn whisper. 
 
 Mrs. Hibbert collapsed into pitiable silence. She 
 would have liked, for the sake of harmony, to have 
 gone on talking ; but it was impossible. She didn't 
 wish to point her prejudices; the stony pause was. 
 as uncomfortable for her as for the rest. Simply 
 she could not help it. She was stricken dumb by 
 such callous disrespect of connubial ties. Her in- 
 tention had been excellent throughout ; but Cynthia 
 unwittingly had trodden on her toes trodden on 
 them heavily. 
 
 The latter looked across at Bay rather help- 
 lessly, but before she could intervene, Cheyne came 
 to Cynthia's relief. 
 
 "Wives must have a rest from husbands, some- 
 89
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 times," he said lightly, "and sometimes husbands 
 from wives." 
 
 "That's awful rot, Mr. Cheyne." 
 
 This indignant observation came from one of 
 the twins, the same who had just exclaimed into 
 Cynthia's ear. These two young ladies were ar- 
 dent votaries of the modern "open-air" school. 
 They wore short frocks, spoke of things being 
 "ripping," and told you to "buck up." (They were 
 particularly fond of adjuring Frank Cheyne to 
 "buck up" for his gentle habits were uncongenial 
 to their souls but they never succeeded in indu- 
 cing him to "buck" one moment before he privately 
 intended.) They went out with the guns and 
 bathed from boats, played bridge atrociously and 
 knew all the dogs by name. They took the nearest 
 arm familiarly in the grounds, made "apple-pie" 
 beds for the men, and put sugar in the salt. Every- 
 one knew them as "Patty" and "Peggy," respec- 
 tively Cynthia hardly heard their surname and 
 they were proof against even Bay's caustic ridicule. 
 They were tolerably good-looking, and were voted 
 by acclaim what they undoubtedly were decided 
 assets at a shooting-party. 
 
 "You can't possibly know," continued the one 
 who had spoken, contemptuously. "You are a 
 bachelor." 
 
 90
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Does that amount to a proposal of marriage?" 
 said Cheyne, anxiously. 
 
 Patty and Peggy threw their bread at him simul- 
 taneously, and thereby appeared to consider honour 
 satisfied. 
 
 "School-children !" said Bay, pungently, "go and 
 pick up your bread and stand in the corner and 
 write on your slates 'We don't know any better.' " 
 
 The one who was sitting next her made a dart 
 at her and kissed her impetuously apology sincere 
 and sudden. They rose at the conclusion of lunch 
 with flags flying and chased Cheyne into the gar- 
 den. It was something to have a man available 
 during the day. They caught him on the lawn, as 
 he was lighting a cigar, and clung to each of his 
 arms. Mrs. Hibbert, who, though still subdued in 
 spirit and perturbed on Cynthia's account, had had 
 time to recover her superficial ebullition, followed 
 them breezily. 
 
 Bay took Cynthia across the hall into the room 
 which was called the drawing-room. Tannadice 
 Lodge was discovered to be a spacious, somewhat 
 ramshackle, lightly and cheaply furnished, but, 
 withal, comfortable place of sojourn. There were 
 rooms called variously the "gun-room," the "din- 
 ing-room," the "drawing-room," the "smoke- 
 room," but there was nothing particularly to dis- 
 tinguish one from the other. Smoking was per-
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 mitted everywhere and at all times. The furniture 
 in each room was of the same type plain, slightly 
 dilapidated, often broken and amateurly repaired 
 with wrappings of string. Indeed, not only in ma- 
 terial things, but in the pervading atmosphere, the 
 dominant note was what might be called comfor- 
 table Bohemianism. Cynthia had not been in the 
 house many hours before she discovered that there 
 was a tacit understanding among everybody that at 
 Tannadice formality was to be dispensed with. 
 
 She speedily imbibed the spirit of it and found 
 it delightful. To sit on the window-sill in the 
 * 'drawing-room" at six o'clock in the afternoon, 
 talking to a man in muddy boots with a pipe in 
 his mouth, while four other members of the party 
 played rather noisy bridge in the centre of the 
 room, and a fifth hammered out a music-hall air 
 on the pianola, was an unusual experience to her, 
 but she learnt to enjoy it as she had never enjoyed 
 anything before. 
 
 This afternoon, having reached the room in 
 question with Bay, she stood for a time at the win- 
 dow looking out. The twins had guided Cheyne 
 to a garden-seat and were happily ensconced on 
 either side of him. Mrs. Hibbert sat in a wicker 
 chair near them. Occasionally her ringing laugh 
 a laugh of pure enjoyment, provoked by the pas- 
 
 92
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 sages-at-arms between the occupants of the seat 
 came through the open window. 
 
 While Cynthia was watching them, Eric ap- 
 peared on the lawn with his nurse. He did not 
 approach the group, but from time to time he cast 
 a wistful glance in Cheyne's direction, and he took 
 care to keep continuously within his range of vision. 
 
 Presently Cheyne noticed him and remembered 
 his promise. He disentangled himself from the 
 twins and came across the lawn to Eric. Peggy 
 and Patty quickly followed, and an animated dis- 
 cussion ensued. They appeared to be proposing 
 to attach themselves to the expedition, a suggestion 
 which obviously failed to meet with Eric's entire 
 approval. No doubt he foresaw, with the wisdom 
 gained of experience, that, with two grown-up 
 young ladies accompanying them, subjects in which, 
 he was not specially interested would provide the 
 staple topics of conversation. The original prom- 
 ise had contained no such condition. He was to go 
 a walk in search of a pony with his big new friend, 
 and with him alone. 
 
 "Oh, no," said Cheyne, at length putting an end 
 to the discussion, "this is a very private business." 
 
 Thereupon he took the child's hand and marched 
 him off, Eric talking volubly. 
 
 Peggy and Patty stood and watched them disap- 
 pear into the shrubbery leading to the gate. Foe 
 
 93
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 a moment they seemed inclined to resent this small 
 person's calm appropriation of the only man. Then 
 they changed their minds and charged with mock 
 ferocity upon Mrs. Hibbcrt, who was laughing 
 delightedly. 
 
 Cynthia turned from the window. She was 
 brimming with spirits. Already the moor air had 
 got into her veins. The heaviness of London, and 
 of what London meant to her, was lifted from her 
 soul. 
 
 "I'm glad I came," she said fervently to Bay. 
 "I like all these people. I like your cousin. I like 
 the twins." She took a breath. "I like Mrs. 
 Hibbert." 
 
 94
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 CHEYNE closed the door behind the ladies and 
 pushed the decanters towards Nugent. Nugent 
 allowed such interval to elapse as would exclude 
 any appearance of haste, and then refilled his port 
 glass and passed the wine to Frank. Frank refilled 
 his glass without any interval at all and deposited 
 the decanter at Hibbert's elbow. Hibbert chanced 
 to notice it in the course of a few moments, lifted 
 it lightly in a neatly shaped hand and returned it 
 to Cheyne. He was a thin man, with cheeks some- 
 what sunken and a moustache somewhat grizzled, 
 slightly finicky in appearance and in manner. The 
 thin cords of a pair of pince-nez lay across his shirt- 
 front. 
 
 "You are very temperate," said Cheyne. 
 
 "I find it answers," said Mr. Hibbert, avoiding 
 smugness by a casual tone, "to be temperate not 
 only in the matter of alcohol, but in all matters." 
 He enunciated his words clearly. 
 
 "Quite right," said Cheyne, handing him the 
 cigarettes. ("Try one of the Egyptians.) If you 
 
 95
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 want a complete code of ethics, you can have it in 
 two words: Be temperate." 
 
 Hibbert puffed quickly at his cigarette and blew 
 out the match he had lighted, evidently fearful lest 
 someone should intervene before he could reply. 
 
 "Oh, you are carrying me too far," he said. "I 
 didn't intend to say that. In some matters there 
 are conditions precedent which must be observed 
 before even temperate concessions to the flesh can 
 become right. There is the case of marriage, of 
 course." 
 
 "Why 'of course'?" said Cheyne. He passed 
 the cigarettes to Nugent. "Come, Hibbert, be 
 honest. You can say, if you like, that it is con- 
 venient for social organisation to set up these bars 
 on spontaneous action, but you are not entitled to 
 drag in morality." 
 
 Mr. Hibbert fingered his pince-nez. "You can- 
 not be suggesting that marriage is merely a social 
 convenience ?" 
 
 "Surely I am," said Cheyne. "A method of 
 making the fathers responsible a good one, too. 
 There are as many sins within marriage as there 
 are moral deeds without." 
 
 "I don't quite follow you." Hibbert had flushed 
 a little. 
 
 "Take the case of a girl who is forced to marry 
 an elderly man she detests. Is that a sin?" 
 
 96
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "Or of an ordinary married couple who take 
 advantage of their position to excess. Is that a 
 sin?" 
 
 "Perhaps," said Mr. Hibbert again. 
 
 "On the other hand, take two lovers real lov- 
 ers who cannot marry. Is that a sin?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Hibbert. The pince-nez left 
 his hand and rattled down his shirt-front. 
 
 "Is that a sin, Nugent?" 
 
 "Don't ask me" said Nugent, stretching for a 
 salted almond. 
 
 He was a dark, shaven young man with a large 
 nose and rather pathetic brown eyes with a per- 
 petual tear in them. He made a cult of shooting 
 and was merely tolerant of conversation upon any 
 other subject. The present discussion appeared to 
 him especially otiose. He wanted to explain how 
 he had come to miss with his second barrel that 
 afternoon when two birds had risen at his feet. 
 
 "Is that a sin, Frank?" 
 
 "It would be a dangerous doctrine to admit," 
 said Frank. 
 
 Cheyne laughed. "It's a stiff-backed generation. 
 I can't make any one of you agree with me. If 
 you could get outside the world and see its insti- 
 tutions without prejudice for ten minutes you would 
 
 97
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 be amazed that such a question could need to be 
 asked." 
 
 "Of course, one can mere or less follow those 
 ideas in theory," said Frank, "but in practice they 
 would lead to chaos." 
 
 "That brings us back to the original point," said 
 Cheyne. "Marriage is a practical social conveni- 
 ence and nothing more. I simply contend that it 
 is not an indispensable condition of morality." He 
 broke his cigarette ash and leaned forward on the 
 table, looking round with that gracious, kindly 
 glance which disposed many people to accept what- 
 ever proposition he chose to advance. "Well, I 
 will throw in two more words, and then I am pre- 
 pared to put up my code against all your intricate 
 doctrinal niceties, as a guide to the whole duty of 
 man. It is very simple: Be temperate: consider 
 others." 
 
 "It is too simple," said Hibbcrt. "I cannot sub- 
 scribe to it." 
 
 "So we must agree to differ as usual, Hibbert," 
 said Cheyne, smiling. "But I don't despair of you. 
 You get more human every time I come home. An- 
 other three years in Brazil and I shall find you 
 quite out of the rut. . . . Nugent, my dear fellow, 
 why didn't you call out?" He passed him the 
 decanter. 
 
 None of the men would have been much sur- 
 98
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 prised if his chair had suddenly given way beneath 
 him; but the port was Croft's '63 and the ciga- 
 rettes were Nestor's Sultanas : facts which Nugent, 
 for one, needed no one to tell him. 
 
 Ten minutes later the four of them filed into the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 "Now, who are going to play bridge," said 
 Cheyne, "and who are going to play musical 
 chairs?" 
 
 Cynthia looked up with a curious interrogative 
 glance and caught his eye. 
 
 "Musical chairs, Mrs. Elwes," he said, without 
 laughing. 
 
 "Oh, it's ripping fun, Mrs. Elwes," cried Patty. 
 
 Cheyne went up to her. "We behave very child- 
 ishly," he said in a lower tone. "Don't humour 
 us if you are not in the vein." 
 
 "I want to play musical chairs," said Cynthia. 
 
 He smiled. "Positively the only thing in the 
 world you really want?" 
 
 She coloured very slightly. (Some freakish 
 sprite had flung into her mind certain phrases she 
 had voiced not long ago: "I want arms that can 
 grip. I want to be held till there is no breath in 
 me.") "Just at this moment," 'she said, smiling. 
 Then, without a pause: "You took Eric out this 
 afternoon and brought back the pony. I am hor- 
 ribly ashamed." 
 
 99
 
 CYNTHIA IN.. THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Whether her evening gown or some other cause 
 were responsible, she had fallen upon one of those 
 times when her loveliness was patent and indis- 
 putable. During the men's absence the twins had 
 frankly examined her and frankly expressed their 
 enthusiastic admiration. Cheyne did not examine 
 her, but he was conscious of the effect. 
 
 "/ am ashamed," he said, "for disobeying your 
 wishes." 
 
 He left her a little abruptly and opened a cup- 
 board in a corner of the room. From this he ex- 
 tracted a fat box of chocolates, which he laid on 
 a table. 
 
 "The prize," he announced. "Patty and Peggy 
 are to be handicapped by being blindfolded, be- 
 cause they cheat." 
 
 They rushed upon him simultaneously; and after 
 a spirited controversy he succumbed and agreed to 
 accept their entries unpenalised. In the meantime, 
 Frank and Mrs. Hibbert arranged a row of chairs 
 down the middle of the room, under the direction 
 of Bay, who expressed her opinion of the intelli- 
 gence they displayed in forcible terms. Hibbert 
 and Nugent talked on important subjects in a 
 corner. 
 
 Cheyne's voice invaded their superior peace. 
 "You will be allowed to stand out as usual, Hib- 
 
 100
 
 bert, on condition that you play the pianola. Come 
 along, Nugent." 
 
 Nugent joined the circle waiting round the chairs 
 with a smile of good-humoured toleration which 
 relegated the rest to the level of the nursery. 
 
 After a pause, Hibbert walked with an ab- 
 stracted air to the pianola, tapping his shirt-front 
 with his pince-nez. His private view of this sort 
 of thing was not to be expressed in words. 
 
 He picked up the first roll of music that came to 
 his hand, snapped it into the sockets of the instru- 
 ment, and started to pedal steadily, ignoring the 
 time and tone stops. Immediately the human circle 
 took motion, ambulating warily round the line of 
 chairs, silently at first, presently to the accompani- 
 ment of staccato laughter from Mrs. Hibbert and 
 agonised cries from one or other of the sisters 
 '("Oh, Mr. Hibbert, stop! do stop!") punctuated 
 by the bass tones of the Cheynes, sternly enjoining 
 someone usually a twin to "keep moving." 
 
 The music stopped and they scrambled to seats. 
 Patty, to the incredulity of the others and her own 
 deep mortification, was found to be seatless. A 
 chair was quickly abstracted; the pianola started 
 again, and again they were moving round. 
 Cynthia, bending forward, holding up her silken 
 skirts, wary as any of them, watched the absurd 
 procession with happy laughter in her heart. It 
 
 101
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 was such a vivid change for her. A night or two 
 ago she had been sitting in the dull blight of Har- 
 vey's unrelieved society, hearing with weary ears 
 his pompously empty patter. Now this! She 
 followed Bay, Bay followed Frank, Frank fol- 
 lowed Mrs. Hibbert, Mrs. Hibbert followed 
 Cheyne, Cheyne followed Peggy, Peggy followed 
 Nugent, Nugent followed her creeping like cats 
 up and down the sides, darting across the ends, 
 laughing, exclaiming, protesting, a ridiculously re- 
 volving line of invigorating puerility. 
 
 The music stopped again. Scrambling to a seat 
 which a second before had been empty, she found 
 herself on Nugent's knee. She sprang up with a 
 little cry of apologetic confusion, and he instantly 
 offered her the chair. But this was against the 
 unwritten law of the house. 
 
 "Nugent," called Cheyne, sternly, "obey the 
 rules. Mrs. Elwes is out." 
 
 Cynthia retreated disappointed. For a fraction 
 of a second her eyes shot an indignant reproach at 
 the autocrat. But the surveyor of continents was 
 already moving again. 
 
 "Hurry up, Peggy ! Don't hang at the corners." 
 
 Frank followed Cynthia into exile. Then came 
 Nugent, then Peggy. Laurence Cheyne, Bay and 
 Mrs. Hibbert disputed the last two chairs. After a 
 scramble the latter retired defeated. 
 
 102
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "A double dose this time, Hibbert," shouted 
 Cheyne. "This is the last lap." 
 
 He turned the chair with his wrist, as he and 
 Bay revolved round it, so as to keep the seat con- 
 tinuously on his own side. 
 
 "Brute! Fiend! Cur!" she flung at him with 
 vigorous ferocity; and then sat down, panting, on 
 the chair, which had mysteriously come round in 
 her direction just as the music ceased. 
 
 She looked up over the back, which Cheyne still 
 held. For one moment an unaccustomed intensity 
 deepened her eyes. "You are absolved. Give me 
 the chocolates." 
 
 "The question before the committee," said 
 Frank, getting in his word before his brother could 
 suggest further imbecilities, "is the question of 
 bridge." 
 
 Forthwith several of the party proceeded to 
 make excuse. Cynthia was genuinely beginning to 
 feel tired after her journey. The twins hated 
 bridge and other people hated playing with them. 
 Nugent wanted to talk to the keeper about one of 
 his guns. He thought it pitched too high on his 
 shoulder. That failure at a simple right and left 
 bothered him. 
 
 "It was a most extraordinary thing, Mrs. 
 Elwes," he said, in the tone of slight amusement 
 
 103
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 which such an exceptional occurrence could only 
 provoke : "two birds got up just at my feet. . . ." 
 Cynthia gave him ready attention. She liked his 
 pathetic eyes. At last he had got a listener to his 
 explanation. 
 
 When the bridge-table had been got out it was 
 discovered that there were five available players. 
 The Hibberts and Bay were three. Only a second 
 man was needed. One of the hosts must stand out. 
 
 "Remember your promise," said Bay to Frank. 
 She looked at Cynthia. Nugent had already gone 
 to the gun-room, and she was sitting alone. 
 
 Frank also looked at her. She was charming 
 and, for the moment, a little pensive. But he was 
 very fond of bridge. 
 
 "All right, Bay," he said. 
 
 "Well, you needn't," said Bay, relenting. "I 
 don't think Laurence wants to play." 
 
 "No, I don't want to play," said Laurence. 
 
 He spoke indifferently. He played when he was 
 wanted, but he was not an enthusiast and usually 
 he was glad to escape. 
 
 He went to sit by Cynthia. 
 
 "You are not fond of bridge?" he said to her. 
 
 "Yes, very, sometimes; but I play very badly." 
 
 "Of course you cheat?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 104
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "All women cheat at bridge," he said com- 
 posedly. 
 
 She laid her head on the cushions of her chair. 
 "Will you please substantiate that statement and 
 apologise?" 
 
 "Do you never frown at your cards for a minute 
 or two and then say, 'Yes, I must I must leave 
 it'?" 
 
 "Oh, of course, if one has a doubtful hand it is 
 sometimes difficult to know what to do." 
 
 "That is cheating," said Cheyne, calmly. 
 
 "Then you are deliberately suggesting that 
 women have a lower sense of honour than men 
 have?" 
 
 "It is an acknowledged fact." 
 
 She turned on him with bright eyes. "Suppos- 
 ing you heard privately that a company you were 
 interested in was likely to pay a less dividend, what 
 would you do?" 
 
 "If the information came from a reliable source, 
 probably sell .out," said Cheyne. 
 
 "That is a phrase that has a delightfully self- 
 contained sound ; but I suppose it implies that some- 
 one would have to buy?" 
 
 "Yes. I should be sorry for him." 
 "If it happened to be a woman?" 
 "I should be sorrier still." 
 "Would you make up her loss?" 
 105
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Oh, dear, no. It would be a business transac- 
 tion." 
 
 "But she wouldn't have your sources of knowl- 
 edge, so it would be the same thing as putting your 
 hand in her pocket and taking her money." 
 
 "Not at all," said Cheyne: "I couldn't put a 
 hand in her pocket because I shouldn't know where 
 to find it." 
 
 "That is a stupid quibble and a very trite one. 
 It means you have no answer." She smiled tri- 
 umphantly. "Now, will you please apologise for 
 saying I am dishonourable for hesitating about a 
 declaration at bridge when you are prepared to rob 
 me of hundreds of pounds." 
 
 "We have not been talking of you." 
 
 "It might be me." 
 
 "It couldn't." 
 
 She looked at him guardedly. "Why not?" 
 
 "Because you are too intelligent to make a silly 
 bargain." 
 
 She smiled and dropped her eyes, flushing a very 
 little. "Still, I think I must insist on the 
 apology." 
 
 "You have it without reserve." 
 
 "Thank you. And now, if you don't mind, I 
 should like to go to bed." 
 
 "But why so early?" There was a note of real 
 disappointment. 
 
 106
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "I am tired." 
 
 "Of course you are." 
 
 She got up and smiled a friendly good-night to 
 the bridge-players. 
 
 Cheyne took her into the hall and lighted her 
 candle. As she received it from him she gave him 
 her other hand. He noticed that it was cool and 
 soft. 
 
 "Good-night," she said. "It is lovely to be 
 here." 
 
 His hand lingered a moment on hers. "It is 
 very delightful to have you." 
 
 "I must be careful," he said to his shaving-glass, 
 two hours later. He had said it before in the 
 course of his life. 
 
 He tugged off his tie and threw it in the basket. 
 "I must be very careful, or this woman will make 
 a mess of me." 
 
 107
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 LUNCH was over; the half-hour's idle, pleasant 
 conversation which succeeded it was over. One or 
 two of the men had risen from the heather and 
 were filling their pockets with fresh supplies of 
 cartridges. The three ladies (the twins were not 
 there, having been bidden to a lawn-tennis func- 
 tion) had intimated that they intended to remain 
 at the scene of the feast as long as they chose, and 
 Bay had already produced a novel. 
 
 "I don't know how it would feel," said Cynthia, 
 "to go to a theatre and come out just as the curtain 
 was going up, but I imagine it would be something 
 as I feel at present." 
 
 "Would you like to go on with us, Mrs. Elwes?" 
 said Frank, lazily. (He was not one of those who 
 had risen.) 
 
 The head keeper approached unobtrusively. He 
 had overheard the last remark. 
 
 "If Mistress Elwes would like to come with us," 
 he said, "I will carry her over the burns," 
 
 108
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 He was a bronzed and bearded Scot, and one of 
 the kindest and gentlest of men ever born. 
 
 "Where are we going this afternoon, Donald?" 
 said Laurence. 
 
 "I thought, if Mr. Cheyne is agreeable" Don- 
 ald punctiliously avoided the impertinence of per- 
 sonal pronouns when addressing his social superiors 
 "we would finish the Liskate beat and then go- 
 over the corner of Glen Lorrie that we missed on 
 Monday." 
 
 "The end of the Liskate beat brings us down to 
 the road, doesn't it?" 
 
 "Yes," said Donald. 
 
 "Whereabouts?" 
 
 "Close to the place we call Blake's Corner. 
 There's a white farmhouse there. Perhaps Mr. 
 Cheyne will remember it?" 
 
 He was always respectful, but never obsequious. 
 
 "You can come if you like," said Laurence to 
 Cynthia, "but the heather gets very high in places 
 and we walk pretty fast." 
 
 "There won't be any cause to hurry this after- 
 noon," said Donald. He had found a particularly 
 tender place in his heart for Cynthia. "We shall 
 have more time than we need." 
 
 "I shall come as your guest, Donald," said 
 Cynthia. "I am sure you are the only one who 
 
 wants me." 
 
 109
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Mistress Elwes will be quite safe," said Don- 
 ald, unemotionally. 
 
 Cheyne spoke to the man who had come with 
 the game-cart: "Tell Bannerman to bring the car 
 to Blake's Corner at well four o'clock. If he 
 doesn't know the way, come with him." 
 
 Bay looked up from her novel. She had been 
 turning the pages savagely in the last few minutes. 
 "Laurence, I hate you. Donald, I abhor you." 
 
 "If Mistress Montressor " began Donald, 
 
 very much upset. 
 
 "What's the matter, Bay?" said Laurence. 
 
 "If there is one thing I particularly enjoy," she 
 replied caustically, "it is to be ostentatiously omit- 
 ted from an invitation." 
 
 "Come by all means," he said, "all three of you, 
 but I am afraid you will find it a terrible drag." 
 
 "I don't think my wife would care about it," 
 opined Mr. Hibbert, a little nervously. 
 
 "Oh, dear, no, I'm much too lazy," cried that 
 lady, gaily. "I can't move from here for at least 
 an hour." 
 
 "I won't come," said Bay, "if you beg me on 
 your knees." 
 
 Nugent breathed a sigh of ineffable relief. He 
 had found this conversation decidedly trying. The 
 presence of one lady was sufficiently irregular and 
 to be deprecated but three! Personally, he 
 
 no
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 thought that the introduction of the female element 
 even at lunch was a mistake. It involved discursive 
 chatter on irrelevant subjects and it wasted valu- 
 able time. A man couldn't shoot when his mind 
 had been distracted by frivolous banalities. 
 
 "Time passes, Cheyne," he ventured to say. 
 
 Laurence had gone over to his cousin and 
 dropped one knee on the heather beside her. 
 
 "You are not seriously annoyed, Bay?" he said. 
 "I had no idea you would care to walk with us." 
 
 "No, I am not annoyed," she said, meeting his 
 eyes. Her tone was suddenly subdued. "I am not 
 annoyed, Laurence. Haven't you learnt to know 
 me yet?" He was looking at her with friendly 
 solicitude. She dropped her eyes quickly to her 
 book. "I've got a scrumptious novel." 
 
 He turned away vaguely uneasy. Bay always 
 had puzzled him, and the longer he lived the fur- 
 ther he felt himself to get from understanding her. 
 
 The guns lined out. 
 
 "Keep close to me," said Laurence to Cynthia. 
 
 "Oh, no; I am Donald's guest." 
 
 "Keep close to me," he repeated. 
 
 "But will you carry me over the burns?" 
 
 "I make no rash promises." 
 
 "I'm not heavy." 
 
 She threw a note of plaintive appeal into the 
 statement, which brought a smile to his face. He 
 
 in
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 deliberately measured her slender form. It ap- 
 peared less substantial than it actually was, by con- 
 trast with his powerful physique. 
 
 "I'll tell you later on if I agree with you," he 
 said. 
 
 When they had climbed half-way up the first 
 hill, Cynthia turned and waved a handkerchief to 
 Bay. Mrs. Hibbert waved back vigorously at 
 once. After a lapse of a few seconds Bay waved 
 also. 
 
 For a time Cynthia kept scrupulously a yard or 
 two behind Laurence, fearing to be in his way. 
 
 "Why don't you walk beside me?" he said. "If 
 I am to undertake this herculean task of carrying 
 you across the burns, you must provide a quid pro 
 quo. I expect to be amused." 
 
 "I'm afraid of making you miss," she said, com- 
 ing up, nevertheless. 
 
 "What if you did? You would have saved a 
 little bird's life, and we should have one less grouse 
 to eat. Imagine the joy of a possible dinner with- 
 out grouse. Watch the dogs," he added; "there 
 will be no excitement until you see one of them 
 stand." 
 
 He walked leisurely, carrying his gun over his 
 
 shoulder, barrel pointing upward. Nugent, on the 
 
 extreme right of the line, stalked forward with 
 
 long, stealthy strides, holding his gun keenly in 
 
 112
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 both hands, ready to raise in an instant to his 
 shoulder. He was a painstaking shot and by assid- 
 uous care had attained some proficiency. Cheyne 
 shot by instinct, and the bird that escaped him was 
 lucky. 
 
 "I am surprised that there are any grouse to eat 
 at all," said Cynthia: "you give so many away. I 
 daren't think of the number of labels I have ad- 
 dressed. It makes me blush." 
 
 "If it has that effect," said Laurence, "I wish 
 you would go on addressing labels all day." 
 
 "That is not at all a tactful remark." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "It means you think I am too pale." Cynthia 
 was keenly conscious of her slight anaemic tendency. 
 
 "It means nothing of the kind. Colour is not a 
 beauty in itself ; it depends for its effect upon appro- 
 priate conditions; and in any case it is superficial 
 and often ephemeral. A builder's plot in the sub- 
 urbs is hideous at all times, and a sunset doesn't 
 improve it. The loch below there is beautiful at 
 this moment, but when the sun goes down " 
 
 Ping ping. A brood had got up rather wildly 
 between Nugent and Frank. The latter accounted 
 for two of them; Nugent shot once and killed his 
 bird. A straggler came within range of Laurence. 
 He broke his sentence to fire; Cynthia was a shade 
 close to his elbow: the bird continued its flight.
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "That confounded woman 1" Nugent was a hun- 
 dred yards off, so the remark fortunately reached 
 no ears but his own. 
 
 "If Mistress Elwes will stand a little further 
 away," called Donald, who was anxious for his 
 bag. 
 
