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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
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 9
 
 THE FORD 
 
 UNIT, or CAUF. UBRAKV. LOS ANGELES
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 MUTINEERS. A Novel 
 
 BOTH GREAT AND SMALL. A Novel 
 
 LAND AND SEA PIECES. Poems
 
 THE FORD 
 
 BY 
 
 ARTHUR E. J. LEGGE 
 
 ? 
 
 LONDON : JOHN LANE 
 
 NEW YORK : JOHN LANE COMPANY
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 TURNBULL AND SPEARS. PRINTERS, EDINBURGH
 
 ng3„ 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAf 
 I. 
 
 GLEDDAYNE OF THE FORD . 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 II. 
 
 STELLA .... 
 
 lO 
 
 III. 
 
 PERSUASION .... 
 
 20 
 
 IV. 
 
 MONTAGUE AND CAPULET . 
 
 26 
 
 V. 
 
 THE HEIR PRESUMPTIVE 
 
 41 
 
 VI. 
 
 SOUVENIR .... 
 
 50 
 
 VII. 
 
 BELATED .... 
 
 57 
 
 VIII. 
 
 SYMPATHY .... 
 
 66 
 
 IX. 
 
 IN SHADOW .... 
 
 76 
 
 X. 
 
 THE FATHER SCORES 
 
 80 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE OLD ORDER AND THE NEW 
 
 89 
 
 XII. 
 
 THE FUTURE AND THE PAST 
 
 97 
 
 XIII. 
 
 SUNDAY VISITORS 
 
 109 
 
 XIV. 
 
 TEA ..... 
 
 118 
 
 XV. 
 
 TAME VOLCANOES 
 
 127 
 
 XVI. 
 
 MERRY ENGLAND 
 
 137 
 
 XVII. 
 
 TWO WORLDS 
 
 145 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 DAFFODILS . . . . . 
 
 154 
 
 21.31034
 
 VI 
 
 Contents 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 NO SURRENDER . 
 
 THE CANDIDATE . 
 
 DISCORDS AND HARMONIES 
 
 HUMOUR OF OLYMPUS 
 
 GOSSIP 
 
 A COUNTER-IRRITANT 
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS 
 
 FINITE HEARTS 
 
 INFINITE PASSION 
 
 INFELIX DIDO ! 
 
 ROMANCE . 
 
 ILLUMINATION, LIMITED 
 
 A READING IN BYRON 
 
 ENTSAGEN 
 
 SUGAR-PLUMS 
 
 A FLAG OF TRUCE ; AND A CAPITULATION 
 
 ROMANCE TRIUMPHANT . 
 
 " OUR being's end and AIM " . 
 
 NO THOROUGHFARE 
 
 THE FORD 
 
 PAGE 
 
 184 
 197 
 207 
 217 
 225 
 
 249 
 
 257 
 266 
 277 
 283 
 288 
 297 
 
 307 
 318 
 324 
 
 333
 
 THE FORD
 
 THE FORD 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 GLEDDAYNE OF THE FORD 
 
 The Barony of Gleddayne of the Ford is one of the most 
 ancient in the EngHsh peerage, being of Queen EHzabeth's 
 creation. The family who hold the title were settled at 
 the Ford before the Wars of the Roses. They defended it 
 for the House of Lancaster in many sharp fights ; and Sir 
 Richard Gleddayne, the representative of the house at this 
 date, was slain in the ford itself, so that its waters were 
 dyed with his blood ; and his ghost, clad in full armour, 
 and mounted on a magnificent horse, — whose reasons for 
 sharing in his master's haunting proclivities have never 
 been ascertained, — has from time to time been seen to 
 cross the stream on moonlight nights, usually as a prelude 
 to some misfortune in the family. There was another 
 Gleddayne killed on the river bank during the Civil War, 
 when he, with his retainers, was holding the Ford des- 
 perately against an overwhelming body of Puritans. But 
 being of diffident nature — or, perhaps, unable to procure a 
 ghostly charger, — he did no haunting. After that, the 
 Gleddaynes carried their martial spirit farther from home ; 
 and though several members of the family have since died 
 on the battlefield, their blood did not stain the land of 
 their birth. 
 A
 
 2 The Ford 
 
 Except that they had always made good soldiers, they 
 were not particularly distinguished people. Of those who 
 entered the Church only one climbed to the Episcopal 
 Bench ; while the numerous members of the family who 
 engaged in politics failed to leave any lasting record of 
 their personalities at Westminster. For the last two 
 centuries the head of the house has usually been a 
 conventional country gentleman, believing in the usual 
 creed of local magnates, — perhaps, on the whole, a trifle 
 more refined and studious than the type in general. 
 Certainly this description would faithfully represent 
 Henry, seventeenth Baron, who succeeded to the title 
 early in the latter half of the nineteenth century. He 
 loved his ancestral home, and left it as little as possible. 
 Neither there nor anywhere else did he do anything of 
 particular note. But he fitted in well with his environment, 
 by no means an easy task in all cases. And the environ- 
 ment of a Gleddayne of the Ford is such, that he who 
 harmonises with it must have rather more than the usual 
 share of dignity, refinement, and grace. 
 
 It was typical of the persuasive, yet indomitable arrogance 
 of the Gleddaynes in ancient times, that they should have 
 succeeded in attaching such a title permanently to their 
 liome, — as if there had only been one ford in the world. 
 Of course there is a ford, crossing the river Roate at the 
 foot of the hill on which the house stands. But it is 
 quite an unremarkable ford, and, indeed, rather a useless 
 one. It is probable that in days gone by the course of 
 the river was somewhat different. But not within the 
 memory of any living man has the ford been safely passable, 
 except during the summer months. Considering its depth, 
 the Roate is rather a swift stream ; and, as soon as it is 
 swollen by heavy rains, the ford becomes a tract of eddying 
 water, which might easily sweep the strongest horse into
 
 Gleddayne of the Ford 7 
 
 the deep pool immediately below. Moreover, the bottom 
 is now far from firm ; there are large loose stones lying 
 about, and there is a constantly shifting gravel bank at the 
 edge of the aforesaid pool. Consequently, e.\cept by the 
 Gleddaynes themselves, and occasionally by the Thirlwoods 
 of Thirlwood, — which lies about two miles off on the other 
 side of the stream, the one estate marching with the other 
 — the ford was rarely used during several generations. 
 But there is a public right of way across it. And this 
 fact led to some not inconsiderable events. 
 
 The house itself stands about one hundred feet above 
 the river, at the almost precipitous edge of the line of 
 low hills which overhang the Roate for several miles 
 locally known as " the Banks " ; a name still further 
 showing the tendency of the neighbourhood to merge the 
 general in the particular. The park lies on these Banks 
 sloping down to a woodland district on the- further side. 
 There is a winding road from the house down to the ford 
 but it has been so long in disuse that it is now little better 
 than a farm track, rutted and grass-grown, after it parts 
 with the main drive through the park. On the further side 
 of the river, it becomes a mere green weal on the face of 
 the vast meadow, nearly half a mile across, which is bounded 
 by a sunken road cheerfully entitled " Dead man's lane." 
 This lane marks the boundary between the Gleddayne and 
 Thirlwood estates. 
 
 The present house is a pile of architectural patchwork 
 of which one wing is Tudor, a small adjoining part 
 Ehzabethan, and the main structure dates from the reign 
 of James II. The house had stood a siege by Cromwell's 
 troops, who destroyed the greater part of it, and it was long 
 after the Restoration before the seventh Lord Gleddayne 
 by his fortunate marriage with the daughter of a Cheapside 
 merchant, obtained sufficient funds for the reconstruction
 
 4 The Ford 
 
 of the home of his forefathers. His alliance with trade, in 
 spite of this advantageous result, was regarded with dis- 
 favour by his descendants, who banished the portraits of 
 his wife and himself to a remote upper passage, and 
 themselves wedded only with the daughters of patrician 
 sires. 
 
 The house has some beauty and much homely sugges- 
 tion of comfort and peace. But when you stand on the 
 terrace with your back to it, you realise the advantage of 
 living in it, for the view before you is indeed a noble one. 
 Beyond the river stretches a wide, undulating plain of 
 pasture and plough-land and wood, dotted with substantial 
 farms, and marked here and there by the spire of a village 
 church, rising from among the trees. Thirlwood is hidden 
 from view by a timbered slope, but more remote country 
 houses are visible now and then on rising ground. The 
 landscape is bounded by a range of boldly outlined hills 
 standing against the western sky. About a mile and a half 
 to the right hangs such smoke as emerges from the little 
 town of Roatebridge, — the nearest point at which the 
 river can be crossed. But the hand of commerce has 
 not yet fallen heavily on this gentle vale, and the scene 
 is not disfigured by factory chimneys and workshop 
 walls. 
 
 Here, then, reigned Henry, seventeenth Lord Gleddayne, 
 during the latter part of the reign of Queen Victoria. His 
 only sister was married to a county neighbour, James, third 
 Earl of Claydon. And, having no brothers, he remained 
 for many years a solitary dweller at the Ford. Late in life 
 he married. Two sons were born to him, and, after some 
 interval, a daughter, whose birth preceded by less than two 
 years the death of her mother. The sons grew up and 
 went into the army, the elder entering the Household 
 Cavalry, the younger a Highland regiment. Lord
 
 Gleddayne of the Ford 5 
 
 Gleddayne and his growing-up daughter, Stella, were left 
 for much of the year in solitude at the Ford, — for he 
 entertained little and travelled less. He was relatively a 
 poor man. In the meantime occurred the most disturbing 
 event in his uneventful life. 
 
 The representative of the Thirlwoods, a ruined man, was 
 forced to sell Thirlwood, which had been disentailed, to 
 pay his pressing debts. After a few months it was bought 
 by Mr Richard Harrold, whose name is familiar to all the 
 world through the medium of Harrold's Household Soap. 
 He had turned his prosperous business into a Limited 
 Company, and was desirous of enjoying the retirement and 
 dignity of a country gentleman. He soon entered into 
 possession, bringing with him a pretty wife, two small 
 daughters, and a smaller son. 
 
 Lord Gleddayne's disgust and indignation were without 
 limit. The Gleddaynes and the Thirlwoods, for generations, 
 had been almost like one family. They had intermarried 
 at least once during each of the last three centuries. The 
 proximity of the houses had rendered constant intercourse 
 easy. And now a privacy, which he might well regard as 
 inviolable, had been broken into by this pushing soap- 
 boiler, Harrold at Thirlwood affected him much as a 
 Salvation Army Captain in the pulpit of St Paul's might 
 affect the Dean. 
 
 He rigidly refused to call upon the parvenu or to 
 recognise his existence. It was quite a source of annoy- 
 ance to him to hear that people of good social standing 
 were in the habit of visiting Thirlwood. Mrs Harrold, it 
 appeared, was of better family than her husband, and had 
 friends. She was a lady of lively disposition, and enjoyed 
 the admiration of the opposite sex. Indeed her conduct 
 soon became a subject for comment in the neighbourhood. 
 Lord Gleddayne listened grimly. Nice people his new
 
 6 The Ford 
 
 neighbours were, indeed. He was a man of much propriety. 
 The shock was great when he heard that Mrs Harrold's 
 most prominent admirer, who frequently visited Thirlwood, 
 and whose movements were beginning to rouse the voice 
 of scandal, was a distant cousin of his own, one Paul 
 Gleddayne. It is true that though this discovery was 
 painful to his moral feeling, it was not without a certain 
 unholy compensation, in the thought that the unseemly 
 Paul was a source of danger to Harrold's peace of 
 mind. 
 
 This Paul Gleddayne was the great-grandson of Roger 
 Gleddayne, brother of the twelfth lord, and historic re- 
 probate of the family. His highly improper career had 
 culminated in a marriage unmentionable in the presence 
 of the butler. And he was finally cast off by his family 
 and passed, with his descendants, out of the atmosphere 
 of the Ford. The last of these descendants was Paul, 
 who had inherited his poverty, his good looks, and, ap- 
 parently, his lack of morals. There had never been any 
 intercourse between the two branches of the family, and 
 Lord Gleddayne had little knowledge of his kinsman. 
 He had heard of him vaguely as employed in some 
 business or official capacity, as dancing about in London 
 ballrooms in his youth, and as living in a humble way 
 with a paralysed mother, some of whose relatives were 
 known to his lordship. They spoke of Paul's unselfish 
 devotion to his parent, and even of his supporting her 
 by the aid of some rather uncongenial and uninteresting 
 employment, and they also mentioned his good looks. 
 But Lord Gleddayne was a firm upholder of family 
 tradition, and as his father and grandfather had kept aloof 
 from the race of the evil-doer, he had felt it his duty to 
 make no attempt at cousinly advances towards Paul. 
 Even when the unexpected deaths, in rapid succession.
 
 Glcddayne of the Ford 7 
 
 of no less than three other cousins suddenly placed Paul 
 next in remainder to the family honours after Lord Gled- 
 dayne's own sons, that nobleman continued to ignore his 
 existence. 
 
 His wrath against everyone connected with the Harrolds 
 grew to the point of exasperation when the maker of soap 
 proceeded to a fresh intrusion. He several times made 
 use of the ford for crossing the river. Lord Gleddayne, 
 as he sat at his window, could see Harrold ride across his 
 meadow, ford his river, and proceed unabashed across his 
 park. Harrold had bought a farm on the far side of 
 the Gleddayne property, and this was his short way to 
 visit it. Lord Gleddayne felt as if the French Revolution, 
 the first Reform Bill, and the imposition of the Death 
 Duties had suddenly combined in one thunderbolt and 
 descended from Heaven on his head. He spent some 
 time playing nervously with a pair of duelling pistols 
 which had belonged to his grandfather, and talking 
 excitedly, and somewhat incoherently, about soap, 
 beggars on horseback, and the decay of England's 
 greatness. 
 
 He even caused his agent to write a letter to Harrold 
 threatening legal proceedings. But, as the right of way 
 was indisputable, this only exposed him to a crushing 
 rebuff from Harrold's lawyer. After that he never 
 mentioned Thirlwood or its inhabitants again. But the 
 thought of them was an ever rankling hurt. Harrold 
 continued to make use of the ford. And its hereditary 
 guardian was shocked at feeling a constant temptation to 
 wish that the ford might assert its own disapproval by 
 drowning the interloper. 
 
 But as years went on, other more genuine sorrows came 
 to the poor man. His son, moved by hereditary fighting 
 instinct, and tired of ornamental military duties in London
 
 8 The Ford 
 
 and Windsor, volunteered for service in some dismal little 
 campaign in the wilds of East Africa. He distinguished 
 himself quickly, and the anxious father had a brief space 
 of pride and exultation ; cut short all too soon by a 
 telegram, which told how the hope of an ancient house 
 had been wiped from the ranks of the living by a bullet 
 from an obsolete gun, fired by a lurking savage in a 
 malarious swamp. The broken-hearted father never looked 
 upon his face again. 
 
 But the shears of the fates were busy still. Two years 
 later the remaining son, who was with his regiment in 
 India, died of enteric fever. 
 
 Lord Gleddayne was a brave man, and faced his agony 
 without flinching. His look of grim, haggard misery had 
 yet a certain suggestion of unbroken pride. He held 
 himself erect, and fulfilled the ordinary duties of life as 
 heretofore. No living being knew what he suffered. 
 The only person who had any idea of it was his 
 daughter. 
 
 She, of course, became her father's sole joy and comfort. 
 The imperious old man began to lean upon her pathetic- 
 ally. She had been out two seasons when her elder 
 brother died, and had enjoyed her girlish gaieties. After 
 that, they came to an end for the best part of four years, 
 and her life was quiet, self-sacrificing and sad. She had 
 seen little of her younger brother, and felt his death less 
 than that of the elder, who, though many years her senior, 
 had made a pet and a companion of her. But she cer- 
 tainly started in life under a cloud of sorrow, from which 
 she was only beginning to emerge when she reached her 
 twenty-fourth birthday. Her natural courage and good 
 spirits helped to lift her out of the shadows. She began 
 to contemplate a fuller participation in the movement of 
 her world. And, having left off her mourning and laid
 
 Gleddaync of the Ford 9 
 
 her grief away in the sacred chambers of her soul, she 
 began once more to suggest the radiant girl who had so 
 long been transformed. Graver and more serious than 
 of old, she was still a source of gaiety and life. And at 
 this period we may leave the explanatory, and introduce 
 her upon our stage.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 STELLA 
 
 It was a wet day in August. Beyond the open windows of 
 the long, low drawing-room at the Ford, the landscape lay 
 veiled in a curtain of driving rain. In the great meadow 
 the sheep were huddled under a group of drenched elms. 
 Trees and grass were alike a dull heavy green, in contrast 
 with the unbroken grey of the sky and the greyer gleam of 
 the river, scarred by the trail of a water-fowl that moved 
 across like a gliding black dot. The air was muggy and 
 thunder-laden, and the soft rustle of the rain seemed a 
 message of sleep. 
 
 Stella Gleddayne sat down behind the tea-table near a 
 window. She was tall and well proportioned, a shade too 
 slender. She moved with an easy grace not over common 
 amongst EngHshwomen, and she had that air of distinction 
 which is common nowhere. There was a lofty beauty in 
 her face, with its broad brow under the dark-brown hair, its 
 large, thoughful grey eyes and firm mouth. Her look was 
 serious, almost sad, in repose, but her lips smiled readily, 
 and her eyes lighted up when she spoke. During the two 
 seasons in which she had gone out in London she had 
 been greatly admired. Both then and since she had been 
 wooed by many suitors. It was rumoured, but scarcely 
 believed, that she had refused a Duke. Certainly she had 
 not taken advantage of very desirable matrimonial possi- 
 bilities. Some said that she could not bear to leave her
 
 Stella 1 1 
 
 father. Others that she was cold, even heartless. She 
 was reputed to be clever, given to thinking freely on life's 
 problems, — a habit generally blamed in young girls ; and it 
 was felt that, if her theories had prevented her being 
 married, the reprehension was just. But not many people 
 knew very much about her. She was reserved, and 
 admitted few of her sex to intimacy. To the other sex she 
 usually presented a front of smiling, friendly indifference ; 
 though she had one or two strange alliances with elderly 
 professors, politicians, and others who used their brains. 
 Yet there was nothing of the blue-stocking about her, and 
 the coteries of young ladies who add a passion for culture 
 to their other attractions, and find in German opera, French 
 drama, and the like, additional reasons for their own 
 exclusiveness, had been unsuccessful in any attempts to 
 capture her. She had a way of smiling, very gentle and 
 yet full of mocking gaiety, which was disconcerting to the 
 would-be aristocrats of the intellect. Average young men 
 and their female counterparts admired her, and thought her 
 " an awfully good sort," but they were a little afraid of her. 
 She certainly did not move on the common plane. 
 
 In truth she was a somewhat disdainful maiden, with no 
 small endowment of the family pride. But she was gentle, 
 and her pride no weapon of offence. 
 
 Round the tea-table sat a small group ; Lady Claydon, — 
 Stella's aunt, — her daughter, Lady Violet Tedburn, Miss 
 Maud OUsen, the lady novelist, and Mr Montagu Rinde. 
 Lady Claydon had a masterful nose, whose suggestion was 
 corroborated by the vigour of her movements and the 
 decision of her speech. She was a busy person, active in 
 politics and philanthropy. Lady Violet was healthy, 
 cheerful and intelligent, with some good looks. She had 
 fair hair, a bright complexion, honest eyes, and good hands 
 and feet. Her tastes were chiefly for the amusements of
 
 12 The Ford 
 
 society, both out of doors and in, but she had a craze for 
 knowing what she called " interesting people," which meant 
 those who write books, paint pictures, or otherwise earn 
 occasional mention in the newspapers. 
 
 Miss Ollsen was also fair. She was a small, plain, 
 colourless woman with a large mouth and eyes. She 
 looked mentally and physically hungry. 
 
 Montague Rinde was a pallid, lanky, effeminate youth, 
 with a shrill voice and affected manners. He spoke 
 French like a native, and performed well on the pianoforte. 
 He was distinguished as an amateur actor. He admired 
 everything foreign, despised everything English, and con- 
 sidered himself a judge of literature and art. Stella 
 regarded his presence as a discipline, but she had asked 
 him, to please her cousin, who thought him a conversa- 
 tionalist ; which she also considered herself to be. As he 
 really amused Stella's guests and took them off her hands 
 a good deal, she felt not unkindly towards him. 
 
 Stella glanced through the window at the moist world. 
 
 " I don't think Mr Harrold will be able to cross the ford 
 much longer if this goes on," she said in her low soft 
 voice. 
 
 " Does that old feud still exist ? " Lady Claydon asked, 
 a trifle contemptuously. She prided herself on being 
 superior to her brother's antiquated prejudices. 
 
 " I don't know that there is any feud now," Stella 
 answered. " Of course we don't know the Harrolds, and I 
 don't suppose we ever shall. Personally I have no objec- 
 tion to their acquaintance, if they desire ours, but Father 
 would never hear of it." 
 
 " Your father's ideas belong to the prehistoric age," said 
 Lady Claydon. " One has to accept these people now- 
 adays, and it is useless to object to them. We are all glad 
 to know — even to marry — the people who make our
 
 Stella 13 
 
 beer. So why shouldn't we know those who make our 
 soap ? " 
 
 *' They arc at least the nearer to godliness, if the proverb 
 be true," put in Rinde. 
 
 "And their prosperity reminds us of our national 
 supremacy in cleanliness," added Lady Violet, with the air 
 of a conscious jester. 
 
 Lady Claydon took no notice of these pleasantries. "If 
 we had lived this side of the county I should certainly have 
 called on Mrs Harrold," she said. " I understand that she 
 is a lady by birth. And Claydon says that Mr Harrold, 
 though rough, is quite a presentable man, and has been at 
 a public school and all that sort of thing. Claydon often 
 meets him on county business and rather likes him. As 
 he says, these men are the backbone of the party in these 
 days." 
 
 " The Harrold girls are rather pretty," remarked Lady 
 Violet, "and they certainly know how to dress. I saw 
 them at the Roatebridge Ball last year. And the boy is 
 nice looking too, and I hear he is clever. I have seen 
 him once or twice in London, and he evidently gets asked 
 to some quite good houses." 
 
 " I have heard he was popular at Eton," said Rinde. 
 " I believe he distinguished himself in rowing a boat, or 
 throwing a ball, or kicking something, — some dull amuse- 
 ment they have there, anyhow." 
 
 Mr Rinde had been educated at home by a fond mother. 
 
 " Well I haven't any prejudices on that subject," said 
 Lady Violet. " If people have got money and can give 
 you a good time it doesn't much matter who they are 
 nowadays." 
 
 " No," said Stella, a trifle bitterly, " nothing matters 
 nowadays except money. And I daresay it is as good a 
 standard for social distincticKis as any other, only we
 
 14 The Ford 
 
 ought to be honest about it, and not pretend that there 
 
 are any others, as all of us do." 
 
 "Oh, well my dear, we aren't quite the same as the 
 
 Harrolds," said Lady Violet with a scornful shade in her 
 
 voice. 
 
 " And yet we are to spend their money and accept their 
 
 hospitahty and make use of them generally, and then sneer 
 
 at them as our inferiors behind their backs ! " Stella 
 
 answered gently. 
 
 " You may be sure they will compensate themselves by 
 
 crowing over the poorer members of their own class," 
 
 remarked Rinde. " These are the genial lines on which 
 
 society in England is built." 
 
 Stella was silent. To tell the truth she had always been 
 a little ashamed of the treatment the Harrolds had experi- 
 enced. She knew that her father's attitude towards them 
 had influenced other people in the county, and that the 
 new owners of Thirlwood had not been received with great 
 cordiality. She had tried to console herself with the re- 
 ported fact that Mr Harrold was an aggressive, pushing 
 man, and that Mrs Harrold was of doubtful propriety. 
 But she did not feel quite easy on the subject. She knew 
 that she could make her father do anything she liked. And 
 the thought that her abstention from action in the matter 
 was perhaps due to a pride in which her conscience 
 detected something a little vulgar, was not altogether 
 comfortable. 
 
 The conversation turned to other topics. Lady Claydon, 
 having finished her tea, began knitting with feverish energy 
 and discussing a future political village-fete with her 
 daughter, who gave the matter her attention because it 
 involved the selection of auxiliary young men out of their 
 large circle of acquaintances. To Lady Violet every 
 question was of importance in proportion to its young-man-
 
 Stella 1 5 
 
 power, so to speak. Rinde went to the piano, and pro- 
 vided an appropriate obligato to the conversation by play- 
 ing selections from the latest musical comedy. Stella and 
 Miss Ollsen moved to the other end of the room, out of 
 earshot, though not out of reach of the tinkling tunes. 
 Stella reverted to the topic which was in her mind. 
 
 " What a paltry life ours is, Maud," she said. " I envy 
 you with your art, which can lift you out of this atmos- 
 phere of small superficialities. Could anything be more 
 contemptible than this question of whether we should 
 know the Harrolds or not ? If these were ancient times, 
 and we had a blood feud with them, and were liable to 
 kill each other at sight, there would be something heroic 
 about it. But this is so small — and it makes us small." 
 
 Miss Ollsen assumed a sympathetic expression. As a 
 matter of fact social distinctions were not superficialities to 
 her at all. Sprung from the middle-class, she was ex- 
 tremely conscious of the gratification she derived from her 
 intimacy with Stella and her relations. But she had 
 a genuine love and admiration for Stella, and had 
 depicted her with some skill in her popular book 
 " Love's Starry Crown," — which, apparently, she believed 
 to be a coronet. 
 
 " Would you like to know them ? " she asked. 
 
 " I should like to end this ridiculous state of things. 
 After all, they are our nearest neighbours, — and I don't 
 know that our version of our duty towards our neighbour 
 is one that I am proud of. But I suppose it is too late to 
 do anything now." 
 
 " What a pity you don't know your cousin, Paul 
 Gleddayne," said Miss Ollsen. " He is a friend of the 
 Harrolds. I believe he was in love with Mrs Harrold 
 
 once." 
 
 " Do you know him ? " Stella asked.
 
 1 6 The Ford 
 
 " I met him once at Mr Merrow's, — the Editor of the 
 Crossbench Review, you know. Mr Merrow is an old 
 friend of Mr Gleddayne, — and Mr Gleddayne writes for the 
 Review a good deal, I fancy." 
 
 " I had no idea our unknown cousin wrote," said Stella, 
 rather interested. " We seem to have neglected a good 
 many people who might well be cultivated. I believe he 
 used to have some foolish flirtation with Mrs Harrold years 
 ago. It annoyed Father to hear of it, and that is one 
 reason why we have never known him. I should think he 
 must be a silly man." 
 
 " Because he was once in love ? How hard you are 
 about that subject, Stella," said Miss Ollsen, sentimentally, 
 
 " Well, that sort of love-affair doesn't seem to me 
 particularly beautiful," Stella answered. " I think you 
 novelists exaggerate the importance of love anyhow, — and 
 you always take an unwholesome interest in it when it is 
 unlawful." 
 
 " Oh, how can you talk thus ? " bleated Miss Ollsen. 
 " You would rob life of all its romance. But you can't 
 believe what you say." 
 
 " I believe every word of it," said Stella, with decision 
 and unusual animation. " I am tired of all the nonsense 
 that is brought into life. Love and marriage are well 
 enough in their way, but I never can see why we should take 
 one human relation and let it eat up all the others like 
 Aaron's rod. Romance ! Why there is romance in every- 
 thing we do — in every scrap of the world's work, and of 
 its play too. Why should we tie romance to one particular 
 thing ? " 
 
 " Ah," said Miss Ollsen in tragic tones, " wait till you 
 experience it ! " 
 
 " My dear Maud, it is cjuite possible that I may pass 
 through this particular form of delirium at some time.
 
 Stella 1 7 
 
 But my convictions will remain the same, when I recover 
 my senses again. If I meet a man whom I can honour 
 and look up to, I daresay I shall be as silly about it as if 
 I were the heroine of one of your novels." 
 
 " You are, darling," murmured Miss Ollsen. " Of all." 
 
 " But I hope it won't last long," Stella went on. " I 
 shall soon [)ut life on a practical footing again." 
 
 " And what of him ? " asked Miss Ollsen. " What of 
 the man to whom you are an inspiration, an ideal — whose 
 life you have made a symphony, a poem, a dream ? Will 
 you have no mercy on him ? " 
 
 " Not if he thinks of things in that way," Stella answered, 
 laughing softly. " I shall be trying to do things to make 
 him proud of me, and I shall expect him to do the same 
 by me. But anyhow he doesn't exist yet, and as hkely as 
 not he never will. I can do very well without him." 
 
 " It is useless to argue with you, darhng,'' said Miss 
 Ollsen resignedly. " I can only wait and hope." 
 
 "So a man said to me last year," Stella replied. " And 
 in six months he was engaged to someone else ! No, my 
 dear, we civilised people have agreed to dress up a single 
 sentiment in royal clothes, and put a crown on its head, 
 and set it to rule over all the other sentiments and senti- 
 mentalities. We pretend that it is the most important 
 thing in life, and our whole conduct contradicts the 
 pretence." 
 
 " It is the most important thing in life, to women at any 
 rate. That Is one of the cruel injustices of fate — that it 
 is so much more important to us than to men, and they 
 know it, and have the advantage in consequence. And 
 yet I would not have it different. Love should be the 
 king of life." 
 
 " Love, of a kind, perhaps," answered Stella. " But not 
 the mixture of vanity and commonplace instincts and thirst 
 
 B
 
 1 8 The Ford 
 
 for excitement which we generally mean when we talk of 
 love." 
 
 " My dear Stella, no instincts are commonplace — except 
 to commonplace minds." Stella laughed. 
 
 " I believe that is the first true thing you have said on 
 the subject, Maud," she said. " I hope you will expand 
 it into a book. But anyhow I am glad you put Paul 
 Gleddayne into my head. At anyrate we can atone for 
 one neglected duty. He ought to come here, — now that 
 there is no one else between him and the succession." 
 
 Her voice faltered a little, shaken by the thought of her 
 dead brothers. 
 
 " Will Lord Gleddayne consent ? " asked Miss OUsen. 
 
 " I think so, when I have shown him my way of looking 
 at it," Stella answered, with a shade of determination under 
 the gentleness of her tone. As a matter of fact, Lord 
 Gleddayne, and most other people connected with her, 
 generally ended in agreeing to Stella's proposals. 
 
 She rose and went across the room to Lady Claydon. 
 
 " Aunt Isabel," she said, I don't want to run against 
 any family traditions without finding out the wishes of the 
 family first. Should you have any objection if I persuaded 
 Father to ask Paul Gleddayne here ? " 
 
 " My dear, if you can persuade your father to abandon 
 some of his prejudices you will have my hearty approval," 
 said Lady Claydon emphatically. " Why on earth we 
 should all have cut Paul Gleddayne all his life, because his 
 great-grandmother was no better than lots of women we 
 know, quite willingly, I never could think. Ask him here 
 by all means, and find out if he would be of any use for 
 Primrose League purposes, — if he can speak on fiscal 
 questions, or sing comic songs, or do amateur conjuring, 
 or anything of that kind. If so you can pass him on to us 
 when you have done with him."
 
 Stella 19 
 
 " He seems to have talents of some kind," Stella 
 answered. " Maud tells me he writes for reviews." 
 
 " Oh, that is interesting," remarked Lady Violet. " Do 
 ask him Stella. I like meeting clever people, — though of 
 course they are sometimes disappointing. Now I don't 
 want to disparage her, Stella, but you know Miss Ollsen 
 has been rather a disappointment to me. I thought her 
 conversation would be so brilliant, and she only talks 
 about clothes and other people's marriages, just like 
 everyone else." 
 
 Miss Ollsen had left the room, 
 
 " There are only two kinds of lady-novelist," remarked 
 Rinde, "the agile, and the fragile. They are almost 
 entirely engrossed with the passion of love." 
 
 " Perhaps they prefer to leave the making of cheap 
 epigrams to people who can't do anything else," rejoined 
 Stella inconsequently, as she moved towards the door. 
 
 Monty Rinde's armour of vanity was too thick to admit a 
 personal application of this thrust. But he was conscious 
 of a certain suggestion of rebuke, and accordingly agreed 
 with Lady Violet, when she proceeded to a critical demolition 
 of the absent Miss Ollsen. It soothed his feelings, and he 
 felt that Lady Violet was more intelligent and sympathetic 
 than her cousin.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 PERSUASION 
 
 Stella went straight to her father's room. She had a 
 habit of bringing matters to a point. 
 
 Lord Gleddayne sat in an armchair by the window, 
 studying the Odes of Horace, which he laid down on his 
 daughter's entrance. He was a broad-shouldered, long- 
 limbed old man, carrying little flesh. His face was stern 
 and sad, with a touch of arrogance. It softened as he 
 looked at Stella. She came and leaned against the 
 window-sill by his side, her graceful body half-turned 
 towards him, and her fearless grey eyes looking down into 
 his face. 
 
 " I won't disturb you for long. Father," she said, " but I 
 have suddenly been possessed by one or two ideas, and, as 
 you know, I always want to carry my ideas out as quickly 
 as possible. 
 
 " And generally do it rather sooner," said Lord Gleddayne 
 with a faint smile, laying his hand caressingly on her arm. 
 " Can I help in the execution ? " 
 
 " Partly, at any rate. In the first place I want you to 
 invite Paul Gleddayne here." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Firstly, because he is our cousin and poor. Distant 
 I admit, but still of our name and blood. His poverty 
 puts the head of the family under the obligation of polite- 
 ness, at least. We could confer pleasure."
 
 Persuasion 2 1 
 
 " You start with a moral obligation. Well ? " 
 
 "Secondly, an obligation of courtesy. He is your 
 successor. Surely he ought to be given a chance to become 
 familiar with his inheritance." 
 
 This last remark of Stella's was as painful to her to utter 
 as to her father to hear, but, characteristically, neither flinched 
 from it. Her voice was low and steady, while he received 
 it with a grave nod of implied consideration. 
 
 " I don't want to do it," he said at last, after a period of 
 silent thought. 
 
 " May I consider your reasons, Father ? You always 
 admit me to your secrets, you know." 
 
 " In the first place our branch of the family has never 
 had anything to do with his branch, for four generations." 
 
 " Because his great-grandmother was improper ! Do 
 you take that seriously, Father ? " 
 
 " I always have ; but I confess without much reflection." 
 Lord Gleddayne pondered silently once more. Finally 
 he said, " Your implied disapproval is right. That reason 
 is absurd." 
 
 "And the next?" 
 
 " He is — or was — a friend of the Harrolds." 
 
 "And do we know anything whatever against the 
 Harrolds — except a mere question of personal courtesy 
 with which he has no concern ? " 
 
 " It concerns the head of his family." 
 
 " Well, at any rate, it is long since he was heard of as 
 visiting the Harrolds. Perhaps his friendship with them 
 did not extend beyond the period of our disagreement." 
 
 She spoke as if she associated herself entirely with her 
 father's attitude in the Harrold dispute, but he had never 
 heard her express or indicate an opinion on the subject. 
 He was not one to assume his daughter's necessary 
 acceptance of his point of view on all things, and his lips
 
 2 2 The Ford 
 
 pressed together, as if making a mental note for future 
 reference. 
 
 "I admit the argument has no great force," he said, slowly. 
 
 " And there remains ? " 
 
 "The question of character. You have probably heard 
 the old gossip." 
 
 Stella smiled. 
 
 " You mean as regards Mrs Harrold ? Since when has 
 our conduct been influenced by gossip, Father ? " 
 
 Lord Gleddayne again reflected in silence for some 
 moments. 
 
 " You personify Justice for me, Stella," he said at last. 
 " I ought to weigh all things in your balance, for I find 
 myself very frequently astray. I withdraw all my objections 
 and I will write to Paul Gleddayne before long and invite 
 him here. Of course he may decline to come." 
 
 " That will probably depend on the tone of your letter, 
 Father," said Stella, significantly. 
 
 Lord Gleddayne's face again lighted up with his faint, 
 momentary smile. 
 
 " I admit the attempt at subterfuge," he said. But I 
 can't deceive those eyes of yours, dear. I will write to 
 Paul Gleddayne an invitation which he will not refuse." 
 
 " Thank you, dear Father." 
 
 Stella leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. 
 His hand caressed her hair. Then both resumed their 
 former positions. It was noticeable that during the whole 
 of this conversation they had spoken entirely without 
 a trace of emotion. Stella knew that if you attacked Lord 
 Gleddayne's reason he was generally reasonable ; if you 
 touched his sentiments you encountered prejudice. 
 
 Her father watched her keenly for some moments. 
 Then he said : — 
 
 " When I mentioned the Harrolds just now I noticed
 
 Persuasion 23 
 
 a shade in the tone of your reply that puzzled me a little. 
 If I asked you to criticise my conduct with regard to the 
 Harrolds, what would your verdict be ? " 
 
 " I think it would be — not guilty, but don't do it again," 
 said Stella, with a gleam of laughter in her eyes. 
 
 " You think I have behaved harshly to them? The 
 provocation was extreme." 
 
 " Extreme from your point of view. But has it ever 
 occurred to you. Father, that Mr Harrold's offence was 
 in the first instance probably unconscious. It is not likely 
 that a man of his description would realise that what was 
 welcomed in a former owner of Thirlwood would not be 
 welcome from him. He was within his legal rights, and 
 probably it never occurred to him as possible that you 
 would object till you tried to stop him. You must admit 
 that you did that in no conciliatory manner, and no doubt 
 he got his back up and stuck to his point. Of course, 
 if he had been a gentleman he would never have started 
 the affair. He would have behaved with tact and dis- 
 cretion, and got all he wanted in the end without anything 
 unpleasant happening. But he isnt a gentleman, and 
 found you opposing his undoubted legal rights. Just think 
 of a poor Englishman robbed of his legal rights ! " 
 
 She laughed in her soft way, and her father smiled. 
 
 " It is quite true, Stella," he said. " I have felt over 
 and over again that I was not reasonable. I am 
 reasonable if people take me the right way, 
 as you know ; but this thick-skinned, coarse-grained 
 parvenu could hardly be expected to do that. However, 
 the mischief is done, and I don't see how it can be undone. 
 I should be quite willing that you should call on Mrs 
 Harrold now, but after all these years it hardly seems 
 possible. I don't suppose they would be gratified by 
 it at all. What would you suggest ? "
 
 24 The Ford 
 
 " I think an ambassador may be able to help. Should 
 you mind if I consulted Mrs Brent? She is on friendly 
 terms with the Harrolds, and you know that she is tactful." 
 
 Lord Gleddayne weighed the matter in silence. 
 
 "It is not our habit to consult others with regard to 
 our social relations," he said, " but I think we might 
 make an exception in favour of Mrs Brent. Do as you 
 like, dear. But please conceal the affair from your aunt 
 Isabel. Her comments might make me unreasonable again." 
 
 He smiled grimly. Stella slipped on to the arm of his 
 chair and put her arm round his neck. 
 
 "Only you and I understand each other," she said. 
 " But Mrs Brent understands more than anyone else. 
 I will talk to her about it all. She will be glad to hear 
 about Paul Gleddayne. She met him once or twice at 
 Thirlwood and liked him. Needless to say she has never 
 commented on either of the topics we have discussed 
 to-day." 
 
 " I will write to Paul Gleddayne before long," said 
 Lord Gleddayne. " It is right that he should come here. 
 At least he is of our race, — but not of my blood, — not 
 of my blood." 
 
 The first signs of emotion he had shown were apparent 
 in his quivering face and his trembling voice. Stella bent 
 down and kissed him. He recovered himself at once. 
 
 " If Paul Gleddayne does not marry, the property, at 
 any rate, will come back to you," he said. " And yet, 
 Stella, I hope he will marry. I should not like the 
 Gleddaynes to die out. God knows I would like it to go 
 
 to your children — and yet " 
 
 " Well, dear, we need not think of all that now," she said 
 lightly, as she slipped off the arm of the chair. She kissed 
 him again and went out of the room. Lord Gleddayne 
 sat motionless, deep in thought. Then he rose, looked for
 
 Persuasion 25 
 
 and found a volume of the Peerage, and turned to the 
 page devoted to his own family. 
 
 "Fifty, I see he is," he muttered. "And Stella is 
 twenty-four. Well, we must wait and see. They say he 
 pleases women." 
 
 He sank into his armchair again, and glanced out at the 
 dim, dripping landscape, before taking up his Horace once 
 more. " Aequam memento Rebus in arduis servare 
 mentem," he murmured to himself, as he opened the book.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 MONTAGUE AND CAPULET 
 
 The next day was bright and fine. After breakfast Stella 
 managed to dispose of her guests for the morning. Miss 
 Ollsen retired to her own room, to work undisturbed at the 
 novel she was writing. Lady Claydon, — who had taken 
 an hour's walk before breakfast, — settled down to a mass of 
 correspondence and accounts, pausing at intervals to dash 
 through various newspapers and glance at a pamphlet or 
 two. Lady Violet took Mr Rinde on the river in the 
 punt, — she punting, while he read some of the shorter 
 poems of Verlaine and other French writers aloud to her, 
 with a perfect accent and intonation. Her exertions and 
 their attendant noises prevented her hearing much of 
 what he read. But that did not mar their mutual satisfac- 
 tion, — she being delighted with her own cultivated taste, 
 and he with his own courage in sitting in the punt. He 
 ranked himself, in thought, with Nelson and Columbus. 
 
 Stella started to walk across the park by herself. She 
 moved slowly, for it was very hot. The woods on the 
 Banks were hard in outline, and sharply defined against the 
 metallic blue sky. A quivering haze rose above the distant 
 stretches of turf and blurred remote vistas. The deer were 
 lazily grouped beneath the trees and not a rabbit moved 
 amid the bracken. The birds were silent in the branches, 
 and only the butterflies danced hither and thither, and count- 
 less insects hummed in the shade. The world was drowsy. 
 26
 
 Montague and Capulet 27 
 
 Stella stopped for a moment to exchange a few words 
 with Derrick, the river-keeper ; a gaunt, shambling man 
 with a sardonic countenance. He and his family had 
 lived on the estate for generations, and he claimed the 
 privilege of freedom of speech in consecjuence. 
 
 " I've started her ladyship and that Mr Rinde in the 
 punt," he said. " It's a new thing to see ladies doing the 
 work while gentlemen read books. I shall have to be nigh 
 the river all morning for she's like enough to overbalance 
 herself, and we don't want nobody drowned here — 
 without it's that Harrold." 
 
 " Hush, Derrick, you must not say things like that. We 
 have no quarrel with Mr Harrold, please understand." 
 
 " It isn't for the likes of you to quarrel with such as he," 
 answered Derrick, bitterly. " Lord, to think of the 
 Thirlwoods of Thirlwood, and then of him ! I'll warrant 
 my grandfather was a better man than his, and he's a 
 gentleman, if you please. Well, they say his missus fancies 
 others as could be named. I don't hold with that sort of 
 thing, but blessed if you can blame her much when you 
 come to think of it." 
 
 He departed towards the river with strange, mirthless 
 chuckles. Stella realised that he was alluding to Paul 
 Gleddayne, and felt a shade annoyed. She almost regretted 
 her responsibility for his probable advent. She pictured 
 him to herself unfavourably — an elderly roue, possibly 
 with dyed hair, and with those would-be fascinating manners 
 repugnant to women of sense. Unlike most of her sex, 
 she had little blame for Mrs Harrold, whatever her conduct 
 might have been. It was the imagined pursuer of women 
 who seemed to her the ugly figure. 
 
 She reached the lodge and turned down the road towards 
 the little village of Willerstone, in which Mrs Brent's house 
 was situated. Mrs Brent was the widow of a former vicar
 
 2 8 The Ford 
 
 of Willerstone. She had been left with four children 
 and a tiny income. She was of old but rustic stock 
 and had never lived in London or mixed with society. 
 Nevertheless she was clever, cultivated, and well informed, 
 with the manners of true good-breeding and a regal tact. 
 Her opinion was valued and her sympathy cherished by 
 the most unlikely people in the world. 
 
 Stella reached the house, — commonplace enough, with 
 a porch opening on to the village street and roses and 
 honeysuckles, of course, climbing over the walls. It was 
 almost disappointing not to find the Miller's Daughter or 
 some other early- Victorian damsel waiting in the doorway. 
 The door was opened by a flushed maid, and Mrs Brent 
 appeared at the sound of Stella's voice, fanning herself 
 with a duster. She was a good-looking woman with grey 
 hair and a bright complexion. 
 
 " Oh, it's you dear, is it," she said. " I am so glad of 
 an excuse to stop work. August isn't the month for work. 
 Why, even the birds leave off singing. And its really 
 waste of time trying to keep the place tidy when the boys 
 are at home. Reggie cut himself with my best Sevres tea- 
 cup yesterday, — after he had broken it of course, — and 
 bled all over the drawing-room carpet." 
 
 Reggie, with his hand in bandages, led off a chorus of 
 laughter from the children behind, who were struggling to 
 get to Stella round their mother's obstructing form. Each 
 had to be kissed in turn, and then the party moved 
 through the back of the house into the garden, amid 
 peals of laughter. Everyone always laughed in Mrs 
 Brent's house, whether there was anything to laugh at 
 or not. 
 
 " I want to talk to you seriously," said Stella, when they 
 had tumbled into the shade, in a shifting heap, of which 
 she and Mrs Brent were the groundwork.
 
 Montague and Capulet 29 
 
 " Fly children," said Mrs Brent. And with more laughter 
 the children fled. 
 
 " I have come to eat humble-pie," said Stella. 
 
 " It won't be of my cooking," answered Mrs Brent. 
 
 " No, you never criticise. But all the same I believe 
 you have condemned us in silence. I have come to talk 
 about the Harrolds." 
 
 " Capital. I love a gossip," said Mrs Brent. 
 
 " I don't mean gossip. The Harrolds are sitting on my 
 conscience. They have been our nearest neighbours for 
 about fifteen years, and we have never called upon them." 
 
 " It sounds like a new version of the Parable of the 
 Good Samaritan," Mrs Brent remarked. " Do you want 
 to bind up their wounds?" 
 
 " I am afraid we are only the thieves they fell amongst. 
 I should like to call, but I fear it is too late. Of course 
 one could make excuses, — Father's solitary life, and my not 
 being grown-up, and then our mourning. But I don't like 
 excuses, especially when they don't give the truth. I want 
 you to advise me. You know them, don't you ? " 
 
 " Very well. Mrs Harrold and I are friends, and I love 
 Ralph like my own son. Mr Harrold is rough and a little 
 overbearing, but very kind. She is a clever, interesting 
 woman. She has her faults, like all the rest of us — and 
 more excuse for them, perhaps, than most of us have. No 
 doubt you have heard stories against her." 
 
 " If I have learned anything from you, Mrs Brent, it is 
 not to sit in judgment or listen to tale-bearers." 
 
 " Yes. ' Use every man after his deserts and who shall 
 'scape whipping?' as Hamlet says. Well I don't think 
 Blanche Harrold will do you any harm if you do call. But 
 it requires thought to arrange it. I think I had better try 
 to bring about an unpremeditated meeting between you 
 here."
 
 30 The Ford 
 
 " The daughters are married, aren't they ? " 
 
 "Yes. Both married last year. Commonplace girls, 
 but nice. What people call ' good sorts ' nowadays. But 
 Ralph is the best of the whole family. I think he is going 
 to be a great man. And he is a dear, affectionate boy. 
 The devotion between him and his mother is nice to see. 
 And he wastes quite a lot of regard on a dull old Hausfrau 
 like me. He is always coming over to see me, and it is a 
 long way round by Roatebridge." 
 
 " Doesn't he use the ford?" Stella asked, with a faint flush. 
 
 "No. As his father asserts legal rights, Ralph is not 
 called upon to do so. And, knowing that Lord Gleddayne 
 dislikes it, he has never crossed the ford." 
 
 " We have scarcely deserved this consideration." 
 
 " I am glad to say he does not regard the obligations of 
 courtesy in the light of a bargain." 
 
 " I should like to thank him," said Stella. 
 
 Mrs Brent looked at her with a humorous gleam in her 
 eyes. But before she could speak a fresh whirlwind of 
 children emerged from the house and swept over the lawn 
 towards them, revolving round a tall, slim, fair-haired 
 young man, with cries of welcoming glee. 
 
 " Mother, here's Ralph," they shouted uproariously, half- 
 dragging half-impeding him on his course towards Mrs 
 Brent's chair. Stella felt a shade of embarrassment, but 
 she overcame it, as she sat back and regarded the new- 
 comer with critical interest. 
 
 The first impression that Ralph Harrold produced was, 
 perhaps, how clean he was. He had the clear skin and 
 fresh colouring which make this thought strike an observer, 
 used to muddier complexions. He might really have been 
 exhibited as an advertisement for the family soap, and Stella 
 thought it clever of him to live up to his art in this way. 
 His eyes had a look in them that seemed to tell of a soul
 
 Montague and Capulet 3 i 
 
 as clean as his body. They were the eyes of a thinker 
 rather than of a dreamer, practical, penetrating, truthful. 
 Hereditary business capacity they seemed to Stella chiefly 
 to express, with perhaps some of the instinct for command 
 which might be transmitted by an employer of labour. He 
 looked like a man with the talent for success, and, perhaps, 
 the limitations that such a talent implies. He represented 
 the new Order, but without its ugly features. He was 
 certainly no Philistine, and there was a touch of romance 
 about him. But it was not the romance of the Feudal age. 
 
 Mrs Brent introduced him. He bowed a little stiffly. 
 Stella acknowledged his salute with a somewhat haughty 
 sweep of her head, though her eyes were friendly. His 
 eyes looked into hers, and two truthful people recognised 
 their kinship. 
 
 The children regarded him as their captive. 
 
 " You promised to come and see my rabbits," cried one 
 voice. " And my chickens," added another. And fresh 
 clamour rose around him, till finally he was dragged and 
 hustled from the scene, the centre of a triumphal dance. 
 There was a kindly, good-natured smile on his face that 
 pleased Stella. 
 
 " He is so good to the children," said Mrs Brent, " and 
 I am sure they plague his life out, but he doesn't seem to 
 mind. He has been so spoiled and indulged by his mother 
 always, but it hasn't robbed him of consideration for others. 
 I always tell her it is no thanks to her that her children 
 have turned out so well. But they adore her — at least 
 Ralph does. The girls are more self-absorbed, as no doubt 
 their husbands are now finding out." 
 
 "You know Paul Gleddayne?" asked Stella, abruptly. 
 