 "Better luck next time," said Laurence, ejecting 
 the spent cartridge. "Would you like to have a 
 shot?" 
 
 Not so very long before he had stood in a forest 
 clearing with three panthers on three sides of him. 
 On that occasion to have missed would quite pos- 
 sibly have cost him his life. But he had not missed. 
 
 Cynthia took Donald's advice, but she still kept 
 abreast of Laurence. A few minutes later he 
 pointed out a dog to her its head down, its tail 
 motionless, one foreleg raised. She held her breath 
 and waited. A compact brood rose in front of the 
 dog. Laurence picked his birds skilfully and killed 
 with both barrels. 
 
 "Do you suppose I enjoy doing this?" he said. 
 
 "Pulling a little piece of gun-metal?" 
 
 "Slaughtering these harmless birds?" 
 
 "You appear to." 
 
 "Do you like seeing things killed for the pleas- 
 ure of killing them?" 
 
 "Not very much." 
 
 "Then why did you come?" 
 114
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Because I like walking over high heather and 
 up big hills and squashing through morasses. Have 
 you any other questions to ask me?" 
 
 From which it may be gathered that, during her 
 week's sojourn at Tannadice, Cynthia had become 
 acclimatised. 
 
 For the next half-hour birds rose more frequent- 
 ly. Laurence was kept occupied, and Cynthia 
 plodded along beside him, or a little behind him, 
 in silence. It was harder work than she had ex- 
 pected. Chcyne ranged wide of his beat to find 
 her breaks in the heather or sheep-tracks leading 
 through it. But there were unavoidable wide, deep 
 expanses of it, reaching to her knees, which had to 
 be waded through, the hills were very toilsome and 
 long, the men walked fast, and there was no res- 
 pite. In spite of her utmost effort, she and 
 Laurence always seemed to be a little behind the 
 line. Then they came to a burn and he lifted her 
 over it. As he set her down he looked at her face. 
 "I am afraid you are tired," he said. "Would 
 you like to rest?" 
 
 "Oh, no," she replied, with cheerful mendacity. 
 "I'm only a little out of breath. There are so 
 many hills." 
 
 Even this small halt had dropped them further 
 behind. She eyed Nugent's persistently advancing 
 figure with secret despair. While she was watch-
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 ing him, he looked round and stopped; and then 
 the two other men and the keepers looked round 
 also and 'stopped. 
 
 "They have stopped," she said, agitatedly; 
 "they are waiting for you. Please go on." 
 
 "Pooh !" said Laurence. He laid down his gun 
 and helped her up the steep bank of the stream. 
 
 "Donald," he called out, "tell them not to go 
 so fast." 
 
 The pace was moderated. Thenceforward they 
 were able to keep in line without so much diffi- 
 culty, and Cynthia lost that sense of trailing behind 
 which had been the worst of her previous discom- 
 forts and the most fatiguing. Nevertheless, she 
 breathed a sigh of inward satisfaction when, on 
 reaching the brow of a hill, she again saw the loch 
 below, and a road curling beside it, with the motor- 
 car upon it. 
 
 It was an easy, gradual descent. The heather 
 gave place to short grass with angles of rock pro- 
 truding through it. Near the bottom they were 
 faced by a stone wall with a gate in it, which latter 
 opened upon a rough track leading through some 
 farm buildings to the road. Here the whole party 
 came to a halt. The men dropped down on the 
 grass and the dogs were temporarily leashed. 
 
 "Please don't trouble to come," said Cynthia. 
 116
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Cheyne had opened the gate. "I can see the car. 
 I can easily find my way to itr" 
 
 "I shall go home with you*" said Laurence. 
 "I've murdered enough grouse to-day, and the cor- 
 ner they are going to work hasn't sport for more 
 than three guns." 
 
 Donald came quietly to her elbow. "If Mistress 
 Elwes would care for a sprig of white heather ?" 
 
 "I should" said Cynthia. 
 
 "I can't understand where he finds it," said 
 Laurence. "I never see any." 
 
 "Mr. Cheyne would see plenty if he would look 
 in the hollows," said the keeper, tranquilly. 
 
 "Thank you, Donald," said Cynthia, sticking 
 the heather in her blouse. "You treat me much 
 too well. If you persist in being so thoughtful 
 you will never be able to drive me away from 
 Tannadice." 
 
 "But Mistress Elwes will come next year?" 
 
 "I hope so," said Cheyne. 
 
 "You have made him give me an invitation," 
 said Cynthia, laughing. "I shall take care not to 
 let him have an opportunity to escape from it." 
 She turned through the gate. "Good-bye, Donald. 
 You mustn't keep Mr. Nugent waiting any longer. 
 He is getting very angry with me." 
 
 Donald laughed a peculiar dry, short, good- 
 natured laugh and strode away. 
 
 117
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "I believe there is nothing that man doesn't 
 think of or can't do," said Laurence, as they 
 walked down to the car. "This afternoon he had 
 the shoot to manage as usual. I didn't notice that 
 he ever took his attention from one or other of us, 
 or from the dogs or the other keeper. Yet all the 
 time he was looking for some white heather for 
 you, and he found it." 
 
 "I am very fond of Donald," said Cynthia. "I 
 almost love him." 
 
 "Well, I think the tender passion is reciprocated. 
 He didn't mean you to stay behind this afternoon. 
 Unfortunately, he is married." 
 
 "So am I." 
 
 "So you are I" He drew a slow breath. "Do 
 you know, I had almost forgotten it." 
 
 They had reached the car. Laurence allowed 
 the chauffeur to drive and got in beside Cynthia 
 at the back. 
 
 "It is easy to forget," she said, "up here on 
 the moors." 
 
 "Why do you say that?" He gazed deeply at her, 
 sitting half round in his corner. "You speak as if 
 you wished to forget." 
 
 A faint flush slowly coloured her cheek. 
 
 "I suppose it is natural," she said, "that the 
 world in general should assume that all marriages 
 
 118
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 which don't lead to bruises or the police-court are 
 quite satisfactory, quite perfect." 
 
 "We assume what we wish, what we hope," said 
 Laurence. "It is an institution we have set up; 
 we want to think the best of it. If our edifice is 
 not quite sound, if there are cracks in it, even if 
 the foundations are faulty, we would rather not be 
 told. We resent it." 
 
 "That is cowardly." 
 
 "I am talking as you were of the world In 
 general." 
 
 "Yes, I know. Aren't we going very fast?" 
 
 "Not more than thirty. Didn't you say you 
 were not nervous ?" 
 
 "I said I was very nervous sometimes." 
 
 "You were not nervous the other day?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Laurence was not self-complacent, but he did not 
 pretend to miss the inference. 
 
 "Would you like me to drive?" 
 
 "And leave me here in solitary state ! I would 
 rather be nervous." 
 
 He spoke to the chauffeur, and the speed imme- 
 diately slackened. A few minutes later they 
 gtopped altogether. 
 
 "What's the matter?" said Cynthia. 
 
 "Home. Don't you recognise the gate?" 
 
 "Already?" 
 
 119
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Would you like me to take you for a run?" 
 
 "Oh, no; let us go in and have tea. But what 
 an absurd little distance !" 
 
 "It is four miles." 
 
 "Motor-cars are stupid things," said Cynthia, 
 gracelessly. 
 
 120
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 "SOMEBODY has been writing silly rubbish in the 
 Game Book," said Frank, frowning. 
 
 "How ill-bred!" observed Patty. 
 
 "It's going too far, Patty," he said severely, 
 laying the book on the table, after again scanning 
 the open page. "This is an important book. It 
 has to be seen by the owner of the shoot." 
 
 "What's all the fuss about?" Patty picked up 
 the book. "Is it this record day?" She read out 
 the following entry: 
 
 " 'Grouse ... 68 
 
 Black Game . . 12 
 
 Hares ... 4 
 Misses . . .102 
 
 Mesdames . . 99 
 
 Other remarks . . 3 
 
 Age last birthday . 1 9 
 
 Date . . . 25 . 8 . 06 
 
 Total . 332 . 8 . 06' 
 
 That was a good bag," she said. 
 
 121
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Nugent concluded a masterly rendering of the 
 Mikado on the pianola. "What was a good bag?" 
 he said. 
 
 "That." Patty threw the book at him. "Don't 
 touch it until you have washed your hands. Frank 
 says it is a very important book and must be treated 
 respectfully." (The twins quickly came to Chris- 
 tian names.) 
 
 Nugent read the entry, and laughed indulgently 
 at the childish foolishness. He wiped his eyes with 
 his handkerchief. "A hundred and two misses!" 
 he repeated. That item struck him as especially 
 laughable. 
 
 There was a rush for the book when he laid it 
 down. The whole party were assembled in the 
 neighbourhood of the drawing-room during the 
 half-hour which preceded the dressing-gong: that 
 is to say, some were definitely established in the 
 room, some were on the outskirts, some were pass- 
 ing to and fro: it was the centre of gravitation. 
 At that moment Laurence came in through the 
 window. He had been playing Badminton with 
 Peggy, and had almost contrived to stave off de- 
 feat by desperate cheating. Consequently, that 
 young lady was heatedly anxious for the ear of the 
 house. But the group round the book distracted 
 her attention and she immediately plunged into 
 the middle of it. 
 
 122
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "What's the matter?" said Laurence. 
 
 "Patty has been making a mess of the Game 
 Book," said Frank, smiling in spite of himself. 
 
 "Patty the incorrigible! Patty, your sins are 
 accumulating beyond forgiveness." 
 
 "No, no," cried Patty, contritely, coming to- 
 wards him. "I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Cheyne. I'll 
 buy you another book." 
 
 He took her two hands. "Patty the irresistible !" 
 
 Bay, having succeeded in obtaining a glimpse 
 of the entry over somebody's shoulder, detached 
 herself from the group with a shrug and went out 
 of the room. She crossed the hall and made her 
 way to the smoke-room. In this masculine menage 
 it was the room least likely to be occupied. It was 
 a little out of the way, and no one had much object 
 in seeking it. It is only in houses governed under 
 certain feminine auspices, where formality and de- 
 corum reign stiffly in the principal rooms, that the 
 smoke-room, however remote, becomes a refuge of 
 perpetual resort. 
 
 Bay had sought temporary solitude to go 
 through her household accounts. These were a 
 subject of weekly concern to her. In an establish- 
 ment where money was obviously plentiful, and 
 which was served by tradespeople who had their 
 year's harvest to gather during the shooting sea- 
 son, it was impossible to avoid being swindled a 
 
 123
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 good deal ; but she tried to be swindled as little as 
 a determined and thoroughly wide-awake person 
 could contrive. 
 
 To-day, as it turned out, she was not to be left 
 long undisturbed. Laurence Cheyne had followed 
 her from the drawing-room. She had barely seated 
 herself at the table before he opened the door and 
 came in. 
 
 She kept her eyes on the tradesmen's books. She 
 knew who it was without looking up. It occurred 
 to her that one sometimes vituperated the world, 
 and its callousness, and its discordance, very un- 
 justly. 
 
 Laurence took a chair near her and folded his 
 arms on the table. 
 
 "Bay, I want you to tell me something about 
 your friend Mrs. Elwes." 
 
 The blood in Bay's veins flushed over her cheeks. 
 Involuntarily she clenched her teeth on her lip. 
 She wanted to shout. Why had he sought her in 
 this way? Why had he come quietly to her side 
 to ask her that? 
 
 "Something about her personal history and cir- 
 cumstances?" proceeded Laurence, as he received 
 no reply. "You brought her here a stranger, and 
 we are all uncommonly grateful to you, but one 
 hardly feels to know her." 
 
 Bay ticked off several items in the butcher's 
 124
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 book, checking them with the kitchen account. At 
 last she looked up, vivid scorn in her face. 
 
 "What is that to you?" she said fiercely. 
 
 He was slightly abashed. "I suppose a man is 
 naturally interested in his guests," he replied. 
 "What a firebrand you are! I don't mean to be 
 impertinent." 
 
 "I brought her here for Frank," declared Bay, 
 "and I told him so not for you." 
 
 "So you have apportioned us all off," said 
 Laurence, smiling. "And whom have you allotted 
 to me?" 
 
 He looked straight into her eyes. Her courage 
 wavered. 
 
 In an instant she had gripped herself. 
 
 "You!" she cried. "You are an old bachelor. 
 You don't count. You must be thankful if a 
 woman is kind enough to recognise your existence." 
 
 He laughed good-naturedly. "You are invalu- 
 able, Bay," he said. "There is no excuse for any- 
 one becoming complacent who has the unique ad- 
 vantage of your friendship." 
 
 Bay returned to her books. "Six pounds six 
 pounds what on earth did we have six pounds of 
 on the fifteenth? All these fiendish tradesmen, 
 without exception, write illegibly. I suppose they 
 do it on purpose to prevent their accounts being 
 checked." 
 
 125
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Cheyne took the book. "Nobody could read 
 this," he said. "Make a note at the bottom, 
 'Kindly write plainly/ and send it back. No, no 
 pay it pay it and have done with it. You have 
 bother enough in looking after us without quarrels 
 with the tradespeople. Poor beggars, they have 
 their living to make, and I daresay some of them 
 have a struggle." 
 
 "They do their best to rob you," said Bay. 
 
 "Let them. If you can keep us fed at all a 
 household of this size in the country you will 
 have done your duty nobly and more. I am afraid 
 one is always rather inclined to take these sorts of 
 things too much as a matter of course. I know it 
 means a lot of trouble and thought, and so does 
 Frank. The whole thing would have been a pal- 
 pable frost but for you and your contribution to the 
 general gaiety in the shape of Mrs. Elwes and the 
 twins. You have helped us through gamely, and 
 I hope you will let us recognise it in some form or 
 other." 
 
 Bay deprecated this intention with a little smile 
 whose vague forbearance was enigmatical to him. 
 She made a few aimless pencil dots in the butcher's 
 book. 
 
 "What do you want me to tell you about my 
 friend Mrs. Elwes?" she said suddenly. 
 
 126
 
 CYNTHIA IN 'THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "What sort of a man is her husband? Why 
 hasn't he been asked here?" 
 
 She laughed at him. "A noble creature," she 
 replied, "a splendid, generous, unselfish, long-suf- 
 fering hero. He immolates himself on the altar of 
 her whims. He labours for her without ceasing, 
 and she squanders his substance in frivolity and 
 clothes." 
 
 Laurence had flushed a little under his bronzed 
 skin. 
 
 "I don't believe you," he said calmly. 
 
 Bay had seen the flush. Already it seemed 
 already nothing must be said against Cynthia. 
 
 "Of course you don't. We believe what we 
 wish." 
 
 He looked at her earnestly. "Tell me the truth, 
 Bay." 
 
 She bit her lip. "Her husband," she said firmly, 
 *'is a drunkard, a waster, and a fool." 
 
 "That clears the air," said Laurence. 
 
 Bay bent over the table, her eyes burning. "I 
 don't know what you may have in your mind about 
 Cynthia ; I don't want to know. But, whatever it 
 may be I make you a present of this information 
 as a further proof of my invaluable friendship 
 whatever it may be, you will be justified utterly and 
 eternally. Only, for my part," she hissed at him, 
 
 127
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "if you try to make love to her, I hope she will 
 spurn you, I hope she will trample on you." 
 
 "Very evidently I am in your bad books to- 
 day," said Laurence. "Wherein have I offended?" 
 
 He spoke lightly, but there was an under-quality 
 of slight reproach in his tone and in the look he 
 directed upon her. She had whipped him to a 
 point when the sting of injustice was just felt. 
 
 "Don't be appallingly dense," she cried. Once 
 more she dropped her eyes. Then she lifted them 
 again with a flash: "Can't you see I am baiting 
 you?" 
 
 "Well, rather," said Laurence. "But you look 
 decidedly fierce at times, Bay. I don't think you 
 know how much realism you can put into an 
 expression." 
 
 "Is there no one in the world," said Bay, re- 
 signedly, "who can be trusted beyond the limits of 
 trite drawing-room hypocrisy? Not even you? 
 Do you force me to explain oh, the ignominy of 
 it I oh, the bathos! that only someone whom I 
 genuinely like and respect would I trouble to in- 
 sult." 
 
 "I am a dunderhead," said Laurence. "But re- 
 instate me among the privileged. Shake hands 
 on it." 
 
 He held out his open palm. After hesitating, 
 Bay placed her small, white hand in it. 
 
 128
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "You are trembling," he said. 
 
 She withdrew her hand sharply and got up. 
 "Drivelling remark number one in the new dispen- 
 sation." She went to the door. "I must go and 
 dress." 
 
 It occurred to him that she would immediately 
 see Cynthia. "Of course, we have been talking in 
 the confessional," he said. 
 
 She gave him a look, partly reproachful, more 
 contemptuous, and went out of the room without 
 speaking. 
 
 129
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE Scottish Sabbath is universally admitted to 
 be the most perfect provocative of melancholy 
 which has yet been discovered. Even Tannadice 
 far removed though it be from the large haunts 
 of men came under the shadow of the national 
 gloom. The keepers and fisherfolk, the small farm- 
 ers of the neighborhood, with their womenfolk, 
 paraded lugubriously in their blacks. The barest 
 necessities of life were permitted to aliens and 
 others the barest necessities and no more. 
 
 Mrs. Hibbert was the only member of the house- 
 party who was able to adapt herself with any suc- 
 cess to the local conditions. She came down in a 
 gown of appreciably more elaborate workmanship 
 than those she wore on common days, even at- 
 tended the small kirk in the hollow by the loch, 
 and returned in the freshest of spirits, glowing 
 with effervescent good-fellowship. 
 
 "It does one good to see people so e?rnest and 
 devout in their worship," she declared. "I am 
 
 130
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 sure there are many churches in England which 
 could take a lesson from it." 
 
 Mr. Hibbert, excellent man, had accompanied 
 her. 
 
 The rest of the party had dribbled into the gar- 
 den after breakfast, with the initial intention of 
 dealing with the day logically, as essentially the 
 tsame as other days, and had begun illogically by 
 paying some attention to the Badminton net, 
 which was not on other days an object of regard. 
 Finally they had elected to forego the fascinations 
 of battledore and shuttlecock out of consideration 
 for the servants' feelings, and had spent the morn- 
 ing in desultory chatter or in clearing off arrears 
 of correspondence. Four peculiarly intrepid ones 
 had drawn the drawing-room curtains and played 
 bridge. 
 
 They all considered themselves weak in declin- 
 ing to play Badminton, in declining to practise ap- 
 proach shots with a golf club on the open ground 
 near the loch, in declining to shoot, even; but, in 
 truth, the local folk were so good-hearted and 
 kindly a body that it would have been hideous 
 work to wound them in the tenderest of their sus- 
 ceptibilities. It was not merely their own scrupu- 
 lous and sincere observance of a regime they be- 
 lieved to be essential to their immediate and final 
 welfare, which induced respect of their sentiments :
 
 it was their simple, implicit assumption that the 
 attitude of everyone else must of necessity be the 
 same. 
 
 No one but a hardened worldling could fail to 
 feel for these primitive folk. It is the position of 
 the intellectual Sabbatarian which is the enigma. 
 The duty resting upon employers of labour to pro- 
 vide their work-people at least a day's rest in seven 
 is manifest to all; but it is difficult to follow the 
 process of a mind which can apparently genuinely 
 believe that an action intrinsically right can be 
 made wrong by the movement of the clock. 
 
 Cynthia had now been more than a fortnight at 
 Tannadice. Even in the week which had elapsed 
 since her walk on the moor a considerable volume 
 of water had run down the stream to the loch. 
 Laurence no longer told his shaving-glass that he 
 must be on guard against his guest. He looked 
 back upon the time when he could harbour so cal- 
 lous and vulgar a view of the other sex as into an 
 unworthy past a past before he had known 
 Cynthia, before he had discovered that woman, in 
 her dealings with mankind, was not necessarily 
 seeking either material ends or fuel for her vanity. 
 Woman, in short, was entitled to the benefit of the 
 doubt, until her own mouth or her own acts con- 
 victed her. 
 
 So much had Cynthia done, so much had 
 132
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Cynthia effected in the outlook of a man believed 
 to have relegated women to the corner with his 
 dancing pumps and his French novels, as pleasant 
 trifles to be played with in an idle hour. As for 
 Cynthia herself, the happy expansion, the sunny 
 delight of her present life, was dimmed only by 
 the creeping shadow of its inevitable end. At times 
 she almost feared to let her spirits run to their 
 limit, lest the reaction, when it came, should be 
 intolerable. At other times and this was her 
 more common mental attitude she elected to slip 
 thought, to slip care, to slip remembrance, to slip 
 everything but the delicious present, and to take 
 long, grateful draughts of immediate good while 
 she might. From which it may be reasonable to 
 conjecture whether she was aware of it herself or 
 not that there was a quality in her joy for which 
 neither the new environment, nor the moor air, 
 nor the gaiety and irresponsibility of the house- 
 party could be held accountable. 
 
 She heard from Harvey every other day. His 
 letters, which were always written on Golf Club 
 paper, consistently began with an apology for haste 
 and brevity, and expressed his concern for her in 
 language chosen amid distracting interruptions. 
 ("Hurry up with that letter, old bhoy.") He 
 went on to tell her of the remarkable round he 
 would have played the previous day but for care- 
 
 133
 
 less putting and indifferent luck at two holes. He 
 informed her, also, of his continued success at 
 bridge and recorded his sympathy with Stillwell. 
 Sprinkled among these items of intelligence there 
 was general some evidence of the agitation of spirit 
 which the first mention of the Tannadice visit had 
 provoked. He reminded her repeatedly of his 
 original feeling that it would have been better not 
 to separate, particularly for her. He knew how 
 reckless she was, and entreated her not to go out 
 in the evening insufficiently wrapped up nor to sit 
 in damp clothes. He had inquired more than once 
 if the Cheynes were married and if they were "nice 
 sort of men." The exact composition of the rest 
 of the household also interested him, more espe- 
 cially the ages and dispositions of the masculine 
 members. If she were ever subjected to the least 
 annoyance, if there were the smallest presumption, 
 a wire would bring him to her side. His own con- 
 venience was of no account. Cynthia's replies were 
 not long and they were not effusive. Still she re- 
 plied; and to that extent his soul was appeased. 
 
 The morning of the Scottish Sabbath may with 
 determination be worn through without acute 
 ennui: it is in the afternoon that the pinch comes. 
 It is the same again ; no interruption of monotony, 
 no change of ill the same again. About three 
 o'clock Laurence Cheyne was sitting in the garden 
 
 134
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 amusing the twins, when he remembered that the 
 dreary morning had decided him come what 
 might to go down to the stream in the afternoon 
 and throw a fly. The fact that he had just seen 
 the flutter of a skirt among the trees where the 
 path descended held out a pleasant promise of com- 
 pany. He was not prepared to admit that it had 
 any bearing on his purpose, except to remind him 
 of it. He entered the house by the French window 
 of the dining-room, procured his rod and fly-hook 
 without noise, and picked his way gingerly down 
 the path, in imminent dread of being seen by 
 Donald. 
 
 The wood which surrounded the house and al- 
 most covered the base of the valley had been 
 cleared for a few acres at the point where the path 
 emerged, leaving a grassy glade, through which 
 the burn ran. Before Laurence came out from the 
 trees he saw Cynthia standing on a foot-bridge 
 which spanned the stream. She was looking idly 
 into the water. The sleeves of the white lawn 
 shirt she was wearing fluttered very lightly. He 
 had noticed at lunch that the stock-tie knotted in 
 a bow round her neck was of precisely the same 
 shade as her belt, and it had struck him as a taste- 
 ful thought and becoming in effect. It was not the 
 first time he had seen this particular harmony in a 
 woman's dress, but he thought it was. 
 
 135
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Cynthia turned away without seeing him, took 
 up her skirts to descend from the foot-bridge, and 
 walked slowly down and along the further side of 
 the stream. She had a book in her hand. Cheyne 
 crossed the bridge and followed her. Presently 
 she came to a large wired enclosure, where 
 pheasants were nursed. She stopped and looked 
 through the netting. There were no pheasants 
 there now: they had gone to the wood; soon they 
 would go to the larder. Laurence, in conjunction 
 with Frank, bought these pheasants, reared them, 
 shot them. He did it with a sort of contempt for 
 himself and for his species. 
 
 Between the wire fence and the stream there was 
 a narrow path. Just now it could be traversed 
 dry-shod with a little care: when the burn was in 
 spate it was impassable. Cynthia had walked about 
 half-way along it when Laurence overtook her. 
 She turned sharply at the sound of his footstep. 
 He put out a hand to save her from slipping into 
 the water. For a moment she was close to him, 
 touching him, almost in his arms. 
 
 "I came down here to escape from the Sabbath," 
 she said lightly, with a slight catch in her breath, 
 which might have been the result of the start or 
 might not. 
 
 Laurence dropped his arm, but it came back to 
 136
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 his side by an appreciable effort of will, with the 
 muscles tense. 
 
 "We are on the same errand," he replied. "Sup- 
 pose we escape a little further go up to the moor, 
 say?" 
 
 "Willingly," said Cynthia. "Which way?" 
 
 "Keep on till you come to the end of the fence, 
 then turn up through the wood." 
 
 They walked in single file along the path, 
 Cynthia leading. 
 
 "But you were going to fish?" she said, when 
 they had cleared the wire, seeing his rod. 
 
 "Clandestinely and fearfully," replied Laurence, 
 with a laugh. "I would rather go to the moor." 
 
 "Really?" There was a ring of slight challenge, 
 slight triumph, in the interrogatory, and the same 
 quality in her upward look. 
 
 "Really." 
 
 He met her eyes deeply, and Cynthia's gave 
 way. 
 
 "Come along, then," she cried, springing away 
 with a gay laugh. "This is delightful." 
 
 "Look out for the boggy places," he called after 
 her. "Wait for me." 
 
 He deposited his rod by the fence, threw his 
 reel and his fly-book beside it, and followed her. 
 They plunged into the wood and struck up a nar- 
 row drive cleared for pheasant-shooting. At inter- 
 
 137
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 vals white stakes were driven into the ground to 
 indicate the stations of the guns. Finally they 
 emerged upon the lower edge of the moor. 
 
 They climbed a few yards higher, until they 
 could see over the trees, and then sat down to rest. 
 Below them slept the wooded valley. All the quiet 
 life of the little colony lay on the further side of 
 it, out of earshot, where the thin white road curved 
 along its slope, past the upper grounds of the lodge 
 (only its red roof was visible through the trees), 
 past Donald's new cottage (they could see the dogs 
 lying idly in their yards), past the low, rambling 
 inn, past the kirk, past the few scattered home- 
 steads, down to the loch. They were alone. 
 
 "Did you choose this place for its beauty or for 
 the grouse?" said Cynthia, gazing at the view be- 
 fore her, her elbows on her knees, her chin on her 
 clasped hands. 
 
 "May I smoke?" said Cheyne, feeling in his 
 pocket. 
 
 "That is not in the Tannadice code." 
 
 "To smoke?" 
 
 "No, to ask." 
 
 "May I behave politely this afternoon, to show 
 that it is possible? I am rather anxious to prove 
 to you that uncouthness is not ingrained." 
 
 "I shall not think that. But if you break the 
 138
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 rules of informality I skall be annoyed. You 
 haven't answered my question." 
 
 "The answer is any reasonable odds on the 
 grouse," said Cheyne; "but I can't speak certainly, 
 because I had nothing to do with the choice of the 
 shoot. This is the second year the family has been 
 represented here. Last year Frank had it alone." 
 
 "Where were you?" 
 
 "In Brazil." 
 
 There was a short silence. Then Cynthia said : 
 "You were some time there?" 
 
 "Three years." 
 
 Another pause. 
 
 "Shall you go again?" 
 
 "Not there necessarily, but probably somewhere, 
 when I'm-tired of loafing." 
 
 "How stupid of you!" The comment broke 
 from her lips almost without intention. "What 
 makes you spend so much time in those absurd 
 places," she added quickly, "when you could live 
 in England?" 
 
 "England is too small," said Cheyne: "you are 
 always coming to the end of it. There is no room 
 in it for expansion or enterprise. It's a kitchen 
 garden, and, like most kitchen gardens, it supplies 
 about a fiftieth part of the needs of the people who 
 own it." 
 
 "Still you like it? You are proud of it?" 
 
 139
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Laurence, "I am a thorough 
 patriot. To be a Briton is a grand birthright. I 
 would renounce every ambition rather than that 
 privilege. But it doesn't suit me as an abiding- 
 place. When I have been at home six months or 
 so I feel the necessity to be moving to be doing. 
 I suppose I was born with the roving spirit." 
 