 " I used to meet him at Thirlwood years ago," answered 
 Mrs Brent. " I don't think he has been there for the last 
 ten years."
 
 32 The Ford 
 
 " I have just persuaded my father to invite him to the 
 Ford. What is he hke ? " 
 
 Mrs Brent laughed her jolly laugh. 
 
 " You are the gentlest person in the world, and the most 
 autocratic, Stella," she said. " I have always resolved not 
 to talk to you about Mr Gleddayne and you make me feel 
 that I can't disobey you when you demand it. Mr 
 Gleddayne used to be a good-hearted, clever man, with one 
 great weakness. I remember a man saying to me once, 
 " Paul Gleddayne is a mixture of a saint and a blackguard. 
 Of course we are all that, but the elements are more distinct 
 in him than in other people. He has sacrificed a great 
 deal of his life to a selfish, whining, ungrateful invalid 
 mother, and he has been a kind friend to more than one 
 person that I know of. But he has one fault — he is 
 always in love with someone else's wife." Well, my dear, 
 I didn't know him well, but that always seemed to me a 
 very just description of him. I am not prudish, and I am 
 not inquisitive, so I never troubled much about what he was 
 doing at Thirlwood, though I was glad when Blanche parted 
 with him. I believe they had some quarrel, but I don't 
 know the particulars. At the same time I am bound to 
 confess that he hasn't been the only one in the same posi- 
 tion there. Blanche has always had someone hanging 
 after her. She likes admiration, and I have no business to 
 judge her. All that sort of thing is over now. She lives 
 a very quiet life. And no doubt Mr Gleddayne does so 
 also, for he is no longer young, and, though I daresay he 
 was no saint, he wasn't the kind to grow into a vicious old 
 man, unless I am much mistaken. You must use your own 
 judgment about both of them. But I personally will speak 
 no harm of them." 
 
 " I don't think most people would consider your senti- 
 ments very proper for a clergyman's wife," said Stella smiling.
 
 Montague and Capulet ^^ 
 
 Mrs Brent's face grew unusually serious. 
 " I didn't share all my dear husband's views," she said. 
 " I drifted away from a good many of the old beliefs. 
 But at any rate I was at one with him in believing in the 
 Christ who was the friend of sinners, at whose feet Mary 
 Magdalene sat. Whether Blanche Harrold is worse than 
 other women or not, he approved of my friendship with her. 
 He was a man amongst men. And if my sentiments 
 pleased him, I don't care twopence what others may think." 
 Tears trembled in her eyes, and her voice sank to a low 
 earnest tone. Stella laid her hand gently on her arm. 
 
 " I have drifted much further than you, dear Mrs Brent," 
 she said, " but I always have to come back to you for lessons 
 in charity." 
 
 They sat silent for a minute or two with their hands 
 clasped. Everything round was very still. A wood-pigeon 
 made sleepy, half-hearted noises on a branch somewhere 
 behind. A white butterfly hovered over the border in 
 front, coloured by geraniums and roses and mignonette. 
 Far away a cow was lowing faintly. A few sparrows moved 
 and twittered amid the ivy on the house, and flashing 
 swallows sometimes landed on the roof for a brief bivouac. 
 There was peace in the good warm world. 
 
 "After all I don't think much of these things," Stella 
 said at last. " I always rather resent the way people regard 
 the affairs of the sexes. It doesn't seem to me that they 
 are half so important as the world pretends. They don't 
 fill up much space in most of our lives. And if people 
 like to let them do so, I don't know that it matters. I 
 think it is silly and rather coarse, this impropriety we take 
 so gravely, but if one doesn't choose to let it bother one, 
 I don't see why we should care what other people do. I 
 believe that Love is the highest thing in the world, but 
 this chase of excitement and vanity, which people usually 
 c
 
 34 The Ford 
 
 consider so romantic, seems to me very commonplace and 
 dull. I would rather give my soul to something less earthy 
 than husbands and lovers and all the rest of it. They can 
 have the practical side of me if necessary, — which probably 
 won't be, — but my dreams shall be of other things. I 
 would rather sit here with you and feel the peace of this 
 wonderful day than be pursued by all the lovers in the 
 world." 
 
 " Yes, you are to a great extent right," said Mrs Brent, 
 with a faint sigh smothered in a laugh. " Yet one day the 
 Fairy Prince will waken you and you will be like all the 
 rest of us. But, my dear, we are really growing too serious. 
 I wonder where the children have dragged Ralph to." 
 
 The question was answered by approaching clamour, 
 and immediately Ralph Harrold appeared, in the midst of 
 his laughing, shouting, dancing escort. He came across 
 the lawn to them. 
 
 " I am afraid I must be starting back," he said. " I 
 really only came to bring back the Tasso you lent me, and 
 I ought not to have stayed at all, for I shall be late for 
 luncheon as it is. I can't pound my pony along the roads 
 very fast on such a day as this." 
 
 " Won't you come through our park and across the ford ? " 
 asked Stella. She felt some perturbation as she made the 
 suggestion, but her face remained cool and her voice had 
 its usual slow, soft tones. Ralph Harrold looked at her with 
 startled hesitation. 
 
 " It's awfully kind of you," he said rather confusedly, 
 " but I am afraid I shouldn't know the way." 
 
 " If you don't mind walking your pony beside me I can 
 show you," she said. " I must be getting home, too." 
 
 Ralph blushed, — a thing he was not in the habit of 
 doing. 
 
 " I should like nothing better," he said. And his clear
 
 Montague and Capulet 35 
 
 eyes looked into her face with a curious glance, almost 
 pathetic. 
 
 Mrs Brent and the family came out into the road to see 
 them start. Ralph unhitched the bridle of a useful-looking 
 polo pony which was tied to the porch, and led it, as he 
 walked by Stella's side. She looked at the animal with 
 the interest of a horse-lover. 
 
 " That's a good pony," she said. " Do you play polo 
 much." 
 
 " I haven't played very much since I left Oxford. I 
 belong to that club they started at Roatebridge, but I have 
 not played there often. I have been abroad so much the 
 last two years." 
 
 " You lucky person. Where have you been ? " 
 
 " Well, lately, I have chiefly been in America and the 
 Colonies." 
 
 " Why do you go to these dull new countries when there 
 are such beautiful old ones ? " 
 
 Ralph laughed. 
 
 " I belong to new people, you see," he said, quite simply, 
 " and hfe interests me more than picturesque survivals. 
 No, that isn't true," he went on hastily. " The picturesque 
 survivals are an awful temptation to me, and I try to find 
 a counter influence." 
 
 " But why should you ? There is more beauty in the 
 old things than in the new." 
 
 Stella was a little nettled by his remarks. After all she 
 was a picturesque survival, or at any rate represented some 
 such thing. Ralph turned to her quite impetuously. 
 
 " Ah," he said, " you are adding to my temptations. 
 You see, I have a sense of duty in this matter, and I am 
 torn in two directions. I mean to go in for politics, and I 
 have visions of doing a certain work in the world. I come 
 of business people, and I have business instincts, and these
 
 36 
 
 The Ford 
 
 are all good for my purpose. But on the other hand is 
 my mother's influence, to a great extent. She is keen 
 about these practical things, but her real heart is in beautiful 
 things ; she is Hellenic through and through. And I feel 
 the attraction of it, and know how much of it there is in 
 my blood, and I have to fight against it." 
 
 " Well, but what could be more practical than the 
 Hellenic nature ? The Greeks were warriors and states- 
 men quite as much as artists." 
 
 "Oh, I know. But one can't get away from one's 
 instinctive feeUngs. My forbears were of middle-class 
 stock, and there is always a strain of the puritan in that, 
 always an uneasy feeling that beauty is a snare of Satan 
 and that all enjoyment is a sin. And my reason supports 
 this absurd prejudice, because I know that it would be easy 
 for me to become a mere dilettante, a collector of beautiful 
 things, a luxurious idler in the land of day-dreams, — I have 
 all the tastes and temptations. Perhaps I shall get my 
 balance some day. But till I do, I won't swing down on 
 the easiest side. I must work before I play." 
 
 " But beautiful things aren't play," said Stella, quite 
 indignantly. " The world loses so much because you 
 practical people, you rulers and governors, despise them." 
 
 Ralph turned to her again with a half-pleading gesture. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Gleddayne," he said, " I don't despise them. 
 But /am not an artist, I can't give the world pictures or 
 poems. I look round and I see poverty and sorrow and 
 injustice, which I believe might be remedied. I see stupid 
 blunders made that cause unnecessary misery, and my 
 heart is full of indignation and pity, and the wish to make 
 things a little better. I will try to put a few practical 
 things right anyhow, and if my own tastes stand in my 
 way I will try to trample over them." 
 
 Stella also began to grow quite excited in her argument.
 
 Montague and Capulet 37 
 
 " You are right as far as you go," she said. " But I am 
 sure you are wrong in believing that only the material 
 things of life are practical. What is the good of giving 
 people food and clothes and houses if you starve their 
 souls ? What is the good of giving them justice if you 
 don't allow them joy? Go and work as you propose, by 
 all means, to protect the weak, and cheer the wretched, and 
 feed the poor. But insist on giving them beauty as well as 
 food, and dreams as well as policies. You will be laughed 
 at by so-called practical people, who do not know the value 
 of imagination. But don't be a Philistine force. There 
 are so many already. Be on the side of Light" 
 
 At the end of this outburst, spoken with much fervour, 
 she was suddenly seized with a sense of annoyance. Why 
 should she try to influence this young man ? What was it 
 to her what he did with his life? She had attempted 
 civility and had drifted into something like intimacy. She 
 began to regret having invited him to walk with her. But 
 her sense of justice compelled her to acknowledge that his 
 manner and mode of conversation had given her no cause 
 for complaint. 
 
 They walked on in silence for some little time. They 
 were now in the park and had left the dusty road for springy 
 turf. Ralph Harrold was also undergoing a certain amount 
 of self-castigation in his thoughts, and, as the path between 
 the bracken was narrow, he allowed Stella to walk in front, 
 while he led his slightly drooping pony behind. His 
 perturbation was different in kind from hers. There was 
 a certain amount of annoyance at having been betrayed 
 into so much egotism before a stranger, and she one of 
 this arrogant family that had scorned his own. But his 
 chief trouble was a revolt of pride against her attraction. 
 As he walked behind her, he could not but be conscious 
 of her wonderful slender figure, her graceful movements, her
 
 38 
 
 The Ford 
 
 simple yet beautiful dress, the shapeliness of her hands, the 
 pose of her head under the parasol she held almost vertically, 
 the general suggestion of refinement and delicacy and high- 
 breeding. Ralph had nothing of the snob in him. He 
 was not in the least ashamed of his own origin, and he was 
 indifferent to the accident of social station. But, to his 
 romantic nature, the idea of race, of tradition, of ancient 
 lineage, of historical greatness, appealed furiously. He 
 recognised in Stella the very strongest example of all these 
 dazzling characteristics. His own sisters were pretty and 
 well dressed, — far more expensively dressed than she. 
 But they had none of this haunting suggestion of right 
 divine. It was a thing he hungered for, and it made him 
 angry to feel the hunger. 
 
 Soon the bracken widened out, and he was able to walk 
 beside her again. They dropped into a desultory conversa- 
 tion, covering many topics. She found him anything but 
 the Philistine she had feared. He was passionately 
 devoted to literature and painting and music, and knew 
 far more than she did about all of them. But, evidently, 
 over all hovered this sense of responsibility, this determina- 
 tion not to eat the lotus nor falter from the chosen path. 
 With his fervour, his eager thirst for life, his resthetic 
 appreciation of the world, he seemed like a sort of puritan 
 Dionysus. 
 
 When they reached the edge of the Banks she 
 stopped. 
 
 "There is the ford down there," she said. " It isn't too 
 deep for your pony. Keep his head well up-stream and 
 don't hurry and you will get across all right." 
 
 He thanked her, and lightly pressed her hand. Then he 
 mounted his pony, 
 
 " Do you think Mrs Harrold would like me to call upon 
 her ? " Stella asked, when he was in the saddle. " I
 
 Montague and Capulet 39 
 
 know it is very late to do so. But the circumstances have 
 been exceptional." 
 
 She spoke with considerable embarrassment, which was 
 re-echoed in his face. 
 
 " I will be perfectly frank," he said. " My mother has 
 been sore and hurt about the past, and I shall have to 
 approach her cautiously on the subject. But I shall tell 
 her that I have given you my word that your call would 
 be welcome, and she can't go back on that. It is good of 
 you, and I am grateful. I hope the feud is over between 
 our houses now." 
 
 " I hope it is," Stella answered with a friendly smile. 
 At this moment Derrick appeared among the trees on the 
 side of the hill, and Stella called to him. He came forward 
 with a curious expression on his gaunt features. 
 
 " Show Mr Harrold the way across the ford. Derrick," 
 Stella said. " And take care he doesn't get drowned." 
 
 "There's been one in the water to-day," said Derrick, 
 smiling sardonically. " Mr Rinde made a mistake in 
 getting out of the punt and her ladyship had to help him 
 out with a boat-hook. She laughed — Lor, how she 
 laughed. He didn't." 
 
 Then he turned and led the way down the hill. Ralph 
 bowed to Stella, and rode after him, while she turned 
 towards the house. 
 
 Ralph made one or two efforts at conversatior\ with 
 Derrick, but the latter replied in monosyllables only. He 
 made it evident that his duties as guide were given under 
 protest. But Ralph hardly noticed his demeanour. His 
 own brain was tumultuously occupied. He felt as if Stella 
 had cast some strange spell over him, and his pride 
 rebelled against it. And yet it was sweet — very sweet. 
 Her voice chimed in his ears. 
 
 They reached the ford, and, after a few preliminary
 
 40 The Ford 
 
 plunges and snorts, his pony agreed to enter the water. 
 Arrived on the further bank he looked back. Leaning on 
 the stone-parapet of the terrace far above, was a figure under 
 a big hat and a parasol. Ralph felt a sudden tightening of 
 his heart-strings as he raised his cap once more. Then he 
 turned his pony and went off at a gallop across the wide 
 meadow, pursued by mocking spirits.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE HEIR PRESUMPTIVE 
 
 Two men stood on the Terrace at Windsor Castle, one fine 
 afternoon late in September, gazing at the wonderful scene 
 below ; the vast expanse of meadow and woodland and 
 winding river and distant hills, the rich, smiling, homely 
 EngUsh landscape, already variegated by the early autumn 
 tints. They were George Merrow, poet and editor of the 
 Crossbench Review, and his friend, Paul Gleddayne. 
 
 Merrow was as different as possible from the accepted 
 idea of a poet. He was a lanky, big-boned man, with thin 
 short hair and an untidy beard. He was dressed in an ill- 
 fitting blue serge suit, and might have passed for a superior 
 mechanic. His face was mournful, yellow, and cadaverous, 
 and his deep-set eyes gleamed ferociously under heavy 
 overhanging eyebrows. He had once sat to a painter 
 friend as a model for Don Quixote, and the result had 
 proved how appropriate was the artist's choice. 
 
 Paul Gleddayne was still a handsome man, in spite of 
 his grey hair and deep Hnes of mental and physical suffer- 
 ing on his somewhat haggard face. His dreamy eyes were 
 counteracted by a strong-set jaw and a firm mouth. His 
 face hinted sadness, but not the gloom of Merrow's, and 
 there was a touch of rather mocking humour in his 
 habitual expression. He looked more of a poet than his 
 companion. 
 
 "Yes, those Eton boys seem to have a good time," he 
 
 41
 
 42 The Ford 
 
 was saying. " I had to go to cheap and rough schools 
 myself, and it makes me a little envious when I see them, 
 I should like to have been at Eton." 
 
 "And I should like to abolish Eton," said Merrow 
 grimly. " I want to take away the privileges of the rich, 
 not to share them. Good God, you talk about schools, 
 but you don't know the sort / went to. You disliked your 
 schools because you felt you naturally belonged to some- 
 thing better, and you resented the poverty that kept you 
 from it. / disliked mine because I did belong to them, 
 because the coarse vulgar beings round me were my natural 
 companions by all the laws of society. You at least knew 
 you were one of the privileged lot, even if you hadn't the 
 privileges. But I was outside the pale." 
 
 He spoke with a strong North-country accent, which, 
 apparently, he tried to soften ; though clearly the effort was 
 unconscious, the fruit of a long attempt to adapt himself 
 to a changed environment. 
 
 Gleddayne laughed. 
 
 "You always were an illogical beast, Merrow," he said. 
 " It didn't make my schools any the better to me that most 
 of my relations were at Eton. You at least didn't have the 
 contrast brought so near home to you." 
 
 " I lived in the contrast, both at school and at home, 
 which is more than you did. Try to picture what it is like 
 for a man of imagination, — a lower middle-class home in a 
 back street in Liverpool, — poverty, sordidness, pettiness, — 
 an atmosphere of Chapel politics and Chapel religion, 
 everything bitter and narrow, and ugliness everywhere. 
 You had something better than that ! " 
 
 " Yes, I had," said Gleddayne heartily. " We were very 
 hard up always, and my poor mother was pretty trying as 
 a daily companion ; she tore one with pity and at the 
 same time goaded one to impatience ; but I know I have
 
 The Heir Presumptive 43 
 
 had a better time than you. Oh, Merrow, isn't it sicken- 
 ing to think of all the artificial causes for sorrow that man 
 has invented. These social distinctions make more misery 
 than earthquakes and pestilences do. They poison every- 
 thing and they are refined down to subtle shades of dis- 
 agreeableness. The girl in the smart set sneers at the 
 girl in the dowdy set, and both scorn the young lady in 
 the suburbs, and all three combine to despise the girl who 
 makes their dresses, — and so it goes on down to the 
 bottom. I say girls, but of course men are just the same. 
 And we all suffer and make suffer from these same causes, 
 — and we have this." 
 
 He spread out his hands to indicate the scene below, 
 and both relapsed into silence, watching the rooks wheeling 
 among the elm-trees and the boats that stole up the 
 gleaming river. Paul Gleddayne was not greatly given to 
 talking about his own affairs, and was rather a listener to 
 Merrow's woes and indignations when they conversed. 
 But a fierce wave of resentment against his earthly fate was 
 sweeping through his thoughts now, an echo of youthful 
 rebellion, which surprised him. He reflected bitterly that 
 he was fifty years old, that he had never had a real chance 
 in life, that his days had been wasted in useless drudgery, 
 often in serving men who were his inferiors in everything 
 but wealth, while mediocrities had been misdoing the 
 things he would so like to have done and would perhaps 
 have done well. His memories of life were tinged with 
 recollections of the rebuffs and humiliations and denials 
 which poverty entails on a sensitive man, born into a 
 position where he is at a disadvantage compared with his 
 associates. When he thought of insolence endured from 
 the proud, of envious hours of youth, when he hungered 
 for enjoyments in which he might not share, of the sting of 
 unrecognised talents and unrewarded labour, he wondered
 
 44 The Ford 
 
 if the poverty of the poor, if actual physical wants and 
 sufferings could really be worse. He did not consider 
 himself more fortunate than Merrow, who had risen from 
 a humble beginning to a position of some eminence. 
 Timely assistance had enabled his literary work to obtain 
 recognition, and a well-to-do wife had secured the Review 
 which gave him a pulpit. Gleddayne, though better born, 
 had fought through life unaided. His only near relative, 
 his mother, had hung as an encumbrance round his neck. 
 And, starting life with high ambitions and justifiable hopes, 
 he had arrived nowhere. 
 
 But he would not allow thoughts of self-pity much 
 breathing space, and he thrust them aside with a slight 
 sense of shame. 
 
 " You stiff-necked Republican," he said, " where would 
 Windsor Castle have been if there had been no Kings? 
 Even you must admit that the one compensates us for the 
 other." 
 
 " Oh, of course you will find good in all* these hoary 
 abuses now that you are going to be a damned Lord," 
 Merrow answered, smiling grimly. 
 
 " I don't suppose I shall be more damned as a Lord 
 than as a Commoner. But it isn't at all certain I shall 
 ever be one. My cousin is a healthy old chap, I believe, 
 and I am no chicken. By the bye, he has written to 
 invite me to stay at the Ford." 
 
 " Shall you go ? " 
 
 " I think so. I should like to see the inside of the place. 
 I used to stay in the neighbourhood some years ago and 
 gaze at it across a great gulf of prejudice and disapproval. 
 It will rather amuse me to go there now as a guest." 
 
 " You don't know them at all ? " 
 
 " No. I used to see the eldest son about London in the 
 days when I went out to balls and things, but I never knew
 
 The Heir Presumptive 45 
 
 him. I haven't seen the others at all. Poor chap, I wish 
 he had lived and had the place. It won't be much use to 
 me if I get it." 
 
 " Oh yes, you'll grow fat, and entertain the great ones of 
 the earth, and have a grand time." 
 
 Gleddayne shook his head with a rather melancholy 
 smile. 
 
 " I had enough of what is called Society when I was a 
 youngster," he said. " I shan't entertain anyone except 
 my personal friends, who come, as you know, from a good 
 many different classes ; and there are not very many of the 
 great ones of the earth among them." 
 
 " But you will marry, and your wife will make you play 
 the game properly.'' 
 
 Gleddayne made a grimace. 
 
 " I shall never marry now," he said shortly. 
 
 " And yet you always declare that you have never really 
 been in love." 
 
 " Oh, what is love ? " exclaimed his companion. " I 
 don't know. I have had experience of passion and of 
 affection. I have hunted the Ideal through throngs of 
 womankind and never caught her. God knows I thought 
 enough of love once. But I am old now. My life is over. 
 If I had found the woman I looked for early in life I 
 should have stuck to her, but I didn't. I am not naturally 
 inconstant or profligate or anything of that kind. But one 
 chases the ideal, as I said, and tries to believe that one 
 woman after another embodies it, — one yearns to believe 
 it, but the truth is always the same. And in the end one 
 gives up the quest, tired and baffled. If it came to me 
 now, I should not want it." 
 
 " Wait till it does come before you say that. You know 
 what my life has been, what years of misery I have endured 
 since I married. I had lost hope. I have stuck to my
 
 46 
 
 The Ford 
 
 wife through it all, and I meant to stick to her. But the 
 other thing came, and the world became a different place." 
 His eyes grew soft under the shaggy brows and he looked 
 away over the trees. 
 
 " I know. You mean Miss Ollsen," said Gleddayne. 
 "Yes. I knew you had guessed, and I can trust you. 
 There is no one else I have ever spoken to about it. She 
 is all the world to me. But please understand that there 
 is nothing between us that my wife might not know. I 
 daresay in your fashionable world you would think me a 
 fool if I did not take any happiness that came in my way. 
 But I have found a higher happiness than mere passion can 
 give. I will not drag our love down to the earth. Ah, 
 Gleddayne, when you have once felt that absolute unity of 
 soul, when you feel that you are one with a woman, 
 without any earthly or fleshly ties, you will understand what 
 I feel now." 
 
 " I think I understand," said Gleddayne quietly, " though 
 I have not experienced it." 
 
 He could not resist a slight sense of amusement. 
 Merrow was a person who always moved a little friendly 
 laughter ; and Miss Ollsen was so exactly the kind of girl 
 who zvoidd be in love with a married man. Moreover 
 Gleddayne knew that Merrow was not of a passionate 
 temperament and that this platonic attachment entailed no 
 very great hardship of self-control. He was the man to 
 hunger for sympathy rather than passion. Still his friend 
 was touched and a trifle envious. Through a starved life, 
 broken by occasional delirious episodes, he had hungered 
 for this soul-satisfying love which would be the end of all 
 earthly questionings. He had never met the woman who 
 could rouse it. And, though it seemed a little comic that 
 Miss Ollsen should fill such a temple with her radiance, he 
 envied Merrow the worship.
 
 The Heir Presumptive 47 
 
 A middle-aged lady with a young man, walking along the 
 Terrace, approached the two friends. Suddenly Gleddayne 
 uttered a faint exclamation and swung forward with his hat 
 in his hand. 
 
 " Mrs Harrold ! " he exclaimed, the blood colouring his 
 face. 
 
 The lady stopped short and turned very white. She 
 looked ill and worn, but her face retained much of what 
 must have been considerable beauty. 
 
 " You ! " she said faintly. Then she recovered herself, 
 with a touch of impatience. 
 
 " I am glad to see you," she said rapidly and rather 
 nervously, holding out her hand to him, " It is most un- 
 expected after all these years. I came down to Eton with 
 Ralph, who wanted to see his old tutor, and, as we have 
 three-quarters of an hour to wait for our train, we came up 
 here. You remember Ralph, don't you ? " 
 
 Gleddayne turned his serious and rather troubled gaze 
 from her to the young man. 
 
 " I remember him well," he said. " He was a boy when 
 I last saw him. Do you remember me, Ralph ? " 
 
 " Of course I do," Ralph answered, grasping the hand 
 Gleddayne held out to him. "You were very kind to me 
 when I was a schoolboy." 
 
 His tone was hearty, yet he regarded Gleddayne with a 
 doubtful, puzzled expression, not altogether free from 
 mistrust. The older man turned again to Mrs Harrold. 
 
 " May I introduce my friend Mr Merrow ? " he said. 
 " You may remember hearing me speak of him in old 
 days." 
 
 " I should know Mr Merrow's reputation without that," 
 answered Mrs Harrold turning with a smile and a bow to 
 the poet, who stood in an awkward attitude of shy defiance. 
 He lifted his hat in confusion, and grumbled some would
 
 48 The Ford 
 
 be polite incoherency into his beard. Ralph moved forward 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I say, I beg pardon, but are you Mr Merrow, the 
 poet ? " he asked, his eyes wide with delighted interest, 
 Merrow snapped out a brusque affirmative. But the young 
 man was not to be repelled. 
 
 " I am so glad to meet you," he said. " I hope you'll 
 forgive my talking about your work, but ever since I read 
 ' The Weary Hercules,' I have longed to see you and 
 thank you. I can't tell you what that poem has been to 
 me. But I should like to try to tell you if you will let me. 
 And I want to ask you such a lot of things about it. I 
 think it is simply splendid — the finest poem written in our 
 time. Don't think me a nuisance or very presumptuous, 
 but if you would just walk down to the end of the Terrace 
 with me and let me talk to you for a bit you would be 
 giving me something to remember all my days. Would it 
 bore you very much ? " 
 
 Gleddayne's amusement as he watched the scene was 
 tempered by something like surprise when he observed his 
 shy friend, who usually shrank from strangers with a sort of 
 rough contempt, gradually thawing before Ralph's warmth. 
 He actually smiled. 
 
 " It wouldn't bore me," he said. " Come along. We'll 
 leave your mother to talk to Gleddayne and come back 
 later." 
 
 And taking the young man by the arm with a friendliness 
 Gleddayne had never seen him show to a new acquaintance 
 before, he led him off down the Terrace. 
 Mrs Harrold followed them with her eyes. 
 " Ralph conquers everyone," she said. " He'll bring 
 back Mr Merrow a devoted friend. It is always the 
 same." 
 
 Gleddayne also looked after them wistfully. He re-
 
 The Heir Presumptive 49 
 
 mained silent for some moments. Then he turned to her 
 a face working with emotion. 
 
 " My God, how I envy you, Blanche ! " he exclaimed. 
 " I would give my soul for a son like that. I don't know 
 how your life has fared during all these long years, but 
 at least you have been better off than I have. I am so 
 alone — and I want a son. Yes, I envy you ! — Oh, how 
 I envy you ! " 
 
 It was almost as if a mask fell from Mrs Harrold's face. 
 The artificial, rather nervous smile faded away. Her eyes 
 grew soft with tenderness and pity and love. Her lips 
 trembled and she stretched out her hands towards him 
 with an appealing, summoning gesture. 
 
 " Oh Paul ! " she murmured in a muffled voice. 
 ' Paul ! " 
 
 D
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 SOUVENIR 
 
 These two haggard people gazed at each other across the 
 reopened grave of their past. Each scanned the other's 
 worn face, autumnal as the brown-tinged landscape below. 
 Ten years of resentment and misunderstanding and lonely 
 sorrow and regret were bridged in a flash. They walked 
 together again in days when they had been very near to 
 each other. If their love had been criminal, at least it 
 was no light thing. 
 
 He drew nearer to her and lightly touched her hand 
 with his. 
 
 " Are we friends again, Blanche ? " he asked. 
 
 She looked at him through a mist of tears. 
 
 " Oh Paul," she said, " How I have wanted to see you 
 again. You are the only one of them all I have ever 
 cared for. I was angry and hurt and proud, and I drove 
 you away, but I have wanted you back often enough since. 
 How are you, dear ? How has life treated you ? And, oh 
 Paul, tell me if there is any other woman now ? " 
 
 His ever ready sense of the ludicrous stirred a little 
 at this last question. But his face was grave and tender 
 as he answered her. 
 
 " I am so glad, Blanche," he said. " I daresay we have 
 both been to blame. But all that can be forgotten now. 
 I am pretty well, — not over strong in these days, but I 
 get along. Life has brought me nothing of very great 
 importance, but il hasn't been bad on the whole." 
 
 5°
 
 Souvenir 5 1 
 
 " And there is no one else who matters much ? " 
 
 " No one," he said with a sigh. " But I have done 
 with love. I want no woman in my life now. I only 
 want what I haven't got — a child. It makes me so hungry 
 when I see Ralph. You know how fond I always was 
 of him, and he has grown up all that I could like. I wish 
 he were my son." 
 
 " Oh don't talk like that, Paul," she exclaimed with a 
 little shudder. " I am thankful now to think that all my 
 children were born before I knew you. But why don't 
 you marry, dear, and have children. You are not too 
 old." 
 
 " Too old in mind and heart, and pretty nearly too old 
 in body," he answered grimly. " No, I shall not marry 
 now. But tell me about yourself, Blanche. How are 
 you ? " 
 
 " I am not very well," she said, with a gentle smile. 
 " I cannot last much longer, though no one but Ralph 
 knows it. It will be dreadful to leave //////. Otherwise — 
 I am very tired." 
 
 He heard her with a face of growing anguish. Then 
 he touched her hand again but said nothing. She looked 
 up into his face with a sweet smile of resignation. 
 
 " Don't be so sorry, dear," she said. " It is best, I 
 believe. Now that I have seen you again, all is well." 
 
 He still watched her in silence, tragedy in his face. 
 He had loved her far more than anyone else in his way- 
 ward life. She had not been the woman he sought, but 
 she had almost made him believe so. A host of old 
 memories and passionate, tender feelings choked his 
 utterance. She smiled again. 
 
 "You don't ask much about us all," she said. "The 
 girls are married, you know, both to nice men ; and they 
 are quite happy."
 
 52 The Ford 
 
 "And Harrold?" 
 
 "Oh, he is quite well and not very much changed. 
 We are excellent friends, and never interfere with each 
 other. I think he was glad when you were off the scenes. 
 He never seemed to mind other men. And yet he always 
 liked you in a curious sort of way." 
 
 " Do you think he ever guessed how far things went 
 between us ? " 
 
 " I don't know, but I think he suspected. There were 
 some letters of yours, — some of the most secret, — which 
 I lost years ago, and have never been able to find since. 
 I sometimes wonder if he had them. But anyhow it 
 doesn't matter now." 
 
 " How he must hate me." 
 
 " I hardly know," she said thoughtfully. " He always 
 had a curious liking for you, even when he was most 
 jealous ; I think it was because of that that he was jealous. 
 You were what he would like to have been. You see 
 he didn't mind my flirting and all that. It gratified his 
 vanity to have other men wanting me. He liked to feel 
 that about anything he possessed. And he was never 
 really in love with me, except in the sort of collector's 
 spirit ; the idea that he had got something precious. 
 And so he had, and I don't think he has any cause for 
 complaint. He oiight to be satisfied if he isn't." 
 
 Her words revived the memory of a woman who was 
 the same and yet different. She was gentle and restrained 
 now, but here was a hint of the old fierce vanity, the 
 egotism, the belief that she might ask what she liked and 
 give as little as she liked, which Paul Gleddayne remem- 
 bered so well. She had been exacting and self-centred 
 with her lover as with her husband. But there had been 
 a nobler side, and this was evidently the side surviving 
 now.
 
 Souvenir 53 
 
 He felt a certain sense of shame and annoyance with 
 himself for not suppressing his critical faculty more com- 
 pletely at a moment when so many soft memories were 
 returning. It seemed ungenerous in the presence of her 
 cordial pleasure at seeing him. But he could not help it. 
 Always this critical demon had sat grinning above his 
 emotions. 
 
 She, for her part, was in a far less complex state of 
 mind. Some of the old lust for conquest was faintly 
 struggling to assert itself. But her main feeling was one 
 of frank joy at seeing him again. She criticised too, but 
 the result of her criticism was wholly favourable. She 
 thought, a little piteously, of her own faded beauty, and 
 wished she had still that weapon in her hand. He was 
 the winner now. 
 
 They talked of sundry topics, slowly beginning to lift 
 the veil of years, and let the disconnected facts tumble 
 out ; confusedly and spasmodically, as they will in such 
 conversations. There seemed, an enormous mass to say, 
 and yet so little appeared ready for words. Time was 
 precious, yet they wasted it on superficial matters. She 
 talked of her children, of local events, of changes at 
 Thirlwood since Gleddayne's last visit. Every now and 
 then a tone jarred on him a little, as it had done in old 
 days. She had always been a little too anxious for the 
 acquaintance of the great, a little too proud of her own 
 wealth and position. It was painful to Gleddayne to be 
 unable to hide these faint blemishes from himself. Surely 
 now he had no need to think of her failings. Yet in the 
 harmony of thoughts and memories she evoked there was 
 a faint discord now and then. 
 
 She told him with unconcealed satisfaction that Stella 
 Gleddayne had called upon her. She gave him a minute 
 description of her own demeanour in this difticult situation,
 
 54 The Ford 
 
 and gave him to understand that her attitude had been 
 one of combined magnanimity and dignity. Stella's part 
 in the performance, according to her, was only prevented 
 from being humiliating by her generosity. But she frankly 
 admired Stella, and spoke in warm praise of her beauty 
 and charm. Blanche Harrold was not petty, whatever her 
 faults might be, and she was always ready enough to 
 acknowledge excellence of any kind in another woman ; 
 though, like many of her sex who pride themselves on the 
 possession of brains, it was easier for her to praise another 
 woman's beauty than to acknowledge her intellectual 
 capacity. 
 
 Gleddayne told her of his own invitation to the Ford, 
 and his intention to accept it. 
 
 " You must come over and see us," she said. " And 
 later on you must come and stay with us again. I 
 want you to get to know Ralph well. He is worth 
 knowing." 
 
 Her admiration for her children was as great as her 
 admiration for herself used to be in former days. Gleddayne 
 was furious with himself as this thought crossed his mind. 
 Why would her shortcomings keep cropping up in his 
 memory when he was only struggling to remember the 
 loveable part of her? — and there was plenty of that. 
 
 " Blanche," he said earnestly, " do try to make Ralph 
 grow fond of me. He used to like me when he was a boy, 
 but he can't remember much about me now, and it would 
 give me a chance if you tried to influence him in my 
 favour. He could not dislike me if he knew that you 
 liked me. If you could only believe what a difference it 
 would make in my life. How does he get on with his 
 father ? " 
 
 " Oh, well enough. They have little in common, as you 
 may imagine. Still, Richard is fond of him in his way
 
 Souvenir 55 
 
 and proud of him. But Ralph can never get much from 
 him, if you know what I mean. He would get more from 
 you, if you will be his friend." 
 
 " His friend ! I le shall be more than a son to me if he 
 only will. But I am afraid lest he should not like me. 
 Help me all you can, Blanche. I want to conquer his 
 affection if I can." 
 
 She was moved by his emotion. It seemed strange that 
 this man, who had many gifts, who was popular with men, 
 and had so much attraction for so many women, should be 
 nervously anxious as to his power of pleasing an unexacting 
 and warm hearted youth. Yet Gleddayne was evidently 
 oppressed by a cloud of doubt and hesitation. It showed 
 her how deeply he felt in the matter, and it gave her a 
 faint pang to realise that he had nothing like so deep a 
 feeling with regard to herself. Her liking could not affect 
 his happiness as Ralph's could. 
 
 Merrow and Ralph were now returning to join them, 
 and it was nearly time for her departure. 
 
 " You aren't coming up to town ? " she asked. 
 
 "Not yet," he answered, "We have come down for a 
 Cockney holiday, and are going to dine and go back by 
 the last train. London in September is not so alluring 
 that we wish to have too much of it." 
 
 She felt another slight pang. He might have been 
 more anxious to travel back with them. She could 
 remember the days when he had travelled half the night 
 for half-an-hour's talk with her. She did not know that he 
 was longing to come, but did not dare suggest it for fear 
 Ralph should not want him. He was conscious that his 
 mental attitude towards that young man bordered on the 
 absurd. 
 
 Ralph and Merrow were evidently on the most cordial 
 terms. Both were talking volubly when they came into
 
 5^ 
 
 The Ford 
 
 earshot. Gleddayne was quite surprised by Merrow's 
 demeanour. 
 
 They left the Castle and walked to the railway station. 
 On the platform their farewells were said variously. 
 Merrow was shyly reserved with Mrs Harrold and gruffly 
 hearty with Ralph, exacting a promise from him of a visit 
 in London one day, the request for which evidently gratified 
 and delighted the young man. Gleddayne exchanged a 
 few words with him, eagerly looking for any signs of the 
 response he hoped to the affection he plainly showed. 
 But Ralph was politely indifferent, and evidently took a 
 far greater interest in Merrow ; and Gleddayne's sensations 
 were such that he almost wondered if he could possibly be 
 jealous in such a matter. 
 
 The train was due to depart. Gleddayne held Mrs 
 Harrold's hand in his for a Ungering moment, feeling the 
 pressure of her warm fingers as she looked into his eyes. 
 For a moment they saw a great vista of scenes unknown 
 and unsuspected by their companions. The shadow of 
 their old love darkened their sight as each gazed into the 
 depths. Then they parted, smiling wistfully : she sank 
 into the dim recesses of the carriage, and the train with its 
 load of remembrance, stole away.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 BELATED 
 
 Some weeks later an afternoon train landed Paul Gleddayne 
 at the station at Roatebridge. Vapoury dusk was blurring 
 the daylight over the little town, and his heart gave a 
 strange leap as he stepped out on to the platform. On 
 how many similar afternoons had he not arrived there in 
 past years, and driven away through the autumn gloaming 
 to Thirlwood ! There was a strange, weird melancholy in 
 this revival of a life long faded. It all looked remote now, 
 almost like some previous separate existence. His thoughts 
 seemed to ache, yearning through a tear-stained veil of 
 regret for that which could never be again. How he had 
 thrilled at the thought of seeing that woman once. And 
 now ! He remembered with shame the cold criticism that 
 had chilled his emotion a little on the Terrace at Windsor. 
 And she had been such a splendid woman, so well worth 
 the passion and storm of those years. He seemed to feel 
 their afterglow now in the strange burning of his heart. 
 Oh, insatiable human desires ! 
 
 As he passed out of the station he came upon Mrs 
 Brent, stout, florid, and handsome, in strange garments, 
 and surrounded by a still stranger array of luggage, now 
 being stowed into the back of a light farm-cart, into which 
 she also was preparing to climb. Gleddayne recognised 
 her at once and went up to her, bowing. She flashed into 
 recognition with a glance. 
 
 57
 
 58 
 
 The Ford 
 
 " Oh, it's you," she said. " You haven't altered much. 
 I heard you were coming down into these parts again. 
 You won't find any of us much changed, — a bit older, but 
 you're that yourself. How are you ? You don't look over 
 strong." 
 
 " Oh, I am all right, thanks," he said. " How are your 
 children ? " 
 
 " Of course you think you must ask after them, though 
 you don't remember their names, and aren't sure how 
 many there are. And what you're really wanting to know 
 all the time is how they are at Thirlwood." 
 
 Gleddayne smiled. He remembered Mrs Brent's blunt 
 directness of old. He knew also the intensely sympathetic 
 nature it cloaked. 
 
 " Yes," he said. " I do want to know. How is Mrs 
 Harrold ? " 
 
 Blanche had written to him once or twice since their 
 meeting, but her letters had seemed full of a reticence that 
 pretended to be frankness. She had scarcely mentioned 
 her health. 
 
 Mrs Brent looked grave. 
 
 " She wasn't at all well when I went away last week," 
 she said. " But I shall hear more when I get home. 
 Come and see me if you have time while you are at the 
 Ford. I am just outside the park." 
 
 She scrambled into the farm-cart, and the yokel who 
 drove it whipped up his horse. Gleddayne turned to the 
 coroneted brougham which was waiting for him, with a 
 vividly awakened sense of the irony of life. Yet there had 
 not been many broughams in his personal equipment. 
 
 The carriage bore him away. He strained his eyes for 
 familiar objects, as one does in re-visiting a place with 
 associations. Every shop window and garden gate and 
 church spire seemed a silent confidant of old secrets. But
 
 Belated 59 
 
 he was soon on an unfamiliar road, for his visits to Thirl- 
 wood had been brief, and he knew little of the country 
 beyond the river. The Banks had been his horizon. 
 
 He was carried swiftly along a country road, through 
 Willerstone, and, with a sharp turn, through the park gates 
 of the Ford. He looked out at the domain that might 
 one day be his. Over the silent solitude of the park a 
 spirit of tender melancholy seemed to brood in the hover- 
 ing twilight, awakening in him a familiar sensation of 
 wistful longing. The motionless trees, ablaze with autumn 
 colouring, were overlapped by hanging arms of mist, white 
 in the foreground, purple further away. A few rabbits 
 flashed into sight for a moment amid the withered bracken, 
 a few rooks beat their way heavily overhead, but little else 
 moved. Everywhere was a variety of rich warm colour, a 
 maze of softened outlines. An English park had always 
 given him a sense of half envious satisfaction, but here, on 
 the territory where his forefathers had lived so long, his 
 heart knew a strange yearning. 
 
 Yet there was little desire for possession in his thoughts. 
 Indeed there was little desire for anything now. There was 
 a certain numbness in his heart always. He felt that the 
 best of his life was over, — over without bringing him much 
 real satisfaction, though it had held good moments. But 
 he was weaning his mind from all personal hopes. He 
 looked forward little, but that little was concerned with 
 certain vague desires to give without receiving. Paul was 
 not greatly addicted to self-examination, and he made no 
 attempt to justify to himself the life he had led. It had 
 just happened so, and that was all. Fortune had been a 
 niggard with him ! He had been hampered so long by his 
 peevish, sickly mother. At any rate he had done his duty 
 so far as she was concerned. He had been patient and 
 loving and self-sacrificing. He had toiled at distasteful
 
 6o The Ford 
 
 drudgery to ensure her having necessary luxuries ; for the 
 money they had between them, though enough for his own 
 wants now, had hardly sufficed during her life-time. It 
 had been practically out of the question for him to marry, 
 to share in most of the world's amusements, to live a life 
 of his own at all. So, if he had taken what pleasures 
 chanced to come in his way, he refused to blame himself. 
 Society had done little for him, he argued, and he had been 
 under little obligation to respect society's laws. He realised, 
 smiling, that this argument put him in the same category 
 with the burglar and the forger, but even that did not 
 trouble him greatly. At any rate, he believed, rightly or 
 wrongly, he had not been a mere sensualist, but had 
 pursued S077ie ideal, some touch of romance, even though 
 through doubtful places. With different circumstances he 
 might have been a different man. As things were, he was 
 ready to face the consequences of any of his deeds, and he 
 made no higher claim. So then, as he gazed out at the 
 beautiful park, he realised that he cared little whether he ever 
 possessed it or not. Indeed he cared little about anything. 
 His heart was hungry for love, but the days of passion were 
 over, and with them had gone much of his desire for the 
 love of women. It was rather the unsatisfied paternal in- 
 stinct that ached within him, and he reflected sadly and 
 dubiously that if only he could make Ralph Harrold regard 
 him with affection he would ask for Httle else. 
 
 However he shook himself out of this serious mood, as 
 the carriage passed from the park through shrubberies. 
 Another minute, and it emerged once more close to the 
 old house, and at the edge of a sloping flower-garden that 
 ended in a terrace, whose parapet cut the landscape beyond. 
 The sun had just set, and over the purple row of distant 
 hills that edged the wide, darkening valley, was a crimson 
 glory of resplendent clouds. And against this background,
 
 Belated 6 1 
 
 tall, shapely, graceful, in garments that clung in harmonious 
 lines to her pliant and beautifully posed figure, with a blurr 
 of soft hair and a suggestion of delicate features under her 
 drooping hat, stood a girl whose apparition made him start 
 up with a little catch of his breath, before the corner of the 
 house hid her from sight, as he was whirled to the front- 
 door. 
 
 He was led by the butler, with an air of deferential 
 patronage, to Lord Gleddayne's room. The door was 
 opened and he found himself in the presence of his un- 
 known kinsman. 
 
 Lord Gleddayne rose, and greeted him with grave 
 courtesy. His manner was stiff, and far from cordial, and 
 there was no smile on his melancholy, severe features as 
 his searching eyes scrutinised Paul's face. Paul, listlessly 
 indifferent to his host's opinion of him, responded with 
 polite restraint, and quietly returned the gaze. Lord 
 Gleddayne felt that he also was under examination, and 
 was not displeased. He would have expected signs of 
 deference in most people, but he liked independence in a 
 Gleddayne. 
 
 " I hope you had no difficulty with your journey," he 
 said. 
 
 " No thank you," Paul answered. " It is a very familiar 
 journey to me. I used to stay at Thirlwood a good deal 
 some years ago." 
 
 Lord Gleddayne flashed a look at him, difficult to read. 
 
 " I am not acquainted with the present owners of 
 Thirlwood," he said. " My daughter and Mrs Harrold 
 have recently exchanged calls, but 1 have not so far come 
 into contact with her or her husband. I have not acquired 
 the modern habit of intimacy with the nouveaux riches." 
 
 " I should like to speak very frankly," said Paul with 
 a firm look in his eyes. " Mr and Mrs Harrold are very
 
 62 The Ford 
 
 old friends of mine. I know the history of your former 
 disagreement with them. I express no opinion on it. 
 I am glad to understand that it is at an end. But I 
 cannot hear them sneered at. You must forgive me for 
 speaking like this, but I have always imagined that in our 
 family we claimed the right to choose our friends un- 
 questioned. If scorn is offered to them, I associate myself 
 with them in resenting it." 
 
 The old man looked at him with almost a smile on his 
 face. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said. " I was wrong. Let us 
 go to the drawing-room and ask my daughter to give us 
 some tea." 
 
 He led the way through various winding passages, 
 speaking little. Paul wondered whether he had given 
 offence or otherwise. He did not care much, but it would 
 be a pity if he had offended his cousin, though he was not 
 to blame. They reached the drawing-room and Lord 
 Gleddayne suddenly took him by the arm and led him 
 into the room. 
 
 "Stella," he said. "This is our cousin Paul. I am 
 glad to say he is a true Gleddayne." 
 
 Stella rose from her chair into one of the graceful 
 attitudes her tall, slender figure mechanically assumed. 
 Her grey eyes regarded Paul with a questioning gaze much 
 like that with which her father had greeted him. Her 
 first sensation was one of pleasant surprise. He was not 
 at all what she had expected. A quiet, refined, thoughtful- 
 looking man with a pleasant voice and good manners was 
 not the elderly roue she had pictured. There was some- 
 thing of sadness about him, a suggestion of weariness 
 and disappointment, half-concealed in humour, which 
 attracted her. She felt sympathetic towards him at once. 
 And, knowing her father's ways, she knew from his words
 
 Belated 63 
 
 that he had been favourably impressed also. She was 
 glad. They did not greatly care for most of their relations. 
 Since the death of her brother she had often felt the want 
 of someone whom her father would like and trust. It 
 seemed as if there was a possibility of such an one having 
 arrived. 
 
 " I hope you don't mind coming into such a very quiet 
 atmosphere," she said. "There is no one here but 
 Father and myself, and I am afraid you may find it a 
 little dull." 
 
 " I should consider it a self-condemnation if I admitted 
 to myself that I was dull anywhere," he answered with 
 a smile. " But in any case I could hardly be dull here. 
 I shall have the ghosts of my ancestors for company." 
 
 " Yes, I think one feels their presence," she said, as she 
 handed him his tea. " To-morrow I will show you some 
 of their haunts. We are sorry that you should not have 
 known them sooner. But we know that we need not ask 
 you to forgive us if we have not been cousinly before. 
 We know we were wrong." 
 
 " Certainly," interrupted Lord Gleddayne abruptly 
 " Quite wrong." 
 
 Paul began to feel that the confession of error might 
 become a little monotonous. He had already received 
 two apologies in the ten minutes or so since he entered 
 the house. But somehow the chief effect of Stella's speech 
 was to make him feel rather a brute for having al/mved her 
 to feel sorry ; which showed that he was not regarding her 
 in a strictly judicial light. 
 
 Indeed, to his astonishment and dismay, he found 
 himself experiencing sensations which had been unknown 
 to him for many years. There had been a good deal 
 of love-making in his life, and each new episode had 
 begun with a stirring of imagination and an exhilaration
 
 64 
 
 The Ford 
 
 of spirit. But this was quite a different feeling. He was 
 alarmed. Was he, a grey-haired man of fifty, going to 
 make a fool of himself? He remembered, when he was 
 sixteen years old, a brief strange period of adoring, 
 romantic passion for a beautiful young woman he had seen 
 in church and had never spoken to, — a purely boyish 
 feeling, incoherent, irresponsible but over-mastering. He 
 had never felt that particular sensation since. And, good 
 Heavens, here it was now, only a million times stronger, — 
 the feeling of a necessity for worship and service. He 
 drove the feeling out with a laugh, but its intrusion 
 frightened him. 
 
 They talked easily. Her mind seemed to respond 
 to his, and she gradually revealed to him a wealth of 
 cultivation and thought which surprised and attracted 
 him. Lord Gleddayne soon withdrew behind a newspaper, 
 and they ran on as the strange fate which governs 
 conversation willed. She seemed in tune with him. In 
 whatever key he pitched his thoughts, light or grave, 
 learned or frivolous, she seemed to move in easy harmony. 
 He gradually realised that he was talking to a very clever 
 as well as a very beautiful girl. Gradually the critical 
 faculty was suspended. He talked for the sake of the 
 subject, no longer for the sake of drawing her out ; and 
 he became unconsciously engrossed. He was quite 
 startled when she announced that it was time for her 
 to dress for dinner. 
 