 "Perhaps " Cynthia stopped herself. "Do 
 
 you mind if I say something? Will you think me 
 impertinent?" 
 
 "Very much otherwise." 
 
 "Why haven't you married?" 
 
 "Do you blame me?" 
 
 He sprung the question upon her unexpectedly 
 and pointedly. She flushed and dropped her eyes. 
 
 "Have you found it to be a Paradise you can 
 conscientiously recommend?" 
 
 He spoke jestingly, with a laugh in his voice. 
 Her downcast face twitched and her bosom moved. 
 
 "Forgive me." He got up and offered her his 
 hand. "Let us go on a bit." 
 
 "I spoke without thought," he said, when they 
 had walked a few yards. "One gets into the habit 
 of chaffing on that subject an outsider such as I 
 am and usually married folk are quite willing to 
 assist in throwing brick-bats at one another. That 
 is, I suppose, because because " 
 
 "Because it is really all right," said Cynthia. 
 140
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 She uttered the words without looking up. 
 
 Laurence lowered his tone. "May I say that 
 I am sorry it is not always so ? That it is not so 
 I fear with you?" 
 
 Cynthia still walked with her eyes bent upon 
 the ground. After an interval she replied quietly: 
 "Yes, you may say that you. There is no mys- 
 tery. I have only myself to blame. I closed the 
 
 gates of Eden with my own hands when " She 
 
 hesitated. 
 
 "When you signed the marriage register?" 
 
 She said nothing. They went on some distance 
 in silence the beating silence that feels itself the 
 prelude of momentous words. They came to a 
 patch of heather and mechanically followed a nar- 
 row sheep track that curled through it, walking in 
 single file. Laurence was in front. 
 
 Suddenly he turned and faced her. She tried 
 to meet his glance with one of commonplace in- 
 quiry. But her eyes faltered and drooped. He 
 put out his hands and took hers. She surrendered 
 them passively. 
 
 "Do you think there could be other gates of 
 other Edens?" 
 
 She made no reply. Slowly the warm blood 
 came into her cheeks, coloured them, flooded 
 them. 
 
 141
 
 He drew her towards him. 
 "Cynthia, I love you." 
 And she yielded him her lips. 
 
 142
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 IT was very silent in the house the breathless 
 silence of summer night. Cynthia wondered if she 
 would ever sleep ever. Around her the whole 
 house slept not as an aggregation of individuals, 
 it seemed to her, but as a composite whole, expand- 
 ing and contracting rhythmically. She turned 
 again. The night-light, intercepted by some orna- 
 ment, cast an indented shadow across the ceiling. 
 Each curve and angle of it was stamped upon her 
 brain. . . . Was Laurence sleeping? 
 
 An indefinable feeling went through her, as if 
 the surrounding slumber very slightly had been 
 broken, as if the heavy sleeper had stirred. Then 
 the door of her room was opened softly, and, a 
 moment later, softly closed. 
 
 She did not move ; she did not turn to see. She 
 lay quite still curled up, with her face to the win- 
 dow. Fearful joy quivered and beat through every 
 nerve and every vein. 
 
 Suddenly she drew the bed-clothes closer about 
 her. 
 
 "You knew that I should come," said 
 Laurence. 
 
 H3
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE night-light was burning low. Laurence 
 had dressed by its glimmer. He paused suddenly, 
 with his hands on the upturned collar of his flannel 
 coat. A thump upon the floor of the adjoining 
 room had been plainly audible, and it was followed 
 by the sound of light slippered feet moving quickly 
 to and fro. 
 
 "Bay must be awake," he said. 
 
 He had barely spoken when the communicating- 
 door was flung open and she stood in the aperture, 
 wrapped in white, righteous and wrathful, like an 
 avenging angel. 
 
 "Go, Laurence ! before I slay you." 
 
 Her teeth closed on the words; her two hands 
 were fiercely clenched. 
 
 "I am not joking," she said determinedly; "just 
 now I could kill you with pleasure." 
 
 "You should have been asleep," said Laurence. 
 He had no serious doubt that she was to be trusted, 
 but there was so much at stake that he was a little 
 nervous. 
 
 144
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Asleep! Asleep I" Bay echoed the word with 
 ironical emphasis. "Do you suppose me to be a 
 dormouse ? Of course I haven't slept one solitary 
 wink all night. A sphinx on a pedestal couldn't 
 sleep through such sounds as you have been mak- 
 ing. No, I won't kill you," she went on, with a 
 slight change of tone: "I'll give you a punishment 
 worse than death. When I marry again as I in- 
 tend to I'll chain you in the next room and keep 
 you there for the whole of the honeymoon." 
 
 "Bay, you are splendid!" He took a step to- 
 wards her. 
 
 "You dare!" She faced him like a tigress. 
 
 "I daren't," said Laurence, meekly. "Still, we 
 are cousins." He became very lowly. "At least 
 your hand?" 
 
 She raised it and pointed to the door. "Go !" 
 she said again. ' "Slink away!" 
 
 "If ever," said Laurence, "anyone should take 
 it into his head to disparage you, Bay, I hope, for 
 his sake, it will not be in my presence, because I 
 am bigger than most men." 
 
 Upon which he opened the door not too soon, 
 for there was already a sound of movement in the 
 servants' quarters and left the two women 
 alone. 
 
 There was a short silence. Bay did not move. 
 She kept her eyes fixed upon the door with a sober 
 
 145
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 stare. Cynthia looked at her from the pillows, a 
 little shyly. She had expected she would rush at 
 her when the door closed, and this blank made her 
 feel embarrassed and vaguely unhappy. 
 
 "It is lucky it is someone you can trust," said 
 Bay, at length, without turning her head. 
 
 "It is not luck," said Cynthia. "It was sure, 
 certain knowledge, dear. I knew you were in the 
 next room, perhaps awake, and that I could trust 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, you can trust me. That's nothing. But 
 you can trust him. It's easy to talk in heroics, but 
 if it came to a question of dying or betraying you, 
 he would die." 
 
 There was a ring in her voice, a strong, confi- 
 dent vibration, which caused Cynthia to scan her 
 a little curiously. It was alien to a nature which 
 not only was usually undemonstrative, but which 
 delighted to hide its real depth and capacity of 
 feeling beneath a thin covering of asperity. 
 
 "Come into bed," said Cynthia, suddenly; "you 
 are cold." 
 
 Bay threw off her wrap and snuggled her small 
 form into the warm place she found beside 
 Cynthia. She buried her face in the hole in the 
 pillow ; she put her arms beneath it and pressed it 
 up to her. For a while she lay quite still, and then 
 a tremor shivered through her. 
 
 146
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Bay, what's the matter?" There was a note 
 of quick anxiety in Cynthia's voice. 
 
 Bay turned round. "Don't be quite a goat, 
 Cynthia. I am cold. I have been standing for a 
 quarter of an hour with very little on." 
 
 "Come closer to me. Quite close. Bay, I am 
 so happy." The joy that was glowing through her 
 could no longer be kept in. 
 
 "That is superfluous information," said Bay, 
 pungently. 
 
 "It was mean of you to listen." Cynthia hid 
 her face. 
 
 "I did not listen. You forgot the door." 
 
 "No, I didn't. I have thought of the door for 
 for " 
 
 "For how long?" 
 
 "For nearly a week," said Cynthia, with rosy 
 bravado. 
 
 She caught her friend's hand and pressed it to 
 her cheeks, blushing and laughing in ebullient hap- 
 piness. 
 
 She brought her glowing face close to Bay's and 
 spoke in quick, intense undertones: "Bay, I have 
 been in Eden just inside, just for a few hours 
 only long enough to know what all the lucky people 
 find there who live there always. Ohly for a few 
 hours, Bay, but I've been there, and now I don't 
 
 147
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 mind if I die. I couldn't have died before. But 
 now," she cried, 
 
 -let come what may, 
 
 What matter if I go mad, 
 I shall have had my day.' " 
 
 Bay averted her face from her friend's vivid 
 gaze. She laid her cheek close on the pillow. And 
 once again a slight shiver went through her. 
 
 "There must be something the matter," said 
 Cynthia, viewing her with renewed concern. This 
 persistent cold douche from one whom she had ex- 
 pected to rejoice with her was perplexing and de- 
 jecting. "You are so strange. Aren't you glad, 
 for my sake ? It would take away half my happi- 
 ness if I thought you were not. You know what 
 a hollow, miserable mockery my marriage has been. 
 Do you think I have done wrong?" 
 
 "Wrong? Oh, no," said Bay, with a slight 
 touch of bitterness, still with her face in the pillow. 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "Goat!" Bay turned on her suddenly. "Do 
 you suppose a woman is so very keen to hear about 
 things she is shut off from herself?" 
 
 "You are jealous ! You dear, you are jealous," 
 cried Cynthia. "Oh, don't grudge me my little 
 glimpse of Eden," she went on, with soft urgency. 
 
 148
 
 "You are much better off you are not shackled 
 to an incubus you have all the world to choose 
 from and, when you have chosen, you can live 
 there perpetually." 
 
 "When I have chosen !" said Bay. "Happiness 
 has unbalanced you, Cynthia : you are usually sane. 
 That is a common phrase and a foolish one. It 
 suggests that one picks a husband as one would pick 
 a hunter, by examining the points of a string of 
 them." 
 
 "A clever woman can," insisted Cynthia; "and 
 you are a clever woman." 
 
 "Am I ?" said Bay. "I doubt it." 
 
 "It is unkind of you to be so cynical," said 
 Cynthia, reproachfully. "You are such a sweet, 
 sympathetic old dear, as a rule. Whatever hap- 
 pens, nothing can take the past from you. You can 
 never have that utterly desolate feeling that you 
 may die without having lived. You have been 
 happily married for a time. However short it 
 was, you can always say to yourself that you have 
 'had your day.' But I never had a day never in 
 my life before." 
 
 Bay leaned a little towards her and put out her 
 hand. "Yes, I ought not to be greedy," she said, 
 in a changed tone. "But wasn't there a 'day' even 
 at first?" 
 
 "I might have thought so, in ignorance. What 
 149
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 don't silly women think? No, no I never thought 
 so. I knew always I was the best crockery al- 
 most too fragile to touch." 
 
 "If you didn't, you would know now." Bay 
 gave vent to a little dry laugh. "You were not the 
 best crockery last night." 
 
 "I shall pad the door in future," said Cynthia. 
 
 "You won't need to," said Bay. "I shall sleep 
 in another room." 
 
 Cynthia laughed joyously. "I don't care," she 
 cried, in a sudden burst of emotion. "You can be 
 as cynical and caustic and Bayish as you like. I 
 don't care what you say; I don't care what you 
 think. He will come again yes, every night while 
 I am here. Of course, I know most people would 
 think it was horribly sinful : they would say I ought 
 not to let him; they would say much worse than 
 that." She put her arms about Bay andclutched 
 her in a storm of excitement. "But I'm going to 
 going to going to!" 
 
 She sat up in bed. The light was now glimmer- 
 ing through the window. Animation had flushed 
 her her dark hair streamed over her shoulders 
 lovely beyond quibble. Bay looked at her with un- 
 grudging admiration. 
 
 "I owe it all to you, dear," Cynthia went on, 
 gazing raptly at the growing light. "I said, show 
 
 150
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 me a man to love, and I would love him. You 
 showed him me, and I love him I love him." 
 
 She did not turn when she had spoken. She sat 
 without moving, looking still at the window. The 
 light in her eyes, shining with a child's pure, radi- 
 ant happiness in her new-found joy, after her 
 stunted and blighted years, touched the generous 
 springs of sympathy and selflessness that lay deep 
 within Bay. Her love for her friend overcame 
 every other feeling. She sat up beside her and 
 wrapped her in her arms. 
 
 "Cynthia, darling, I am glad you are happy."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 A GOLDEN moon in its first quarter was setting 
 over the loch. The pale yellow light, running in a 
 rippled line across the water from the background 
 of black mountain, made a scene inspiring in its 
 quiet beauty. Laurence and Cynthia saw it from 
 the moor. But they barely noticed it: they were 
 engrossed with one another. It was Cynthia's last 
 evening at Tannadice. After dinner they had con- 
 trived to escape from the rest of the party, who 
 were going down to the mouth of the burn to plash 
 for sea-trout, and had crossed the road and climbed 
 to the top of that part of the moor where the old 
 road runs over to the neighbouring village of 
 Bridges little used since the owner made the new 
 macadam highway by the coast. 
 
 They walked slowly down the grass-grown 
 track, talking earnestly. Laurence's hands were 
 clasped behind him. On? of Cynthia's arms was 
 slipped through his; the other hand held up the 
 skirt of her evening gown. 
 
 "Then I am afraid," he was saying, "that it 
 152
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 would have been happier for you if we had never 
 met." 
 
 Cynthia stopped and looked steadily up into his 
 face in the faint light. "I wouldn't not have met 
 you," she said slowly, "I wouldn't not have known 
 you, I wouldn't not have loved you for all the 
 world." 
 
 "And yet you are flying from me. In spite of 
 every argument and every entreaty I can bring to 
 bear on you, you are going back to the life you 
 came from." 
 
 "I can't make you understand," said Cynthia. 
 "Even the memory of these few weeks, the knowl- 
 edge that I have loved you and that you have loved 
 me, will make me more content and better able to 
 face life. I can never be quite unhappy again." 
 
 He took her hands. "Cynthia, I ask you to give 
 me your life, all your life, from now onward; to 
 trust it to me?" 
 
 "Oh, you know how I want to I Don't make me 
 fight it out again with you : I am worn out with the 
 fight with myself." 
 
 "Are you afraid I should fail you?" 
 
 "No, no." 
 
 "Do you think it would be a sin?" 
 
 "No," said Cynthia, steadily. "I am not fright- 
 ened of God He is just but I am frightened of 
 the world." 
 
 153
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "I will protect you from the world." 
 
 "You cannot," said Cynthia; "not even you. No 
 man ever has been, nor ever will be, able to protect 
 a woman from the world. As yet we have come 
 before no other tribunal than our own consciences, 
 and those exculpate us. But to go away with you 
 and live with you openly and avowedly would shut 
 me off from the world and from myself. It would 
 make me for ever a woman of reproach. You 
 can't say it wouldn't, Laurence. You know it as 
 well as I." 
 
 "He would divorce you." 
 
 "I don't know he is mean and little. And, if 
 he did, it wouldn't altogether remove the reproach. 
 The world doesn't forgive those who offend 
 against its institutions, whatever they may do to 
 propitiate it. It won't allow them to make amends. 
 That which we have done is the only sin the only 
 unforgivable, unforgetable offence. Everything 
 else can be lived down, will be soon annulled. The 
 world has a short memory for other things. 
 Thieves, swindlers, gamblers, virtual murderers it 
 quickly takes to its heart again. But for a breach 
 of what is called the 'moral law' there is no ob- 
 livion ever." 
 
 Laurence drew her towards him forcefully. He 
 bent his head and looked deep into her eyes. His 
 
 154
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 face had set in lines of steady purpose and con- 
 trolled passion. 
 
 "Leave the world to wallow in its sty," he said. 
 "Be true to yourself. Live your life strongly and 
 completely not a cramped, stunted, miserable 
 travesty of life. There is no future for me without 
 you ; I cannot let you go." 
 
 She lowered her face to escape his gaze; but he 
 put his hand on her head and bent it back, forcing 
 her to look at him. 
 
 "We will buy a villa in Italy or the Riviera 
 somewhere overlooking the sea and live there 
 you and I." 
 
 "Don't, dearest, don't." 
 
 She felt throbbing in her veins the blood of 
 every woman who had lived since Eve. 
 
 "You would like it?" 
 
 "Oh, I long I long." 
 
 He took her hands again and gripped them with 
 such force that she could have cried out with pain. 
 "Come with me." 
 
 She turned up to him eyes which shone with 
 mute appeal ; but beneath it, through it, above it, 
 in it, there was love infinite, all-absorbing such 
 love as has turned men mad and driven them 
 through blood to their mistresses. 
 
 He caught her in his arms, binding her within 
 
 155
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 them. "You shall come: I will not live without 
 you." 
 
 Cynthia laid her head on his shoulder. The 
 struggle was well-nigh beyond her strength. For 
 days she had fought and fought, but never against 
 such determined force as this. She felt she could 
 endure no longer. Her powers of resistance had 
 been weakened by the daily battles with herself 
 and with him. This terrific onslaught, coming at 
 the very last, taxed her reduced resources beyond 
 the limit they were capable of meeting beyond 
 the limit, surely, which could be permitted to be 
 put upon her if she were expected to sustain. And 
 yet she had so hoped to win through. And there 
 was Eric. Her tears wetted his sleeves. His en- 
 circling arms felt deep sobs shake her frame. 
 
 His resolution did not abate. "You will come?" 
 
 She held his arm tight between her hands and 
 pressed her eyes upon it, trying to staunch her 
 tears. "If it were I alone, I would come. I would 
 go through shame, disgrace, obloquy, everything, 
 for you with you." 
 
 "Well ?" His voice was almost harsh. 
 
 "But there is Eric. I cannot leave him; and I 
 cannot shame him." 
 
 "He shall come, too." 
 
 "That would not prevent his knowing. As he 
 gets older, he would hear the world's judgment;
 
 he would see me shunned." She raised her face, 
 glistening with tears, and looked up at him. "I 
 would not have him grow up to despise or even 
 to feel he ought to despise his mother." 
 
 For a time Laurence's strong, peremptory grip 
 did not relax. Then suddenly he loosened her 
 held her still in his arms, but loosened her. It was 
 like the heavy slackening of the muscles of a boat's 
 crew, when they sink over their oars after a hard 
 race in which they have been defeated. 
 
 For he had been defeated. He had put himself 
 to the task of breaking Cynthia's resistance with 
 the steadfast determination to carry his purpose. 
 He genuinely believed that to do so would promote 
 her happiness; and he was vividly conscious that, 
 for his own part, life was no longer of the smallest 
 value without the slender, elusive piece of human- 
 ity that for the moment he held in his arms. Her 
 appeals, while such love stood in her eyes, were of 
 no avail to move him ; even her tears he could have 
 steeled himself to ignore. They would quickly be 
 wiped away, and many more would be saved her, 
 unless he were completely untrue to himself. Those 
 things were powerless to affect his resolution. But 
 this last argument he was not proof against. He 
 did not believe it possible that Eric would grow 
 up to despise her; but he believed it very possible 
 that she might grow to suspect it, to imagine it, to 
 
 157
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 raise it as a permanent bogey athwart her happi- 
 ness; that it might come eventually to sap the foun- 
 dations of spontaneity and confidence between 
 mother and son. 
 
 He bent his head and kissed her. "I shall not 
 press you any more," he said. 
 
 She wound her arms round his neck. For a while 
 she did not speak. "You are strong enough to 
 yield," she whispered, her lips on his. "I can't 
 speak what I feel: I feel too much. Dearest, we 
 have enjoyed for one another, and now we must 
 suffer for one another, but even the suffering will 
 be joy, because our common heart-ache will be the 
 link that binds us." 
 
 They walked on slowly along the grass-grown 
 road. On one side of them the hill sloped sharply 
 down to the loch; on the other the moor swept 
 away into the gathering mists. Clumps of 
 heather at a short distance loomed like bushes. The 
 time was approaching when they would have to 
 descend to the house. 
 
 "I may come and see you whenever I am in 
 London?" said Laurence, presently. 
 
 Cynthia did not reply for a few seconds. "We 
 have gained so much and at such cost," she said 
 then. "Is it worth risking everything for an oc- 
 casional meeting? We could not meet as strangers, 
 nor even as ordinary acquaintances. And at every 
 
 158
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 parting we should have the same battle to go 
 through again, and we might not always win it." 
 
 "At least I can write?" said Lawrence. 
 
 She laid a hand on each of his shoulders and 
 looked up into his face. "What could we say that 
 we shall not always know without words, that we 
 could either of us ever doubt? Nothing can shake 
 my love for you, nothing can touch my love for 
 you ; it will continue unchanging, without break or 
 lull, to the end of my life. To write and tell you 
 of it would not affect it ; it could not strengthen it. 
 My love" her voice broke a little "My love, 
 you must not write." 
 
 He covered her hands with his own as they 
 rested on his shoulders. "Oh, but I must," he said. 
 
 "Well Laurence, we are very foolish." 
 
 "Well? Go on." 
 
 "Once." 
 
 "That is a very solitary word in a lifetime, 
 Cynthia." 
 
 "Once a year." 
 
 There were voices in the road below a sound 
 of feet moving quickly light laughter. A lantern 
 flashed. 
 
 "They are coming back from the plash," said 
 Laurence. "We must go down." 
 
 She clung to him. It seemed to her now that 
 she could not let him go. If he had appealed to 
 
 159
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Her again to give her life to him she would have 
 yielded helplessly. Her strength was all gone. It 
 was Laurence's turn to hold the helm against 
 the tide. For a long minute he pressed her close in 
 his arms, while their lips met. Then, without 
 speaking again, he led her gently down the slope 
 till they came to the road. 
 
 The plashing party were just approaching. "Any 
 luck?" he called to them. 
 
 "Ten," cried Patty, gaily, giving voice to the 
 word a half second before the rest, "and a good 
 size. It was quite safe, Mr. Cheyne. You could 
 have come without getting your feet wet." 
 
 She was clinging to Frank's arm, and made a 
 clutch at the fish-basket he carried on the other 
 side, to exhibit its contents. 
 
 "What do you think of plashing as a pastime, 
 Nugent?" said Laurence, looking into the basket 
 by the light of the lantern. 
 
 "It helps the larder," said Nugent, equivocally. 
 
 "Not your idea of sport?" 
 
 He smiled with kindly satire. "Poor beggars !" 
 was all he said. 
 
 "It is far less cruel than playing them with a 
 rod and line," said Mrs. Hibbert, breathlessly. 
 [(They had walked fast up the hill.) "I'm sure 
 I should think so if I were a fish." 
 
 1 60
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "If you were a fish," said Bay, "what you would 
 think would be unimportant." 
 
 Late that night Cynthia bent over Eric's cot. 
 The night-light shed its faint glow upon them 
 upon her shimmering silk gown and smooth neck 
 and shoulders fell softly on the sleeping child. 
 Eric lay on his side, a light flush of health on his 
 little, round check. He was breathing regularly. 
 A cheap alarum-clock on the mantelpiece ticked 
 loudly. The nurse was asleep. 
 
 Would he grow up to be thoughtful of others? 
 Would he grow up to repay her for the stupendous 
 sacrifice she was making for him? 
 
 She waited a long time. One by one tears fell 
 and dropped on his pillow. He muttered a little 
 in his sleep, and turned, and slept on. 
 
 161
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 TOWARDS the end of September, having brought 
 his holiday at Brancaster to a prosperous conclu- 
 sion or, to be quite accurate, when the other mem- 
 bers of the quartette found it incumbent upon them 
 to resume harness Harvey Elwes duly re-estab- 
 lished himself in Neville Road. This event, as it 
 happened, preceded his wife's return by a few days 
 a circumstance upon which he received the felici- 
 tations of his friends. No intelligent Britisher, 
 obviously, but could appreciate the advantages of 
 two or three days' bachelor freedom in town. In 
 the train, on the way to Liverpool Street, they in- 
 vited themselves to a sort of commemorative din- 
 ner at his house on the following night. 
 
 Harvey did not want them. Sublimely uncon- 
 scious of the beam in his own eye, he felt instinc- 
 tively that their presence would be a desecration of 
 Cynthia's abode; but, fearful of appearing penu- 
 rious, he allowed himself to be convinced of his 
 plain duty. Furthermore, though he accepted their 
 felicitations in the spirit becoming a man who con- 
 
 162
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 trols his own roost, he found little food for private 
 satisfaction in the extension of his bachelor liberty. 
 On the contrary, he felt distinctly concerned by the 
 fact that his wife could make her arrangements to 
 return at leisure, after having been apprised of the 
 date when his company would again become avail- 
 able. This important announcement had been con- 
 veyed by telegram. 
 
 To the uttermost of his capacity he was fond of 
 Cynthia he supposed it to be the absorbing devo- 
 tion of a strong man and he was excessively 
 proud of her. He delighted especially to be seen 
 with her at large gatherings, to observe the admira- 
 tion evoked by his property. It gave him a glow 
 of pleasant satisfaction to see that other men 
 men, perhaps, whose talents had received more 
 general recognition than his own were able only 
 to produce wives with attractions manifestly much 
 inferior to Cynthia's. 
 
 He got into his cab at Liverpool Street, there- 
 fore, without that dancing sense of freedom which' 
 his companions had assumed as the necessary con- 
 sequence of his fortunate case. His holiday had 
 been a pleasant one, but he wanted to be going 
 home to a warm welcome and not to an empty 
 house. He wanted to see the glad joy in Cynthia's 
 face as he stepped once again across the threshold 
 after their long separation. He desired her so- 
 
 163
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 ciety; he had a right to her society. He felt more 
 than ever convinced that the visit to Scotland had 
 been a mistake. His instinct had told him so from 
 the first. The people there would not understand 
 the exquisite delicacy and refinement of Cynthia's 
 nature. They would know nothing of the tender 
 guard and scrupulous consideration to which she 
 had been accustomed. They would treat her, per- 
 haps, as an ordinary woman. He flushed at the 
 thought. He would have felt less uneasy about her 
 environment and the influences surrounding her if 
 her letters had contained more frequent, indeed 
 some, reference to the gap left in her life by his 
 absence. It was unnatural that she should enjoy 
 herself peacefully without him. Moreover, he 
 could not conceal from himself that a wife's place 
 is by her husband's side. 
 
 The Brancaster party had varied in one instance 
 from that originally contemplated. John Jacob's 
 domestic claims had failed to yield to diplomacy, 
 and so his place had been filled by a rather short, 
 firmly built gentleman, with a plump, round face 
 and bushy moustache, whose name was Craven, but 
 who was known familiarly as "the Vet." a sobri- 
 quet which owed its origin partly to his fondness 
 for dogs and partly to the fact that he was a mem- 
 ber of the medical profession. He was remarkable 
 principally for an encyclopaedic knowledge of tech- 
 
 164
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 nical and statistical detail. When a matter was 
 in dispute, a fact in doubt, it was the custom to 
 apply confidently to the Vet. He knew everything, 
 from the rules of golf to the solar parallax. If 
 anyone challenged his accuracy, he was prepared 
 to argue the point at length, with authorities and 
 illustrations, and if his opponent remained still 
 recalcitrant, to bet upon it. He was one of the few 
 of his personal friends whom Harvey had ventured 
 to introduce to Cynthia. He could sit in a draw- 
 ing-room without having the appearance of an ex- 
 otic from the bar; though, to be sure, the natural 
 culture which he had at command had become a 
 little tarnished in e very-day life by the too-frequent 
 companionship of Masters and his school. In the 
 matter of alcohol he could keep going with suffi- 
 cient steadiness to make him a worthy and desirable 
 member of the fraternity, but he did not make a 
 boast of it, nor was it an indispensable condition 
 of his existence. 
 
 It was to him that the idea of the commemora^ 
 tive banquet owed its inception. To this function 
 John Jacob, as one of those contemplated in the 
 original scheme, was bidden by special demand. 
 The dinner passed off with remarkable vivacity, 
 and in the genial calm which succeeded it they all 
 made speeches. The toasts, though not always 
 particularly applicable to the occasion, at least 
 
 165
 
 pointed without ambiguity to the person qualified 
 to reply. 
 
 Masters opened the ball by proposing "The 
 Game of Golf." Golf, he remarked, was a game 
 which called for exceptional skill skill in selecting 
 the precise point between perfect sobriety and acute 
 intoxication when only it could be played with suc- 
 cess. Their esteemed host, he believed, was the 
 only person in the world who was able to do him- 
 self justice under conditions which involved asking 
 his caddy if an object in front were a cow or the 
 flag. He thought he was right in saying that it 
 was in such circumstances that he had holed his 
 record putt of 354 yards the never-to-be-forgot- 
 ten occasion when he had done the last hole in one, 
 of which they had all heard with profound pride. 
 For his own part, he preferred, on the whole, to 
 take matters the other way round. He looked 
 upon golf as an excellent inspirer and incentive of 
 the more serious business of drinking. He had 
 sometimes been asked which was his favourite hole. 
 He had no hesitation in replying that, on all the 
 courses over which he had had the privilege of 
 playing, his favourite hole was the nineteenth. He 
 never missed a putt on the nineteenth green. It 
 was a source of continual amazement and regret 
 to him that courses did not include a QA hole. It 
 was the only serious complaint he had to make 
 
 166
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 against the management of Golf Clubs generally 
 this absence of a small auxiliary bar at the end of 
 the outward half. It appeared to him scandalous 
 to expect the human machine to run for two hours 
 without lubrication. He commended his sugges- 
 tion to his friend Stillwell for consideration at the 
 next committee meeting. On his own private ac- 
 count alone he could promise the new venture, if 
 adopted, sufficient support to ensure a profit. 
 