 She disappeared, and Lord Gleddayne proposed to 
 guide him to his room. They passed up a wide stair- 
 case and along passages, hung with portraits of dead 
 Gleddaynes. But Paul scarcely noticed them. He was 
 preoccupied. 
 
 Lord Gleddayne left him in his room and he sank into 
 a chair and gazed at the fire. He was vaguely conscious
 
 Belated 6^ 
 
 of the comfort of the room, but his mind was busy with 
 thoughts that mocked him. Presently he rose, with 
 a shght shiver, and laughed rather mirthlessly. 
 
 "The woman I have looked for," he said, with a 
 grimace at his wrinkled reflection in the looking-glass 
 opposite. " And it is twenty years too late." 
 
 E
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 SYMPATHY 
 
 Stella was content with her cousin. She awoke next 
 morning with the sensation of something new and pleasant 
 having happened, — a sensation which cannot, Uke its 
 contrary, be due to the cook. And, as she slowly crept 
 into complete consciousness, she began to realise that she 
 had spent a very enjoyable evening. Paul was decidedly 
 what Violet Tedburne would have called " an interesting 
 man." If he was not a celebrity himself he was friendly 
 with celebrities, though Stella took as little count of that as 
 he did. But he had interested her mind, had arrested her 
 attention had said things that made her think, and had 
 flashed new thoughts upon her own sayings. Moreover he 
 had nice manners and was nice to look at and had a 
 pleasant voice. And nothing about him had jarred. He 
 had not adopted an ingratiating tone or thrown the smallest 
 suspicion of gallantry into his manner. He had just 
 talked to her as a rational being, and not as a woman ; 
 and Stella, constantly in rebellion against any emphasis 
 laid on sex, was thankful. There was a suggestion of sym- 
 pathetic brotherliness, which never approached familiarity, 
 that had appealed to her more than she knew. She was 
 rather a lonely spirit and needed a companion, though she 
 was barely conscious of the need. The possibility of 
 having found one was cheering. 
 
 And he had certainly pleased her father. Her own 
 
 66
 
 Sympathy 67 
 
 loneliness troubled her little, but Lord Gleddayne's loneli- 
 ness was a constant trouble to her. He was so proud and 
 morose and unapproachable that he had hardly any 
 intimate friends. Since the boys died he had fenced 
 himself off from almost everyone. But he had thawed 
 visibly in contact with Paul. It was long since she had 
 heard him talk so much or so brightly. Paul was certainly 
 a success. 
 
 And then it was nice to feel that he was old and that 
 there would be no question of love-making between him 
 and her. She was so tired of that eternal subject. It 
 spoiled so many friendships. Deep down in her heart, like 
 a buried diamond, was a gleaming hope for a hero who was 
 to come some day ; but she averted her eyes and ignored 
 it. That would come if it were destined to come. But 
 otherwise she wanted friendship, not flirtation, — a pastime 
 that bored and rather disgusted her. 
 
 Lord Gleddayne monopolised Paul the whole of the 
 morning, pottering about with him in farm-yards and 
 stables, discussing estate management and agriculture and 
 politics, and finding him to his liking in discussion. They 
 differed at times, and Paul stood up for his own opinions 
 in a way that pleased the old man, for it was done with 
 tact and courteous humility. Lord Gleddayne, in his secret 
 heart, liked a master. He was obstinate, and rather arrogant 
 when his prejudices were stirred, but he was glad to be 
 saved the trouble of making up his mind on matters that 
 required reasoning. He preferred keeping a mental coach- 
 man to driving himself. Stella usually occupied the box, 
 but he had no objection to Paul taking the reins for a bit, 
 so soon as he had begun to trust him. 
 
 After luncheon he abandoned Paul to Stella, who took 
 him for a walk. Paul had laughed himself out of the 
 ecstatic mood of the evening before. He briskly repressed
 
 68 The Ford 
 
 the faintest tinge of sentimentalism in his feehngs. In a 
 sense, he was not in love. There was no shade of desire 
 in his mind to woo the girl, to win from her a sigh, a kiss, 
 even a touch of the hand. He was glad that there was 
 practically no possibility of her ever knowing a shred of 
 emotion in his presence, that there could never be a 
 question or a thought of marriage between them. But all 
 the same he worshipped the ground she trod on. He felt 
 that he had arrived at the end of his journey. He had 
 found the woman he could not criticise. It was a sad 
 discovery in some ways ; inevitable regrets would fight for 
 recognition. Yet his general state was one of thankful 
 peace. 
 
 They walked across the park and through brown woods, 
 where leaves were a wonderful canopy, russet and golden 
 and red, a flame on the oaks and a flush on the beeches, 
 in contrast with the dull green of the pines. A cock 
 pheasant crowed from time to time, and the wood-pigeons 
 fluttered among the tree-tops, and here and there a chestnut 
 or an acorn slapped on the damp, dead foliage, already 
 thick amid the broken and withered bracken and the 
 tangled undergrowth. The air was soft and mild, shafts of 
 sunshine gleamed through the branches, and a clear sky 
 showed blue above openings between the trees. Paul 
 felt that he was in a temple. 
 
 They began to grow friendly. Stella questioned him 
 dehcately about his life. Though he spoke of the past 
 cheerfully, she divined a sense of disappointment and 
 failure in his tone. The circumstances he described could 
 hardly have been congenial to one of his tastes and 
 temperament. He spoke guardedly, afraid of a sugges- 
 tion of self-pity, but she understood more than he 
 knew, and her heart softened. He seemed to have 
 been wasted by Fate, and this offended her sense of
 
 Sympathy 69 
 
 justice. She hinted as much, but he repudiated the 
 
 suggestion. 
 
 " A man does pretty well what he is fit to do," he said. 
 " At any rate genius overcomes all circumstances and 
 anything less than genius doesn't matter much. If I had 
 had money and influence I might have had a career of 
 second-rate success in some sort of public life. But, 
 though I should have enjoyed it more than the work I 
 have had to do, the nett result would have been much the 
 
 same." 
 
 " Not if it had made you happier." 
 
 " I don't think that is of much importance," he answered 
 with a smile. " One of the advantages of growing older is 
 that one outlives the delusion of personal happiness. 
 Happiness comes to us all — and unhappiness too. We 
 can't escape either. But when life has slowly hammered 
 the personal view out of us and we learn to see things in a 
 bigger way, we don't trouble much about them." 
 
 " But what is there bigger than happiness ? " she asked, 
 looking at him doubtfully. " Of course there is duty. Do 
 you mean that ? " 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! " he answered laughing. " Duty is 
 merely a working hypothesis." 
 
 " So it seems to me," she said reflectively. " Of course 
 there is a nobility about doing your duty. But there is 
 something bigger, and I don't know what it is. Do you ? " 
 
 " I am not sure that it isn't a kind of pride," he answered. 
 
 She looked at him sharply. There was a shade of 
 mockery in his tone. 
 
 " Are you serious — or only laughing at me ? " she asked. 
 
 *' I am not laughing at you" he answered. " Perhaps 
 at myself a little. One has to realise the insignificance of 
 all earthly things before one can wish to be a part of 
 something greater. I suppose one would call that pride.
 
 7o The Ford 
 
 It seems to be the only thing that really makes love 
 possible." 
 
 She was half defiant in a moment at the sound of the 
 word, 
 
 " Surely you aren't on the side of these people who put 
 love out of perspective," she said. " There is something 
 else in life than love, though everyone writes and talks as 
 if it were the only thing worth living for." 
 
 The shade of mockery died out of his rather weary 
 smile. 
 
 " I wasn't referring to love in that sense," he said. " I 
 have given up trying to learn the importance or the meaning 
 of that. I meant love in a sense that has nothing to do 
 with the sexes — the kind of love that Christians attribute to 
 God. I think a sense of the smallness of mankind is 
 essential for that, because it is a larger kind of pity. And, 
 as I say, I suppose that implies pride." 
 
 " You are not afraid to say rather startling things," she 
 said. 
 
 " I have spent my life struggling to learn not to be afraid 
 of anything," he answered very quietly. " Of course I have 
 failed miserably, but I try to force myself to face the truth. 
 Fear is the only evil there is. Eradicate it, and all else 
 that we call evil disappears with it." 
 
 "Ah, yes," she said eagerly. "I feel like that too. 
 Courage is the one virtue. It comprises all the rest. I am 
 glad you think so. There are so few people who understand 
 one's point of view." 
 
 If Paul had known her better he might have been misled 
 by this speech. Which paradox means that for Stella to 
 lean on another's opinion in this way, to acknowledge 
 pleasure at support of any kind, especially in unusually 
 fervid tones, was such a remarkable phenomenon that a 
 man accustomed to her ways might well have imagined that
 
 Sympathy 7 1 
 
 the influence he exercised was not merely intellectual. 
 Stella realised this herself, directly she had uttered the 
 words. Yet somehow she had no fear of misunderstand- 
 ing on his part. She felt instinctively that she could trust 
 him. His mind was mastering hers without any design 
 upon her emotions. And she liked the situation, and him 
 for making it possible. She began to think he was the 
 nicest man she had ever met. 
 
 They were walking now along the edge of the Banks, 
 wooded down to the water's edge. From time to time 
 they could see the river creeping under the brown trees, 
 almost at their feet. And beyond lay the wide valley. 
 Paul looked in the direction of Thirlwood. He could not 
 see the house hidden among the trees, but the place where 
 it lay was plain. His heart smote him reproachfully. He 
 had not thought once to-day of the sick woman there, the 
 woman who had once been so dear to him, — and who was 
 dear to him now, but as a memory. He wondered if Ralph 
 were there. Poor Blanche meant the past and regret. 
 Ralph meant hope and the future. Fate had denied him 
 a real wife and family. But he had found a spiritual wife 
 and a spiritual son. He thought the wife was his, perhaps. 
 Stella seemed to like him, and all he would ever require of 
 her would be to see her now and then and be regarded as 
 a friend, and that could hardly be too much to look for. 
 But he wanted a Httle more from Ralph, and he doubted 
 if he would get even as much. His thoughts went winging 
 through the peaceful valley, full of wistful hope. 
 
 " I think you know the Harrolds," Stella said to him, 
 guessing the mark his eyes were seeking. 
 
 "Yes, they are old friends. I fear there was some 
 trouble between your father and them." 
 
 " Oh that was a trifle, and is forgotten," she answered. 
 " Father was not quite fair about them. He cannot realise
 
 72 The Ford 
 
 how the world must change, and resents it. He wants all 
 the old people to stay in the old places." 
 
 " I suppose it is hard to believe that the order of things 
 one belongs to is doomed, especially when one is old," 
 Paul said. 
 
 " But do you think the whole order is doomed," she 
 asked anxiously. " It would be sad to think that. Surely 
 we need not all go." 
 
 " We are gone already," he said. " It is no use 
 repining about it. A few survivors, like ourselves, still 
 hang on. But the system is dead. Why, it has been 
 dying for half a century. The old families have been 
 surrendering all the time. The dominant class for the last 
 fifty years has been the middle-class. They have governed 
 the country. They had their statesman in Gladstone, their 
 poet in Tennyson, their novelist in Thackeray, their painter 
 in Millais. Those four men of genius represented the 
 middle-class spirit, and they were the successful men of the 
 day. There has been no real aristocracy for a long time. 
 It has ' gone into the city.' The two classes have merged. 
 A stockbroker is only a stockbroker, even if he is a Peer. 
 And the House of Lords is full of titled tradesmen. It is 
 no good shutting our eyes to the fact, I don't even know 
 why we should regret it. There must be change." 
 
 " And yet it seems sad," she said wistfully. " I love 
 this place, and I love the dignified, gentle, old country life, so 
 full of peace and poetry and affection. The new order 
 doesn't fit into it well." 
 
 " Well, at any rate, even the new order is near the end 
 of its tether now," he said laughing. "Their day is nearly 
 
 over." 
 
 " Do you really think so ? " she asked eagerly. This 
 man's talk certainly interested her. 
 
 " I am sure of it," he said. " People don't notice things
 
 Sympathy 73 
 
 much. They dwell near the volcano and never heed the 
 rumblings underground. There are strange times coming 
 to the world before long. The poor placid bourgeois, who 
 honestly believes that he is an advanced, progressive sort 
 of person, will have some rude shocks. The gospel of 
 comfort will have quite a bad time, and the world will be 
 anything but a comfortable place for a bit. No one knows 
 yet what Democracy means, but the world is going to know 
 before long. These dear, stupid people think we have had 
 Democracy already. They will wake up with a start one 
 day." 
 
 " Do you think there will be revolution ? " she asked, 
 with a gleam in her eyes. Evidently the idea excited but 
 did not frighten her. Paul smiled, conscious that her 
 thoughts were leaping with his own. 
 
 " Revolution certainly," he said. " Whether bloodless 
 or not remains to be seen. Uut I don't believe there is 
 any peaceful Utopia before us. Man is a fighting animal 
 and there will be strife enough." 
 
 " Well that's better than the ' Gospel of comfort,' any- 
 how," she said, with the same gleam in her eyes. He 
 smiled again, a little moved himself. 
 
 " I certainly don't mind, personally," he said. " I have 
 no cause to love the present state of things. I have been 
 a sort of Cinderella among my own class all my life, and I 
 can see them go without caring greatly. Only let us have 
 a little life again, let us be awake, let us be shaken out of 
 our sloth, our flippancy, our greed, our vulgarity, our 
 worship of wealth, our love of all that is material and 
 transient, and I don't care what happens. I daresay the 
 working man will do some ugly things and break some 
 precious things, when he gets his hands free ; but if he 
 only gives us a fresh taste of life I will forgive him." 
 
 He spoke with an animation in contrast with his usual
 
 74 The Ford 
 
 rather weary mockery. Stella's face flushed, and the light 
 in her eyes answered him. She forgot how old he was. 
 Here was a glowing, kindred soul ! 
 
 They came out of the wood on to a grassy slope and 
 encountered Derrick, who was gazing down at the river 
 with his usual saturnine air. He touched his hat, and 
 greeted Paul with one of his strange chuckles. Paul had 
 no idea who he was, but guessed him to be a keeper of 
 some kind. Derrick had no doubt as to Paul's identity. 
 
 " There's another big stone shifted in the bed of the 
 ford, Miss," he said. " If them as don't know it will try 
 to use it, I'm thinking they'll get a bath without soap. 
 You know, Miss, I sometimes think that river is Hke a 
 living creature and knows its own. It be safe for none but 
 a Gleddayne to cross it." 
 
 " Do you think / might venture, then ? " Paul asked. 
 
 " The water isn't there that could drown you or any of 
 your name, Sir," Derrick answered. " If so be as you 
 wants to go to Thirlwood at any time, have no fear." 
 
 There was a sly, sardonic look in his face as he spoke. 
 Yet somehow the words did not seem insolent. Paul felt 
 that there was a vague suggestion of sympathy in his 
 peculiar voice. 
 
 At this moment a horseman appeared, cantering across 
 the great meadow and making for the ford. As he drew 
 nearer he appeared to be a groom or stableman. Derrick 
 moved down towards the water and shouted directions to 
 him as he approached the ford. Thus guided he splashed 
 safely through, and came up the slope. 
 
 "I beg pardon Sir, but are you Mr Paul Gleddayne?" 
 he asked, as he came near. 
 
 Paul replied in the affirmative, and the man handed him 
 a note. He tore it open. It was a pencilled scribble from 
 Mrs Brent.
 
 Sympathy 7 5 
 
 " Blanche Harrold is dying and would like to see you. 
 Come if you can." 
 
 He turned to Stella and told her. She read the sudden 
 wave of awakened grief in his face, and somehow, for a 
 moment, she resented it. But the thought died, and was 
 scornfully buried, 
 
 " Derrick will take you across in the punt," she said. 
 " It will be quicker than going back for a horse. I will 
 explain to Father if you are not back to dinner." 
 
 He thanked her, and hastened down the slope. She 
 stood and watched him. What was he feeling, she 
 wondered. What was it like to have loved passionately, 
 perhaps to have sinned for the sake of love ? And did he 
 love that woman now ? Were people fortunate, after all, 
 who knew this thing? Was it greater than she had 
 thought ? 
 
 She felt sorry for Mrs Harrold. Yet perhaps she had 
 been lucky who had had Paul for a lover. If love were 
 worth anything, he must have made it so, in the days when 
 his body was as young as his mind. 
 
 Oh yes, love was the greatest thing in the world, 
 really. But it was all the shallow, insincere, sentimental 
 people, who played at love like a game, who made it seem 
 so small. It would not be small to be loved by such a 
 man as that had once been. 
 
 She turned and walked slowly to the house through the 
 autumn mist. She went to her favourite corner on the 
 terrace, and looked out at the blurred landscape. Paul 
 was in the meadow now, and was just mounting the groom's 
 horse. She prayed that he might not be too late.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 IN SHADOW 
 
 Ralph Harrold sat by his mother's bedside, waiting for the 
 inevitable end. He had telegraphed to his father, who was 
 in Scotland, and to his sisters. But one of them was in 
 India, and the other travelling in France, and there was 
 little chance of the latter being back in time. The other 
 of course would not come. 
 
 The doctor came in from time to time, but could do 
 nothing. Mrs Brent also moved in and out of the room. 
 She had been his one help and support. 
 
 Blanche Harrold lay very still, breathing with difficulty. 
 She was in no pain now, only flickering out. From time 
 to time she turned to him and whispered. " Has Paul 
 come ? " and he could only shake his head. He looked 
 through the window at the park. The ground rose con- 
 siderably, hiding the country beyond and the Hne of the 
 Banks. There was no sign of anyone yet. 
 
 Ralph had been expecting this for a long time, but now 
 that it had come it was none the easier to bear. His love 
 for his mother had been the mainspring of his life. The 
 sympathy between them was as nearly perfect as may be in 
 this imperfect world. He was not blind to some of her 
 faults, but he knew her sorrows, and realised her splendid 
 courage, her passionate love for himself, her glowing 
 warmth of heart. Of course he had known for many years 
 
 that she and his father were husband and wife in name 
 
 76
 
 In Shadow 77 
 
 only. He knew also her fondness for admiration, and had 
 more than a suspicion of numerous flirtations in her past 
 life. Whether they had been more than flirtations he 
 would not have allowed himself even to discuss. To him 
 she was a high and stainless soul. 
 
 He was just beginning to realise that she had loved 
 Paul Gleddayne. The thought made him uneasy. He 
 remembered how frequently Paul had been at their house 
 in his own early boyhood, and then had disappeared 
 altogether. There was some mystery. At least he could 
 only hope that Paul had been worthy of his mother's love. 
 He felt that few men could be worthy of that, and he was 
 not prepared to rate Paul too highly. But in his present 
 misery he could not think very coherently on the subject. 
 
 There is no need to dwell on such a scene. The pale 
 face on the pillow grew even more pallid, the breathing 
 came shorter, and finally Blanche Harrold died, just as 
 Paul, riding furiously, galloped into sight of the house. 
 The autumn daylight was turning into dusk ; the withered 
 leaves were drifting, one by one, on to the darkening lawn. 
 There was death everywhere, death and birth, the endless 
 change and revolution. The world was as before. But 
 to Ralph it was not, and could never seem, the same. 
 
 The doctor, with a conventional display of professional 
 sympathy withdrew. Mrs Brent broke down and cried 
 helplessly in the corner of the room. Her warm heart for 
 once was too strong for her courageous self-control. Ralph 
 took a last look at his mother, and then went downstairs 
 and sat in the dusky hall, his face white and rigid. He 
 crouched by the fire and neither spoke nor moved. 
 
 In a few moments Paul Gleddayne arrived. He came 
 across the hall and took Ralph's listless hand. Ralph 
 shrunk from him a little and Paul in turn winced. 
 " May I go up ? " he asked huskily.
 
 78 
 
 The Ford 
 
 Ralph nodded faintly, and Paul went upstairs. Mrs 
 Brent came out of the dead woman's room, and he entered 
 it and shut the door. She dared not even picture to 
 herself what passed inside. It was his hour of expiation. 
 
 She sat in the passage, and when at last he came out, 
 haggard and faltering, with a drawn look in his face, she rose 
 and took his hand, and he smothered a sob as he pressed hers. 
 
 "I will go and see Ralph for a little," he said, "and 
 then I must go." 
 
 " I have the vicar's pony-cart and will drive you if you 
 like," she said. " There is nothing more for me to stay 
 for. I expect Mr Harrold will arrive shortly." 
 
 She went to prepare herself for the drive, and Paul went 
 down to the hall again. Ralph was still sitting motionless 
 before the fire. Paul went up and laid his hand on his 
 shoulder. Ralph did not shrink this time, and his heart 
 leaped with joy. 
 
 " Ralph," he said, in the low gentle voice that had pleased 
 women, " I promised her that I would be your friend. 
 Will you let me ? Try, for her sake." 
 
 And Ralph suddenly hid his face in his hands and burst 
 into passionate weeping. Paul felt that he had broken 
 down a barrier. They remained thus for some time, Ralph 
 crying without restraint, and leaning slightly against the 
 friendly arm. It was balm to Paul's aching heart. 
 
 There was a sound of wheels outside and the door-bell 
 was rung. A servant came and opened the door, and a 
 big, burly man entered. He was wrapped up as if for a 
 journey. He had a brown beard, shot with grey, and fierce 
 eyes under bushy eyebrows. He might be about sixty 
 years of age. 
 
 He walked into the hall and stopped abruptly as he 
 perceived Paul. A keen searching look gradually melted 
 into recognition, and suddenly a dull gleam of hatred flashed
 
 In Shadow 79 
 
 under the heavy brows. Paul removed his hand from 
 Ralph's shoulder and turned towards him. Ralph con- 
 tinued to sob convulsively. 
 
 " I conclude that I am too late," said Richard Harrold 
 in a sharp, gruff voice. Paul bowed silently. 
 
 " And jou saw her? " Harrold went on. 
 
 " No," said Paul. " I was too late also." 
 
 There was a distinct shade of relief on Harrold's face as 
 he heard the answer. But he glanced at his son and his 
 face grew dark again. At this moment Mrs Brent entered 
 the hall. She went up to Harrold in her impetuous way, 
 with outstretched hands, and he took them, with a softening 
 countenance. 
 
 " I know the worst," he said. " Poor Blanche. I will 
 go up and see her." 
 
 Harrold was no humbug, and he would have scorned to 
 put on a conventional air of grief. He was sorry his wife 
 was dead, but they had been estranged for so long, that 
 any pretence of heart-break would have been a hypocrisy of 
 which he was incapable. He went upstairs. Mrs Brent 
 bade good bye to Ralph, who was growing calmer. Paul 
 laid his hand on his shoulder once more for a minute, and 
 then they parted in silence. 
 
 Outside it was almost dark. Paul got into the pony-cart 
 beside Mrs Brent. His heart was torn with anguish, with 
 a hopeless sense of banishment. He wanted to stay with 
 the dead woman and the living lad. He would even have 
 wished to make friends with Harrold, to atone to him in 
 some way for anything he might have caused him to suffer. 
 Though he was going back to Stella, he seemed to be 
 travelling into unutterable loneliness, the loneliness of an 
 exiled soul. He bowed his head silently, and they drove 
 away into the twilight, already growing silvery under the 
 rising moon.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE FATHER SCORES 
 
 It was not a very cheerful winter that followed at Thirlwood. 
 Ralph and his father were alone there the greater part of 
 the time. His younger sister, Mrs Welland, came for a 
 while with her husband. But Ralph had not very much in 
 common with his sisters, and his brother-in-law bored him. 
 However, their presence pleased Richard Harrold, who had 
 been more intimate with his daughters than with his son. 
 He was fond of Ralph and proud of him, but always a little 
 awkward with him. Their house had been a divided one, 
 and Ralph belonged to the enemy's camp. 
 
 Richard Harrold was really rather relieved than other- 
 wise by his wife's death. For many years he had realised 
 that she despised him, and he did not like being despised, 
 — which was not unreasonable. Her attitude towards 
 him had always given him a dull feeling of injustice. He 
 had behaved well to her, he thought. He had never 
 stinted her so far as money was concerned, nor had he 
 stood in the way of her fancies. He had really been very 
 fond of her when he married her. He was not given to 
 romantic emotions, but he had been decidedly in love with 
 her, and had pensioned off a golden-haired lady, with a 
 magnificent figure and a fund of cockney humour such as 
 he could comprehend and enjoy, who had been his mistress 
 for years. He had never had anything more to do with 
 other women. He had left his wife alone a good deal in 
 
 So
 
 The Father Scores 8i 
 
 the early days of their marriage, but that was because he 
 was very keen about the business in those days, and 
 frequently had to dine at the club with men whom he did 
 not care to ask to the house. But she had never shown 
 any insatiable thirst for his society from the very beginning, 
 so that could hardly have been a grievance with her. He 
 was glad when other men began to admire her and pay 
 attention to her. They were usually men of a world into 
 which he had not been born and to which he aspired ; 
 and gradually the pretty Mrs Harrold had attained a 
 certain small celebrity, and the pretty Mrs Harrold's 
 husband had shared in it to some extent. This was what 
 he had hoped when he had married her. 
 
 So long as his vanity was not wounded, he was a good- 
 natured and kind-hearted man. He had dimly realised 
 that she was not happy, — which seemed perverse, — and he 
 had regretted it when he happened to think of it. Con- 
 sequenljy he was pleased when she seemed to grow more 
 contented with life. 
 
 He had been brought up amongst people who believed 
 that a wife's chief joy should lie in ministering to the 
 comfort of her husband. As he rose into a class where 
 the relative values of husband and wife were more evenly 
 balanced, he was shrewd enough to see that he must 
 modify his views in this respect, if he was not to be 
 regarded as wanting in savoir faire, — just as his father had 
 found it advisable to abandon the dissenting community 
 to which he had belonged and become a member of the 
 Church of England. Such are the manifestations of Grace 
 Divine. 
 
 But though he was sensible of the benefits derived from 
 
 his wife's attraction for certain men, the possibility of her 
 
 flirtations going beyond the platonic stage did not enter 
 
 his mind. He was a strong, masterful man, who had suc- 
 
 F
 
 82 The Ford 
 
 ceeded in most things, and the idea of failure in this 
 respect was preposterous. That his wife could really fall 
 in love with anyone else seemed incredible. When there- 
 fore he realised that she had not only fallen in love with 
 Paul Gleddayne, but had allowed her passion to carry 
 her out of the path of wifely virtue, the shock to his 
 feelings was very great. He was not a narrow-minded 
 man, and could make allowances for human weakness. 
 But the blow to his vanity hurt him cruelly. A batch of 
 Paul's letters which fell into his hands gave him indisput- 
 able proof of the intrigue. He never spoke of them to 
 anyone. He spared his wife, partly for the sake of the 
 children, partly from the dread of a scandal which his 
 bourgeois upbringing had made almost instinctive. But 
 he never forgave her in his heart. Sometimes he felt that 
 he could do so if only he could win her affection again. 
 But as every attempt at this gave him fresh proof of her 
 inherent scorn for him, the poor man was driven back 
 on his own bruised feelings and half-puzzled wrath. 
 
 As for Paul he hated him furiously. And yet, mingled 
 with his hatred, was a curious liking. He was proud of 
 his own success, proud of his wealth, proud of the position 
 he had won in the world. But he knew that this well- 
 bred pauper, who had not even been to such a good public 
 school as himself, and who was devoid of all his advantages, 
 had a certain power of pleasing, an easy, innate superiority, 
 which all his wealth could not buy nor his ability imitate. 
 Harrold was not of a petty or envious nature, and he 
 frankly looked up to and admired the man who could beat 
 him thus, even while his heart burned with mad jealousy 
 and wrath. Paul was what he would like to have been, 
 and his feelings, in consequence, were a curious compound 
 regarding him. 
 
 The hatred had slumbered for a long time. He had
 
 The Father Scores 83 
 
 not seen Paul for ten years, and the liaison between him 
 and Blanche Harrold was a thing of a remote past. But 
 when Harrold returned home on the day of his wife's 
 death and found Paul acting as consoler to his son, the 
 old feeling burned up fiercely. The man had robbed him 
 of his wife's affection. Was he going to rob him of his 
 son's too ? Harrold raged at the thought. 
 
 The worst of it was that Ralph and he had never been 
 on very sympathetic terms. Ralph had been his mother's 
 intimate associate, and she was no praiser of his father. 
 Her son had a strong sense of justice and made allowances 
 for the rhetoric of an irritated woman. But still he re- 
 garded his father as to some extent a damager of his 
 mother's happiness, and he could not quite forgive him. 
 
 Plarrold knew all this, and after Blanche's death he set 
 himself to draw his son nearer to him if possible. He 
 found it difficult, for he himself was conscious of the want 
 of sympathy. Ralph's refinement seemed to him a weak- 
 ness, his intellectual tastes appeared rather ridiculous, his 
 idealisation of things tiresome and false. But, though he 
 never felt really much at ease in Ralph's society, Harrold 
 was determined to build as many fortifications as possible 
 against Paul's influence, and he did all he could to make 
 a friend of his son. He wished he had taken the trouble 
 to win Ralph earlier. 
 
 So they shot together and drove together and farmed 
 together and saw a good deal of each other. But they 
 never seemed to come much closer. Ralph was reserved 
 and taciturn. He was always going over to the Ford on 
 some excuse or other. He had become quite a welcome 
 guest there. Harrold was glad of this. It had gaJled 
 him to be ostracised by the proud Gleddaynes. And he 
 had reason to believe that Ralph admired Stella, a belief 
 which filled him with satisfying hopes. But, on the other
 
 84 
 
 The Ford 
 
 hand, he feared that Paul was very constantly at the Ford 
 also, and this was no delight to him. He himself never 
 went there, and Lord Gleddayne made no effort to make 
 his acquaintance. Harrold chafed at this, but the hope 
 that Ralph might capture Stella was a consolation. It 
 would be the greatest of all Harrold's triumphs. 
 
 There was a little harmless, chattering man, living in 
 Roatebridge, a retired major in the army, who, having all 
 the natural gifts of the parasite, was a hanger-on at Thirl- 
 wood, where he toadied Harrold and, in return, reaped 
 dinners and champagne and shooting. He usually brought 
 all the gossip of the neighbourhood, and Harrold was thus 
 able to learn a good deal about the Ford without question- 
 ing his son. Major Cantle had come into the district 
 since the days when Paul used to visit at Thirlwood ; 
 consequently he knew no possible reason for suppressing 
 his name in conversation with Harrold. Indeed, as a 
 matter of fact, the old scandal had been a very small one, 
 and few people who knew the Harrolds had known of 
 Paul's existence. One day, when Ralph was out hunting, 
 Major Cantle joined Harrold ■ at luncheon. Harrold had 
 been away for a week or more. He was always running 
 about the country seeing to various business matters in 
 which he was interested ; for though he had disposed of 
 the soap he had other ventures, and could not have been 
 happy cut off from the old atmosphere. A talk on prices 
 and rates with a fellow expert was music to his soul. He 
 constantly increased his already ample fortune, 
 
 " I know I can trust you, Harrold," said Major Cantle, 
 as they sat and smoked after luncheon. " There isn't 
 another man in the county I'd tell it to. But I heard, 
 quite confidentially, the other day that Gawley is going 
 to retire from Parliament before very long. Of course I 
 know you won't mention this to a soul."
 
 The Father Scores 85 
 
 Major Cantle's confidences were always given under 
 this pledge of secrecy. Only, as they were given to every- 
 one he met, the secrecy was rather of a public nature. 
 Mr Gawley was the member for that division of the 
 county. 
 
 "That's interesting," remarked Harrold in his abrupt 
 way, " Has the Association got a candidate to run in 
 his place ? " 
 
 "No they haven't, and between you and me they'll be 
 in rather a hole," answered the Major. "There are so 
 few people in this part of the county who are in a position 
 to stand. Can you think of anyone ? " 
 
 Harrold grunted, but did not answer the question. 
 
 " I wonder whom they would accept," he said. " Do 
 you think they would have me.'^ 
 
 "Have youl My dear Harrold they'd be delighted, 
 I'm sure. Of course it all depends on Lord Claydon, — 
 and he depends on Lady Claydon. What a splendid idea. 
 The next time I see Lady Claydon I'll sound her on the 
 subject — oh, most diplomatically, I assure you. You 
 needn't be afraid of my letting anything out. But the 
 Claydons aren't likely to miss such a chance as that." 
 
 " They won't get the chance," said Harrold. " I 
 shouldn't stand." 
 
 "Ah, I see. You just asked the question to see if 
 I should give myself away. You're a cunning fellow 
 Harrold, but you can't get much out of me." And the 
 Major laughed, with fawning geniality, and tossed off a 
 liqueur brandy. 
 
 Harrold's face faintly showed a contemptuous smile. 
 
 " Has Lord Gleddayne much influence with his sister?'' 
 he asked. 
 
 "I should think not, pompous old a.ss," said Major 
 Cantle, who took care always to abuse Lord Gleddayne to
 
 86 The Ford 
 
 Harrold. He had once tried to ingratiate himself at the 
 Ford by abusing Harrold to Lord Gleddayne, and had 
 been given very distinctly to understand that such partisan- 
 ship was an impertinence. 
 
 " Is that cousin of Lord Gleddayne's often staying there 
 now ? " Harrold asked, carelessly. 
 
 " Paul Gleddayne ! Oh yes, he has been there several 
 times this winter, on and off. A very decent fellow, too. 
 Do you know him ? " 
 
 "A little," said Harrold shortly. "Do you see him 
 when he is there ? " 
 
 " I meet him in Roatebridge, now and then, and he is 
 always very agreeable. I know you won't tell anyone, 
 but I hear that the old man is trying to marry him to his 
 daughter." 
 
 A gleam shot under Harrold's bushy eyebrows. 
 
 " He's too old," he said. 
 
 " Oh, it's rather a case of May and December, of course. 
 But I don't suppose she'd care much, and it will save the 
 old chap from having to provide for her. The property 
 won't stand much more charge upon it." 
 
 " Why shouldn't she care ? " 
 
 " Oh, she's one of these cold, learned women, — all 
 brains and no heart. She'll never fall in love." 
 
 Harrold grunted again, and they passed on to other 
 topics. The Major found him rather absent-minded, and 
 took his leave soon afterwards. Harrold made no pretence 
 of pressing him to stay. He was not given to polite 
 humbug. 
 
 When Major Cantle had gone, his host's brain was very 
 busy. He was a wonderful builder of castles in the air. 
 He had been so all his life — and had come to dwell in 
 a good many of his castles too. He was now full of a 
 dream that pleased him much, the thought of Ralph
 
 The Father Scores 87 
 
 married to the daughter of tliis proud house and working 
 his way to fame and power, — perhaps eventually to a 
 peerage. He would indeed have beaten that scornful old 
 man at the Ford if this dream were fulfilled. And possibly 
 he might give Paul a knock or two on the way. 
 
 After dinner that night he introduced some of his new 
 ideas to Ralph. 
 
 " I hear Gawley is likely to give up his seat in Parlia- 
 ment before long," he began in his abrupt way. 
 
 " Then there'll be one duffer the less in that honourable 
 House," remarked Ralph with a smile. His father never 
 responded to these playful remarks. He was always 
 serious, even when he was most boisterously genial. 
 
 " I expect they will have some difficulty in finding a 
 candidate," Richard Harrold went on. 
 
 " Fancy there being no substitute for Gawley ! Is he 
 as irreplaceable as if he were a valuable work of art ? " 
 
 " Look here, Ralph," said his father. " I've never 
 talked to you about these things. Are you on the same 
 side as your mother was ? " 
 
 Mrs Harrold, like many ladies of romantic disposition, 
 had believed herself to be a Radical and a Democrat. 
 Her Radicalism was compatible with a very keen apprecia- 
 tion of the advantages of being rich and an absence of any 
 marked desire to divide her wealth with the rest of the 
 world ; and her love of Democracy had not interfered with 
 a strong belief in the charms of rank and station. Her 
 creed merely implied that she had a warm heart and felt 
 vaguely sorry for the poor, and that she liked to regard 
 herself in the picturesque role of a rebel against the 
 established order. 
 
 " No," said Ralph slowly. " I am not altogether. I 
 sympathise with the feelings of the Liberal party, but my 
 judgment doesn't uphold their methods, I suppose it ig
 
 88 The Ford 
 
 all a matter of temperament, but I have always had rather 
 a horror of sentimentality. If I go in for politics I shall 
 go in on the Conservative side." 
 
 Richard Harrold smiled — an unusual event. 
 
 *' Look here, Ralph," he said, " if we can work it, you 
 shall stand for this division when Gawley retires." 
 
 Ralph's face lighted up with pleasure. 
 
 " It's awfully good of you. Father," he said. " I have 
 always wanted to go into Parliament, but I have not hoped 
 to get a chance just yet. But this will be a chance, for 
 the seat is a fairly safe one." 
 
 " I understand the person to get at is Lady Claydon," 
 said Harrold. " Lord Claydon rules the Association, and 
 she rules him. Can you get at her through your friends 
 at the Ford ? " 
 
 Ralph flushed very slightly. 
 
 " I don't know," he said. " I will speak to Miss 
 Gleddayne about it. I know she will help me if she can." 
 
 Richard Harrold threw aside his usual caution. 
 
 " By God, Ralph," he exclaimed, " if you would marry 
 that girl it would be the happiest day of my life." 
 
 Ralph turned very red and then very white. 
 
 " It would be the happiest day of mine," he said. 
 
 It was the first confidence he had ever made to his 
 father since he grew up. Richard Harrold's eyes grew 
 strangely tender, and his whole face softened in a way 
 Ralph had never seen before. He came across the room 
 and laid his hand on his son's shoulders. 
 
 " God bless you, my boy," he said. " I hope you will 
 win." 
 
 And suddenly their spirits seemed to break down a 
 dividing wall.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE OLD ORDER AND THE NEW 
 
 The peculiar and delightful system of government which 
 England enjoys resembles a cricket match. It is obviously 
 impossible to play on both sides at once. If nothing more 
 serious than cricket were in question this would be an 
 excellent thing. In the larger game it somewhat hampers 
 individual utility. 
 
 It is doubtful if there is room for an intellect of the 
 first order in modern politics. Fortunately Ralph Harrold's 
 intellect, though remarkably good, was by no means of the 
 first order. And he was by temperament peculiarly fitted 
 for public life. He was earnest, enthusiastic and magnani- 
 mous, and yet extremely clear-headed and practical. Of 
 opinions once formed he was tenacious. And though he 
 had experienced the great difficulty which most people, who 
 have the misfortune to think, have to face in deciding 
 which Party they shall support, he was now quite definite 
 on the subject. He was, naturally, not satisfied with 
 either party. His ardent temperament and his mother's 
 influence inclined him to one side, his masterful nature and 
 practical sense to the other. But he had a horror of senti- 
 mentality, and a fear of being governed by the emotions to 
 which he was peculiarly exposed. He dreaded the philan- 
 thropic cant of one faction and the patriotic cant of the 
 other. His own inclinations were aristocratic rather than 
 democratic. He attached more importance to justice than 
 
 89
 
 go The Ford 
 
 to liberty. He felt that if he must choose between the stupid 
 party and the silly party, — as a cynic has named them, 
 — he could hope to guide stupidity more easily than silli- 
 ness. His own convictions might perhaps be described as 
 a combination of feudalism and socialism. He had inspir- 
 ing dreams of a beneficent Imperialism, carrying order into 
 the tangled places of the earth, and free from the taint of 
 commercial greed. With this aspiration for the destiny of 
 his race the bourgeois and timid benevolence of Liberalism 
 was scarcely in harmony. And he had accordingly decided 
 to cast in his lot with the Tories. 
 
 It was certainly no matter of regret to him that his 
 political creed was the one approved by Stella Gleddayne. 
 She took a considerable interest in politics, and had engaged 
 in several discussions on public matters when he had been 
 at the Ford. He frequently went there now, being 
 encouraged thereto by Paul Gleddayne, who had become 
 a constant visitor, returning every few weeks. Lord 
 Gleddayne seemed to rely on him for assistance and advice 
 a good deal. And the old man had actually grown 
 quite amiable in his demeanour towards Ralph, and seemed 
 willing enough to let him come to the house. 
 
 Ralph liked Paul, as he. got to know him better. Yet 
 there was always a sense of hesitation, almost of mistrust 
 in his inward attitude. But he did not give many thoughts 
 to Paul, his mind being more occupied with Stella ; and 
 he was chiefly glad of her cousin's visits to the Ford 
 because they gave him a pretext for going over there. 
 
 A few days after his conversation with his father he was 
 riding home from hunting. He had been on the further 
 side of the Banks and was making for Roatebridge, the 
 river at the Ford being impassable at this season. As he 
 approached Willerstone his heart leaped, when he saw 
 Stella riding along the lane in front of him. Stella had
 
 The Old Order and the New 91 
 
 practically given up hunting since her brothers died, but 
 she occasionally pottered about as an onlooker when the 
 hounds were out. She found that a day's absence in the 
 hunting field made her father anxious, so she never went 
 out for more than an hour or two, and did not take part in 
 the run. 
 
 Ralph rode on and joined her. Stella greeted him with 
 the usual somewhat reserved friendliness he was accustomed 
 to. He thought the reserve had grown a little lately, and 
 wondered why. He could not blame himself, for he had 
 never given her the smallest hint of his passion for her, — 
 a passion which was becoming daily stronger. He had 
 loved her from their first meeting. But he had sufficient 
 sense to see that she was not the least in love with him, 
 and he had set himself to wait, with dogged patience and 
 determination, for the day which he was resolved should 
 come. He was not a vain man. But he had always been 
 accustomed to get what he wanted in life, and he meant to 
 do so in this case. 
 
 He gave her a few particulars of the day's hunting, which 
 had been unsatisfactory, and then enquired if Paul were at 
 the Ford. 
 
 " Not just now," she answered. " We expect him next 
 week. My father really can't do without him for long. 
 He is a great help." 
 
 " I suppose he is a capable man of business," Ralph re- 
 marked. 
 
 "He is clever at most things," Stella said. "It is 
 sad to think how his talents have been wasted. He 
 ought to have been in Parliament. It is ridiculous that the 
 services of such men should not benefit the country." 
 
 " He always scoffs a little at politics." 
 
 " That is his way. He scoffs at most things outwardly, 
 and is full of glowing enthusiasms which he is ashamed to
 
 92 The Ford 
 
 show. You have no idea how different that man is from 
 what he seems. His kindness and patience are quite out 
 of the common." 
 
 This warm advocacy irritated Ralph a Httle, he hardly 
 knew why. 
 
 " I always resent the sort of superior person who thinks 
 the destiny of his country beneath his notice," he remarked 
 rather bitterly. 
 
 " Paul is not the least like that," she said, with a shade 
 of anger in her measured gentle voice. 
 
 " Oh no," he answered, " I didn't mean to imply that 
 he was." 
 
 " It sounded a little Uke it," she said. 
 
 Ralph looked at her in some surprise. She seemed 
 almost irritable. He had noticed this several times lately 
 when he talked to her. 
 
 " I daresay I am too much in earnest about things," he 
 said. " I confess that I have found Mr Gleddayne's con- 
 tinued mockery of political life a little out of place some- 
 times. It seems to me that a business which affects the 
 happiness of millions of people can't be so very ridiculous." 
 
 " It is because it is so important to him that he pretends 
 not to take it seriously," she answered, rather coldly. Her 
 tone seemed to imply a certain lack of understanding in 
 Ralph and nettled him. 
 
 " I don't see the use of pretending," he said. " I like 
 people to say what they mean." 
 
 " A truly British sentiment," she commented, with a 
 smile. He suddenly realised that he had spoken with un- 
 necessary warmth. 
 
 " It is the old question of Roundheads and Cavaliers," 
 he said, "a matter of heredity and environment. You and 
 Mr Gleddayne are Cavaliers, and laugh over the things 
 you take seriously. I am the Roundhead. It takes
 
 The Old Order and the New 93 
 
 generations to grow out of that kind of seriousness. My 
 forbears were Nonconformists, and attended Chapel 
 regularly, and feared for their souls. Your ancestors have 
 been learning to laugh for centuries." 
 
 Stella was always disarmed when he spoke in this way. 
 A sympathetic light made her eyes very soft as she looked 
 at him for a moment, but she hastily averted them. He 
 noticed this with some surprise, as she was not often re- 
 luctant to meet his gaze. 
 
 " I hope you won't believe that we love our country the 
 less for all our frivolity," she said. " Look at it ! It is 
 worth loving." 
 
 She waved her hand as she spoke, indicating the land- 
 scape around. It was early Spring, and the hedges and 
 woods were growing warm with that mysterious haze of 
 brown and purple that tells of countless new buds. There 
 seemed to be a subdued flush in everything, as if the life- 
 blood were moving in Nature's veins. Dusk was coming 
 on. From anxious sheep came distant, plaintive bleatings, 
 answered by the quavering treble of early lambs. The 
 smoke above the roofs of cottages hung still and blue 
 against the brown background. Labourers were leaving 
 the fields, and here and there an earth-stained figure 
 moved. There was a pervading sense of new-born life. 
 
 " Yes," said Ralph. " One would like to serve one's 
 land if one could get the chance." 
 
 " You will easily get the chance," she said. 
 
 " But one has to wait, and I am impatient." 
 
 " Are you training for it in any way ? " 
 
 " Not since I came back from my travels," he answered. 
 " They were part of the education. But I have done nothing 
 definite since. I should like an unpaid Secretaryship or 
 something of that kind." 
 
 " I might be able to help you to one. My uncle, Lord
 
 94 The Ford 
 
 Claydon, has much influence and many important friends. 
 I will ask him." 
 
 " It is good of you," he answered. He was not quite 
 sure if he altogether liked the idea of petticoat influence, 
 though he was glad to feel that she was interesting herself 
 in him. And yet this ready friendliness filled him with 
 despondency. It seemed to make any warmer feeling so 
 improbable. 
 
 " I understand there is likely to be a vacancy in this 
 Division before long," he said. "I wonder who the party 
 will choose for their candidate." 
 
 " I think my uncle has one ready," she said. 
 
 This was rather a shock. 
 
 " I suppose it chiefly depends on him," said Ralph. 
 
 " Yes," she answered. " And I don't think it is right, 
 though he is my uncle. But the Association always seems 
 to do what he advises, more or less. The poor old feudal 
 system isn't quite defunct." 
 
 " It never will be defunct," he said. " The people will 
 always have their natural leaders. We haven't yet dis- 
 covered the system that brings all the best men to the 
 front. But the system we have might be worse. In old 
 warlike days it was the war captains who led. Now it is 
 the business captains. Perhaps in time we shall find a 
 still better qualification. But we must have a better age 
 to deserve it." 
 
 "Then you don't think the commercial age the best 
 possible ? " 
 
 She spoke in a half-mocking tone, which nettled him 
 again. 
 
 " If I did, I should have Uttle ambition to go into the 
 dust and din of politics," he answered. " I daresay you 
 think it is all cant, but I do want to push the world a little 
 further on. You belong to a different order. You pro-
 
 The Old Order and the New 95 
 
 bably feel hostile to us who are coming in where you once 
 stood, I sympathise with you very much. Your romantic 
 associations appeal to my imagination in quite an absurd 
 degree. But you belong to an age that is past. Your 
 class are only sad and beautiful ghosts, — I mean of course 
 you few remaining survivors of the real old order. You 
 must either pass away — or earn new life by merging your- 
 selves with us." 
 
 She glanced at him, and thought what a strong, resolute 
 face he had. He looked handsome with the blood flushing 
 his boyish countenance as he talked, — for he was very 
 young in appearance. She shuddered slightly. It was all 
 true ; he represented the conquering race and she the 
 conquered. And she honoured him for his frankness, his 
 plain-speaking that spared no truth to her or himself. 
 The ordinary young parvenu, brought up as he had been, 
 would certainly not have tried to give the impression that 
 he was in any way different from the older race. His 
 insistence on the distinction seemed to tell of a rather 
 noble pride. Yet it was a little absurd, considering 
 how classes had always intermingled in England and 
 how long it was since there had been anything in the 
 shape of a real aristocratic caste. But these new 
 Plutocrats were the reigning caste now, and his pride 
 in their duties rather than their privileges seemed rare 
 and fine. 
 
 Then she was annoyed with herself for letting him talk 
 to her like this. Why could they not keep on more 
 distant terms ? 
 
 They were approaching the park gates. She half 
 resolved to ask him to come in to tea. It was a long ride 
 home for him, all the way round by Roatebridge. But 
 something seemed to restrain her. 
 
 " Good-night," she said, pulling up her horse. " Come
 
 96 
 
 The Ford 
 
 over to luncheon one day next week. Paul will be with 
 us again." 
 
 He was a little disappointed at not being asked in. He 
 looked at her proud gentle face, with the fearless eyes that 
 regarded him in such regal fashion, and he felt a desire to 
 bow this pride, to make her own that he was master. This 
 was coupled with a ridiculous longing to kiss the hem of 
 her garment, which annoyed him considerably. He made 
 no attempt to shake hands with her, but merely lifted his 
 hat and jogged away along the darkening road. 
 
 Stella rode slowly through the park. She was un- 
 wontedly perturbed. Somehow she always talked more 
 intimately with this young man than she intended. He 
 seemed to impose his will on her, to compel her to give 
 and receive confidence, to open new points of view which 
 she was obliged to see. Already he had modified quite a 
 number of her opinions, and she resented it. She did not 
 mind learning from Paul. Paul was so kind and gentle 
 and modest, and there was such sympathy between them. 
 She was thankful to think that he would soon be back. 
 She missed him when he was away. There was something 
 in his weary, smiling eyes, his laugh, half mockery and half 
 regret, that always seemed to cheer her up. He made her 
 feel on better terms with herself. But this masterful young 
 man irritated and excited and frightened her. She feared 
 him, — she hardly knew why, — and there was such a strange 
 yearning in the fear. 
 
 She trotted on. The deer began to look ghostly in the 
 gloom. The leafless trees were black against a faint sky. 
 Puddles gleamed weirdly before her in the road, and the 
 half-seen, distant house was already a-twinkle with lighted 
 windows. The restful sense of home-coming soothed her. 
 And again she thought of Paul — kind old Paul.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE FUTURE AND THE PAST 
 
 Paul Gleddayne came again to the Ford the next week, 
 and the same day Lord and Lady Claydon arrived on a 
 visit. Lord Claydon was a dull, colourless, painstaking 
 man, who was universally respected, — and deserved to be. 
 He was like a virtuous nobleman in a Sunday-school story. 
 He was stout of body, courteous in manner, and of copious 
 though somewhat hesitating utterance. 
 