 Stillwell, as the man with the lowest handicap, 
 cleared his throat and said a few words in reply; 
 quietly recording it as his individual opinion, which 
 he did not unduly press, that golf and alcohol was 
 each very well in its way, but that they did not run 
 smoothly in double harness. After which Masters, 
 suppressing a tendency on the part of the company 
 to revert to general conversation, again rose and 
 proposed "The Medical Profession." He dwelt 
 upon the enormous benefits which humanity as a 
 whole owed to the disinterested efforts of that skil- 
 ful and hard-working body of men. Some people 
 were ungracious enough to complain of their 
 charges. For his own part, he never objected to 
 pay a doctor's fee he thought it was worth it, to 
 get him out of the house. The only thing doctors 
 ever said to him was that he was ruining his con- 
 stitution by the use of intoxicating liquors. He 
 was thankful to see opposite him that evening in 
 
 167
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 the person of Dr. Craven a more clear-sighted, 
 up-to-date, a more generally enlightened member 
 of the profession. He invited the company to 
 drink to the increased power of his elbow. 
 
 The Vet. rose slowly, and after briefly depreca- 
 ting the introduction of shop at a convivial gather- 
 ing, begged to suggest an adjournment for bridge. 
 But Masters was not yet done with. Having moist- 
 ened his throat, he got once again to his feet and 
 gave "Domestic Ties." His friends, he felt sure, 
 would agree with him that the importance of home 
 life to the Commonwealth could hardly be over- 
 estimated. The nation which neglected its home life 
 was on the high road to decay. In this country 
 it had always occupied an outstanding place among 
 our national institutions. It was at once, he might 
 say, the foundation of our prosperity, our buttress 
 and our glory. He rejoiced to think that there was 
 sitting by his side a gentleman who was one of its 
 most conspicuous props. As Britons they all owed 
 him a debt of gratitude. His patriotic fervour had 
 carried him to the point of declining a much-needed 
 holiday among his friends. What Englishman, he 
 asked, could do more? At the same time, it was 
 a pleasure to reflect that his enthusiasm in the 
 cause of state had not led him to overlook other 
 weighty claims upon his attention. No one 
 ever heard John Jacob call "time" before half- 
 
 168
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 past twelve o'clock. It had been his privilege to 
 sample whisky in his company in most of the bars 
 in London, and he had pleasure in testifying that 
 John Jacob had always kept fairly in step. He 
 coupled the toast of "Domestic Ties" with the 
 name of his friend on the right; of whose irrele- 
 vant comments, he might remark, he was the 
 pained auditor. 
 
 John Jacob jumped to his feet with a genial 
 laugh. Masters was having a shy at him he 
 could trust Masters to do that. Well, he had three 
 infants, indisputably, and he was glad of it. They 
 were astonishingly 'cute youngsters. Masters had 
 been married fifteen years without profiting the 
 nation. He looked upon that as a record to be 
 ashamed of. Anyhow, he would propose the health 
 of their generous host, to whom they were all 
 grateful for an uncommonly pleasant evening; and 
 he might add that the port was first-class. 
 
 The third bottle following champagne and 
 liqueurs was now on its rounds. In these circum- 
 stances, Harvey rose with a steadily glazing eye 
 and replied with marked feeling. 
 
 "It's very good of you all," he said. "I'm very 
 glad to see you here. We owe a lot to our friends. 
 A great poet has said that the price of a friend is 
 beyond rubies. I feel its truth. At this moment 
 I feel its truth. Friendship is a blessing in dis 
 
 169
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Friendship is a blessing" (firmly). " 'There is a 
 friend that sticketh closer than a brother.' Looking 
 round me to-night, looking round my table and 
 seeing the familiar faces sitting on my chairs, I can 
 conscientiously endorse the writer of those words. 
 Before we separate no pardon me that is to 
 say, before I conclude there is a pleasant duty 
 which falls to my lot a toast to propose which 
 I am sure you will all honour." He raised his 
 glass with oscillating solemnity: "Gentlemen, the 
 King." 
 
 The loyal toast having been duly drunk, there 
 was further reference to bridge. A general move- 
 ment followed. No one particularly suggested it; 
 a consensus of feeling in favour of locomotion 
 translated itself into action. They lounged into 
 the hall, their cigars still alight, and turned in the 
 direction of the drawing-room. Masters's hand 
 was almost on the knob before Harvey, who was 
 behind, recognised his intention. Instantly he made 
 a dash through them, rather unsteadily, his face 
 hot. He grasped the door-frame for a moment, 
 and then, with a little difficulty, turned the key, put 
 it in his pocket, and faced them defiantly. 
 
 "All right, don't get shirty, old bhoy," said 
 Masters, somewhat taken aback. 
 
 "We are not going in there," said Harvey. 
 
 He took them to a small room upstairs; and 
 170
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 there they left him at half-past one: the fact that 
 he had ceased to be more than intermittently con- 
 scious of their presence appearing to indicate that 
 their departure would not cause him serious dis- 
 tress. He had not drunk more than the rest, but 
 his head was the weakest. 
 
 In the morning as was invariably the case with 
 him after a dilapidated night he arose from his 
 bath as fresh as Venus from the sea. Since the 
 Courts were not sitting, to go to his Chambers 
 would manifestly have been waste of time. He 
 occupied the morning in "getting through some 
 correspondence," as he phrased it, later in the day, 
 to the Vet. It consisted, in fact, in sending long- 
 awaited replies to letters from Marie and another 
 young lady. He always felt a glow of virtuous 
 satisfactionwhen such epistles had been despatched. 
 He was not one of those men who behaved with 
 brutal callousness to girls who had trusted them. 
 While they desired his fellowship, it should be 
 theirs, whatever the tedium to himself. 
 
 He spent the afternoon and eveningwith Craven. 
 The latter possessed independent means and took 
 care that his practice should not be exacting. On 
 the following afternoon he returned the visit. This 
 was the day that Cynthia was coming back; but, 
 since her train did not arrive until after ten. Har- 
 
 171
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 vey felt that his guest could comfortably be dis- 
 posed of before it was necessary for him to go to 
 Euston. He told him at an early stage that his 
 wife was returning in the evening, and repeated 
 the information at intervals. He also told him 
 that he had ordered an omnibus. 
 
 They engaged in a series of games of piquet 
 across a corner of the dining-room table an exer- \ 
 cise in which the host consistently came off second 
 best. The Vet. played slowly and steadily, and he 
 invariably could change Harvey's florins and half- 
 crowns, and, later, his half-sovereigns. He was 
 not a shark, but he had a working knowledge of 
 the principles of the game. 
 
 Towards seven o'clock they heard a ring of the 
 front-door bell. 
 
 "Don't move," said Harvey, with an air of 
 great sang-froid. The Vet. had given no sign of 
 moving. "Someone who wants my wife, probably." 
 
 A maid went to the door and opened it. 
 
 Harvey pricked up his ears in a fluster of con- 
 sternation. "That's my wife's voice," he cried. 
 "It's my wife," he repeated aggressively, as if his 
 companion, in some unaccountable way, were re- 
 sponsible for it. 
 
 "Well, hadn't you better go out and meet her?" 
 said the Vet. He spoke with a slight drawl. 
 
 17.1
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Harvey replaced the spirit-stand in the side- 
 board. In the same movement, by a feat of leger- 
 demain, he suggested the non-existence of his tum- 
 bler. The Vet., observing a somewhat anxious 
 glance in his direction, stretched out his hand and 
 pushed his own glass back a few inches, until it was 
 partially concealed by an ornament on the mantel- 
 piece. 
 
 By the time Harvey reached the front door 
 Cynthia had returned to the cab to obtain some 
 small packages. With the greatest alarm in his 
 face he relieved her of these and assisted her care- 
 fully up the steps. 
 
 "I didn't expect you till half-past ten," he said 
 hurriedly. "I've ordered an omnibus." 
 
 "Oh, we started at an absurd time this morn- 
 ing," said Cynthia, "and caught an earlier train 
 at Glasgow. I thought the other was too late for 
 Eric." 
 
 "I was coming to meet you," he said. "I was 
 coming to Euston. Why didn't you wire ?" 
 
 "It was a rush at Glasgow and there was no 
 necessity; we were coming by an earlier train, not 
 a later. Move away : the man wants to come past 
 with the luggage." 
 
 He started aside, and Cynthia walked into the 
 dining-room. The Vet. rose from his corner and 
 came sturdily across the room. 
 
 173
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 She remembered him after a second's hesitation. 
 "Oh, how do you do, Dr. Craven? For a moment 
 I didn't see who it was." 
 
 "You have had a long journey," said he. 
 
 "Yes, and rather tiresome. But on the whole 
 we have managed to get through it creditably." 
 
 Harvey drew Cynthia aside at the first oppor- 
 tunity. "I'm awfully sorry," he whispered quickly. 
 "Of course, I didn't know you were coming so 
 soon. I'll get rid of him in a few minutes." 
 
 "Why?" said Cynthia. "I don't object to him. 
 I shall ask him to stay to dinner." 
 
 Indeed, she was immensely relieved to find a 
 third person in the house. Having settled into the 
 daily routine, she felt she could face her life grimly 
 and make it bearable. But the tete-a-tete of the 
 first evening, the fussy inquiries, the fidgety solici- 
 tude and punctilious endearments, had weighed on 
 her as a heavy ordeal to be faced. 
 
 The Vet. cheerfully consented to remain for din- 
 ner. Indeed, he had come with that intention. 
 
 Harvey was much perturbed about the omnibus. 
 When Cynthia had gone upstairs he took counsel 
 with his friend. 
 
 "You see, I've ordered it," he said; "I expect 
 I shall have to pay for it. It's an awful nuisance. 
 What would you do, Vet. ?"
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "You might wire," said the Vet., "or you could 
 take a cab to Huston and countermand it, or go on 
 foot. Personally, I should telephone." 
 
 175
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 IN spite of her heart-hunger, in spite of the fierce 
 insistence of the might-have-been, Cynthia found 
 her life appreciably easier to live than it had been 
 before. She was rid of the dreary sense of utter 
 exclusion, of that desolateness of a child sitting 
 upstairs in a lonely nursery while its elders make 
 merry below. She had felt hitherto if we may 
 vary the figure that she was walking along a dull, 
 flat road, hearing on every side of her sounds of 
 mirth music and laughter which she could not 
 reach, which she could not even attribute to a defi- 
 nite cause. Merely she knew of its existence. And 
 always she saw plainly at the end of her road get- 
 ting daily, hourly, closer old age, the limit of 
 youth, the limit of joy. 
 
 That feeling of permanent exclusion from known 
 possibilities of unknown happiness was now re- 
 moved from her finally. Henceforth every joyous 
 note bore its meaning to her, every vibrating string 
 struck an answering chord in her heart. She could 
 face old age, the decay of vitality and of charm, the 
 
 176
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 atrophy of her powers of joy, without repining. 
 She could look round upon her fellows without the 
 slight touch of cynicism which had tinged her out- 
 look hitherto, but with a gentle outpouring of wide 
 sympathy, which felt with them alike in their pleas- 
 ures and in their sorrows. For she had tasted 
 she herself the unimaginable sweetness of the 
 gracious good that is given to us with the breath 
 of life. 
 
 Moreover, for the future there was softened for 
 her, dulled for her, the awful knowledge that she 
 was lonely. Every human atom is essentially and 
 everlastingly lonely. By the beneficent power of 
 love it is possible to escape from its insistence, in 
 some measure, in life ; by love some have attempted 
 to escape from it in death. Its full sense had borne 
 upon Cynthia even in life. Now it was different. 
 Though it might be that she would never see 
 Laurence again, it was an immense consolation, an 
 immense support and strength to her, to know that 
 there was a fellow-creature with whom she had 
 been one, in whose arms she had lived and felt, 
 who had lived and felt in her arms, and who hun- 
 gered as she hungered. Her comfort lay in the 
 priceless knowledge that there is a unity of human 
 atoms, a brief unity of two entities so complete 
 and so perfect as almost to destroy the indestruc- 
 tible reality of individual solitude. 
 
 177
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 As time went on, the result of all this showed 
 itself in her intercourse with Harvey. She listened 
 to his frothy chatter, bore with his affectations, 
 made excuses to herself for his flagrant faults, with 
 an all-embracing goodwill which had not been pos- 
 sible to her before. In short, she submitted amia- 
 bly to be the best china. If ever he exhibited a 
 tentative design to open the door of her glass-case, 
 she reminded him quietly of the rebuff which she 
 would never forgive. Whereupon he withdrew 
 his hand quickly and apologetically, even with some 
 relief. Such virginal coldness pleased him ; it con- 
 formed with his etherealised view of her, the view 
 which had been responsible for the rebuff. 
 
 He was greatly gratified by the general soften- 
 ing of her tone to him. It argued that his value 
 had become apparent during the dull weeks in 
 which she had been deprived of his watchful solici- 
 tude. Habitual benefits too often fail of apprecia- 
 tion. Now that it was all over, he confessed to 
 himself that he had felt a little hurt by the off-hand 
 manner in which latterly she had accepted his un- 
 remitting attentions. He might not be perfect 
 he quite recognised his human limitations but he 
 knew that he lavished thought and care upon 
 Cynthia such as few husbands gave to their wives. 
 It was a source of satisfaction to him to reflect 
 that, if these uncommon virtues should again fall 
 
 178
 
 into the ruck of unregarded routine, he had only 
 to absent himself to throw them into striking re- 
 lief. 
 
 Matters took a turn, however, which consider- 
 ably deranged his calculations. One morning, after 
 they had been home about two months, he came 
 downstairs to find only a single letter on the break- 
 fast-table. This was lying by Cynthia's plate. She 
 was not yet down. There was nothing else, not 
 even an advertisement. He took it up and looked 
 at it. It was bulky and the handwriting was un- 
 familiar. He pressed it, turned it, examined the 
 postmarks. Finally he returned it to its place, 
 puzzled and vaguely ill at ease. He thought he 
 knew all Cynthia's correspondents. It appeared to 
 him peculiar that a wife should receive a letter ad- 
 dressed in writing which her husband could not 
 immediately identify. However, he was not one 
 of those small, suspicious men, prone to distrust 
 every trifle, prone to think the worst of those of 
 whom they should think the best. There was noth- 
 ing mean and unworthy in the conditions governing 
 his and Cynthia's intercourse. They had reached 
 a far higher level of mutual respect than that. He 
 should ignore the letter. He unfolded the morn- 
 ing paper and sat down, content to await develop- 
 ments with dignity and reserve. 
 
 Presently Cynthia opened the door and came in. 
 179
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 She ran up to the fire and warmed herself. It was 
 December and there had been a frost during the 
 night. 
 
 "Good-morning, Harvey. I am sorry to be so 
 late. You should have begun breakfast. Things 
 went wrong with me : I thought I should never be 
 dressed." 
 
 "I don't mind," said Harvey; "I don't mind at 
 all. I was looking at the paper." 
 
 "But how cold it is ! I am shivering. Put out 
 the spirit-lamp, or the coffee will all boil away." 
 
 It was bubbling high in a wide glass cylinder 
 above a shining bronze pot. Harvey extinguished 
 the lamp. As he did so, he took another glance at 
 the letter. It drew his eye against his will with 
 powerful fascination. The envelope was large and 
 square and plain. It was not a tinted envelope of 
 arbitrary shape and sumptuous texture, such as 
 women use. The handwriting was plain, too, and 
 vigorous. It formed the name without indecision, 
 almost aggressively: "MRS. ELWES." No one 
 could doubt that the letter had found its way to the 
 person for whom it was intended; no one could 
 doubt that the writer knew that person to be the 
 wife of himself. And decidedly it was bulky. 
 
 "It is too cold now for you to dress without a 
 fire," he said. "If it goes out, you should have it 
 lighted again. You run foolish risks." 
 
 180
 
 She got up lightly. "Don't talk rubbish," she 
 said. "I am warm again now. Feel." She gave 
 him her hand. 
 
 He held it solicitously for a moment, and then, 
 leaning forward, touched her cheek with a respect- 
 ful morning salute^ 
 
 He took his place at the table and Cynthia sat 
 down behind the coffee-pot. Her eye immediately 
 lighted on the letter. She picked it up mechanic- 
 ally and ran her finger beneath the flap, splitting it 
 open. The paper was tough and yielded with dif- 
 ficulty. At sight of the letter it contained she hesi- 
 tated momentarily, unfolded it and read the first 
 sentence, turned it quickly and looked at the signa- 
 ture. Then she quietly replaced it in its envelope 
 and began to pour out the coffee. She had flushed 
 a little. 
 
 Harvey had been watching her closely. He had 
 seen the letter, had seen that it was of many sheets, 
 closely written, had seen that she was moved by 
 the sight of it. Red points had come into his 
 cheeks. 
 
 He bent a little forward. "Anything the mat- 
 ter?" he said with nervous quickness, as she looked 
 up. 
 
 "Oh, no." She passed him his coffee. 
 
 "Who is it from?" The words spurted out 
 irrepressibly, like bubbles from a cauldron. 
 
 181
 
 CYNTHIA IN. THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Really, Harvey!" 
 
 "I think I ought to know." 
 
 "You will not know while you ask in that way." 
 
 Harvey managed to shut down his impatience. 
 By this time he was tingling with a sense of injury. 
 He considered he was entitled by right to an answer 
 to his question ; but he knew Cynthia well enough 
 to realise that he would not obtain one by peremp- 
 tory insistence. 
 
 "I'm sorry I spoke hastily," he said, after a 
 short pause. "Is there any mystery about the 
 letter?" 
 
 "No," said Cynthia. "It is from Bay's cousin, 
 Mr. Cheyne. You remember, we stayed at his 
 house in Scotland." 
 
 "I didn't know you had got to terms of corre- 
 spondence." 
 
 "Well, you know now." 
 
 "I think he ought to have written to me first." 
 
 "Why?" Cynthia smiled sedately. "To ask per- 
 mission?" 
 
 "Yes," said Harvey, stubbornly. 
 
 "And would you have graciously granted it?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "You mustn't try to climb on the high horse," 
 said Cynthia. "You can't do it with dignity. And 
 will you please pass me something to eat?" 
 
 "The visit to Scotland was a mistake," said 
 182
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Harvey, after ruminating for a while. "I thought 
 so from the first." 
 
 "Why, lately you have been telling me just the 
 reverse," said Cynthia: "that it made me appre- 
 ciate you ever so much more, and that you thought 
 we ought to separate every year for our holiday." 
 
 "I was misled." 
 
 "Really! By whom?" 
 
 "I didn't know that you had friends behind my 
 back." 
 
 "Harvey, be careful." 
 
 "You haven't read the letter." 
 
 "No ; I don't intend to at present." 
 
 "It is a very long one." 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 "I I saw it." 
 
 A flush of anger mounted to Cynthia's cheek. 
 It passed and left her cold. 
 
 "We will change the subject, please," she said 
 quietly. 
 
 There was finality in her tone which Harvey did 
 not dare to disobey. But he could not talk of other 
 things. He was miserably agitated. He continued 
 his breakfast in chafing silence, untasting. It was 
 impossible, he said to himself, that Cynthia's life 
 could hold a "guilty love"; impossible that it could 
 enclose a "shameful secret." (He gulped mentally 
 at the phrases of his own choosing.) And yet she 
 
 183
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 had received a long letter in a strange hand; she 
 had changed colour at the sight of it; she had ad- 
 mitted that it came from a man who had taken no 
 steps to make his acquaintance; and she was keep- 
 ing it to read in private. He writhed under the 
 suggestion contained in these facts, partly through 
 simple jealousy, aroused by his genuine affection 
 for Cynthia; more, perhaps, from the blow to his 
 self-esteem. He was struck in his tenderest part 
 by the thought that his wife, the woman whose life 
 was fostered by his love and his care, could find 
 room in her being for an alien attachment. 
 
 His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance 
 of the maid, Cynthia was wanted at the telephone. 
 
 She rose at once. "Don't wait for me, Harvey," 
 she said. 
 
 She was quite aware that she was leaving the 
 letter. 
 
 His ears followed her footsteps down the hall. 
 For some moments he sat with his elbows on the 
 table, fretfully biting his moustache. Then he got 
 up abruptly, blushing at the thought in his mind. 
 Still hesitating, he waited, standing by his chair. 
 The time was passing. He crushed his qualms, 
 moved silently to the door and listened. He heard 
 Cynthia speaking at the telephone. That ended 
 his indecision. He went quickly back to the table, 
 treading on his toes, and picked up the letter. His 
 
 184
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 ears were straining while his fingers dipped into the 
 envelope. He drew out several sheets of note- 
 paper closely covered with writing. His hands 
 shook a little as he unfolded them. 
 
 The first words struck him in the face like a 
 physical blow. Incredulous, cringing beneath the 
 sudden staggering shock to the huge edifice of self- 
 esteem erected by his foolish, pompous little mind, 
 he read on, turning the pages feverishly listening 
 all the time. His colour changed to white, and 
 then to flaming splenetic scarlet. One could find it in 
 one's heart to be sorry for him ; the crash upon his 
 sufficiency was so unexpected and so complete. 
 
 He had barely reached the end of the first sheet 
 when he heard the ear-piece of the telephone 
 clicked back into its holder and Cynthia's footsteps 
 returning along the passage. Quickly refolding 
 the letter, he attempted to replace it in its envelope. 
 In his nervous haste he failed to keep the corners 
 square and it would not go inside. He crushed 
 and twisted it with frantic force. The envelope 
 split down the edge, but still declined to receive it. 
 Cynthia's step was already at the door. In ex- 
 tremity he relinquished his attempt and adopted a 
 different attitude. 
 
 "I have read that letter," he said, as she came 
 in. "I thought it my duty. I don't think it is the 
 sort of letter a married woman ought to receive." 
 
 185
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Cynthia's eyes blazed. She stopped at the door 
 absolutely still. 
 
 He turned a little pale. He felt afraid of her. 
 Her majestic indignation awed him and cowed 
 him. 
 
 "I don't think it's the sort of letter a married 
 woman ought to receive," he repeated, avoiding 
 her eyes. 
 
 Cynthia did not speak again. He felt her eyes 
 burning through him while he slowly returned the 
 letter to its envelope and dropped it by her plate 
 while he gathered up the morning paper from the 
 floor while he pretended to look for his pipe on 
 the mantelpiece while he walked out of the room. 
 
 186
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 love is of man's life a thing apart." So 
 said Byron ; and we must concede that he was quali- 
 fied to express an opinion. Some sort of exempli- 
 fication of the assertion could be found in the case 
 of Laurence Cheyne. He did nothing lightly: he 
 worked strongly', felt strongly, loved strongly. 
 Cynthia had gone to the very bottom of his heart 
 he could never again be free of the pervading 
 influence of her personality but she had quietly 
 and determinedly taken herself out of his life. 
 Yet it had to be lived, and the only means to make 
 it tolerable was strenuous work. Shortly after his 
 return from Scotland he had received the offer of 
 an administrative appointment in West Africa. 
 After consideration he had decided to accept it. 
 It meant leaving England in January, and it was 
 of this that he had written to acquaint Cynthia, 
 adding much else from the store of unsaid things 
 which had accumulated during two or three months 
 when thought had not been idle. 
 
 About the same time he cama to town to see 
 187
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 various officials and to make various preliminary 
 arrangements. His visits to London were not fre- 
 quent, and in consequence they were largely occu- 
 pied by the claims upon him of his many friends. 
 To dine alone at his hotel was an experience they 
 scarcely included. He lunched one day at a cluB 
 in Pall Mall, another at a flat in Chelsea, a third 
 in a City restaurant. Sometimes he forgot to lunch 
 altogether. Among the rest, he spent an evening 
 with some friends in Kensington. It was a fine 
 night, and he set off on foot for the first part of 
 his return journey, intending to take a cab later. 
 He would not have suspected himself capable of 
 sentimental foolishness. He believed he was 
 prompted to pedestrianism by lack of exercise. Yet 
 he had twice chosen that means of progression 
 through the particular region which enclosed 
 Cynthia's abode. The direct route did not take 
 him past her house, and he went not a step out of 
 his way. Still, he walked when in ordinary circum- 
 stances he would have driven. And he was quite 
 aware that, for a short while, he was breathing air 
 within a few hundred yards of her. 
 
 An occasional late motor 'bus wailed up the 
 Brompton Road; an occasional hansom jingled 
 past him ; otherwise the streets were quiet. As he 
 was approaching South Kensington station he be- 
 came interested in a cab coming towards him. The 
 
 1 88
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 driver was walking his horse and glancing uncer- 
 tainly from side to side, rather as if in search of a 
 fare. Yet there was a passenger in the hansom 
 a man in evening dress, who was occupying prac- 
 tically all the seating accommodation and appeared 
 to be quite unconcerned by the cabman's method of 
 driving. 
 
 "What's the matter, cabby?" said Laurence, as 
 they came abreast. 
 
 "GenTman can't quite rec'lect his number," said 
 the cabby. 
 
 "Probably there are some papers about him that 
 would solve the difficulty," said Laurence. "Ask 
 him." 
 
 The cabman lifted the trap. "P'raps there'd 
 be some letters in your pockets, sir, what would 
 help you," he called through. 
 
 On the question being repeated, the passenger 
 grunted and told him to "Drive on." 
 
 "But I don't know where to drive to," said the 
 cabby, beginning to lose patience. 
 
 "He doesn't know where to take you," said 
 Laurence, putting a foot on the step and looking 
 in. "Have you a card with you some letters 
 anything showing the address?" 
 
 The passenger clapped his hand upon the neigh- 
 bourhood of his breast-pocket. "Prive letts," he 
 said aggressively. 
 
 189
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Yes, but there may be an address on the out- 
 side" said Laurence, calmly and distinctly. 
 
 The face of the gentleman in the cab showed 
 dawning comprehension of this striking contin- 
 gency, and by slow degrees became illuminated 
 with admiration of Laurence's inductive powers. 
 He fumbled inside his coat for some moments with- 
 out succeeding in reaching the interior of a pocket. 
 Eventually he gave up the hopeless task and smiled 
 benignly. "Prive letts," he said. 
 
 Laurence conquered an intense inclination to 
 laugh and pulled open the doors. "Try again," he 
 said. "Let me help you." 
 
 With his considerable, but tactfully disguised, 
 assistance the other succeeded in extracting three 
 or four letters, which he immediately dropped on 
 the floor. Laurence picked them up and held one 
 to the oil-lamp at the back of the cab. In the 
 flood of its yellow light he read the name : Harvey 
 Elwes, Esq. 
 
 He was not completely surprised. The possibil- 
 ity had occurred to him. He knew Harvey's pro- 
 clivities and he knew the neighbourhood to be his. 
 But he was distressed and deeply indignant. This 
 was Cynthia's husband this! This was the man 
 who broke her life. The thought of her stirred 
 him strongly to lay ungentle hands on the pitiful 
 
 190
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 pulp in the cab. Since shuffling out the letters he 
 had once more peacefully collapsed into a corner. 
 
 Laurence was a man of the world. He knew its 
 temptations and its follies. He had come through 
 most of them himself. If he could not justify, he 
 could find excuses for a man who lived miserably 
 and who turned to drink for temporary oblivion; 
 he could understand one whose home life was 
 merely colourless seeking excitement in alcohol. 
 But the conduct of Harvey Elwes staggered him. 
 It was beyond his comprehension that a man with 
 such a woman for his wife could deliberately ob- 
 literate the blessing granted him in this amazing 
 piggery. 
 
 He looked at him steadily for a few seconds and 
 then hunched him up sufficiently to make room for 
 himself by his side. He gave the address to the 
 cabman, who was still holding up the trap. 
 
 "I shall see him home," he said: "I know some- 
 thing of him." 
 
 Harvey had permitted himself even greater ex- 
 tension than usual and was almost helpless. Lower- 
 ing him from the cab was a difficult and tedious 
 process. He stumbled on the steps of his house 
 and would have fallen but for Laurence's support- 
 ing arm. The latter felt in his pocket without 
 ceremony and extracted his latch-key. 
 
 191
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Now, be quiet do you hear?" he said per- 
 emptorily, as he inserted it noiselessly in the lock. 
 
 It was dark in the hall. Laurence momentarily 
 loosed his charge to feel for his match-box. Har- 
 vey tripped over the mat and lurched heavily upon 
 a picture on the wall, shivering the glass. The 
 loud clatter was followed by complete silence. 
 Laurence listened intently, biting his lip; he even 
 resisted the temptation to crush Harvey's arm, 
 fearful of making him cry out. Then there was a. 
 movement upstairs, and a light from above pene- 
 trated to the hall, jumping swiftly from wall to 
 wall. By degrees it grew steadier and wider. 
 Footsteps were coming down, and there was a light 
 sweep of skirts on the stairs. At last the beam 
 became stationary, and Cynthia stood at the head 
 of the first flight, wrapped in a white dressing- 
 gown, the light from a candle in her hand shining^ 
 up into her face. She looked down at the two- 
 figures in the shadow, and then calmly descended 
 the remaining steps and went into the dining-room. 
 
 "Will you bring him in here, please?" she said. 
 
 The undemonstrative tone struck more poign- 
 antly to Laurence's heart than a cry of distress 
 would have done. It was the tone of the drunk- 
 ard's wife, familiarised to such scenes. At that 
 moment he could have gratefully throttled the life 
 from the helpless weight of flesh he was support- 
 
 192
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 ing. He steered him into the dining-room and 
 seated him on the couch. Then he turned round. 
 Cynthia had switched on the light. 
 
 "Laurence!" 
 
 It was not a cry. It was a breathless undertone, 
 intensely charged with amazement, with conster- 
 nation, with deep, uncontrollable gladness. 
 
 The name struck a worn chord in the memory 
 of the drunken man. It was one which had been 
 sorely on his mind since he had seen it at the bot- 
 tom of Cynthia's letter. 
 
 "What," he drivelled, "Laurence fren' o' 
 mine brought him home." He waggled his head 
 from one to the other. "Laurence wife. Fren' 
 
 o' mine. Haf drink wacher like O lor' !" 
 
 He was overcome with a fit of nausea, and bowed 
 his head into his hands, retching horribly. 
 
 "Show me his room," said Laurence. 
 
 Cynthia led the way without speaking. In spite 
 of his strenuous, drunken protests, uttered with 
 absurdly attempted dignity, Laurence lifted Har- 
 vey in his arms and carried him bodily up the 
 stairs. He took him into the room which Cynthia 
 showed him and then quietly bade her leave them. 
 
 "Go back to your room," he said. "I will look 
 after him." 
 
 She went without a word, and he closed the 
 door. With some difficulty he managed to get 
 
 193
 
 Harvey's clothes off and rolled him into bed. The 
 latter appeared to realise, as the process proceeded, 
 that something was being done for him in the way 
 of kindness, and his indignation at being carried 
 upstairs gradually gave way to maudlin gratitude. 
 Then some fancied indignity produced a recrudes- 
 cence of contumacy and pugnaciousness and he 
 struggled ferociously against Laurence's ministra- 
 tions. It took half an hour to get him into bed. 
 Cheyne waited to see that he was disposed to be 
 quiet, and then extinguished the light and opened 
 the door. 
 
 Cynthia was still standing on the landing, her 
 hands pressed to her bosom. She had not stirred 
 during the half-hour. 
 
 There was a second's pause while they faced one 
 another. Then Cynthia mutely stretched out her 
 hands to him. 
 
 194
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 AT five o'clock on the following morning 
 Cynthia was sitting on the edge of her bed, bending 
 sideways to use it as a rest for a writing-pad, while 
 she took pencil-notes of train times which Laurence 
 read out from a Railway Guide. He was seated 
 on the opposite side of the bed, the time-table in 
 one hand, the other grasping an ankle crossed upon 
 his knee. They were both partly dressed. 
 
 "Do you think you can manage that?" he asked. 
 
 "Two-twenty? Yes, I think so," said Cynthia. 
 
 "You must have with you everything of your 
 own that you value." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Put the things you won't immediately want 
 into separate cases. We will store them at 
 Boulogne." 
 
 "Yes," said Cynthia, again. "I can begin pack- 
 ing at ten," she added. "I think there will be 
 time." 
 
 "Better get in a man to pack the knick-knacks," 
 said Laurence. "He will do it better than you 
 
 195
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 and it will save time. If you don't reach Charing 
 Cross before the train leaves, I shall stay there 
 until you come, whenever it may be." 
 
 "I am sure I shall be in time," said Cynthia; 
 "unless unless something " 
 
 "Send me a wire to the hotel, in that case, and 
 we will make new arrangements. Better to get 
 away without a row, if possible, because of Eric. 
 You could legally be forced to leave him behind." 
 
 "I thought I would ask Bay to take him," she 
 said, "till till we are settled somewhere." 
 
 "It will be far safer to take him out of the coun- 
 try at once. These incredible brutes, if they get a 
 ghost of a chance, will separate mother and child. 
 He will not be much trouble to you. You can get 
 a nurse for him in Boulogne, or, at any rate, in 
 Paris." 
 
 Cynthia leaned across the bed and took his hand, 
 holding it in both her own. "It is not the trouble 
 I am thinking of," she said, "the trouble to me, I 
 mean. Of course I should gladly undertake that. 
 But why should you be burdened with a child, you 
 poor dear, on our our honeymoon?" 
 
 "Burdened!" said Laurence, smiling. "Eric and 
 I were old pals when you were still a stranger. If 
 his mother refused to come, too, I wouldn't prom- 
 ise not to kidnap him." 
 
 Cynthia laughed. Then she came closer. "I 
 196
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Relieve," she whispered, "I believe it is going to 
 be all all Eden." 
 
 She stretched to him, and he took her in his 
 arms, his lips on hers. 
 
 Suddenly she started to an upright posture. 
 
 "Listen!" she said. 
 
 A board had creaked outside the door. It was 
 followed by a faint shuffling, and then by the sound 
 of footsteps descending the stairs, quietly, 
 stealthily. 
 
 "A servant," said Laurence. He looked at the 
 clock. "It is after five. I ought to have gone 
 before." 
 
 "It is not a servant," said Cynthia, quietly. 
 ^There are no skirts, the step is too heavy, and I 
 know it." 
 
 Laurence looked at her. 
 
 "Harvey," she said. 
 
 There was a momentary pause. "Oh, prepos- 
 terous!" said Laurence. "No man could do it. 
 He was helpless four hours ago." 
 
 "Harvey does it invariably," said Cynthia. "He 
 is always recovered by the morning. It is he, 
 Laurence." 
 
 "But why has he gone downstairs?" 
 
 "I don't know; unless to get assistance. He 
 would be capable of it." 
 
 "It will mean a row, I am afraid," said 
 197
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Laurence, "and trouble about Eric. I think you 
 had better stay here and let me go down and see 
 him first." 
 
 "No, no." Cynthia clung to him. They had 
 both stood up. "I won't be left without you now. 
 Besides, he may not have heard us at all; he may 
 only have gone down for brandy." 
 
 While she spoke, the footsteps again creaked on 
 the stairs, this time ascending. The gradual, steady 
 approach struck Cynthia with a sudden panic for 
 Laurence's sake. She fancied Harvey, murder- 
 ously jealous, with a loaded firearm in his hand. 
 She dragged back the curtains from a recess where 
 she hung some of her dresses. 
 
 "Come in here," she said urgently. "He may 
 open the door incidentally just to look at me he 
 sometimes does. For my sake for my sake," she 
 entreated. 
 
 Laurence smiled reassuringly. "You don't mean 
 that," he said. "You have not thought. What- 
 ever is bringing him here, he must be faced. If he 
 wants to have a knock at me, I shall not grudge 
 it him." 
 
 "But his malice is capable of anything," urged 
 Cynthia. She was trembling. "He has no control." 
 
 "No need to be nervous, sweetheart." Laurence 
 took her hand. "I will see that he is not allowed 
 to be too reckless. But one can forgive him some 
 
 198
 
 CYNTHIA IN *THE WILDERNESS 
 
 passion. Really, I can't* help being sorry for him : 
 he is losing such a world." 
 
 "It has never been his," said Cynthia, clinging 
 to his arm, speaking with a little, tremulous laugh- 
 ter. "He doesn't know the use of worlds." 
 
 The last word was one of those which she al- 
 ways intoned with peculiar sweetness. Before it 
 had left her lips vibrating slightly with the 
 happy, nervous laughter the door had been flung 
 open. Harvey heard it; Harvey saw her holding 
 tight to Laurence's shirt-sleeved arm, looking up 
 into his face, while she gave it voice. 
 
 There was an odd mixture of dissoluteness and 
 gravity in his appearance. Still showing slight 
 traces of the previous night's excesses, and plainly 
 charged to the point of explosion with a sense of 
 outrage, he had evidently promised himself to 
 meet the situation he expected to find with calm, 
 judicial dignity. Nevertheless, he had not con- 
 sidered it advisable to come unarmed. In his right 
 hand he was grasping a golf-club, a heavy alumi- 
 num putter. 
 
 He stopped inside the door. 
 
 "I've caught you!" he said in his quick tones, 
 breathing fast. "I thought something was going 
 on. I've caught you red-handed." He moved a 
 step nearer them. "Leave that man, Cynthia. Sit 
 down. You and I must have some conversation. 
 
 199
 
 CYNTHU IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 As for you" he looked at Laurence and moved 
 aside from the open door with a gesture of con- 
 tempt "kindly go. I shall deal with you later." 
 
 Laurence took in the spectacle of this astonish- 
 ing little man with a feeling verging upon adraira- 
 ation. Consistently careless of his wife's interest 
 where it conflicted with his own, prodigal of his 
 little infidelities, hopelessly incapable, a few hours 
 before, of walking upstairs, he was now pluming, 
 strutting, playing the injured husband, not only 
 with amazing versimilitude, but with obviously 
 genuine belief in his qualification. 
 
 "Put down that ridiculous club, Harvey," said 
 Cynthia. She loosed Laurence's arm, but did not 
 leave his side, "You have not come to look for 
 burglars." 
 
 ''No, I have come to look for a serpent," said 
 Harvey, with white solemnity. 
 
 "A serpent who carried you up to bed last night 
 when you were not in a condition to walk. Please 
 don't talk in absurd heroics. You arc very foolish 
 to come here and force a scene, knowing your rec- 
 ord. I have not told you once during our married 
 life what your own actions have driven me to think 
 of you, but I will do so now. Virtually, from the 
 beginning, you have cast upon me the indignity of 
 nominal wifehood; the feeble instinct, which you 
 consider virtue, has been deliberately provoked, 
 
 200
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE fTILDERXESS 
 
 whenever it suited you, to carry you gratuitously 
 into squalid infidelities ; you have acquired the habit 
 of drink without predisposition, and indulged it 
 without one thought of me or the degradation it 
 put upon me ; the word 'control' is not in your dic- 
 tionary. I don't hate you : you are not big enough 
 to hate. I hardly despise you : you are too pitiable 
 to despise. But I am no longer your wife." 
 
 Harvey listened to her, aghast, incredulous his 
 mouth slightly open. Never, never had anything 
 approaching such a view of himself been presented 
 to him by anyone ; not his wildest nightmare could 
 have put it into Cynthia's mouth. Cynthia's ! Some 
 change, he knew, had taken place in her some 
 cloud, he knew, had come between them of late 
 but nothing to prepare him for this astounding 
 volte-face. His perusal of her letter had shown 
 him that she had fallen under pernicious influences 
 in Scotland. He looked upon that as the result of 
 a few weeks' exclusion from his protection and 
 counsel, for which he blamed himself. Not for 
 one moment had it occurred to him that she could 
 put forward a claim of provocative conduct on his 
 part. At the first lash of her words he was affected 
 to acute self-pity by the thought that she could so 
 misjudge him, prove capable of such depth of in- 
 gratitude. After all his thought, all his unremit- 
 ting care, all his constant, tender solicitude! For 
 
 201
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 one or two moments he hovered on the verge of 
 tears. Before she had come to an end, however, 
 another feeling had got hold of him : the fierce feel- 
 ing of resentment of the unjustly maligned, coupled 
 with a gloating consciousness of power to make it 
 felt. 
 
 "You can't help it," he cried, almost with glee. 
 "You have to be." 
 
 "I intend to help it," said Cynthia. "I have not 
 been your wife in fact since you insulted me in the 
 spring. For the future I shall not be your wife 
 even in semblance." 
 
 "What do you mean?" He pressed a little for- 
 ward, sudden fright in his tone. 
 
 "That I am going to leave you for ever." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 Harvey almost jumped. In spite of his fierce 
 jealousy and the blow to his pride, he had found 
 almost an element of enjoyment in the role of 
 injured and magnanimous husband; it produced a 
 feeling of superiority. He had privately intended 
 to punish his erring wife by excluding her for a 
 time from his society; and then, when the period 
 of isolation had lasted sufficiently long to induce 
 penitence and a return of true perceptions, to allow 
 himself to be persuaded to restore her to the light 
 of his countenance. But this declaration of hers 
 was a deadening blow, utterly unlooked-for, which 
 
 202
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 went intensely home : for it carried with it, besides 
 the detraction of personal prestige and of the social 
 respectability which was so dear to him, the loss 
 of the only woman in the world he had ever cared 
 for, or could care for. 
 
 "You can't !" he shrieked. 
 
 Cynthia made no reply. 
 
 He stepped close up to her, passion breaking out 
 of him. "Why don't you answer ? Why don't you 
 speak? Do you think I am going to let you go 
 away and make me look a fool?" 
 
 He caught her furiously by her bare arm above 
 the elbow and would have violently wrenched her. 
 But an iron hand came down like a thunderbolt, 
 a grip of steel fell on his wrist. He yapped with 
 pain and released his wife, leaving the marks of 
 his fingers on the white flesh, and, livid with pas- 
 sion, turned upon Laurence, who again stood mo- 
 tionless. With all his force he brought the heavy 
 club down upon his head. It struck with a sicken- 
 ing thud, and Laurence fell like a log. 
 
 The next moment Harvey stood pale and trem- 
 bling with terror at his own work. 
 
 "Lord, what have I done?" he cried. "I didn't 
 mean to hit him so hard. I swear I didn't. I 
 sw r ear I didn't, Cynthia." 
 
 With a cry of exquisite anguish, Cynthia had 
 dropped upon Laurence almost in the same instant 
 
 203
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 that he fell himself. She tore open his shirt and 
 pressed her ear upon his heart; she lifted his hands, 
 one after the other, and held them tight to her 
 bosom; she spread herself upon him and hungrily 
 kissed his neck, his lips, his cheek, his eyes; she 
 raised his head with infinite tenderness and laid it 
 upon her lap. 
 
 Harvey stood and watched her, daring neither 
 to approach nor to recede. 
 
 She looked up at last, her arms still about 
 Laurence. The scorn in her eyes burned through 
 every nerve of his trembling body. 
 
 But her words came with frozen calm: "Fetch 
 a doctor. And if you have any care for your skin, 
 go quickly. For if he dies" she pressed her cheek 
 to Laurence's lips "if he dies you you swing." 
 
 204
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE ingenious reader, versed in the art of put- 
 ting two and two together, will have gathered that 
 the world to which Bay would come back, on her 
 return from Scotland, was one which had lost its 
 savour. By that time her pretty flat had relapsed 
 a little from its summer freshness, had gleaned 
 again some of the inevitable London grime. She 
 was not displeased to find it so ; it agreed with her 
 outlook. A bright and gay environment would 
 have seemed a mockery. She felt herself, for the 
 future, grey, dull, flat, receded from freshness, 
 gathering grime. 
 
 She had once said to Cynthia that a young 
 widow either must re-marry or she must die. She 1 
 had been quite serious, and she still thought It. But 
 it did not seem to her now, as it had seemed then, 
 that she would be likely to re-marry. There is a 
 saying about fish in the sea. It appeared to Bay, 
 as she sat in her lonely evenings in her lonely 
 drawing-room, an open book on her lap, looking 
 into her fire, that, of all absurd doctrines, the doc- 
 
 205
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 trine it embodied was the most so. Its force might 
 have been apparent, she thought, had it chanced 
 that she had been born a cat, or a sheep, or even 
 a man. That mysterious demand which has in- 
 spired most of the world's greatest poets and many 
 of its greatest painters and musicians, which has 
 formed the theme of almost every work of fiction 
 which has ever been penned, which meets us at 
 every turn of our daily life, which is evident in 
 every newspaper, every ladies' journal, every book- 
 seller's, print-seller's, song-seller's window, which 
 we call love, which we call emotion, which we call 
 anything that will serve to hide what appears to 
 us its fundamental impropriety, but which, 
 whether we care to recognise it or not, is essentially 
 rooted in physical desire that demand can reach 
 an intensity in woman perhaps inappreciable by 
 man, but it is directed in one current upon a par- 
 ticular object, it is recognisable only in relation to 
 a single individual. The comprehensive inclination 
 of the male towards the feminine world is rarely 
 matched by corresponding Catholicism in the other 
 sex. For a man a woman, for a woman the man. 
 Bay had suffered in Scotland perhaps more than 
 she had supposed she had capacity within her to 
 suffer. Until she had changed her room she had 
 endured a degree of mental and physical torture 
 which had left her sane almost to her surprise. She 
 206
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 ached to receive, but the rack had been strung to 
 the tightest by the knowledge that another was 
 giving giving what every fibre of her being 
 yearned, above all else, to give. Looking back out 
 of the grey days in London, she was conscious of 
 a duller, deeper hurt : that, come what might, what- 
 ever changes in the wheel of fortune, she could 
 never give as Cynthia had given, as Cynthia, while 
 she lived, could always give. Even the possibility 
 of conferring the utmost had been removed from 
 her. That was a loss which no one could make 
 good to her, not even Cynthia herself. 
 
 Laurence had been to see her during his stay in 
 town, had brought her a handsome jewelled bangle 
 as a souvenir of the Tannadice visit and of her 
 office of hostess a present from Frank and him- 
 self. For several days after his visit it had lain 
 unviewed in a cabinet in the drawing-room. Then 
 one afternoon she yielded to herself and took out 
 the case to look at it again. It was very pretty and 
 must have cost a considerable sum. Her office of 
 hostess ! Had it been a souvenir of a tenderer tie, 
 she would have flung it back in his face, but she 
 would have kissed his footprints when he had gone. 
 Had it been an offering to pave the way to her 
 grace, she would have crushed it under her feet, 
 but she would have thrown her arms round his 
 neck. 
 
 207
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Presently she drew up the sleeve of her dress 
 and snapped the bangle on her arm. She had a 
 pretty arm, with a slender wrist, and the sparkling 
 circlet looked well upon it. A woman's skin is 
 the one supreme background for diamonds. They 
 are lost on the stuff of a dress such a setting de- 
 grades them. If you have reached the age, which 
 we all must reach, when decollete gowns have be- 
 come no longer seemly nor advantageous, face the 
 fact soberly, cease to deck yourself with wasted, 
 foolish finery, give your diamonds to your daughter 
 or your niece, to your nearest female relative with 
 a skin to justify them, to some one of the thousands 
 of women who possess the background in perfec- 
 tion, but have no diamonds. 
 
 Bay possessed the background in perfection. It 
 passed through her mind as she looked at the 
 bangle it had passed through her mind before 
 that Laurence did not know that. Perhaps oh, 
 much more than perhaps ! he would never know 
 it. He would go down to the grave, and she would 
 go down to the grave, and he would not know it. 
 Her face her face which was the least beautiful 
 part of her was the only impression he would 
 ever have of her. He had not even offered to put 
 the bangle on her arm. Had it been Cynthia's 
 arm, would he have put it on? Had he ever O 
 God, Cynthia did not have to be gauged by her 
 208
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 face alone, and her face was beautiful ! The odds 
 were outrageously unfair. She snapped off the 
 bangle with an impatient cry beneath her breath. 
 Almost at the same moment the door was opened. 
 
 "Mrs. Elwes," said the maid. 
 
 Cynthia walked into the room more quickly than 
 was her wont, clad in furs. Bay threw the bangle 
 on its case and got up. 
 
 "Oh, I have been thinking such hard things of 
 you," she said. 
 
 "That is the worst of news just now," said 
 Cynthia. "Why?" 
 
 "For one thing, because you have not been to 
 see me for so long." 
 
 "I am afraid you will have very good reason 
 to complain of me for the opposite reason for a 
 while," said Cynthia. She put up her veil and 
 inclined her face to be kissed, perfectly naturally 
 and spontaneously, and yet with something in the 
 action which informed the recipient that she was 
 receiving a favour not indiscriminately conferred. 
 "Before I talk, may Eric and his nurse come up? 
 they arc in the cab and all our luggage, every- 
 thing we have in the world." 
 
 A request laden with such sensational suggestion 
 would have provoked many women to bombard 
 her immediately with questions. Bay was not con- 
 stituted in that way. Without a word she left the 
 
 209
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 room and gave the necessary orders. It was suffi- 
 ciently apparent to her that a crisis in Cynthia's 
 affairs had been reached, but for the moment her 
 practical assistance was obviously of superior im- 
 portance to her sympathy or advice. When every- 
 thing had been settled, and Eric and the nurse duly 
 installed in an improvised nursery, she gave notice 
 to her maid that she was invisible for the remainder 
 of the afternoon and returned to the drawing- 
 room. Cynthia, who had removed her outer 
 things, had returned there also and was standing 
 by the fire. 
 
 "What a dear, generous, unselfish being you 
 are !" she said, with a rush of feeling. "I believe 
 you have the kindest heart in the world. I wonder 
 who else would have accepted a sudden incursion 
 of three able-bodied people with so little fuss?" 
 
 "You wouldn't wonder," said Bay, "if you had 
 tried solitary confinement for nearly three years." 
 
 Cynthia sat down. "It has sometimes struck me 
 as rather paradoxical," she said, "that I, who never 
 really had a husband, should have a child; while 
 you, who had a husband for several years of your 
 life, have none." 
 
 "The luck equalises itself," said Bay, calmly. 
 "We are not allowed to have it every way. Provi- 
 dence compensates vapid marriages and puts a pen- 
 alty on too much happiness." 
 210
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "It is fairer so," said Cynthia. "Life for me 
 would not have been bearable but for Eric. Now, 
 more than ever, it would not be bearable." 
 
 Bay pulled her chair to the fire and put her toes 
 on the fender, slightly drawing up her skirts. 
 "What has happened?" she said. 
 
 Cynthia turned her face to her: "Laurence is 
 in a hospital in Anne Street a nursing home 
 alive, but no more." 
 
 "Laurence !" Bay uttered the name slowly, al- 
 most under her breath. The intelligence took her 
 completely at a disadvantage. She had been ex- 
 pecting to hear of some last insufferable outrage 
 perpetrated by Harvey, of a quarrel, perhaps, and 
 a breach. She became white, almost haggard. 
 Then, suddenly, her eyes lighted and her cheeks 
 burned. "Through you?" she flashed. 
 
 Cynthia was startled by her vehemence, a little 
 distressed, but she did not flinch. "Yes," she said, 
 "through me indirectly; directly through Harvey." 
 
 Bay flung fierce contempt at the name. "He! 
 That flabby, pulseless thing ! How could he ?" 
 
 "He did," said Cynthia, quietly. 
 
 "By some low, vile, underhand means?" 
 
 "Yes," said Cynthia, "by low, vile, underhand 
 means : by a blow in the dark, a blow when Lau- 
 rence was unprepared, without warning, a blow 
 with a murderous instrument with a leaden head.' 
 
 211
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Ohl" cried Bay, springing up in a blaze of 
 indignant wrath, "that such vermin should live 1" 
 
 "And that such men should die !" said Cynthia. 
 "Oh, no, no, no!" she called out, startled by her 
 own expression of a heavy fear, "that could never 
 be surely never never !" 
 
 The poignant distress in her voice and in her 
 face did not touch Bay. She could not feel for 
 her yet. Indeed, for a while she came near to 
 hating her. She had forgiven her for loving 
 Laurence, for obtaining his love, for all the injury 
 she had unconsciously done her; but if she had 
 brought him to death it seemed to her that she 
 could never forgive her. 
 
 "You are miserable now," she said impatiently; 
 "but why did you do it why why why?" 
 Every repetition of the little word came out with 
 more strenuous emphasis. 
 
 Cynthia turned her eyes upon her with quiet 
 surprise. "Why did I do what?" she said. 
 
 "You knew your husband's mean passions and 
 his cowardly code. Why did you expose Laurence 
 to them ? Was that all your love was worth ? to 
 lure him, for your own selfish satisfaction, to the 
 house of a man capable of anything but of facing 
 him squarely and openly?" 
 
 For several seconds Cynthia restrained herself 
 from replying. Nothing arouses our passions so 
 
 212
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 potently as a bitter attack which we know to be 
 undeserved ; and there is a double hurt in stinging 
 taunts when they issue from a source to which we 
 have come in the sure expectation of obtaining 
 sympathy and support. Deep within her Cynthia 
 had strong and fierce passions, but they were under 
 her control in proportion to their depth, and were 
 rarely permitted to break into flame. Her sense 
 of injury stirred her powerfully to flash back upon 
 Bay a vivid and indignant retort; but she was con- 
 scious, even while the temptation was upon her, 
 that the latter had spoken hastily, moved by affec- 
 tion for her cousin, whose injury would undoubt- 
 edly not have befallen but for his association with 
 herself. 
 
 "You are very unjust," she said, quite quietly, at 
 length. "If anyone else had spoken in that way 
 I wouldn't have stooped to explain; I wouldn't 
 have allowed them to put me on my defence. But 
 I don't want you to think worse of me than I de- 
 serve; your good opinion is one of the very few 
 in the world which it would make me really un- 
 happy to lose. I did not lure Laurence to the 
 house. On the contrary, he came against my ex- 
 press desire, against my earnest entreaty." 
 
 Bay was quickly contrite. No other cause could 
 have made her speak harshly to Cynthia. 
 
 She dropped into a chair beside her, snatched 
 213
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 her hand, and pressed it to her bosom. "Forgive 
 me, dearest. I love you too much to misjudge you 
 when I'm sane. There are some things you don't 
 know which I don't want you to know but you 
 would understand me better if you did. Tell me 
 everything that happened since since the night at 
 Tannadice when you spoilt my sleep." 
 
 Cynthia had been chary since that night of mak- 
 ing a confidante even of Bay. In the exultation 
 of her joy, through the intervention of an imme- 
 diate opportunity, she had opened her heart to her 
 then for the first and only time. But she related 
 everything now: her last conversation with Lau- 
 rence on the moor; Harvey's conduct since her 
 return ; the incident of the letter ; the circumstances 
 of Laurence's visit; the final scene. 
 
 "The doctor did not say very much," she con- 
 cluded. "Probably he was a good deal mystified, 
 poor man. Harvey told him shivering, transpar- 
 ent lies to explain the cause. He talked obscurely 
 about not being able to discover the extent of the 
 injury without a more detailed examination. But 
 he evidently thought it almost as bad as it could 
 be. As soon as he learnt that Laurence was only 
 visiting London, he was anxious to get him re- 
 moved at once to a private hospital. He was not 
 more anxious than I. I went with him to the hos- 
 pital with Laurence, and then I came back and 
 214
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 fetched Eric. Never, never will I go inside that 
 house again." 
 
 For a long time Bay sat without speaking, lean- 
 ing forward, her chin on her hands, staring intently 
 into the fire. 
 
 "Where is he now ?" she said at last. 
 
 "Harvey?" 
 
 Bay nodded without changing her attitude. Her 
 mouth was firmly closed. 
 
 "Still in the house," said Cynthia, "and hardly 
 likely to leave it for the present, I think. He fan- 
 cies every policeman he sees is coming to arrest 
 him." 
 
 "He has no right to be free. Why didn't you 
 give him in charge?" 
 
 Cynthia turned her face and gazed at her. 
 "What, Bay?" she said, with quiet astonishment. 
 
 "No, of course you couldn't." 
 
 "But even if it had not meant any public prying 
 into my affairs I could not have handed him over 
 to the police. Much as I loathe him, I could not 
 have done that." 
 
 "But if Laurence dies?" She spoke rigidly, 
 her breath tight, her features set. 
 
 "He can't I won't let him," cried Cynthia, 
 poignantly. "Don't talk in that cold, horrible way. 
 It's unthinkable, impossible, unbearable !" 
 
 "If Laurence dies?" repeated Bay, steadily. 
 215
 
 "It would have to come out," said Cynthia, for- 
 cing herself to face the thought. "No doubt it 
 could not be avoided. Harvey " 
 
 "Would have to be arrested would have to be 
 tried would have to be hanged?" 
 
 "If Laurence dies, I should not think it unjust, 
 I could not think it unjust even that." Cynthia 
 spoke slowly, looking in front of her, her eyes mo- 
 tionless. "But I should not like Harvey to die in 
 that way." 
 