 The morning after his arrival he spent in earnest con- 
 versation with his brother-in-law. And, after luncheon, he 
 suddenly turned to Paul and said, " Ahem ! My dear 
 Gleddayne, I have been discussing with my brother-in-law 
 the possibility of an immediate vacancy in the parliamentary 
 representation of this division of the county, — ahem, — 
 and we — er — er — that is I have suggested, — ahem — and 
 he has expressed his approval, that — er — er — that I should 
 sound you — er — er, — ahem, that I should enquire whether 
 there would be any possibility — er — er, whether you would 
 feel inclined to stand, supposing a vacancy were to occur." 
 
 Paul hesitated and looked round at the company. Lord 
 Claydon had felt that his wife's advice might help him in 
 discussing the matter, and so had preferred to make his 
 suggestion before her, and consequently before Stella. 
 Paul's eyes instinctively sought Stella's, and he saw very 
 plainly there what her wishes were. He turned to Lord 
 Claydon. 
 
 G 97
 
 98 
 
 The Ford 
 
 " Thank you very much," he said. " I am rather old to 
 begin learning a new trade. But I should like to go in 
 for politics. Only, unfortunately, I can't afford it." 
 
 " The first objection won't hold," said Lady Claydon in 
 her decided way. " You know more about political 
 questions than most politicians. I have read many articles 
 of yours in the Reviews, and though I don't always agree 
 with your opinions, I can see you know what you are 
 writing about. I only object to your tone, which is too 
 sarcastic and flippant. Don't talk like that in your 
 speeches. The British voter don't like it. Give him 
 intellectual suet-pudding — and plenty of it." 
 
 " And as to money," said Lord Gleddayne, " don't think 
 of that. I always wished and hoped that a Gleddayne 
 would sit for this part of the county. If you'll do it I will 
 pay your expenses." 
 
 " It is very kind of you," said Paul. " Of course I can 
 only say yes." 
 
 "Then — er — that is settled," said Lord Claydon. "I 
 shall bring forward your name at the next meeting of the 
 Association. And it is a name which — er — er — they are 
 not likely to refuse. Ahem, by the by — I — er — er — I 
 presume your views are sounds 
 
 " Quite, I believe," said Paul, smiling. " I am firmly 
 convinced of the destiny of the Anglo-Saxon race, and I 
 will do all I can to assist it in its task of making the world 
 comfortable and ugly. At the same time, I love our 
 picturesque old abuses, and I will try to prevent the forces 
 that are sweeping them away from moving too fast. In 
 short I am sound — but moderate." 
 
 " Quite right, quite right," said Lord Claydon, to whom 
 the last sentence was alone intelligible. Lady Claydon 
 frowned, and Stella smiled. 
 
 " I hope you are going to take the thing seriously," said
 
 The Future and the Past 99 
 
 Lady Claydon severely. " It will probably be rather a 
 tough fight, and only a strong candidate would have much 
 chance of winning. Many people would vote for a 
 Gleddayne who wouldn't vote for anyone else. That was 
 why we thought of you." 
 
 " I take it very seriously," said Paul. " But I am not 
 going to talk cant. There's a cant of the Primrose League 
 just as much as a cant of the Nonconformist conscience, 
 and the one isn't in my line any more than the other. I'll 
 do my best to win the seat, and I'll do my best to support 
 the Party, if I do, as long as they run straight. But if you 
 want a candidate who will think that one side is white and 
 the other side black, you had better choose someone else." 
 
 " I should very much prefer to have a candidate who 
 did think so," said Lady Claydon. " It simplifies matters. 
 But unfortunately you are the best candidate available." 
 
 With which parting shot she closed the engagement, 
 and retired from the room. The rest of the company also 
 went their several ways. 
 
 A little later Paul went out and found Stella on her 
 favourite corner of the terrace, looking over the parapet 
 into the valley. Paul liked to see the picture she made in 
 this setting. Her slender figure erect, her hands resting 
 on the lichen-patched, weather-stained stone, the old dusky 
 red house behind, the noble prospect in front. The sight 
 of her here always gave him an impression of royal dignity, 
 as of a queen contemplating her domain. Paul could 
 hardly be said to be in love with her. He rejoiced in her 
 companionship, he relied on her sympathy and quick 
 perception. But he had no desire to marry her. Such a 
 thought would have been as absurd, from his point of view, 
 as if he were merely a ghost contemplating this fair mortal. 
 Earthly love, the life of hope and fear, — these things had 
 died. But she was his ideal, she personified perfect
 
 loo The Ford 
 
 womanhood. And once or twice, still, the faint voice of 
 old passions disturbed his breast for a moment in her 
 presence. His self-control was so strong that perhaps the 
 passions were a good deal more alive than he knew. 
 
 " I expect you will haunt this bit of the terrace when 
 you are dead," he said, with a smile, as he approached 
 her, 
 
 " I hope I shall," she answered. " I could wish for no 
 better hereafter. The dear old place ! " Her eyes moved 
 lovingly across the house and garden, and Paul felt a tinge 
 of sadness. Why was it destined that in the ordinary 
 course of things he must eventually expel her from the 
 home she loved ? Well, at any rate, it would only be for 
 a short time, and she 77utst come back some day, unless 
 any unlikely accident prevented it, or unless he married 
 and had children. The idea of marrying, now that he had 
 known her, touched his sense of humour and restored his 
 cheerfulness. 
 
 " I hope you approve of my decision about the Parlia- 
 mentary vacancy," he said. 
 
 " You need hardly ask that," she replied. " I am more 
 than glad to think that your great talents will have a chance 
 of being useful at last. I only wish it could have happened 
 twenty years ago." 
 
 He smiled, a little wearily as usual. 
 
 " I am too much of an optimist to admit that it would 
 be better if anything had happened otherwise than it has," 
 he said. " Of course, even if I get into Parliament now, I 
 am too old to do much there. One cannot begin a career 
 at fifty. But one may be able to do a little and make a 
 small scratch on the face of time perhaps." 
 
 " Oh don't talk like that," she exclaimed. " It makes 
 me sad and angry. You will do well, I know, and make a 
 big name yet. But I wish you had\\dA a chance sooner. I
 
 The Future and the Past i o i 
 
 don't believe in fatalistic optimism any more than in fatalistic 
 pessimism." 
 
 " No," he said, with the same smile. " But you will, if a 
 day ever comes, which I trust never will come to you, 
 when you shall have outgrown hope and shall need 
 a substitute for it. I should like you to learn the 
 courage and joy this doctrine of inevitable rightness in 
 things gives one. But I don't want you to learn it by 
 suffering." 
 
 " I think it is only by suffering that we learn anything 
 worth having," she said. 
 
 " Oh no, not only by suffering. By joy as well. The 
 thing is more complete than you think." 
 
 " You certainly have a big creed — for a man who pro- 
 fesses to have none," she said. " What arc you going to 
 do this afternoon ? " 
 
 " I am going over to Thirlwood Church," he answered, 
 rather shortly. 
 
 Stella's face flushed a little. 
 
 " Are you going to tell her about this new prospect ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 It was the first time she had ever referred to Blanche 
 Harrold in conversation. Paul glanced at her and saw 
 her eyes watching him with a shy, tender sympathy. Again 
 he felt a little troubled. He realised the romantic halo 
 which her mind threw over his old love affair, and he 
 remembered how blurred and incomplete and bedraggled 
 the real romance had been. But Stella understood more 
 than he knew. 
 
 " Forgive me," she went on gently. " I know you 
 loved her. Don't analyse love. The gold separates from 
 the alloy by itself." 
 
 " I thought you did not believe in love," he said. 
 
 " I don't believe in the alloy. But I do in the gold.
 
 I02 The Ford 
 
 There is little enough of it. But I know you well enough 
 to know that there must have been some in yours." 
 
 " Thank you, Stella," he said quietly. She smiled her 
 answer, and he turned away with an absurd desire in his 
 heart to kneel down and kiss her feet. 
 
 Stella leaned on the parapet, and watched him go down 
 the hill to Derrick's cottage and the boathouse, a httle way 
 below the ford. He moved briskly, with a firm step, and 
 made her think of a lean, grey old hunter she had lost, her 
 first and best beloved horse. There was the same suggestion 
 of patience and understanding, the same power of giving 
 confidence in this grizzled man. But her heart was aching 
 for him a little. It seemed sad that his life had been so 
 empty, that he should never have had a chance of work fit 
 for his powers. She wished she could make him happy. 
 And then the thought of him was such a protection against 
 that disturbing young man at Thirlwood. Paul and she 
 met on an equality. But she was vaguely conscious, she 
 hardly knew how, that Ralph had it in him to master her, 
 and for the first time in her life she felt afraid. Was she, 
 too, to be overpowered by this passion she had defied and 
 belittled ? The thought troubled her, and her spirit clung 
 to Paul for safety. 
 
 Meanwhile Paul had reached the water-side and sum- 
 moned the aid of Derrick with the punt. 
 
 " It would save you a lot of trouble if his Lordship were 
 to build a bridge, Derrick," he said, with a laugh. 
 
 " Aye, it would save me trouble," Derrick answered, 
 grimly solemn as usual. " And trouble enough it would 
 bring to the Gleddaynes. When the Lord gave them the 
 ford to keep, He didn't mean they should shirk the job 
 that way. No, Mr Paul, you and Miss Stella are the last 
 left, and when you go they may do what they like, it 
 matters nought to me. But no Gleddayne will bridge
 
 The Future and the Past 103 
 
 the ford. I believe the river would drown him if he 
 tried." 
 
 " You have a great belief in the river's intelligence," said 
 Paul smiling. 
 
 " I've lived on its bank for more than fifty years, and I 
 know it like a living creature," answered Derrick. I hear 
 strange voices on it of nights. I think sometimes that it's 
 dead and gone Gleddaynes that I hear talking. They seem 
 sad like, as if they feared a coming change. Oh, Mr Paul, 
 why didn't you marry and have sons of your own to carry 
 it on ? Why don't you marry now, before it is too late ? I 
 beg your pardon for talking like this. Sir, but I can't abear 
 to think of the old place going to strangers. And Miss 
 Stella can't save it from doing so, for I suppose it's a 
 stranger she will have to marry." 
 
 He stopped somewhat abruptly. But his words set 
 Paul's brain tingling. Were they a veiled allusion to the 
 possibility of Paul marrying Stella ? Derrick was a licensed 
 person and ventured sometimes on topics no ordinary 
 servant would have dared to approach. If he had this 
 thought in his mind, was it in the minds of others ? Was 
 it a possible thing ? 
 
 He thrust the thought angrily aside as he stepped out of 
 the punt on to the bank. 
 
 The pale gold of spring sunshine lay across the stretch 
 of dull green before him, gilding the grass that had not 
 yet recovered from winter's decay. He raised his head, 
 and saw Stella still gazing over the parapet. Then he 
 turned from the present to the past and stepped out over 
 the sunny meadow. 
 
 He had not been to Thirlwood since Blanche Harrold's 
 death. He had no desire to meet Richard Harrold, and 
 felt shy of going, though he had often longed to do so for 
 the sake of seeing Ralph. As he passed on, the vision of
 
 104 The Ford 
 
 Ralph grew stronger in his mind, the vision of Stella fainter. 
 He hungered for the love of this son as ardently as if Ralph 
 had really been of his blood. The thought that Ralph was 
 Blanche's son seemed to bring him very near. Only he 
 could save Paul from feeling so childless and alone. 
 
 The churchyard, surrounded by the few scattered 
 cottages which made the hamlet of Thirlwood, lay a short 
 distance outside the park gates of the Hall. A magnificent 
 yew stood close to the little church, and two fine elms just 
 beyond the wall helped to add to the air of sheltered and 
 shaded peace that hung about the place. There were 
 snowdrops in flower close to the elm-trees, and a thrush 
 was singing on a branch of one of them. The bare twigs, 
 swollen with buds, stood out against a blue sky, dappled 
 with flying white clouds. 
 
 Paul had really come, as Stella had guessed, with a vague 
 idea of communing with the dead woman's spirit. She 
 had been ambitious for him in old past days, had fretted 
 against the limitations and starvations of his life. He 
 thought of her very tenderly as he groped among the grassy 
 mounds looking for her grave. He had been disappointed 
 in her in some ways, disillusioned about her. But all that 
 was forgotten now, and he only remembered the love that 
 had bound them. 
 
 He could not find the grave, and there was no one to ask. 
 He wandered aimlessly about the little churchyard, wonder- 
 ing which it might be. Presently he turned round the 
 corner of the church and found himself face to face with 
 Richard Harrold. 
 
 Harrold, burly and ruddy as usual, was standing by a 
 grave on which the turf had evidently been but recently 
 laid. He looked across it at Paul. The gleam of hatred 
 that Paul remembered so well flashed from his eyes. But 
 it died away, and a strange expression followed it. The
 
 The Future and the Past 105 
 
 curious liking which Paul had always inspired in him 
 was fighting with the hatred. He admired Paul's easy 
 air of good-breeding, his refined appearance, — admired and 
 envied. And envy with Richard Harrold was no small or 
 ungenerous feeling. 
 
 " I am looking for Mrs Harrold's grave," Paul said. " I 
 hope you will not think I am intruding." 
 
 He spoke gently but firmly. Harrold appreciated his 
 tone and wished he knew how to imitate it. 
 
 " She lies between us," he said in his gruff, blustering 
 way. " As to intruding — it's a little late to think of that. 
 God knows which of us she belongs to now." 
 
 "There is nothing to mark the grave," Paul said, half to 
 himself. 
 
 " Oh, don't think I am neglecting it," Harrold exclaimed 
 with some irritation. " I am going to do all that is 
 necessary. But the ground had to settle a bit first. There 
 will be a stone here soon. Would you like to suggest an 
 inscription for it ? I suppose you think you have a voice 
 in the matter." 
 
 Paul stared at him vaguely. His thoughts were far 
 away, and he hardly heard Harrold's words. He remained 
 silent. Harrold regained his self-control. 
 
 " Look here, Gleddayne," he said in a more measured 
 voice, " I've hated you as I never hated anyone in my life. 
 I know everything ; you need not trouble to deny or 
 expostulate, — you'd be bound to do that, whatever the 
 truth was. You came sneaking into my house and you 
 stole my wife's love. Oh, I know I never had it. She 
 took me for what she could get, for the money and all that 
 it brought, and then thought she needn't give anything in 
 return. They have a fine sense of justice, these women ! 
 Well, she's in this grave now, and I forgive her, though I 
 have often cursed the day when I first met her. But I
 
 io6 The Ford 
 
 forgive her. And I'm not unjust. I don't altogether 
 h\3ime you. I've had my temptations and I can allow for 
 others. But I can't have you coming into my affairs again. 
 I warn you that I'm going to set my son against you. I'm 
 not going to let you steal his affections too. I know you're 
 fond of him. You were his mother's lover, and he gets 
 the transferred affection. I daresay you wish he was your 
 son and not mine. But there's no doubt on that point, 
 I'm thankful to say. You'd like to get him, — but by God, 
 you shan't. This is going to be my turn. You've made 
 me suffer many a time, and I'll make you suffer now. For 
 I know I can, — you're not cold and heartless, blackguard 
 though you are. I'm not afraid to tell you. You'll do 
 your best to win him over, and you'd like to tell him what 
 I've said to you now. But you can't, because you'd have 
 to tell him the reason and the meaning of it all. He's my 
 son and not yours. So hands off ! " 
 
 Paul had stood listening wearily during this outburst. 
 At the end of it he looked up at the angry man opposite 
 with a deprecating movement. 
 
 " Don't let us have harsh words kere, Harrold," he said. 
 
 Harrold laughed. 
 
 " You always were a damned cool fish, Gleddayne," he 
 said, in a tone in which irritation and admiration were 
 mixed. " Well I won't say any more, not over the dead, 
 anyhow. But remember I mean all I /lave said." 
 
 Paul's hands were trembling nervously. He seemed 
 husky, and made one or two efforts before he could speak, 
 
 " I am not going to answer you back," he said in the 
 same gentle voice. " I have neither the wish nor the 
 intention to rob you of a scrap of your son's affection. 
 There is no reason why he shouldn't like me without 
 depriving you in any way. I hope he will go on liking me, 
 whatever you may say or do,"
 
 The Future and the Past 107 
 
 " No," said Harrold brusquely. " I can't trust you. 
 I'm a rough fellow and I haven't got your cursed polished 
 ways. They won his mother and they'd win Ralph. And 
 he'd soon begin to contrast me with you, just as she did. 
 I warn you to leave him alone. I can't prevent your 
 meeting him. But you can keep pretty clear of him when 
 he goes over to the Ford. If I find the friendship growing 
 between you, I'll stop it once for all." 
 
 " How ? " asked Paul sternly. 
 
 " Oh, I know how. I could make him wish never to 
 speak to you again. And I will, if I'm driven to it." 
 
 "Very well," Paul answered listlessly. "And just let 
 me say one thing, Harrold. It isn't possible of course for 
 me to say anything that would satisfy you. But I will say 
 this, that I regret nothing — except having hurt you. I do 
 regret that, and you can believe it or not as you like. If 
 these were fighting days I'd give you any satisfaction I 
 could. As they aren't, I can say no more." 
 
 " I know you're not a liar, Gleddayne," Harrold said. 
 " I believe you. It doesn't make any difference. I'm not 
 taking up the conventional ground of the injured husband. 
 I don't go in for rot of that kind merely because it might 
 be e.xpected of me. But I have endured contempt and 
 bitterness and scorn for years, — and you were the cause of 
 it. That's over now, and I say no more about it. But — 
 never again." 
 
 His voice, though rough, had grown almost friendly. 
 Paul was fascinating him. He felt it. A strange thought 
 crossed his mind, how he would have liked Paul for a 
 friend if Blanche had never existed. But another thought 
 stung him angrily, that Paul would never have given him 
 friendship, and that it was only for Blanche's sake that he 
 had ever associated with him. And the hatred surged 
 back once more.
 
 JO 
 
 8 The Ford 
 
 But, at this moment, Ralph appeared coming round the 
 end of the church. He started as he saw the two figures. 
 Then he suddenly came forward with a glowing light in 
 his face. He stood at the end of the grave looking at the 
 men on either side. 
 
 " I am so glad," he said. " I was afraid you did not 
 like each other. I am sure Mother is glad too." 
 
 Paul looked at him with dazed eyes. He was almost 
 like a reproduction of the dead woman, with the bright 
 colour on his fresh young face. The likeness had never 
 appeared so strong before. 
 
 Suddenly Richard Harrold turned abruptly away, shaken 
 with sobs. It was piteous to see. Ralph sprang to his 
 father's side and took him by the arm. The great burly 
 man recovered himself with an effort, and the stripling led 
 him away in silence. Paul stood, with a pale and quiver- 
 ing face, looking helplessly at the grave before him. The 
 sunlight gleamed through the branches of the elm-trees, 
 and the thrush sang joyfully.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 SUNDAY VISITORS 
 
 Mr and Mrs George Merrow lived in Kensington, — that 
 stronghold of Taste and Culture, — and on Sunday afternoons 
 they remained at home to receive visitors. Literary men 
 looked in for a chat with the Editor. And ladies who 
 loved literature, or loved literary men, or loved George 
 Merrow, brought a strange variety of costumes and 
 manners. No one loved poor Mrs Merrow, not even 
 George. Indeed he loved her less than most others. But 
 she had been a trial to him. 
 
 She was a rather good looking woman, the daughter of a 
 prosperous grain-merchant of Evangelical principles. These 
 she had inherited,, in conjunction with a very comfortable 
 fortune. She was under the mistaken impression that she 
 cared for and understood literature, and it had always been 
 her ambition to marry a poet. As George Merrow was the 
 sort of man whom any woman could have married who 
 took the trouble to try, she had captured him with ease. 
 She had bought the Cross-bench Revieiv for him, and 
 wished him to conduct it as a sort of monthly Church 
 newspaper. This he refused to do, but his natural bent 
 leading him to make it of the safe, sober, unexciting type 
 beloved by the upper middle class, it had been a remark- 
 able success. It was always careful of the proprieties, and 
 its politics, like Paul Gleddayne's, were sound and moderate. 
 It made many dull people imagine that they were think- 
 
 109
 
 1 1 o The Ford 
 
 ing when they read it, — and, naturally, it had many 
 readers. 
 
 Mrs Merrow, on the whole, was satisfied, though she 
 would have liked the Review to testify a little more 
 vigorously. But she was pleased to regard herself as a 
 literary character, which it enabled her to do. She had 
 only two other ideas. One, that the world was a very 
 wicked place ; the other, that she was a very good woman. 
 With the world's wickedness she associated the de- 
 linquencies of her husband, which she reproved frequently. 
 She compelled him to remain at home and visible on 
 Sundays, so that he might not be led into temptation else- 
 where. To Merrow, who hated society and small talk, 
 and did not at all enjoy being worshipped by aesthetic 
 females, these Sunday afternoons were a penance, except 
 when he could get some man he liked away to the 
 smoking-room downstairs. This was allowed, somewhat 
 reluctantly. 
 
 One Sunday, towards the end of February, Merrow 
 entered the drawing-room about four o'clock, the hour at 
 which visitors usually began to arrive. He brought a 
 distinct odour of strong tobacco with him. Mrs Merrow 
 confronted him with a severe face. 
 
 " I really think you might change your coat after smoking 
 that detestable pipe, George," she said. "It is rather hard 
 on my visitors." 
 
 " I am sorry, my dear," he said meekly. " I will do so 
 another time." 
 
 " Well you need not look so sulky about it," said his 
 wife pettishly. " It really is hard that I mayn't ask for the 
 smallest tidiness or decency without its being a grievance. 
 Ycu refuse to go to Church on Sundays, in spite of the 
 shocking example to the servants ; and you try to make 
 my drawing-room smell like a pot-house."
 
 Sunday Visitors i i r 
 
 " Oh for God's sake don't nag at me any more," ex- 
 claimed Merrow in a fretful tone. 
 
 " That's a nice way to speak to your wife ! " said Mrs 
 Merrow, severely. " To say nothing of the terrible 
 blasphemy. Uj)on my word George, you grieve and 
 terrify me. I tremble for your soul." 
 
 " Well, if the worst happens to me in the next w'orld 
 you will have got me pretty well into training here," Merrow 
 answered, with a bitter laugh. " The professional Hell will 
 have to do its best to beat the amateur." 
 
 Mrs Merrow was speechless with horror at this out- 
 rageous language. And before she had time to recover 
 her powers of denunciation a visitor was announced. 
 
 The first arrival was Mr Buntin, a prominent journalist. 
 He was a stout, confident man, who believed that what 
 he did not know was not worth printing in any newspaper 
 worth more than a halfpenny. He had a superficial 
 acquaintance with several branches of knowledge, and 
 a still more superficial acquaintance with various great 
 people. On the strength of these facts he regarded 
 himself as a scholar and a man of fashion. In this dual 
 capacity he roused the keenest admiration in Mrs Merrow, 
 who knew little of either scholarship or fashion. 
 
 He greeted Mrs Merrow with ponderous gallantry and 
 her husband with a slightly patronizing salutation. 
 
 " I hope your book is going well, Merrow," he said. 
 " I liked it, I really did." 
 
 " I am sure lam delighted to hear it," Merrow answered, 
 in a tone which might have implied either grateful humility 
 or contemptuous sarcasm. Mr Buntin took it for the 
 former. 
 
 " It's the first of your poems I have read, to tell you 
 the truth," he said. " Of course I know the magazine 
 you conduct so admirably, but I haven't really had time
 
 1 1 2 The Ford 
 
 to read any of your original work before. One gets so 
 many of these little books of poetry. There really ought 
 to be a tax on the minor poet. I don't know what he 
 exists for." 
 
 " To exercise the wit of the minor critic, perhaps," said 
 Merrow. Mr Buntin looked at him sharply. He could 
 hardly believe it possible that anyone could be treating hi77i 
 with levity. Minor critic indeed ! 
 
 " Of course I wasn't disparaging your poetry," he ex- 
 plained graciously. " I hope to review it very shortly, 
 and shall have much pleasure in saying that in many ways 
 I consider it very good indeed." 
 
 "That will indeed be kind," said Merrow gravely. Mr 
 Buntin took the remark very seriously, and turned to Mrs 
 Merrow with the glowing complacency of a man who feels 
 that he has shown benevolence to a fellow-creature. He 
 proceeded to give her much information and instruction, 
 which she received far more gratefully than her husband, 
 who had retired into a corner, quivering with suppressed 
 anger. He was easily hurt, — as she knew and Mr Buntin 
 did not. That was why both of them hurt him so often. 
 
 More visitors arrived, and Mr Buntin was soon the 
 centre of an admiring throng ; a position he particularly 
 liked. He favoured the company with much criticism of 
 current art and literature, which was generous, considering 
 what a large price he could command for his criticism on 
 paper. One rash young man ventured to question one of 
 his judgments. The ladies held their breath in alarm, but 
 Mr Buntin calmly proceeded in his remarks, without a 
 break in his measured, authoritative tones. It was really 
 a most impressive ceremony. 
 
 But there was a diversion caused by the arrival of Mr 
 Walter CoUidge, the celebrated actor, and his wife. The 
 lamp of journalism was outshone by the lamp of Thespis.
 