 "You are a sentimental fool," cried Bay, turning 
 upon her with sudden fierceness. "I hate inflicted 
 pain, I hate bloodshed and cruelty and killing. I 
 think the civilised world is half barbarous still. I 
 don't believe we are justified in killing harmless 
 creatures even for our sustenance. But there are 
 certain animals, human and other, which have no 
 right to live, which are not only useless, but vitiate 
 the air and are noxious and dangerous to their fel- 
 lows. If I saw a snake I should kill it if I could; 
 but nothing would make me kill a pigeon, though 
 I were starving. What single baseness, vileness, 
 meanness has your husband shown himself inca- 
 pable of that for him any death could be too 
 ignominious?" 
 
 "It would be dreadful beyond words," said 
 Cynthia. 
 
 216
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "But what," Bay persisted "what extenuating 
 claim can you put forward for him?" 
 
 "I cannot say what," Cynthia replied slowly. 
 "I don't think he has ever, all through his life> 
 done anything to benefit a fellow-creature." 
 
 A little later she went to her room to lie down, 
 worn out by the strenuous, tragic day. 
 
 But Bay still sat thinking over, the fire. 
 
 217
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 "Or course, they have operated," said Bay. 
 
 She was sitting beside Frank Cheyne in a han- 
 som, returning from a visit to the hospital. 
 
 "A doctor," she proceeded, after a short pause, 
 "is a man who comes into a house with a purr in 
 his voice and a knife in his sleeve; and you are 
 uncommonly lucky if you can get him out without 
 having the knife driven into you. With some of 
 them it is almost a mania; they are drunk for 
 blood. I know that to my cost," she added, with 
 a shudder. "I have felt their hideous knives, and 
 sometimes I dream of them." 
 
 "They told me it was the only chance," said 
 Frank Cheyne. 
 
 "They always do," said Bay. "They operate 
 experimentally, for diagnosis, even to satisfy their 
 scientific curiosity. They won't try other methods ; 
 they know none ; they won't study them ; they are 
 up-to-date. Every healing property and power is 
 subordinated to surgery, almost obliterated by it. 
 The thinnest excuse is sufficient for their own con- 
 
 218
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 sciences, and the relatives are frightened into ac- 
 quiescence." 
 
 "Do you mean you think I ought not to have 
 agreed?" said Frank. 
 
 "No; you were bound to agree. There is the 
 hideous subtlety of it. It is offered to you as the 
 one chance of life; and, as it is not your own life, 
 you daren't take the responsibility of refusing. 
 There is just a possibility that it may be the only 
 chance; the only one, at any rate, which has not 
 been lost in the modern passion for surgery." 
 
 Laurence had now been in the hospital four days 
 and had not yet recovered consciousness. The long 
 periods of heavy lethargy, in which for the most 
 part he lay, were less distressing to those who 
 watched him than his intervening fits of violent 
 delirium. He would suddenly conceive intense 
 antagonism to particular people about him, imag- 
 ining a sinister design in their presence or ministra- 
 tions, and would struggle to get at them with fren- 
 zied force which needed the utmost efforts of the 
 male nurses to restrain. On the second morning, 
 Cynthia and Bay, moving quietly about his bed, 
 had been transformed by his distraught mind into 
 vampires seeking his blood. Starting up in bed, 
 he had swept them from him, driving them trem- 
 bling into a corner, with curses and imprecations, 
 doubly terrible to hear from lips which, in sanity, 
 
 219
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 were never intemperate in speech. That day Cyn- 
 thia had cried bitterly in the cab on the way home, 
 and Bay, sitting by her side, listening to her sobs, 
 had looked silently out at the foggy street, with 
 compressed lips and steady eyes. All the after- 
 noon and evening Cynthia had found her unre- 
 sponsive, ruminative, inclined to be irritable, al- 
 most morose. For a day they had kept away from 
 the hospital, fearing to excite him. When they 
 had gone again he had talked to them quietly, but 
 without knowing them. 
 
 "In a general way," said Frank, in reply to 
 Bay's remark, "I daresay there is a good deal of 
 truth in all that. I have no great fancy, for in- 
 stance, for the modern fad for cutting children's 
 throats about. Probably, on the whole, it means 
 a lot of needless cruelty, though it is as much the 
 fault of the parents as the doctors. If a man said 
 plainly that he would not have his child cut, the 
 surgeon would have to put his knife in his pocket 
 instead of his twenty-five guineas. But in Lau- 
 rence's case I don't know what else you were to do. 
 It is obvious that you can't relieve the pressure of 
 a bone on the brain by medicines." 
 
 "Perhaps not," said Bay, a little grudgingly. 
 "But, in any case, I maintain that the aim of medi- 
 cal science should be less to save life than to save 
 pain. If it can only be saved at the cost of life, it 
 
 220
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 is better to pay the cost. At present we practise 
 the reverse and inflict pain to save life. Years ago 
 human life used to be regarded too lightly. Now 
 we have gone to the other extreme and exagger- 
 ated its sacredness. Deformed, maimed, stunted 
 life is preserved at any price of pain." 
 
 "So you subscribe to the doctrine of the elimina- 
 tion of the unfit?" said Frank. 
 
 "No of the suffering. Ten years of pain who 
 would willingly live through it ? Does anyone ever 
 think of the pain, mental and physical, that is 
 ceaselessly endured ceaselessly because life must 
 not be sacrificed ? Mere death, put in the balance 
 against that tremendous weight of suffering, would 
 be insignificant. What does the prolongation of 
 life come to in the long run? You might die to- 
 morrow, and I might live another forty, fifty, sixty 
 years. In the end, the only difference would be 
 that you would be remembered as a young man 
 and I as an old woman." 
 
 "Yes, but as a young one, too." 
 
 "People are remembered at the age at which 
 they die," said Bay. "Haven't you yet found that 
 out? Lady Jane Grey and Anne Boleyn are eter- 
 nally young. Time can never make them anything 
 else. If they had not been beheaded they might 
 have lived into shrivelled age and have been so re- 
 membered. Everyyear you live is making you older, 
 
 221
 
 not temporarily, but everlastingly. Once lived, a 
 year won't be obliterated to the end of time : you 
 stamp it on your features for ever. Queen Vic- 
 toria was as young as Lady Jane Grey at one time ; 
 but she lived to a great age, and so in our minds 
 we see her old, and in the minds of future genera- 
 tions she will always be old. They will see pictures 
 of her in youth, but the permanent, steadfast im- 
 pression will be of an old woman. She has left a 
 great name and she personifies a great era, but if 
 the choice were put to me, as a woman, I would 
 rather have Lady Jane Grey's perpetual youth." 
 
 "So you argue," said Frank, "that the murders 
 of Lady Jane Grey and Anne Boleyn were justified 
 on the ground that they perpetuated pleasant 
 youthful pictures of them?" 
 
 "Owl!" said Bay. 
 
 "At any rate, I don't agree with you," proceeded 
 Frank, unabashed. "For my part, if it were a mat- 
 ter of choice, I should certainly prefer to keep 
 going on and take things as they came, even the 
 chance of descending to posterity an octogenarian." 
 
 "Your personal feeling is worth very little," said 
 Bay: "you are not a normal case. You are healthy, 
 you are young, you are rich; you are one of the 
 very, very few people in the world to whom life is 
 all roses." 
 
 "You say that to me," said Frank, with some 
 
 222
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 reproach, "when you know my errand in town, my 
 errand this morning ?" 
 
 "That doesn't affect the composition of your lot 
 in life : it is a shadow passing across it." 
 
 "I hope it may be," said Frank. "I hope to 
 heaven it may be." 
 
 "If it comes to that," he went on, a moment 
 later, "I don't know that you yourself have very 
 much to complain about. You are well off and 
 young and healthy and independent ; the world lies 
 before you; you have everything that women 
 covet." 
 
 "For all that," said Bay, "I would willingly 
 exchange fates with that flower-girl who is flirting 
 with a customer." 
 
 "Oh, come, Bay, you are morbid." 
 
 "I don't think so," said Bay; "but you may have 
 it that way if you like." 
 
 "No one could ever accuse you of not doing 
 your own thinking," said" Frank, after a pause. 
 "You are certainly entitled to the suffrage." 
 
 "Thank you," said Bay; "I don't want it. A 
 handcuffed man wouldn't be particularly grateful 
 to you for rubbing the dust off his manacles. I 
 believe in the complete enfranchisement and inde- 
 pendence of women; but you must begin at the 
 beginning. It amuses me to see these ladies, who 
 are so anxious to build the house of their freedom, 
 
 223 

 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 struggling to grub up the grass from a piece of 
 ground with an oak tree in the middle of it. To 
 offer us a parliamentary vote a vote ! while you 
 keep us shackled in the ignominious bondage of 
 marriage is a ridiculous contradiction and insult- 
 ingly futile. A woman can't take support with 
 one hand and govern the country with the other. 
 Let us get complete independence; then we will 
 face you." 
 
 "You object to marriage, and yet you marry!" 
 
 "I have heard that remark at least fifty times 
 before," said Bay. "It sounds stupider every time 
 it is repeated, and it was fatuous at the beginning. 
 By marrying we don't set the seal of our approba- 
 tion upon marriage as an institution. We marry 
 because we have to; because it is the only system 
 that exists. We are governed by the majority. 
 We may not care for the present form of govern- 
 ment, but we have to submit to it while it lasts." 
 
 "In other words," said Frank, calmly, "you 
 mean that you have not the courage of your con- 
 viction?" 
 
 "I mean nothing of the kind," said Bay, quite 
 unmoved. "My conviction is that the abolition of 
 compulsory ties is good for the community, not for 
 isolated individuals. It is bad for isolated indi- 
 viduals, because it results in wholesale ostracism. 
 People may pretend to scorn it, but wholesale os- 
 
 224
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 tracism must stunt growth of all kinds and utterly 
 warp one's faculties, besides closing the door to 
 every useful outlet of energy." 
 
 "Any other system would be impracticable," said 
 Frank. 
 
 "So the housekeeper says who has got used to 
 domestic servants; so the old gentleman says who 
 has got used to his lunch at one and his dinner at 
 eight. Everything seems impracticable except the 
 thing we are accustomed to. We couldn't make 
 a radical change even in the times of our meals 
 without reorganising most of the other affairs of 
 life, but that doesn't mean that they are not reor- 
 ganisable." 
 
 "But why make a change at all?" 
 
 "Because the present system is constricting, de- 
 grading, and sordid." 
 
 "Oh, that is sheer dogmatising. Supposing I 
 take a fancy to someone, and someone takes a 
 fancy to me it is unlikely, I admit, but unlikelier 
 things have happened and supposing we each 
 think we should like to spend the rest of our lives 
 together; why shouldn't we?" 
 
 "You may do. I don't want to prevent you, but 
 I don't want to bind you. The essence of a tie of 
 that sort is its voluntariness." 
 
 "Of course," said Frank, a little drily, "I have 
 left out of the question its inherent immorality." 
 
 225
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "A good thing for you you have," said Bay. 
 
 They drove some distance in silence. 
 
 "You are coming to lunch with me?" said 
 Frank, as they approached his hotel. 
 
 "Willingly, if only my own feelings had to be 
 considered." 
 
 "Whom else have you to think of?" 
 
 "Whom else? I have left my poor darling 
 Cynthia at home, nursing a frightful head and sick 
 for news." 
 
 The cab stopped. Frank jumped out. 
 
 "You can telephone," he said. "Come along. 
 You want a fillip a bottle of Pommery. You have 
 been tearing about the last few days, looking after 
 everybody and everything, and you have got more 
 out of gear than you realise." 
 
 "Idiot!" 
 
 "Out you come!" 
 
 He stretched out his hand. With a shrug of 
 resignation, Bay put her foot on the step and 
 sprang to the pavement. 
 
 She went straight to the telephone in the hotel 
 and waited impatiently for the answer to her call. 
 
 "Are you there ? . . . Are you there ? ... Is 
 that you, Cynthia ? . . . Oh will you ask Mrs. 
 Elwestocome? . . . Yes. . . . Yes. . . . Bay. 
 .... I am at the Ritz. . . . Yes, I am lunching 
 with him. . . . They operated this morning. . . . 
 
 226
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 The big man says there is a fair chance ... A 
 fair chance he won't say more than that. . . . 
 It's touch and go, dear, it's no use pretending it's 
 not. ... I shall call before I come home. . . . 
 Yes. . . . Yes. ... By tea-time perhaps be- 
 fore as soon as this brute will let me go. . . . 
 How is the head? ... Go and lie down again." 
 
 She snapped back the ear-piece. 
 
 "I don't know if you know it, Bay," said Frank, 
 calmly, "but you have got into the habit of talking 
 of Mrs. Elwes almost as if well, almost as if she 
 were Laurence's wife." 
 
 "If she were," retorted Bay, "she would be a 
 sister-in-law to be proud of." 
 
 "I don't deny it, but that is hardly the point, 
 since she has a husband living." He led her to a 
 corner of the lounge. "You know more than I do 
 about this affair, Bay, and you represent a sort of 
 common meeting-ground of all concerned. Per- 
 haps you think I see little because I say little. That 
 is not quite the case. I know that Mrs. Elwes left 
 her husband about the same time that Laurence 
 met his mysterious accident in her house; and the 
 inference is tolerably clear. So long as all goes 
 right and he gets well I am quite content both for 
 his sake and for others to make no awkward in- 
 quiries. But if things don't go right if he should 
 
 227
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 not get better I fancy there is someone who will 
 have to answer for it." 
 
 Bay took a step towards him and looked straight 
 up into his face, her hands clenched, her eyes sud- 
 denly ablaze, her whole form tense. 
 
 "Someone will have to answer for it," she said 
 God!" 
 
 228
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 WHEN the last of Cynthia's trunks had been 
 carried downstairs, when Cynthia herself had 
 clanged the front door behind her, Harvey was 
 left in no doubt that her withdrawal was final and 
 permanent. In ordinary circumstances the loss of 
 his wife would have moved him to a state of dis- 
 tracted misery; the sense of the wrong he suffered 
 would have borne upon him with tremendous 
 force; he would have set about efforts to recover; 
 her in a ferment of twittering agitation. So heavy, 
 however, was the dread which had settled upon 
 him of the consequences of his crime that Cynthia's 
 departure passed almost unnoticed. He made no 
 attempt to prevent her, to dissuade her, even to 
 bid her farewell. Viewed in relation to the immi- 
 nent danger he supposed to be surrounding him, it 
 appeared an incident of such minor importance 
 that it hardly affected him at all. 
 
 For the first days he did not venture outside the 
 house. He closeted himself in the small room up- 
 stairs, peering surreptitiously from the window, 
 
 229
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 shivering at the sight of a constable on his beat, 
 starting violently at the sound of the front-door 
 bell. During this period he consumed great quan- 
 tities of tobacco, but, curiously enough, drank com- 
 paratively little. The fright had driven out of 
 him the desire for alcohol. He sat for the most 
 part in an easy-chair, one hand in his trouser- 
 pocket, the other grasping the bowl of his pipe, 
 staring in front of him with harassed, scared eyes, 
 periodically removing the pipe from his mouth to 
 swallow, periodically getting up to peer out of the 
 window. That, with regular breaks for meals, 
 represented practically his life for four days. 
 
 He was tortured by his inability to learn any- 
 thing of Laurence's condition. No news reached 
 him, and he dared not go to the hospital to in- 
 quire. He lived in still exclusion. He heard the 
 jingle of plate at meal-times, he heard the servants 
 occasionally moving about the house he cared not 
 whether they came or went he heard the distant 
 rumble of traffic, and that was all. So far as any 
 definite conception of his motives had taken shape 
 in his mind, he felt that while he remained closeted 
 away out of sight and hearing he might be over- 
 looked, forgotten ; that to appear upon the streets, 
 particularly to approach the house where his victim 
 lay, would be to invite recollection and reprisals. As 
 the heavy days succeeded one another in stagnant 
 
 230
 
 silence, he pictured repeatedly, almost continuously, 
 Laurence's death. The residue of his legal knowl- 
 edge was sufficient to construct the sequel. There 
 would be an inquest, to which, in the first instance, 
 he would be summoned as a witness a witness 
 who would be cautioned before he gave evidence, 
 quietly prevented from leaving the precincts of 
 the court, and arrested when the jury had re- 
 turned their verdict. Again and again he reached 
 the conclusion that the first intimation he would 
 receive of Laurence's death must be his summons 
 by the coroner's officer. 
 
 On the fourth afternoon he had strung this chain 
 of probabilities for the hundredth time, when a 
 ring at the front-door bell was followed, after a 
 short interval, by a heavy tread on the stairs. He 
 immediately relinquished all hope, immediately 
 and completely collapsed. As the heavy step slowly 
 and steadily came up, up, up, he drooped and 
 crouched in his chair, flaccid and quivering. When 
 it had reached the landing, and a hand was laid 
 upon the knob of his door, he lost the last remnant 
 of control ; a violent spasm wrung him, and, as the 
 door opened, he turned a face of helpless terror; 
 upon the Vet. 
 
 The sturdy doctor was a man of phlegmatic tem- 
 perament, accustomed to take things very much as 
 they came ; but Harvey's curious appearance caused 
 
 231
 
 him to pause for a moment in surprise. The latter 
 was not immediately reassured by the sight of him : 
 he supposed that he had come with the first friend- 
 ly warning, with a recommendation of instant 
 flight. 
 
 "Hello, Elwes !" said his visitor, drily. "You 
 don't seem to be yourself." 
 
 Harvey started up from his chair, recovering 
 with an effort a semblance of his habitual bearing. 
 "What have you heard?" he demanded sharply. 
 
 The Vet. became curious. "I don't see the 
 point," he said. "What's in the wind?" 
 
 "Why have you come?" said Harvey, oblivious 
 of the civilities in his anxiety. 
 
 "You are uncommonly hospitable," said the doc- 
 tor, with a short laugh. "I was in the neighbour- 
 hood, so I thought I would look you up. Nobody 
 has seen you for nearly a week." 
 
 "I haven't been able to get out," said Harvey, 
 quickly. His legs hardly supported him, but he 
 became acutely anxious now to hide the cause of his 
 fears. "Have a cigarette?" 
 
 Craven strode across the room with the slight 
 suggestion of swagger that was natural in his gait 
 .and took one from the box. "Yes, but what has 
 got hold of you, Elwes?" he said, tapping the 
 cigarette on the mantelpiece to shake down the 
 
 232
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 tobacco. "When I came into the room I thought 
 you were going to have a fit." 
 
 "Nothing," said Harvey. "I've been a bit 
 seedy. Have a drink?" 
 
 "Queer complaint to take you in that way," said 
 the Vet., helping himself. "Look here, Elwes 
 sit down it appears to me that you have had a 
 shock of some kind." 
 
 Harvey, who was still slightly unsteady, dropped 
 into his chair. 
 
 "Been doing much of this?" proceeded Craven, 
 calmly, spurting soda into his glass. 
 
 "What do you mean ?" said Harvey, bridling. 
 
 "There's no need to get chippy. I've seen some- 
 thing of the effects of overdoing it ; and when you 
 go into a room and a man takes you apparently for 
 a prehistoric beast, the idea isn't particularly out- 
 rageous." 
 
 "It's a private trouble," said Harvey, shortly. 
 
 "I'm sorry, old chap," said the Vet., patently 
 unconvinced, but willing to leave the matter at that. 
 He sat down and crossed his legs; and if one could 
 have inferred anything from the expression of his 
 face, it would have been that the limit of his 
 whisky-and-soda would be the limit of his visit. 
 
 "Do you ever go to Anne Street, Vet.?" said 
 Harvey, suddenly, looking up with a bird-like spar- 
 kle in his eyes. In spite of his keen anxiety to 
 
 233
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 avoid the subject that oppressed his mind, he could 
 not resist the opportunity to search for possible 
 scraps of information. 
 
 "I have been," said the Vet. "What makes you 
 ask?" 
 
 "I heard of it the other day," said Harvey, 
 lamely. "I was told there were private nursing 
 homes there." 
 
 Craven pricked up his ears. "All round that 
 neighbourhood," he said. "I've sometimes had 
 patients in them." 
 
 Harvey strove not to show too great an interest. 
 "Have you any there now?" 
 
 "No," said the Vet. He felt himself on the 
 scent of something that might bear on Harvey's 
 behaviour, and added sagaciously: "I often have 
 to go through that district ; I can tell you anything 
 you want to know about it." 
 
 "I suppose you would hear about important 
 cases there?" 
 
 "In a private hospital?" Craven was mildly 
 tickled. "There would have to be some very ex- 
 ceptional features." 
 
 This brought Harvey to the end of his tether. 
 He was not quite sure what Craven meant by 
 "exceptional features" ;the expression alarmed him, 
 and he dared not press for elucidation. He felt 
 it might probably have some reference to foul play. 
 
 234
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 His mind, by continual brooding, had so coloured 
 the matter that preyed upon it that he believed one 
 had only to go to the neighbourhood of Anne 
 Street to find the staple subject of conversation to 
 be Laurence's condition and the circumstances at- 
 tending his injury. He pictured the house in which 
 he lay beset by a perpetual stream of nurses, sur- 
 geons and visitors; sometimes, in his darker 
 images, by undertakers' men and coroner's officers,; 
 lawyers and police. If Craven had passed there in 
 the last few days it seemed very unlikely that he 
 could be without some inkling of what was going 
 on. "Exceptional features" had an ominous 
 sound. 
 
 He darted away from the dangerous topic, flut- 
 tered about it in narrowing circles, and eventually 
 plunged into it again from a different side. 
 
 "I suppose you've often had cases of fracture?" 
 he said. 
 
 "Fracture of what?" 
 
 "The skull." 
 
 "The skull !" said the Vet. His speculative in- 
 terest was again touched. "I have seen plenty of 
 cases in hospital. They are not very common in 
 general practice." 
 
 "I suppose it's dangerous?" 
 
 "To have your head broken!" The doctor 
 smiled. "Yes, it's tolerably dangerous, Elwes." 
 
 235
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "But they sometimes recover?" acutely. 
 
 "Occasionally," said the Vet, with his slight 
 drawl, "if the patient is in good hands. It's usually 
 fatal." 
 
 Harvey perceptibly blanched; which the other 
 did not fail to observe. 
 
 "Of course you can have a knock on the head 
 without fracture," he proceeded blandly. "It may 
 produce only contusion or laceration. It depends 
 upon the knock." 
 
 "A knock with a hammer?" suggested Harvey, 
 tentatively. 
 
 "What sort of a hammer? A sledge-hammer?" 
 
 "I'm not thinking of any particular case," Har- 
 vey assured him hastily. "You see cases in the 
 paper where people get struck with coal-hammers 
 and hatchets and things of that kind. I was won- 
 dering what happened." 
 
 "A six-foot drop usually happens," said the Vet., 
 drily. 
 
 Harvey started violently. A cold shiver ran 
 through him and appeared in perspiration on his 
 brow. Conscious of the damaging effect, he at- 
 tempted to cover it the next instant, sitting upright, 
 clutching the knobs of his chair. He forced his 
 lips to smile. "Have another drink?" he said. 
 
 The whole process had been perfectly clear to 
 Craven. He felt perplexed and a little discon- 
 
 236
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 certed. "No, thanks, old chap; I think I'll be 
 ambling," he said, getting up. "I'm sorry there's 
 trouble about. I should go out more," he added; 
 "come to the club. Don't sit in the house and 
 worry; it is bound to produce nerves." 
 
 He was a man who did not lack perspicuity, 
 however, and that he had attained a rough knowl- 
 edge of the source of Harvey's depression was 
 manifested by his concluding words. 
 
 "By the way, Elwes," he turned at the door to 
 say, "what is your interest in this fellow with his 
 head smashed in Anne Street?" 
 
 Harvey gazed at him with undisguised conster- 
 nation, confirmed in his apprehensions. "What 
 have you heard?" he ejected, under his breath. 
 
 "Only what you've told me," said the Vet., and 
 lumbered pleasantly down the stairs, slightly swag- 
 gering his elbows. 
 
 Whether Harvey would have adopted his advice 
 to emerge from seclusion without the help of con- 
 current circumstances cannot be known, for on the 
 morrow of Craven's visit such help was vouchsafed 
 him. It has been obvious, of course, to those stu- 
 dents of human nature who have been following 
 the course of this narrative that the sensational 
 events which the house in Neville Road had re- 
 cently witnessed could not take place without con- 
 siderable gossip at area railings and elsewhere. So 
 
 237
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 interesting a scandal no doubt percolated, with 
 refreshing effect, to many drawing-rooms and many 
 smoke-rooms, even outside the radius of the 
 Elweses' immediate acquaintance. At all events, 
 some rough account of the affair got into the 
 papers : to be quite accurate, it got into one paper. 
 A widely circulated halfpenny journal, by means 
 known only to itself, obtained certain semi-correct 
 information, which it served up by instalments for 
 three days, under the heading "A Wronged Hus- 
 band" The matter it had to detail was conceived 
 and presented in the spirit of that heading. 
 
 Harvey's one point of touch with the outer 
 world was the daily press. When this rendering 
 of his case came under his eye it produced in quick 
 succession three separate emotions: astonishment, 
 tumultuous relief and gratification, finally incre- 
 dulity of his own failure theretofore to recognise 
 the true position. To say that the account acted 
 as a tonic would be to write inadequately. He 
 swung in one movement from the extreme of trepi- 
 dation to bombastic confidence. Immediately after 
 breakfast, on the day that the first report appeared, 
 he issued from his front door with the paper under 
 his arm. He felt himself to be not merely a free 
 man, but a hero. To be the subject of a newspaper 
 article in any character was to him sufficient to lift 
 a man to a plane above his fellows. In crowded 
 
 238
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 thoroughfares he supposed that people were point- 
 ing him out to one another as the man who had 
 shown so bold a front in trying circumstances. 
 
 He kept the cuttings in his pocket, and showed 
 them, when he was sober, to his more intimate 
 friends, and, at other times, to the circle at the club. 
 He watched them circulating with the smile of one 
 modestly conscious of well-merited fame. When 
 they had passed round he made sure that the note- 
 worthy points should be fully appreciated by draw- 
 ing his nearest neighbour's attention to particular 
 passages. 
 
 "You see what it says here," he would point out, 
 running his finger swiftly along the print, and read- 
 ing at the same time 
 
 "Mr. Elwes, with the excusable passion which 
 such circumstances would arouse, struck his wife's 
 betrayer a determined blow." 
 
 On the previous day the paper had said that he 
 gave Laurence "a sound thrashing," but had ap- 
 parently subsequently obtained better and fuller 
 information at the area gate. 
 
 "It was an awful position to be in," was the 
 grave commentary with which he invariably re- 
 turned the cuttings to his pocket. "It was the only 
 thing I could do. But I hope he'll get better," he 
 added magnanimously. Having replaced the 
 papers and taken out his pipe and tobacco, he broke
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 the difficult silence which usually ensued by again 
 expressing himself generously in the same terms. 
 
 This was the mood which animated him for 
 nearly a fortnight. Then by degrees he settled 
 back into his previous condition of quaking depres- 
 sion. The halfpenny newspaper ceased to print 
 flattering descriptions of his conduct ; his friends, as 
 a whole, appeared to regard him as a person calling 
 less for compliments than for condolence; stran- 
 gers in railway carriages and in bars contended 
 that they had not heard his name, and kept their 
 enthusiasm in remarkable control even after having 
 been accorded an opportunity to read the cuttings. 
 The halo about his head showed an obstinate in- 
 disposition to materialise. Concurrently, the re- 
 ports he could glean of Laurence's progress were 
 not encouraging. The Vet. and other emissaries 
 who consented to make inquiries at the hospital 
 were informed that he was alive, but still in a pre- 
 carious condition. In brief, when he rose in the 
 morning and went down to his solitary meal in his 
 silent house, he saw himself, Harvey Elwes, minus 
 his halo, minus his wife, and plus the shadow of 
 the rope. 
 
 His intimate circle did their best to encourage 
 him (when he had "ordered the liquid"). They 
 told him, with airy confidence, that the man who 
 killed his wife's lover always got off. It was a 
 
 240
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 recognised thing ; it was a matter that need not af- 
 ford him a moment's uneasiness. Masters, towards 
 the close of a heavy day's work with his elbow, 
 informed him definitely, as one favoured with 
 special knowledge, that you were "allowed to 
 do it." 
 
 These assurances satisfied him when the material 
 spirit had mounted his brow; but in the sober re- 
 action his latent knowledge of British jurispru- 
 dence persistently arose unconfounded and faced 
 him with calm and steady facts. He knew that if 
 Laurence died within a year the charge against him 
 must be one of murder; that no juggling of legal 
 forms could reduce even to manslaughter a fatal 
 blow incontestably inflicted with the intention of 
 doing grievous bodily harm. Let the sentiment of 
 the halfpenny press be what it might, he would 
 have to stand the charge and probably the sen- 
 tence, resting his hope of delivery upon the exten- 
 sion of the royal clemency. Even to be sentenced 
 to death, when fully pictured, was a thought to 
 send the blood in his veins shivering back to his 
 heart. 
 
 "What would you advise me to do?" he asked 
 feverishly one afternoon at the Golf Club. "Would 
 you stay here and risk it, or would you go while 
 there's time? I don't think I'm watched." 
 
 "Watched!" cried John Jacob. "I'm a plain- 
 241
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 clothes officer, and Masters is the executioner. We 
 watch you in every bar in London. You never go 
 out of our sight." 
 
 "We are drinking ourselves to death," said Mas- 
 ters, "in the cause of duty. Here's to a quick 
 despatch, old bhoy 1" 
 
 It speaks volumes as to the state of Harvey's 
 mind at this period that he looked at John Jacob's 
 boots. 
 
 242
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 Six weeks after receiving his injury, Laurence 
 was removed from the nursing home to Bay's flat. 
 The doctors had been somewhat averse to this 
 doctors, in their enthusiasm for perfect hygienic 
 and therapeutic conditions, are apt to overlook the 
 more subtle effect likely to be produced upon the 
 mind of a patient by surroundings, however whole- 
 some and convenient, designed exclusively and un- 
 mistakably for invalid use but Bay had been de- 
 termined to carry her point as soon as the trans- 
 ference could be effected without actual risk. It 
 appeared to her that, in the familiar environment 
 of an ordinary bedroom, associated continuously 
 with the familiar faces and voices of Cynthia and 
 herself, a normal mental state (now the point of 
 chief anxiety) would more surely and quickly be 
 restored. By sharing a room with Cynthia she was 
 able to make her restricted accommodation suffice 
 for the additional call upon it. 
 
 Laurence was by no means out of the wood, but 
 his day-by-day improvement was distinct and main- 
 
 243
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 taincd. He was still in a precarious, though no 
 longer in a perilous, condition. By degrees he was 
 recovering consciousness (they shunned the more 
 terrible word "sanity") . He had ceased to be sub- 
 ject to fits of violence, and his periods of ration- 
 ality became more frequent and were longer. 
 
 He had several times talked calmly to those 
 about him at the hospital, asked questions, re- 
 mained sensible for half an hour or so, and then 
 dropped back into lethargy or semi-delirium. These 
 gleams left no impression on his mind, however, 
 and were completely forgotten on a subsequent re- 
 turn to temporary consciousness. Whether it were 
 the result of Bay's policy of a change of environ- 
 ment, or whether it were mere coincidence, his first 
 period of sustained rational conversation followed 
 within three days of his removal to the flat. It 
 was a morning in early February. It chanced that 
 Bay was alone in the room with him. The nurse 
 had gone to bed and Cynthia was temporarily ab- 
 sent. Bay had drawn the curtains wide to let in 
 all the light which the dull day would concede, had 
 put coals on the fire, and for several minutes had 
 been sitting by his bedside, bending over some 
 needlework. 
 
 "You are astonishingly industrious, Bay," he 
 said suddenly. 
 
 244
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 She turned her head quickly and found him ob- 
 serving her calmly. 
 
 "I have been watching you for ten minutes," 
 he informed her in a voice that was quite natural, 
 though a little weak, "and you have never once 
 stopped working nor looked up." 
 
 "I would work much longer than ten minutes," 
 she said, with a bright light in her face, "if I could 
 always make you tell me of it in that tone." 
 
 "Have I been talking rubbish? I rather thought 
 so. I got a knock of some sort. It was my own 
 fault for not watching him. I saw he had some- 
 thing in his hand. But I don't quite know why I 
 am poked in bed?" He made an effort to raise 
 himself, but soon returned to the pillows, surprised 
 and chagrined at his own feebleness. 
 
 Bay put back the covers over him. "You can't 
 be in bed for six weeks without becoming weak, 
 goat." 
 
 "The confounded little rat!" Laurence was 
 about to proceed along the line of his recollections, 
 but checked himself. "How do we stand, you and 
 I, Bay?" he said. "I seem to take you surprisingly 
 as a matter of course. How much do you know, 
 and where are we located?" 
 
 "I know everything," she answered, "and we 
 are in my flat." 
 
 245
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Can you look at me without blinking and tell 
 me I have been in your flat for six weeks?" said 
 Laurence, aghast. 
 
 "You haven't," replied Bay: "onfy for a few 
 days. You were in a nursing home before." 
 
 "Even that is sufficient to answer for. It 
 seems I am tethered for the present. You 
 have burdened yourself with the nuisance of an 
 invalid for heaven knows how long. How on 
 earth do you suppose I am ever going to get 
 straight?" 
 
 "Do you think I care?" cried Bay, almost fierce- 
 ly. "Do you think I mind about that?" 
 
 "But why should you have me here?" 
 
 "I have someone else here," said Bay, in a low 
 voice. Then, made greedy of the present good by 
 her own words, she went on quickly: "Frank has 
 been in town all the time. And the door is be- 
 sieged by your friends. I object to your friends. 
 Some of them even try to force their way in here." 
 
 "What friends?" said Laurence, eagerly. Then 
 he laughed slightly and changed his tone : "Oh, but 
 I needn't beat about the bush. Where is ?" 
 
 While the words were on his lips, before he 
 could utter the name, the door opened and Cynthia 
 came in tranquil and graceful. 
 
 "Dear heaven on earth," said Laurence, fer- 
 246
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 vently. "I have come back to an earth far better 
 than any heaven I wish to find." 
 
 Bay quietly moved from her place at the bed- 
 side, and Cynthia immediately filled it, scarcely 
 noticing, in her joy, that it had been resigned. 
 
 "Laurence oh, Laurence !" Cynthia could say 
 no more. She could only gaze, with unutterable 
 thankfulness, into the eyes at last looking back 
 sanely into hers, at last returning her, with satisfy- 
 ing wholeness, the love she poured into them. 
 
 Again she scarcely noticed that Bay moved to 
 the door and quietly went out of the room. 
 
 "And where have you been these six weeks that 
 I have broken my promise to wait for you at 
 Charing Cross ?" said Laurence. Their four hands 
 lay together on the coverlet. 
 
 "Here," said Cynthia, "with Bay." 
 
 "All the time?" 
 
 "Yes, all the time; and Eric, too, until the other 
 day, when you were coming, and we sent him into 
 the country. She gave me a home when I had no 
 home to go to. I can never repay her." 
 
 "We are wallowing in her debt," said Laurence, 
 "steeped in it. When I am fixed up again we will 
 try and get at least our heads out." 
 
 They were silent for a time. 
 
 "That means you have left ?" Laurence 
 
 did not finish the sentence. 
 
 247
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Absolutely." 
 
 "Thank God ! Such a life was unthinkable." 
 
 Still holding her hands, he closed his eyes for 
 a while, and his mind gradually ran into a new 
 train of thought, induced by an expression that had 
 fallen from her. 
 
 He lifted his lids again in a few minutes. "Tell 
 me the truth about this," he said: "I have been 
 seriously ill?" 
 
 "Yes, very." 
 
 "Likely to die?" 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 "Am I clear of the wood yet?" 
 
 "I think so I hope so." 
 
 "There is a doubt." He paused for a moment. 
 "Is there anyone here can take a message?" 
 
 "You must not think of messages," said Cynthia, 
 softly. "You are much too ill still." 
 
 "That is the reason this one will have to go. I 
 want the nearest lawyer at once." 
 
 "You are not going to die, dearest," said Cyn- 
 thia, making no pretence of misunderstanding his 
 purpose; "and even if you were, I could not allow 
 you to do that." 
 
 "At once, Cynthia." 
 
 "Think to what it would reduce me." 
 
 "You are irreducible." 
 
 "I have my brain and my hands. I thought I 
 248
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 might have to rely on them a little while ago. 
 I did not flinch, and I should not flinch; and I 
 would rather have it so. Please, please." 
 
 He pressed her hands as closely as the remain- 
 ing strength in him permitted. "Cynthia, do you 
 want me to get well?" 
 
 She only looked at him. 
 
 "Then you will do as I wish. I could not pos- 
 sibly make any progress with such an intolerable 
 weight on my mind. It would torture me day and 
 night. It is a nightmare even to think of what 
 might have happened." 
 
 She stroked his hand gently. "You don't realise 
 your own weakness, dear. You are not strong 
 enough yet to think of lawyers and wills." 
 
 "Do as I say." Laurence managed to lift his 
 head and spoke with sudden intensity. 
 
 "I shall go away unless you promise to be quiet." 
 Cynthia rose and laid her soft hands upon him to 
 press him back upon the pillows. 
 
 "Do as I say." His eyes were beginning to 
 glow. 
 
 "Hush! Hush! Be quiet!" said Cynthia, 
 quickly. "I will send. You shall have him." 
 
 She went out of the room to look for Bay. She 
 found her sitting alone in the drawing-room, her 
 arms on the window-ledge, looking out into the 
 grey street. Cynthia stood for a few moments 
 
 249
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 without speaking. It is possible that as she looked 
 at the solitary figure a certain air of dejection 
 about her and yet of resolution a first faint sus- 
 picion of the truth crossed her mind. 
 
 "Bay," she said softly. The latter had not 
 turned as she entered. "Bay." 
 
 Bay gathered herself out of her reverie and 
 looked round. 
 
 "Aren't you glad Laurence is better?" asked 
 Cynthia. 
 
 "Of course 1 am glad." 
 
 "Then why are you sitting here alone in this 
 way?" 
 
 "Do you expect me to sit with the servants?" 
 said Bay. 
 
 "You need not have left us." 
 
 "Thank you. In the circumstances the kitchen 
 would be preferable." 
 
 Cynthia walked up to her. "You know you 
 could never possibly be anything but welcome any- 
 where I am," she said reproachfully. 
 
 "I doubt it," said Bay, plainly. "And you were 
 not the only person concerned." 
 
 "Or to Laurence, either." 
 
 "I doubt it even more. Besides, I can appreciate 
 my own society. I commune with a mind which 
 views things with unusual sanity." 
 
 "You looked so deep in thought," said Cynthia, 
 250
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 in a tone of concern. "What were you thinking 
 about?" 
 
 Bay made no immediate response. 
 
 "Of various things," she said presently, "various 
 injustices. . . . I'll tell you what I was thinking 
 about," she cried, starting suddenly to her feet. "I 
 was thinking that that that worm will escape." 
 
 An hour later Laurence had signed a codicil to 
 his will and had fallen into a natural sleep.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 IT was during the period immediately following 
 Laurence's first definite return to normal mental 
 conditions that Bay emerged one afternoon from 
 the block of flats, amid a drift of cold February 
 sleet, to pay a visit in an outlying district of North 
 London. Journeying partly by train and partly on 
 foot, she reached at length a new house of com- 
 fortable dimensions, which appeared palatial by 
 contrast with the interminable rows of small dwell- 
 ings in its neighbourhood. It bore on its railing 
 the brass plate of a member of the medical profes- 
 sion, and was occupied by a pleasant-featured, 
 good-humoured young gentleman, who in the days 
 before Bay's marriage had been a suitor for her 
 hand. She had met his advances with the candid 
 pronouncement that she had no objection to being 
 silly, but that she drew the line at stupidity. Realis- 
 ing in the course of time that this was the best he 
 was likely to obtain from her, he had taken his 
 disappointment philosophically and had since mar- 
 ried happily, but had never relinquished, as far as 
 Bay was concerned, his right to be silly. 
 
 252
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 When she entered his surgery it appeared that 
 he had mis-heard her name, for she found him 
 waiting for her with a great parade of professional 
 solemnity. Recognising his visitor, he became im- 
 mediately human. 
 
 "What, Bay!" he said, breaking into a delighted 
 smile, "who was known long since and lost awhile.'* 
 
 * 'Loved long since,' " said Bay, giving him her 
 hand. "If you must blaspheme, you might at least 
 quote correctly." 
 
 "It would be equally appropriate," said the 
 doctor, cheerfully. 
 
 He drew her a chair to the fire and placed one 
 for himself in close proximity. 
 
 "If patients will leave me alone for half an 
 hour," he said, sitting down, "I anticipate an ex- 
 hilarating time. A conversation with you is the 
 treatment I should prescribe for the condition one 
 gets into in these wilds. It is more stimulating 
 than any tonic I know." 
 
 "Is half an hour my limit?" said Bay. 
 
 "It might be as long as I could stand being told 
 the truth without losing my temper," he replied. 
 "And that is twenty-five minutes longer than I can 
 stand the gossip of the average woman without 
 being bored/' 
 
 "You shouldn't be a doctor if you can't put up 
 253
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 with gossip. It's all you are wanted for. No one 
 expects a G. P. to cure anything." 
 
 "The G. P.," said this aspersed one, "is a man 
 who knows more than the fashionable specialist, 
 but who doesn't get the same opportunities. Ask 
 any of us ; we shall all tell you so." 
 
 "Of course, everyone knows the fashionable spe- 
 cialist is a humbug," said Bay, calmly. 
 
 "Do you believe in anything, I wonder?" The 
 doctor laughed cheerfully. 
 
 "Decidedly. For one thing, I believe you are 
 as big a gossip as your patients." 
 
 "That is a serious slander on a professional man. 
 Besides, I wasn't thinking of patients, but of 
 women generally. I assure you it is nothing less 
 than tragic, to my mind, to consider the number 
 of fine female characters that are utterly spoilt by 
 a congenital inability to avoid discussing their 
 neighbours' affairs." 
 
 "You should drop the medical profession," said 
 Bay, "and set up as a consultant philosopher." 
 
 "As a disparaged G. P.," continued the doctor, 
 quite undisturbed, "I have seen a good deal of 
 women and women's ailments, and my conclusion 
 is that they suffer chiefly from two things : one is 
 this tendency to gossip, the other is a rooted belief 
 that they can sing. There is no greater misfortune 
 than to be born with an idea that you can sing. 
 
 254
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Ninety-nine per cent, of the women born think they 
 can sing; ninety-nine per cent, of the women who 
 think they can sing, can't." 
 
 "Your sex are almost as big offenders in that 
 respect," said Bay. 
 
 "Yes, almost," said the doctor, "but not quite." 
 
 He dropped a log of wood on the fire, pressing 
 it down with his foot, and for some time their con- 
 versation drifted over a variety of topics in the 
 same vein of leisurely candour. 
 
 "By the way," said the doctor, abruptly, break- 
 ing a short pause, "why did you come?" 
 
 "Mayn't I come to see you?" 
 
 "Yes; but it's not very likely." 
 
 "I want some poison," said Bay. 
 
 "You queer being, what do you want it for?" 
 
 "Ask no questions and you will get no false- 
 hoods." 
 
 "I won't give it on those terms even to you." 
 
 "They are all you will get." 
 
 "Are you in trouble?" 
 
 "Mind your own business." 
 
 "Come, Bay we are old friends out with it." 
 
 "Why should I divulge to you the most harrow- 
 ing pangs of my heart?" 
 
 "Because I insist." 
 
 "Fiend, I am going to poison a cat." 
 
 "Send him to a vet." 
 
 255
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "And have him tortured with prussic acid? You 
 once told me of a poison much quicker than that." 
 
 "There are not many." 
 
 "You said five grains would kill a human being 
 in ten minutes." 
 
 The doctor reflected. "Probably cyanide of 
 potassium," he said. 
 
 "I'll take six pen'orth of cyanide of potassium," 
 said Bay. 
 
 Her companion stirred the fire. 
 
 "I'll take six pen'orth of cyanide of potassium, " 
 repeated Bay, rapping her gloved hand upon the 
 arm of her chair. 
 
 The doctor looked at her. "Are you serious? 
 Do you really want it?" 
 
 "Yes," said Bay: "I've said it twice; if you are 
 quite deaf, I'll say it a third time." 
 
 He got up slowly. "Upon my soul, I don't know 
 if you are to be trusted." 
 
 Bay took out a stiff hatpin. "Then you had bet- 
 ter take all these pins, and come and fetch my carv- 
 ing knives, and walk home with me to see that I 
 don't go anywhere near the river." 
 
 The doctor laughed drily and walked across the 
 room. The walls were lined with bottles, but he 
 went to a closed cupboard and unlocked it with a 
 key strung on a bunch, which he drew from his 
 pocket. He took out a bottle containing powder. 
 
 256
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Sure you want it for that?" he said, holding the 
 bottle in his hand. 
 
 "Sure," said Bay. "Give me plenty. If I made 
 a mistake and spilt any, it would be hideous not 
 to have any more to put it out of its torture." 
 
 He removed the stopper. "You are such a 
 strange being : I wouldn't trust you not to murder 
 me." 
 
 "I won't promise," said Bay. "At present you 
 are good enough to live." 
 
 He poured some of the powder into a small box, 
 made it up into a packet, sealed it, and labelled it 
 with a big red label. 
 
 "That is enough, I suppose?" said Bay. "You 
 haven't been stingy?" 
 
 "Enough to kill a dozen cats, and me in addi- 
 tion, if you change your mind." 
 
 "Has it much taste ?" 
 
 "What does that matter?" 
 
 "Can I put it into its food?" 
 
 "Oh, yes ; he won't notice it. But don't ask me 
 to come and dine with you for the present." 
 
 "Merci." Bay took the packet and stored it in 
 her muff. "How is your wife?" 
 
 "So-so." 
 
 "Temper still trying?" 
 
 "I never told you it was trying." 
 
 "No, but a wife's temper always is." 
 257
 
 CYNTHU IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "No worse than a husband's, I daresay," said 
 the doctor. "On the whole, we run along very 
 nicely." 
 
 "Yes, I think you are let off more easily than 
 you deserve," said Bay, examining him frankly. 
 "It's fortunate you didn't marry me, or you 
 wouldn't look so happy." 
 
 "Really? Your husband appeared to bear the 
 infliction with strange fortitude." 
 
 "Appearances are deceptive. I killed him in five 
 years." 
 
 "By treating him too well. Come and see my 
 wife and have some tea." 
 
 "Hardy man! Don't you know that a prior 
 flame is never grateful to the soul of the lady in 
 possession?" 
 
 "Come and chance it." 
 
 "What! with murder in my muff! Good-bye. 
 Be as lenient to your patients as you can." 
 
 She was moving to the door. 
 
 "Bay." 
 
 She turned round. 
 
 "Give me a kiss." 
 
 "Goat!" 
 
 But she kissed him. 
 
 258
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 DURING the weeks which followed Bay's excur- 
 sion, Laurence continued to make progress ; slowly, 
 it is true, but without relapse. Within a fortnight 
 of his arrival at the flat he was strong enough to 
 get up for a few hours each day and sit in a chair 
 in his room. Later, he could walk across the cor- 
 ridor and sit in the drawing-room, propped up with 
 cushions. 
 
 The happiness of this time was somewhat 
 clouded for Cynthia by the growth of the suspicion 
 which had come to her when she found Bay sitting 
 in pensive solitude, on the day that Laurence signed 
 the codicil to his will. Once it had found lodgment 
 in her mind, small daily indications, unnoticed or 
 uninterpreted before, quickly added to it; incidents 
 in the past, too, which had puzzled her, became 
 intelligible when viewed in its light. By impercep- 
 tible stages it ceased to be suspicion, ceased to be 
 belief even, and settled upon her as definite knowl- 
 edge. She was acutely distressed, but, in proportion 
 to the completeness of her previous ignorance, very 
 
 259
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 little surprised. Indeed, she was amazed that the 
 possibility had not occurred to her before. When 
 our inclinations are powerfully drawn in a particu- 
 lar direction, our continued wonder lies rather in 
 the fact that the whole world fails to share our 
 engagement. 
 
 Cynthia's conduct after her discovery displayed 
 exquisite tact. By no word nor look was her friend 
 permitted to suspect that her secret was guessed. 
 She even repressed the stronger flood of affection 
 and gratitude stirred in her by the remembrance of 
 all that Bay, with this thorn in her flesh, had done 
 and was continuing to do to promote Laurence's 
 and her happiness: her overwhelming desire to 
 express her sense of that in an access of tenderness 
 was restrained, lest it should savour ever so little 
 of impertinent solace. But by degrees she spent 
 more of her time with Bay than she had done be- 
 fore, denying herself much of Laurence's society 
 to seek hers ; she did not habitually sit close to him, 
 even if they were alone; and when they were all 
 three together she quietly kept the conversation 
 general. Only at such times as Bay had gone out 
 after definitely declining her companionship as 
 on the day she visited the doctor did she suffer 
 herself to sit with Laurence in intimate tete-a-tete; 
 and even so her joy was shadowed and incomplete, 
 tinctured with a sense of meanness. 
 
 260
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 But she was fully conscious that all this only 
 touched the surface of things. She could afford 
 to be generous ; she could afford to deny herself in 
 these trifling details. She realised what many 
 people curiously fail to realise that for the victor 
 to be magnanimous is no virtue. 
 
 On the contrary, it adds in many cases to the 
 gratification of victory. A man who has knocked 
 down another in a boxing match and then holds 
 out his hand with a splendid gesture of good-fel- 
 lowship is merely an ass. He is so elated he would 
 give his hand cordially to the lowest ruffian who 
 would take the trouble to shake it. We are told, 
 however, that this is "true British sportsmanship," 
 that it shows "the spirit which animates these 
 friendly tussles." It could well be admitted if the 
 initiative were on the other side. If the man who 
 has been knocked down can get up and offer his 
 hand first to his opponent, assuredly he has grit in 
 him of no common order. 
 
 Cynthia was under no complacent illusion. She 
 was quite aware that if she were to deserve honour 
 she must go far beyond superficial generosities and 
 self-sacrifice. It was patent that, although she 
 could not be Laurence's wife, her presence would 
 constitute an effectual bar against anyone else be- 
 coming such. If she withdrew from his life he 
 could marry Bay. But would he? She put the 
 
 261
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 question again and again to herself, to salve her 
 conscience. She knew he would not : she knew that 
 all the love of his being utterly and immutably was 
 hers. 
 
 Nevertheless, her mind, continually troubling, 
 sought direct assurance. 
 
 "Laurence, supposing I were to die?" she said 
 to him one day. 
 
 "You !" Laurence examined her manifestly un- 
 ailing person with smiling admiration. "A moment 
 ago I was thinking you were looking particularly 
 well." His voice had not yet recovered its ring, 
 and his eyes appeared to see you from a distance. 
 They were eyes which had been reclaimed from the 
 deep terrors of mental loss. 
 
 "I want to know," persisted Cynthia. 
 
 "I should die, too." 
 
 "But truly?" She bent towards him, her hands 
 clasped upon her knee. 
 
 "I suppose I should leave this fretful island," 
 he replied, "and go on helping them to build rail- 
 ways at the other end of the world." 
 
 "Wouldn't you marry?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because " He broke off. "Cynthia, you 
 
 are fishing outrageously," he asserted with a laugh. 
 
 "Oh, well -" She took his hand and pressed 
 
 262
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 it to her softly flushing cheek. "Oh, well " 
 
 She could not, or would not, find words to express 
 the unquenchable demand of her heart. "Why 
 didn't you marry before ?" 
 
 "That is a question which shows the feminine 
 point of view," said Laurence. "A man doesn't 
 take cold counsel with himself about marriage, as 
 he would about buying a house or choosing a pro- 
 fession. It comes inevitably or not at all. I fancy 
 every man looks upon himself as a confirmed bache- 
 lor until he sees a wife on the other side of the 
 breakfast-table." 
 
 Cynthia began to laugh. "It must be rather a 
 shock to him," she said. 
 
 "No, it is not," said Laurence, "because by that 
 time he has discovered that the person on the other 
 side of the table is good enough to make any insti- 
 tution tolerable." 
 
 "Well, how did you come to live so long without 
 finding it inevitable?" persisted Cynthia. "You?" 
 
 "Do I strike you as so susceptible?" 
 
 She blushed a little again and laughed, but did 
 not answer. 
 
 "All the women in the world are not Cynthias," 
 he said softly, holding her hand; "nor one single 
 other that I ever met." 
 
 Slowly his disengaged arm slid about her waist 
 263
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 and gathered her close. She bent to him and their 
 lips met. 
 
 "I will tell you just this," Laurence proceeded, 
 when the silence had lasted many minutes : "A man 
 who has been generously treated by fortune with 
 regard to material things finds his eyes very aston- 
 ishingly opened to your gentle sex." 
 
 "You are rather unjust," said Cynthia. "How 
 can you tell what is the under-life of any woman 
 you meet? Perhaps she has had to make with her 
 own hands the pretty dress you see her in. She 
 may have been brought up in an atmosphere of 
 rigid pinching, at least of careful economy, where 
 numberless pleasant and desirable things have had 
 to be consistently eschewed through lack of means. 
 I don't think you ought to condemn her if life on 
 easier and brighter lines appears to have attrac- 
 tions for her especially," Cynthia added, after a 
 pause, "when it would be passed with a person with 
 a few one or two small amiable qualities." 
 
 Laurence looked at her with a deprecating smile, 
 resting his head upon the cushions of his chair. 
 "Upon that point," he said, "I am afraid your 
 gentle judgment can scarcely be accepted as im- 
 partial." 
 
 Cynthia dropped her eyes before his. "I don't 
 know much about logic," she said, "but I think 
 that is what is called arguing from effect to cause." 
 
 264
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Their conversation was interrupted at this stage 
 by a ring at the front door and the arrival of the 
 doctor who was attending Laurence. He was a 
 grave, elderly man, inclined to take a cautious view. 
 He had always refused to say, in spite of anxious 
 pressure, that Laurence's recovery was definitely 
 assured. To-day, however, his report was excep- 
 tionally favourable. The fear of a relapse, he 
 said, might now be considered to have passed. 
 
 This intelligence drove every other thought 
 from Cynthia's head. When Bay came in she met 
 her in the hall. 
 
 "Such good news," she cried joyously: "the doc- 
 tor says Laurence is out of danger at last." 
 
 The following afternoon Bay sat upon one of 
 the seats on the tow-path between Kew and Rich- 
 mond. A raw wind swept down the river. She 
 was not exceptionally warmly clad, but she did not 
 appear to notice the cold. She gazed steadfastly 
 and a little sternly across the water at the chimneys 
 and buildings of Isleworth. A cat lay curled on 
 her lap and some sacking was folded on the seat 
 beside her. Occasionally the cat mewed and she 
 petted it. It was an old, emaciated creature, des- 
 tined immediately for the lethal chamber, for 
 which she had obtained a few hours' respite. 
 
 "Poor puss I" she said aloud, "you have to die 
 265
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 for my conscience. You are very old and very 
 ailing, but, I suppose, like everything that breathes, 
 you would rather go on living, if you could. . . . 
 If you could," she said again, after a pause. 
 
 She had been sitting nearly half an hour on the 
 seat, when she stopped a labouring man who was 
 passing and bribed him to assist her in the work of 
 destruction. His advice, unasked, but instantly 
 forthcoming, was to tie the animal in the sack and 
 hurl it alive into the river; but Bay would have 
 none of it. She made him wrap the sack about it 
 and hold it while she dropped a little of the poison 
 on its tongue. Its struggle was over very quickly. 
 Then she sent the man away with his half-crown 
 and placed his burden on the seat. She dropped 
 on her knees in the mud beside the stiffening corpse 
 of the little creature which, a few moments before, 
 had lain breathing and warm on her lap, and wet- 
 ted its soft coat with her tears. 
 
 Quite early the next morning Cynthia noticed 
 Bay putting on her hat and coat. 
 
 "You didn't tell me you were going out," she 
 said a little reproachfully. "May I come with 
 you?" 
 
 "If you like," said Bay, calmly. "I am going 
 to see your husband." 
 
 266
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Harvey!" cried Cynthia, in amazement. 
 'Good gracious, why?" 
 "To tell him the good news." 
 
 267
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE distance between her flat and the house in 
 Neville Road was nearly two miles, but Bay chose 
 to walk. It was bright and cold; the pavements 
 had been swept dry by the wind. She made her 
 way up long side streets and across busy thorough- 
 fares at an even pace, never stopping, rarely glan- 
 cing to right or left. Her face had set in the same 
 steadfast, rather stern mould as when she gazed 
 over the river at the Isleworth chimneys. 
 
 On reaching the house she paused a moment on 
 the doorstep and then rang the bell. It was some 
 time before it was answered. Visitors were not 
 expected in these days, especially morning visitors. 
 Harvey had no difficulty with the servant question : 
 his staff found his service entirely congenial to 
 their souls and showed no disposition to leave it. 
 They arranged their movements very much as they 
 chose and ordered the house upon lines which ap- 
 peared to them to meet reasonable requirement. 
 
 Bay was at length admitted by a maid who had 
 obviously made some hasty readjustment of her 
 
 268
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 toilet, and was shown into the dining-room. X 
 masculine eye might not have observed much 
 change in it. To Bay there were manifold signs 
 of the absence of a mistress. A thin layer of dust 
 lay on the sideboard; a cobweb hung across a cor- 
 ner of the cornice; two empty tumblers had not 
 been removed from the mantelpiece. Bay did not 
 sit down. She put a foot on the fender and looked 
 into the fire. Twice, while she stood so, she slipped 
 two fingers of her left hand inside the glove of her 
 right. 
 
 Harvey came in, looking a little scared. He had 
 overcome to some extent his dread of the front- 
 door bell, but this unexpected visit from Bay, sug- 
 gesting an obvious cause, had shocked his nerves. 
 
 She turned and looked at him with a face abso- 
 lutely inscrutable. This seemed to confirm his 
 fears. 
 
 "He is dead?" he asked sharply, forgetting to 
 greet her. 
 
 "What would you say if I told you he was?" 
 
 His face blanched. 
 
 "He is not dead," said Bay. "He is better; he 
 is out of danger." She gazed at him steadily. 
 Anyone but Harvey would have seen the deep con- 
 tempt which lay behind her eyes. 
 
 He immediately assumed an air of magnanim- 
 ity. "I'm awfully glad," he said, in his jerky 
 
 269
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 tones. "I shouldn't have liked him to have died. 
 It was an awkward position to be in; I did the only 
 thing I could; but I shouldn't have liked him to 
 have died." 
 
 "You let him off as lightly as circumstances per- 
 mitted?" Bay was controlling herself with an 
 immense effort. 
 
 "I did the only thing I could," Harvey repeated 
 with great dignity, missing the sarcasm. 
 
 Bay could not trust herself to speak again. The 
 time for speaking had not come. From somewhere 
 deep within her a single word was beating up into 
 her gripped teeth : "Ass ! Ass ! Ass !" It was beat- 
 ing up while her right hand slowly opened and 
 closed on the substance within her glove. 
 
 "I expect you have come to talk things over," 
 Harvey proceeded abruptly. "Cynthia has sent 
 you. I thought it was wisest to let her find out for 
 herself. I've been thinking it over. Of course, 
 things could never be the same; but I shouldn't 
 like her life to be ruined I shouldn't like to think 
 of her going completely to the bad. Only, if I took 
 her back, it would have to be a sine qua non that 
 she never saw this scoundrel again. That would 
 have to be a sine qua non." 
 
 Again, no one but Harvey, surely, could have 
 finished such a speech with Bay's steady gaze upon 
 him. If he had had a chance before, his fate was 
 
 270
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 now irrevocably sealed. She opened her lips to 
 speak, but closed them again, choking back a tor- 
 rent of words. 
 
 "We won't talk about that at present," she said. 
 She pulled a chair from beneath the table and sat 
 down. "I have walked two miles. I should like 
 some wine." 
 
 "Yes, of course," said Harvey, much perturbed 
 to be found inhospitable. "What will you have 
 port, claret, cherry-brandy? I'll tell you what," 
 he exclaimed, with a sudden glittering smile: "I 
 think we ought to have a bottle of champagne to 
 celebrate your news." 
 
 "Very well," said Bay. 
 
 "I'll go and get it," said Harvey. "I won't be 
 a minute." His hand hovered a moment over the 
 door-handle already, at eleven o'clock, his hand 
 hovered a moment over the handle then he turned 
 it and went out. 
 
 He was not parsimonious. Among his glut of 
 petty vices he was not parsimonious. Bay faith- 
 fully put it to his credit. Out of the dense and 
 tangled thicket of vanities and inutilities that soli- 
 tary light glimmered his one redeeming virtue. 
 It flickered for a moment and then was choked by 
 the rank herbage. He was a swine, and a sneak, 
 and a lying wind-bag, and a contemptible husband. 
 He had called Cynthia coarse and struck Laurence 
 
 271
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 a coward's blow. He had called Cynthia coarse 
 because she was willing to be a wife ! Surely his 
 cup was full. 
 
 She did not stir from her place at the table while 
 he was away. Once she closed her eyes ; once again 
 she felt in her glove. Otherwise she made no 
 movement of any kind. 
 
 Presently a maid came in with two glasses on a 
 salver. As she went out she glanced at Bay. She 
 was followed by Harvey with the bottle. 
 
 He removed the wire. Then he cut the string. 
 
 "It's rather a knack, getting a champagne cork 
 out," he said. "I'm a pretty good hand at it. I'm 
 very strong in the wrists." It came away with a 
 report, and white foam brimmed over the lip of 
 the bottle. "I'm very strong in the wrists," he 
 said again. 
 
 Bay got up. He filled the two glasses with the 
 hissing wine. 
 
 "I should like a biscuit," she said steadily. 
 
 Harvey turned and bent down to a cupboard in 
 the sideboard. Calmly and quickly Bay drew a 
 small white packet from her glove and, with a 
 hand that barely shook, slid the contents into one 
 of the glasses. 
 
 As Harvey rose again and placed the biscuits 
 on the table, she picked up the innocuous glass. 
 Suddenly her eyes flashed. 
 
 272
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Drink to your luck!" she cried. "You have 
 escaped the gallows." 
 
 Harvey's mild eyes glistened with his foolish, 
 pleased smile. He raised the glass a little shakily 
 and drained it. 
 
 "But you will be dead in ten minutes" 
 
 He turned livid beneath his bronzed skin. Then 
 his feature "elaxed in a sickly smile. 
 
 "You quite frightened me," he said; "I almost 
 thought you were in earnest." 
 
 "You will be dead In ten minutes" 
 
 No one could look into Bay's steady eyes and 
 doubt it. The frightful truth crashed upon Har- 
 vey with a shock of deranging terror. Death! 
 death ! that inconceivable, shuddering dread 
 which had made him blanch suddenly in the dark- 
 ness as he lay awake at night, that unthinkable 
 catastrophe which had befallen others, but which 
 had seemed too appalling to be possible to him, 
 whose shadow he had put from him as remote and 
 vague death faced him inexorably and now. He 
 must go through that awful gate he he Har- 
 vey Elwes. Nothing could save him. He knew it. 
 Nothing. Nothing could save him. O God ! 
 
 "You hellish woman!" he yelled, "you have de- 
 liberately poisoned me !" 
 
 Bay set down her untasted glass. Her little 
 hands hung clenched by her sides. 
 
 273
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Coward sneak drunkard wastrel weak- 
 ling, I have poisoned you." 
 
 Demented with terror, he raised his fist and 
 drove it straight at her face. To be just to him, 
 it was an act he could not have committed in sanity. 
 Bay was prepared, however. She dodged and the 
 blow merely grazed her temple. He rushed madly 
 for the door. But she had anticipated that also, 
 and reached it first. Harvey saw it closed in his 
 face and heard the key turned in the lock. 
 
 He wrenched at the knob, but could not force 
 the bolt, and then ran wildly to the window, sweep- 
 ing down furniture in his path. Failing, in his 
 mad violence, to lift the sash, he drove his arm 
 through a pane with a shivering crash. The next 
 instant he had recoiled, and a shriek burst from 
 hi_s lips. 
 
 It was not his cut hand that had drawn it. It 
 was the first-felt potent working of the poison. His 
 actions thenceforth are pitiable to describe. In an 
 agony, now, of physical pain, he pressed the bell 
 frenziedly, and then cast himself upon the ground, 
 literally biting the dust. He jumped to his feet 
 again with startling suddenness, and set to race, 
 back and forth, back and forth, up and down the 
 room a wild, helpless^ demented figure, his face 
 hardly to be recognised. He hurled himself, rav- 
 
 274
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 ing, against the couch, in a kneeling posture, bit 
 into the upholstery, and kicked upon the ground. 
 
 His first terrible shriek had reached Bay as she 
 was passing through the front door. With that 
 cry in her ears she walked two hundred yards down 
 the street. Then her courage at the last moment 
 failed her. She ran frantically back to the house 
 and down to the basement, calling to the servants. 
 They were huddled together in the passage, won- 
 dering and scared at the sounds from the room 
 above. 
 
 "One of you rush for a doctor," she cried. "Fly. 
 r And give me some soap-suds at once." 
 
 A white-faced girl hurried upstairs to put on her 
 hat. Two minutes later Bay returned to the dining- 
 room with a bowl of suds. She looked towards 
 Harvey, and immediately set down the useless 
 bowl. 
 
 He was still. He had died in the position into 
 which he had thrown himself, on his knees before 
 the sofa ; but lower than at first, cramped, screwed 
 almost to the ground, as though appealing in utter 
 obeisance to Heaven, in his last moment, for for- 
 giveness of his foolish and wasted life. 
 
 275
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 EVERY moment of time there is pain in the 
 world. There is never an instant of remission. 
 While I peacefully watch the ink drying on these 
 opening sentences, wondering how I shall tell you 
 what I have to tell in this chapter, while you, many 
 weeks or months or years later, sit (I trust) in 
 painless ease, following the printed text, some- 
 where someone is struggling in the throes of death, 
 somewhere a woman is enduring the indescribable 
 agony of childbirth, somewhere a fellow-creature 
 is lying with unthinkable open flesh beneath a sur- 
 geon's knife. Somewhere, too, shrinking beasts 
 are being forced into abattoirs to provide our food. 
 
 During the terrible minutes of Harvey's death 
 scene, men were moving briskly about their daily 
 work, barmaids were chatting lightly with early 
 customers, fashionable women were eating languid 
 late breakfasts, Cynthia was sitting composedly 
 near Laurence's couch, reading aloud to him from 
 the Times. 
 
 His head was buttressed with pillows, and Cyn- 
 276
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 thia, in spite of strong and repeated protests, had 
 spread a rug over his legs. Laurence was not what 
 is called a good patient. He was not sufficiently 
 amenable to doctors' and nurses' orders ; he wanted 
 to return instanter to his ordinary mode of life, to 
 do things which the elderly physician reprobated 
 with incredulous horror; frequently he not only 
 wanted to do them, but managed surreptitiously to 
 effect his purpose. Once Cynthia had returned after 
 a short absence to discover him out of his chair, at- 
 tempting hurriedly to replace in a despatch-box a 
 bundle of miscellaneous papers, covered with sur- 
 veys and sections and other engineering detail. She 
 had found him, moreover, with a swimming and 
 throbbing head and with a tendency, for the rest of 
 the day, to become light and rambling in his con- 
 versation. On that occasion she had held the 
 papers over the fire until he promised not to look 
 at them again without her permission. 
 
 To-day he was inclined to be fairly tractable, 
 and after a merely formal declaration that he was 
 perfectly qualified to read the Times for himself, 
 had consented to have it read to him. Nothing, 
 of course, no reader's voice, however sweet it may 
 be, can compensate for the loss of the vague de- 
 light there is in holding the sheets of a newspaper 
 in one's own fingers, in the ability to pick and 
 choose on a moment's fancy among its contents. 
 
 277
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Still, with Cynthia for guide, it was not an unpleas- 
 ant method of assimilating the day's news. She 
 did not turn instinctively to the Society notes and 
 the divorce courts : she could read impersonal mat- 
 ter with interest, and discuss it with intelligence. 
 They wandered from topics in the paper to con- 
 tiguous subjects, and thence, through devious rami- 
 fications, to themes having no immediately recog- 
 nisable connection with the starting point. In the 
 midst of a discussion on religious systems, attrib- 
 utable originally to an article on airships, they 
 heard Bay's step in the passage. 
 
 She came straight into the drawing-room. There 
 was an unusual light in her eyes, but her face was 
 calm and stern and her manner restrained. She 
 took off her hat, standing before a mirror, and 
 threw it, with her coat, upon a chair. 
 
 "You two can take hands and go into Eden 
 now," she said, almost roughly; "I have opened 
 the gates." 
 
 They stared at her, mystified. 
 
 "Do you hear?" She spoke like an angry school- 
 mistress to inattentive children. "You can stray 
 down all the flowery by-paths; you can sit in the 
 glades and bask by the streams, and never come 
 out again never." 
 
 Cynthia got up. "What do you mean by this 
 278
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 fantastic talk, Bay?" she said, with anxiety in her 
 voice. 
 
 Bay drew a chair to the fire and sat down. 
 
 "Idiots! Imbeciles!" She poked the coals into 
 a flame. "Harvey. Elwes is dead." 
 
 There was a still pause. 
 
 "Dead?" said Cynthia. "Dead?* 
 
 "I have told you," said Bay. She held her hands 
 to the blaze. 
 
 "But " A dizzy mist quivered about Cyn- 
 thia's faculties. "He was not ill. Has there been 
 some accident?" 
 
 "No," said Bay, steadily: "premeditated mur- 
 der." 
 
 Cynthia put her hands to her bosom. She was 
 still dazed by an atmosphere of unreality. 
 
 Bay did not turn, did not move, did not speak. 
 After an interval, Cynthia found her voice again. 
 There was a slight tremor in it. "Is this true, Bay? 
 Please tell me everything clearly. You are so 
 strange. I cannot understand you." 
 
 Bay turned on her almost contemptuously. 
 "Dolt!" she cried. "Should I tell you lies? I? 
 I ? who have just set you free." 
 
 The amazing interpretation made its way to 
 Cynthia's intelligence. "You!" The word came 
 from unbreathing lips in a slow, deep tone. 
 "You have killed him ?" 
 
 279
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Bay drew her chair closer to the fire, and again 
 stretched her hands to it. Suddenly she shivered. 
 "Yes, I have killed him." 
 
 "I don't believe you,'* Cynthia shouted. "Are 
 you mad?" 
 
 "Mad? I wonder. I think so." 
 
 ""She is speaking the truth," said Laurence, 
 quietly. It was the first time he had spoken. 
 
 Slowly Cynthia's mind absorbed the incredible 
 fact. She stood motionless, her breath drawn deep- 
 ly, her eyes fixed upon Bay with a fascinated gaze. 
 She felt as if she had been turned to stone. The 
 powers of thought, of sensation, of expression 
 seemed to have left her. 
 
 Her lips opened after a shorter interval than she 
 supposed, and her formal words strained through 
 the charged air in a tense whisper: "You have 
 killed my husband?" 
 
 A dull silence followed, and then Cynthia's voice 
 rose rose to a shout. "Bay, why why have you 
 done this?" 
 
 Bay swung round with burning eyes. "Because 
 he was a coward and not fit to live, and because I 
 hated him." 
 
 "It was not" cried Cynthia, "it was not, Bay." 
 Suddenly she threw herself on her knees beside her 
 and clutched at her clothing. "It was to set me 
 free you said so just now. You have taken this 
 
 280
 
 CYNTHIA IN \THE WILDERNESS 
 
 appalling load on yourself to set me free. OK, Bay 
 Bay Bay," she cried in an agony, "I would 
 rather the world had thought me the lowest, vilest 
 woman that ever breathed than this than that 
 
 you you Oh-h I" She dropped her face in 
 
 Bay's lap and broke into a torrent of sobs. 
 
 Bay looked straight over her drooped form into 
 vacancy, acute emotion in her face, fiercely con- 
 trolled moved almost beyond her strength, yet 
 determined to endure. 
 
 "You are wrong, dearest," she said, forcing the 
 words through her choked throat. 
 
 After a short pause, to make sure of herself, she 
 went on : "You need not vex your dear soul. Your 
 freedom was a small thing among many that went 
 into the balance against Harvey Elwes. He signed 
 his own death-warrant slowly." 
 
 "But you only saw the writing because you loved 
 me," said Cynthia, vehemently, lifting up her wet, 
 stressed face. 
 
 "That was not all." 
 
 The quietly uttered words recalled to Cynthia's 
 mind, with a shock, her lately gained knowledge 
 strangely forgotten the last day or two. In its 
 sudden light she gazed up at Bay, not merely with 
 marvelling cognition, not only with a personal 
 feeling too deep for words, with awe, dazed by 
 
 281
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 the revelation of a quality of self-abnegation sub- 
 lime and almost terrible. 
 
 All these happenings, since Bay's entrance, 
 though they have taken long in the telling, oc- 
 curred in a very few minutes. Laurence had only 
 once spoken, but his mind had been working. It 
 was sufficiently plain to him that a situation had 
 been reached which demanded instant action. He 
 now quietly assumed the direction of affairs from 
 his invalid couch. Sentiment of all kind was exor- 
 cised from his mind, leaving it coldly intent upon 
 the urgent practical necessity. The two women 
 became, for the time being, no more than his gangs 
 of coolies raw energy to be organised and or- 
 dered. 
 
 "Has anything been discovered yet?" he asked. 
 
 "Probably not," said Bay, without showing 
 much interest. "The maids were scared. I told 
 one to go for a doctor, but stopped her before she 
 started." 
 
 "Give me a Bradshaw," he said. 
 
 Cynthia fetched one and handed it to him. 
 
 He turned the pages. "There is a boat-train 
 leaves Charing Cross at two-twenty." He looked 
 at his watch. "It is now five minutes to one. You 
 must catch it." 
 
 Bay said nothing. 
 
 "I shall go, too," said Cynthia. 
 282
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 His decision wavered before the danger it would 
 involve for her. 
 
 But the next moment his quiet, impersonal man- 
 ner returned. "Yes, it is best, I think. You are 
 an accessory after the fact in any case : we both are. 
 And you will be away from questions. You will 
 have to travel by yourselves : I should only hamper 
 you in my present state. When this has blown 
 over, and I can get about, I shall join you by a 
 circuitous route. Don't write to me direct: enclose 
 letters under cover to Frank. Seal even those. I 
 shall send messengers to Calais to post my replies." 
 He handed Cynthia a key on a bunch. "Get my 
 cheque-book: it is in the despatch-box. There is 
 no time to waste." 
 
 She brought it him in less than a minute. 
 
 "Be putting your things on while I write the 
 cheque," he said. "You will have to go to the 
 bank yourself. And pack a few clothes. You 
 can't take too many." 
 
 She put a small table beside him, with pens and 
 ink, and hurried away. In a very short time she 
 was back again, dressed for the open air. 
 
 Laurence gave her the cheque. "Get all gold,'* 
 he said; "and change it gradually as you move 
 from place to place. Keep the cab when you come 
 back." 
 
 "All gold," said Cynthia. She looked round 
 283
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 for a moment at the door. Then she went through 
 and closed it behind her. 
 
 Bay was still sitting by the fire. 
 
 "You must be packing your things, Bay," said 
 Laurence. "You can't afford to linger." 
 
 "I never said I was going," said Bay. 
 
 "You must, I'm afraid. It is the only way of 
 meeting the situation." 
 
 "And is the flat to be left to your tender mer- 
 cies ? And to whose mercies are you to be left ?" 
 
 "For heaven's sake, don't worry about those 
 trifles," exclaimed Laurence, almost sharply. "I 
 don't think you realise how serious the thing is." 
 
 "Don't I ?" said Bay. "If the police find me, I 
 shall be taken hence to a certain place and hanged 
 by the neck till I die. The judge will put on the 
 black cap and read me a solemn lecture and tell me 
 to make my peace with my Maker." 
 
 Laurence turned his face towards her, shot with 
 a sudden glow of keen admiration. "Nobody can 
 say you haven't got grit in you, Bay," he said. 
 
 "Don't speak like that, or you'll make me a 
 coward. It's the only thing that could." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "What I say." 
 
 He pondered the point, but only for a moment ; 
 the practical necessity was too great for vagrant 
 reflections. 
 
 284
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Go," he said. "Go. I'm listening to hear that 
 confounded door-bell. If they get in before you 
 get out, there will be no hope, except from a re- 
 prieve." 
 
 "Do you think there is much chance of a re- 
 prieve?" said Bay. 
 
 "Go," he commanded peremptorily. 
 
 "Very well," said Bay, "since you are so in- 
 sistent, I will go." 
 
 She rose, but without hurry, and walked quietly 
 out of the room. 
 
 Laurence was not a man who allowed trifles to 
 disturb him, or who was apt, even in serious crises, 
 to be swayed by his nerves. His illness had shaken 
 him, however, and he was still far from recovered. 
 This catastrophe had come upon him with a greater 
 shock than he had allowed either of the women to 
 see. He knew that, until Bay was safely out of 
 the country, there was the utmost cause for extreme 
 anxiety. Even when that had been accomplished, 
 the future showed before him, unglossed, in grim, 
 uncompromising tints. He saw the years when 
 they would be three fugitives, fleeing continually 
 from the long arm pariahs unable to find refuge 
 for the soles of their feet. He saw the skeleton 
 in the cupboard that would accompany them; he 
 saw the permanent banishment. In the meanwhile, 
 the sharp whirr of the bell was imminent, and time 
 
 285
 
 CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 was passing. Bay was long; Cynthia was long; 
 and he was tied to his couch. If he got up to fol- 
 low either of them his head would reel. 
 
 At last the door opened and Bay returned. But 
 she was still hatless and coatless. 
 
 "You have not got your things on!" he ex- 
 claimed incredulously. 
 
 Bay stood a moment at the door. "I won't talk 
 trite rot about going a longer journey," said she. 
 "I am going no journey at all." 
 
 He looked at her sharply. "Good God, Bay, 
 what have you done?" 
 
 There was a terrible change in her. Her face 
 was strained and rigid with excruciating physical 
 suffering. 
 
 She went quickly up to him. He had started to 
 a sitting posture. 
 
 "Nothing matters now," she cried. Her eyes 
 shone through her pain. "Thank God! Thank 
 God! At last nothing matters. I am dying." 
 She threw herself upon him, pressing him back to 
 the pillows. 
 
 He pushed her off, striving to rise to his feet. 
 But she fought with him fiercely, and his head 
 swam. 
 
 "It is useless," he heard her saying, as if from 
 a long distance. "I know the speed of this poison. 
 I have only a few minutes to live. Laurence 
 
 286
 
 CYNTHIA IN. THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Laurence let me spend them as I like." She dis- 
 appeared in a mist, and he felt his head again on 
 the pillow and her breath on his face. 
 
 Vision slowly returned. She was bending close 
 over him, kneeling by the couch, her arms flung 
 about him, the uttermost woman in her burning 
 through her eyes. 
 
 "Hold me tight," she called to him. "Crush 
 the pain out of me, crush the life out of me, crush 
 the love out of me, which is the greatest pain of 
 all." 
 
 The room was still swimming about him. He 
 could not speak; he could scarcely comprehend. 
 He only knew that this wonderful woman was dy- 
 ing and that she wished him to clasp her. With 
 all the strength he had in him he strained her in 
 his arms. 
 
 "Hold me tight," she said again: "tighter 
 tighter tighter." Her lips were drawn to his. 
 Her voice came strong through her agony, rever- 
 berant with joy joy alone, absolute, infinite. "My 
 love! My love!" 
 
 Her soul filled the words passed in them 
 through her lips. 
 
 THE END
 
 AFTER THE 
 PARDON 
 
 A NOVEL 
 By MATILDE SERAO 
 
 THE finding of a new presentation of 
 a phase of human passions is a 
 delight rarely encountered. In this romance 
 of hearts, righteous jealousy and satiated 
 passions combine to bring about an extra- 
 ordinary marital situation. And then, again 
 jealousy is responsible for both disaster and 
 happiness. 
 
 Creatures made of miserable clay could 
 not comprehend the sublimity of the love 
 which sways the Latins and bends them to 
 its desires. Warm blood flows in their 
 veins. In them the emotional nature and 
 the finer intelligence are ever at variance. 
 Always there is the struggle and mainly the 
 emotional is predominant. Their passions 
 force them beyond all laws and duties, 
 beyond all vows. 
 
 12mo, Cloth. Price, $1.50
 
 WOMAN HERSELF 
 
 THE heart story of a woman whose rare 
 temperament, wrought of finest 
 fibre, vibrates at the lightest touch of the 
 most delicate sentiment, yet whose soul 
 pours forth the rich strains of the tenderest 
 intense passion. In her, love takes prece- 
 dence over convention and law with a joy- 
 ousness undimmed by a consciousness of 
 wrong to herself, yet not without com- 
 miseration for those who suffer for her 
 happiness. She believes that she is intro- 
 spective, but she looks only into her heart. 
 She has the emotional capacity of a great 
 artiste, and with it the moral irresponsi- 
 bility. So potent is the love draft she 
 drinks into her heart that it infects the 
 pages of the book with a subtle insidious 
 mental intoxicant. 
 
 The author's grace of expression compels 
 us to condone the perjured purity of her 
 heroine's life. 
 
 12mo, Cloth. Price, $1.25
 
 THE ISLE OF 
 
 TEMPTATION 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 By ARTHUR STANLEY 
 COLLETON 
 
 IN the Isle of Temptation, we offer a 
 novel of the intensest dramatic quality, 
 a novel magnificently aglow with life. The 
 author is an unflinching realist, but one who 
 has known how to invest his unparalleled 
 fearlessness and truthfulness with dignity, 
 with sincerity, with sombre beauty. 
 
 It is the story of a youth who came to 
 New York, " that terrible enchantress ;" - 
 whom the city took into her magical em- 
 brace and fed with the subtle honey of her 
 poisonous blooms. 
 
 The author is especially powerful in his 
 delineation of female characters. We do 
 not hesitate to say that Kate Bathurst, Lucy 
 Treat and Clara Earle are women worthy 
 of Balzac relentlessly and powerfully pre- 
 sented. 
 
 12mo, Cloth. Price, $1.50
 
 THE WOMAN, THE 
 
 MAN AND THE 
 MONSTER 
 
 A ROMANCE 
 By CARLETON DAW 
 
 THE plot of this novel is surprisingly 
 unique. Some of the situations are 
 so startling as fairly to take away the 
 breath. The opening scene discloses a 
 woman, stripped of clothing, bound to a 
 tree. There are such dramatic denouements 
 as to make the intrigue which is the main 
 thread of the story interesting to an intense 
 degree. The beauty of the heroine, her de- 
 lightful mentality, her quickness of wit and 
 perception, are all charming features of the 
 story. And there are romantic hillside love 
 scenes, with kisses colored by the sunset, 
 and the daintiest of wooings and cooings 
 with always a mystery and a fearsome 
 shadow in the background. 
 
 12mo, Cloth. Price, $1.50
 
 A WOMAN OF 
 UNCERTAIN AGE 
 
 A NOVEL 
 By MARY ANNE BERRY 
 
 OUEER things happen among the 
 SMART SET; Newport is a city; 
 that has its secrets. What is it that really 
 happens, sometimes, when all the mis- 
 chievous little Cupids are in a sarcastic 
 mood? the events in the pages of A 
 WOMAN OF UNCERTAIN AGE. 
 
 Her age was extremely uncertain, to be 
 sure. Not so her beauty, her charm, her 
 passion, the mingled joyousness and pathos 
 of her fate. jAnd as for her adventures 
 they were quite too surprising to be re- 
 vealed here. 
 
 The book is no deliberately studied bit o 
 sophisticated art Fresh, passionate, im- 
 mediate, it welled from the author's heart, 
 from her rich and romantic experience of 
 life, from her freedom and flexibility of 
 spirit. There is not a slow page in it, not 
 one that is not piquante, brave, sparkling. 
 
 12mo, Cloth. Price, $1.50
 
 THE DIARY OF A 
 LOST ONE 
 
 EDITED BY 
 MARGARETS BOHME 
 
 THERE can be no doubt that this Diary 
 is a truthful record of the actual life 
 of a woman who had lived in the "half- 
 world." The pages pulsate with a fever of 
 protest; with a longing for unachievable 
 reconciliation with the world of morality. 
 It is a pitiful appeal to the inexorable 
 tribunal of public opinion. 
 
 The publication of the Diary in Germany 
 called forth a redundance of criticism. It 
 was condemned, by some superficial minds-, 
 for its frankness; but it has been equally 
 praised by the large majority of thoughtful 
 readers who recognize in this wonderful 
 human document a work which must exert 
 a vast influence through the great moral 
 lesson it conveys. 
 
 Every normal, thinking, grown-up man 
 and woman should read it. 
 
 12mo, Cloth. Price, $1.50
 
 NEW POPULAR EDITION 
 
 THE TREE OF 
 KNOWLEDGE 
 
 A DOCUMENT 
 By A WOMAN 
 
 THE woman who dissects her soul in 
 these vibrant pages is, so far as can 
 be judged, entirely frank. 
 
 This is not her only merit, for her delight 
 in the flexibility of language lends an exotic 
 charm which, like the scent of orchids, 
 fatigues and delights the sense. Here we 
 have set naked before us the nature of a 
 woman steeped in the poisonous juices that 
 distil from the Tree of Knowledge. 
 
 Seeing that she has no standards of right 
 and wrong, it would be inaccurate to call 
 her immoral. She is literally non-moral. 
 Morality is to her a convention ; Religion a 
 frame of mind. 
 
 12mo, Cloth. Price, 50 Cents 
 
 THE STUYVESANT PRESS, 
 156 Fifth Avenue, New York.
 
 A 000 052 480 1