 Sunday Visitors i i j 
 
 Mr Collidge, though no longer in his first youth, was very 
 beautiful. He was dressed in clothes made by an artist 
 among tailors, and he looked like a stage duke. He had 
 the elaborate manners of stage dukes, — which he imagined 
 to be those of dukes in real life ; though this showed a 
 certain want of observation, curious in an actor, for he 
 knew several real dukes and was much patronized by a 
 section of the aristocracy. His wife was dressed in 
 clothes that positively screamed for admiration, they were 
 so beautiful and costly. She screamed a little herself, as 
 she liked as many people as possible to hear all that she 
 said. They had just been lunching with one of the 
 aforesaid dukes, and she announced this, as she greeted 
 Mrs Mcrrow. 
 
 "I am afraid we can only look in for just a minute," 
 she said. " We are going on tea with dear Lady Jane 
 Milkins, — you know her? No ! What a pity, you would 
 love her, she is so sweet. But \ve must go on there very 
 soon, and I wish we could stay, but we were delayed after 
 luncheon, — we have been lunching with that dear Duke 
 of Holborn, you know, and the Duchess had got such a 
 nice party, — Lady Barnet, and Lord St Pancras, and Sir 
 John Roddle, — all our friends in fact — and we simply 
 couldn't get away sooner, they wouldn't let us go, and at 
 last I had to promise to lunch there again to-morrow in 
 order that we might be allowed to escape. It really is 
 rather a bore, we have so nmch else to do, but it was so 
 sweet of them, we really couldtit refuse." 
 
 She continued in this strain for several minutes, while 
 Mrs Merrow remained frigidly unmoved. She disapproved 
 of Mrs Collidge, whom she suspected of having been none 
 too virtuous before she married Mr Collidge ; and she 
 was irritated by this display of acquaintance with 
 people she did not know anything of. She was rather 
 
 H
 
 1 14 The Ford 
 
 a great lady in her own set, and did not wish to be a small 
 lady in any other. But she felt that she would have liked 
 to have a duchess or two on hand, wherewith to retaliate 
 on Mrs Collidge. It was the more irritating because there 
 had been days when Mrs Collidge was very glad to be 
 invited to her house. And now she made a favour of 
 coming, and plainly gave it to be understood that she 
 considered the people she met there dowdy and second- 
 rate, — people who were great folk in their own circle, and, 
 if more dowdy, were certainly less second-rate than herself. 
 Altogether Mrs Merrow was annoyed. And yet it was 
 a slight satisfaction to feel that people who were sought 
 after by dukes came to her house. So she always kept 
 up her connection with the Collidges. 
 
 Mr Buntin had been a little startled by the sudden 
 interruption. He was enjoying himself very much, and 
 did not like having his audience disturbed. But, slowly, 
 the awful fact dawned upon him that he was no longer the 
 chief centre of attraction. The ladies were beginning to 
 gather excitedly round Mr Collidge, and Mrs Collidge 
 flashed about in the throng, monopolising the attention of 
 one man after the other, while she continued to pour out 
 vivid details of the natural history of dukes. It is true that 
 Mr Collidge, — with a professional regard for the power of the 
 Press and an eye for future " notices," — greeted Mr Buntin 
 with a warmth that almost dispelled the interesting and 
 tragic melancholy of his own habitual bearing. His rich 
 deep tones rolled out an impressive salutation and he flung 
 out his hand, as if offering Mr Buntin a valuable present. 
 Mr Buntin grasped it, and responded with a skilful blend 
 of cordiality and patronage. His " How are you, 
 Collidge ? " was encouraging, almost paternal. He was not 
 going to be beaten out of the field without an effort. The 
 ladies gathered round the two lions, thrilled by the spectacle.
 
 Sunday Visitors 1 1 5 
 
 " I had the pleasure of seeing your performance the 
 night before last," said Mr Buntin. 
 
 " My dear fellow, why didn't you tell me you were 
 coming? I would have given you a box," replied Mr 
 Collidge. "And I hope you liked our show." 
 
 " I daresay it is absurd in these days, but I make it a 
 point always to pay for my own seat at the theatre," 
 replied Mr Buntin pompously. " If I attended in the 
 capacity of a critic I should not hesitate to accept a seat, 
 as I consider that there is an obligation on both sides in 
 those circumstances." 
 
 " Yes, of course, — no doubt," said Mr Collidge. " But 
 I hope you were pleased with what you saw at the 
 Parthenon." 
 
 " I always thought that was such a good name you gave 
 your theatre," said Mr Buntin. " It is so difficult to find 
 a name for a theatre. I have frequently been consulted 
 on the point, and I have always combated the idea that 
 the name of the theatre should indicate the class of play 
 presented there. You see I have always been opposed to 
 too great specialisation in plays. I believe you might have 
 a much more varied repertoire than is customary. Now 
 you, my dear Collidge, might give us Shakespear, and then 
 Ibsen, and then something light and French in character, 
 and then " 
 
 " And then stand on my head and spin plates," in- 
 terrupted Mr Collidge, with affected geniality. He wanted 
 to talk about himself, and very much objected to listening 
 to Mr Buntin's pompous discourses. " I think your views 
 are well worth considering," he went on. " But do tell me 
 how you liked our show." 
 
 " I was very much interested to see what I consider a 
 distinct revival in the type of play you represent," Mr 
 Biantin began, in his measured voice. He had remained
 
 1 1 6 The Ford 
 
 immovable and rigid while Mr Collidge was speaking. " It 
 is curious to observe how literary fashions come round 
 again. Now, if there was one kind of play which one 
 would think was defunct, it is the Robertsonian comedy — 
 the cup-and-saucer type of play as it has been termed. 
 The influence of Ibsen " 
 
 (( 
 
 Oh ! Ibsen's dead and buried/' interrupted Mr 
 Collidge angrily. " He was tried and he doesn't pay, and 
 never will over here, at any rate." 
 
 " The influence of Ibsen," resumed Mr Buntin, im- 
 passively "was very strongly marked in all the attempts at 
 serious drama which appeared on the stage during the last 
 ten years. But it is evident now— — " 
 
 Mr Collidge could stand it no more. Here were at 
 least half a dozen ladies waiting to hear him talk about 
 himself. He was burning to talk about himself. And 
 here was this fellow prating about Ibsen and the serious 
 drama. He resolved on heroic action. He decided to 
 defy the power of the Press. He laughed irreverently. 
 
 " How splendid you would be as Polonius, Buntin," 
 he said. The company laughed too, and he turned away, 
 and struck attitudes to his own satisfaction, and murmured 
 interesting information about himself into sympathetic 
 ears. Mr Buntin remained like a pillar of salt, — red salt. 
 At last he came to life again, strode majestically through 
 the throng, shook hands with Mrs Merrow, and left. The 
 whole thing was Homeric. 
 
 George Merrow, meanwhile, had been standing help- 
 lessly in different parts of the room, making the most 
 laborious eff"orts to be polite. The conjoined attractions of 
 Mr Buntin and Mr Collidge had absorbed the attention of 
 so much of the company that he had to some extent 
 escaped notice, and had not been obliged to engage in 
 conversation. He did not dislike conversation ; even
 
 Sunday Visitors 117 
 
 enjoyed it in small and select companies. But to 
 provide small talk for people he hardly knew was a pain- 
 ful effort ; and he hardly knew most people. He wished 
 Miss Ollsen were there. And yet he was almost glad 
 she was not, he would have felt so self-conscious under 
 his wife's eyes. 
 
 Suddenly he perceived that Mrs Collidge was drawing 
 near him. Of all kinds of conversation he most disliked 
 gossip about the smart world, a world of which he was 
 totally ignorant. He had already endured the chatter of a 
 lady novelist who, on the strength of a brief entanglement 
 with a profligate Peer, whose acquaintance she had made 
 in a hotel at Brighton, was given to depicting life in the 
 highest circles in a fashion which convinced and delighted 
 readers who did not know them. But Mrs Collidge he 
 could not stand, and he turned and fled to the door. His 
 wife was looking another way, and he escaped. And on the 
 stairs, coming up with the servant, he met Ralph Harrold. 
 
 " My dear fellow," he exclaimed. " For God's sake don't 
 go up into that bear garden. Come this way with me." 
 
 He dragged him downstairs and into his own room, 
 comfortable, quiet, lined with books. He gave Ralph a 
 cigar and hastily filled his pipe. Then with a deep sigh of 
 peace regained, he sunk into a deep arm-chair. 
 
 " You've had an escape," he said. " There's culture 
 unchained in the drawing-room. Critics, actors, literary 
 ladies, God knows what. Now let us be human again. 
 Tell me all about yourself. Why didn't you come before ? 
 I've been waiting for you. By Jove, I have been hoping 
 to see you again." 
 
 " It's awfully good of you," was all Ralph could say. 
 He was overwhelmed by such a welcome from this poet, 
 whom he had worshipped at a distance. He blushed with 
 pleasure, and looked very wholesome and manly and young.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 TEA 
 
 " I HOPE you aren't in a hurry," Merrow said, puffing out 
 smoke. " I shall have to take you up and introduce you 
 to my wife before you go, but we'll stay here and enjoy 
 ourselves for a bit first. You won't mind enduring that 
 business upstairs for a few minutes ? " 
 
 " I should enjoy it. But I should like a talk with you 
 first." 
 
 "You're made different from me if you would enjoy it. 
 But tell me all about yourself. I've heard of you from 
 Paul Gleddayne, now and then. You hunt and amuse 
 yourself. Are you doing anything serious ? " 
 
 " I haven't done much yet, but I hope to begin soon. 
 I want to stand for Parliament. There's likely to be a 
 vacancy in our part of the world before long, and I should 
 like to stand then. I hear rumours that the leading people 
 have got another candidate, but I daresay they're not true. 
 It would be a great chance for me. Meanwhile I have 
 been offered an unpaid secretaryship to the President of 
 the Local Government Board, and I'm going to take that." 
 
 " Capital. I wish you were on the other side. I'm not 
 much of a party man, — I'm only a Republican and an 
 Anarchist. But of course these views aren't practised just 
 yet, so I leave them alone and support the Liberals, who 
 are disgusting, but there is more hope of change from them 
 than from the other brutes." 
 
 iiS
 
 
 lea 119 
 
 " Well I'm in with the other brutes," said Ralph laughing. 
 " I should like to revive the feudal system. As I can't 
 do that, I'm going to try and practise one of its principal 
 features, anyhow." 
 
 " How are you going to do that ? " asked Merrow, look- 
 ing at his eager face with a friendly smile. 
 
 " Well, you see, one of the worst parts of our modern 
 life is that the governing classes are too much apart from 
 the governed. The old feudal baron lived among his de- 
 pendants and shared their life. The modern captain of 
 industry lives in what the house agents call " an ideal 
 residential neighbourhood," while his workpeople live in a 
 neighbourhood that isn't ideal and oughtn't to be resi- 
 dential. I daresay you know that our family business was 
 turned into a company, but my father is chairman and I 
 am a director, so we have a good deal to do with it still. 
 Well, our people all live not very far from the works, which 
 are in the East End. I'm going to take a house there, and 
 live among them when I am in town. Do you approve of 
 the idea ? " 
 
 Merrow was recovering from the unusual fit of genial ex- 
 pansiveness which had seized him at Ralph's first appear- 
 ance. He was beginning to be a little ashamed of his 
 effusive greeting and anxious to get behind his familiar wall 
 of cynical roughness. But his eyes shone very tenderly as 
 he listened to Ralph's project. He puffed violently at 
 his pipe. 
 
 " Not bad," he said. " What put the idea into your head ? " 
 
 " Oh, Mr Gleddayne suggested it." 
 
 " Ah ! he has a way of suggesting ideas to people," 
 grunted Merrow. 
 
 " Yes, he is a remarkable man," said Ralph, almost 
 sadly. 
 
 " Hullo. What's the matter ? "
 
 I 20 The Ford 
 
 " Oh nothing. I'm puzzled about Mr Gleddayne. He 
 fascinates people. He fascinates me. But I'm puzzled." 
 
 "You don't trust him, I see," said Merrow bluntly. 
 " You may." 
 
 " Where women are concerned ? " 
 
 " I think so — now," he answered, with some hesitation. 
 
 " But not once ? " 
 
 "Come, young man, you mustn't cross-examine me like 
 that. Paul Gleddayne's one of my oldest friends, and a 
 real good fellow. He has his weaknesses, but they are not 
 mean or ungenerous ones." 
 
 Merrow wondered what the young man could be driving 
 at. Suddenly it flashed across his mind that Mrs Harrold 
 had clearly been an old friend of Paul's. He knew 
 something of Paul's reputation, and he read some of the 
 thoughts in Ralph's mind. A sense of infinite pity and 
 sadness gripped him. 
 
 " I am quite sure of that," Ralph said. " But if you 
 saw his influence growing very strong with a woman you 
 were fond of, would you like it altogether ? " 
 
 " I don't think I should mind," Merrow answered. " I 
 don't think there would be much harm in his influence. 
 He has a good heart. I should be a little afraid of his 
 damned attractions if I wanted to attract the lady myself. 
 But he is an old fogey now, and not so attractive as he 
 
 was." 
 
 " Well you know him better than I do. But I should 
 be a little afraid of that sceptical, cynical humour of his. 
 He makes a jest of everything, sacred or otherwise." 
 
 " I expect that's only because some things are so sacred 
 to him he doesn't care to show what he really feels about 
 them." 
 
 " Yes, that's what Miss Gleddayne says, but I don't feel 
 sure of it," said Ralph seriously. Then he suddenly
 
 Tea r 2 i 
 
 recollected that Miss Gleddayne had played no part in the 
 conversation hitherto, and he blushed furiously. Fortu- 
 nately it was growing dark, and the blush was not very 
 visible. But Merrow had shot a curious glance at him, 
 and then continued smoking his pipe in silence. 
 
 The dusk rapidly deepened, and only the glow from the 
 fire-place illumined the room softly, touching with colour 
 the faces of the two men, Merrow's rugged and shaggy, 
 Ralph's smooth and firm. Merrow's constitutional shyness 
 melted under the kind screen of the darkness. The 
 thought that Ralph was also a lover, and not perhaps a 
 happy one, moved his heart. He talked openly and 
 confidentially to the lad, showing him his mind as he had 
 not shown it to many people. Ralph led him on with 
 carefully chosen sentences, but mainly listened, delighted 
 with the eloquent expression of thought and feeling and 
 scholarship that proceeded continuously from the lips of 
 this brusque and silent man. They talked of many topics, 
 both profoundly interested. Merrow surprised Ralph by 
 the depth of disappointment and regret that he gradually 
 revealed. Ralph had regarded him as prosperous, 
 successful, hectoring. He found him humble and 
 disheartened. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose people consider me a successful man," 
 he said, in his curious abrupt intonation. " I am well-to- 
 do, and I have a certain amount of power, and people 
 make a fuss with me who are made a fuss of by the rest of 
 the world. But I have sold my birthright. I haven't 
 followed the path I started on. There was a creature 
 upstairs just now who called me ' a minor poet.' Well, I 
 daresay he was right. After all, there have only been 
 about a dozen major poets since the world began. But 
 one knows how small an achievement it would have taken 
 to earn a higher title from an ignorant journalistic slop-
 
 122 The Ford 
 
 taster like that. I have failed. I haven't touched men's 
 hearts or fired their dreams. You liked my poetry before 
 you knew me, but few have heard of it outside a certain 
 literary set. And, though I want to please scholars, I 
 don't want to be the poet of a literary set. No, I'm a 
 failure. And I believe I am a might-have-been. Paul 
 Gleddayne says there are no might-have-beens, that a man 
 does what he is fitted to do, I can't say that is the 
 comfortable doctrine of a successful man, because he 
 certainly hasn't been successful ; but I think he is wrong." 
 
 " Surely you are speaking in a moment of despondency," 
 said Ralph. " You seem to me to have done so much." 
 
 As he spoke the door opened, letting in a broad shaft of 
 light from the hall, and in the doorway stood a fair-haired 
 little girl. She ran forward and flung herself upon Merrow 
 as soon as she could make him out. He put his arm 
 round her and turned to Ralph. 
 
 " I am a cowardly brute," he said. " I sit and grumble, 
 and I have got this. And poor old Paul, who won't 
 grumble, is quite alone." 
 
 Ralph moved uneasily. A good many feelings were 
 stirring in him. The little girl's voice broke the silence 
 which followed Merrow's speech. 
 
 " Mother says it's past six and the tea is cold and Lady 
 Staneby is here," she said. 
 
 "Tea! Good Heaven, I forgot all about it. And it's 
 so bad for me when it has stood a long time. And I 
 ought to have had it earlier, as likely as not it will upset 
 my digestion. Let's go up at once, Harrold. This is 
 really most annoying." 
 
 Ralph was amused at the sudden change from philo- 
 sophy to fussiness, — amused and half-regretful. They 
 started to go upstairs, the little girl clinging to her father's 
 hand.
 
 
 lea 123 
 
 " I wish these people wouldn't come," said Merrow 
 fretfully. " She's a friend of Paul Gleddayne's, and she 
 seems to like coming to see us, and she's a nice woman 
 and a very beautiful one, even now. But I haven't much 
 use for these smart folk. I can't chatter smart talk — 
 though I must say she's better than some of the literary 
 ladies. But I shall have to talk to her while I'm drinking 
 my tea, and I don't believe that ever agrees with me. I've 
 got a dreadfully weak digestion. But still she is worth 
 looking at — like some rich, dreamy, tropical flower." 
 
 They reached the drawing-room door and entered. Mrs 
 Merrow's other guests had departed, and she was alone 
 with a lady in a wonderful hat, and clothes that subtly 
 combined simplicity and richness. The stranger turned 
 her head as the two men and the child entered, and it was 
 a shapely head, crowned with golden brown hair. She 
 was evidently far from being a very young woman. But 
 her eyes were like sapphires and her complexion as delicate 
 as a child's, though there were wrinkles and crow's-feet in 
 the soft pale skin. It was a curious face, attractive by 
 reason of its frank, kindly honesty, startling because of its 
 voluptuousness. It gave Ralph a mingled impression of 
 gentleness and sensuality. He instinctively felt that she 
 was a woman with what is politely called " a past." Yet 
 there was a daintiness, a refinement, almost a sadness in 
 her countenance and bearing that went far to redeem the 
 faint hint of animalism. 
 
 Merrow introduced him, in his awkward fashion, to both 
 ladies. Mrs Merrow gave him a somewhat frigid bow, 
 which she believed to be dignified and was merely stiff. 
 Lady Staneby flashed a smile at him with her red mouth 
 and beautiful eyes, and then turned away to talk to George 
 Merrow. 
 
 Ralph plunged into conversation with Mrs Merrow
 
 1 24 The Ford 
 
 She thawed a little towards him, — most women did, — but 
 she was not very genial. 
 
 " You are a friend of Mr Paul Gleddayne's," she said. 
 " He is a great friend of ours." 
 
 Somehow Ralph was beginning to find these continual 
 references to Paul irritating. After all, he did not know 
 Paul so very intimately. Paul had been kind to him 
 when he was a boy, and was amiable now, but Ralph always 
 had a vague suggestion of mistrust regarding him, and was 
 by no means pleased at the intimacy between him and 
 Stella, who kept Ralph rather at arm's length, but was on 
 the easiest terms with the older man. Of course Ralph 
 felt that he liked Paul and regarded him with interest as 
 his mother's friend, — but he was just a little tired of 
 hearing his name. 
 
 " He was a friend of my mother's," he said. " I do not 
 really know him very well, though he has always been kind 
 and friendly." 
 
 Lady Staneby turned towards him, overhearing the 
 remark. 
 
 " Are you the son of that pretty Mrs Harrold ? " she 
 asked. " I so often heard Mr Gleddayne speak of her. 
 He is an old friend of mine too, so I have always been 
 interested in her, knowing what great friends they were." 
 
 Lady Staneby's voice was rich, soft, and plaintive. 
 Each word seemed a caress that might easily have become 
 a sob. It moved Ralph. He looked into her beautiful 
 blue eyes and she smiled at him sympathetically. Of 
 course no woman except Stella could have any attraction 
 for him, he was sure of that. But he wished Stella was 
 not quite so distant and discouraging in her friendly 
 indifference. He felt something stir in his veins as he 
 gazed at Lady Staneby, and he blushed a little. 
 
 "My mother died a few months ago," he said.
 
 Tea 125 
 
 " I am sorry," she answered simply. And again her soft 
 rich tones stirred him a little. Her eyes smiled kindly 
 into his, and he looked down. He was not usually unable 
 to face anyone's gaze. 
 
 She rose to go. 
 
 "I think it is horrid of you not to come in sooner, 
 Mr Merrow," she said. " I have had a delightful talk with 
 Mrs Merrow, but I feel that you have neglected me, all 
 the same." 
 
 Merrow murmured some incoherent remarks, but he was 
 evidently at her mercy. She punished him with a sweep 
 of her blue eyes, disturbing for a married man in the 
 presence of his wife. Then she bade goodbye to Mrs 
 Merrow, gave her hand to Ralph, whose own tingled as 
 he touched it, and swept to the door with a faint rustle 
 of soft stuffs and a delicate trail of scent. Something 
 bright and fragrant seemed to go with her out of the 
 atmosphere of the room. 
 
 " She wears wonderfully," said Mrs Merrow, in her acid 
 voice. " She can't be so very far off forty." 
 
 But even Mrs Merrow did not feel unkindly towards 
 her. She was one of the eternal children, who seem to 
 appeal to the guardian instincts of both men and women. 
 
 "She is very beautiful still," said Ralph, who was 
 feeling uncomfortably disturbed. 
 
 " People say dreadful things about her, but I don't 
 believe them," said Mrs Merrow, with an attempt at the 
 tone of a woman of the world. Lady Staneby was the 
 only woman she had ever been known to stand up for. 
 
 " Whatever she did, she would have an excuse with that 
 husband," remarked Merrow. 
 
 " Yes — husbands are an excuse," said Mrs Merrow drily. 
 Ralph laughed, and she was obliged to soften. 
 
 " Is her husband a trial ? " he asked.
 
 126 The Ford 
 
 " He lives most of the year in Paris with some dreadful 
 woman, and leaves his wife alone over here," said Mrs 
 Merrow. " We went to stay with her once, — such a lovely 
 old place on the south coast. I believe there are some 
 rather doubtful people there sometimes, but she was most 
 careful, and we met some nice people and had a pleasant 
 time." 
 
 " The only drawback to it was that she let the tea stand 
 too long," said Merrow meditatively. 
 
 "Well, I hope you'll honour my father and me by 
 coming to stay with us before long," said Ralph. " And 
 you shall make the tea when and how you like." 
 
 Both expressed pleasure at the thought. He took his 
 leave, and went out into the damp street, struggling not 
 to let the image of Lady Staneby conflict in his mind with 
 the image of Stella. But Stella had been making him 
 rather angry lately, and the thought of Lady Staneby was 
 sympathetic and soothing. 
 
 " What a nice young man ! " said Mrs Merrow. She 
 had never been satisfied with so many people in one day 
 before. " It will be very pleasant if he does ask us to 
 stay. 
 
 " Yes," said her poet husband, dubiously. " But I hope 
 it will be all right about the tea."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 TAME VOLCANOES 
 
 It was quite true that the idea of living among the men 
 employed in the making of Harrold's Household Soap had 
 been suggested to Ralph by a hint of Paul Gleddayne's. 
 Paul had dropped the remark, one day, that employers 
 ought not to live cut off from those they employed, and 
 had suggested the image of the feudal Baron among his 
 dependants, which had caught Ralph's fancy. He had 
 added, in his cynical way, that even if anything of the 
 kind were attempted it would probably not do the slightest 
 good ; that any rich man trying it now would be so 
 conscious of his own virtue as to become a prig, while 
 the men would regard him with contempt. But Ralph 
 had been impressed all the same, and though he had said 
 nothing, he had resolved to give the idea a trial. 
 
 He had secured a house in the eastern part of the 
 Commercial Road, some time before he visited Merrow. 
 The soap-works were in Limehouse, and though the 
 workers were a good deal scattered they all lived more 
 or less in that district. 
 
 He did not say much on the subject to his friends, 
 
 though there were a few to whom he confided his idea. 
 
 Several clever and ambitious young men, who had been 
 
 his intimates at Oxford, had passed some time in various 
 
 settlements in different parts of the East End, and his 
 
 determination roused no particular surprise among them. 
 
 127
 
 128 The Ford 
 
 After all, he was not in London much, so it was no great 
 sacrifice he proposed to make. He certainly did not 
 regard it as a very heroic step himself. Still he would 
 be there as long as Parliament was sitting. 
 
 In a very few days after his visit to the Merrows he had 
 completed his furnishing. He gave up his old rooms in 
 St James's, and moved to the Commercial Road. The 
 manager of the soap-works was extremely annoyed. The 
 officials in the City office were amused. The men at 
 the works were absolutely indifferent. He began to 
 be glad he had not talked very much about his ex- 
 periment. 
 
 One day he received an invitation to tea from Miss 
 Ollsen, whom he had met at the Ford. She remarked in 
 her note that Stella was in town and would be present. 
 He at once accepted the invitation. 
 
 Miss Ollsen lived in a pleasant flat near Regent's Park, 
 and her windows showed an expanse of tree-tops and a 
 breadth of sky not often granted to dwellers in London, 
 When Ralph arrived it was still daylight, and Paul 
 Gleddayne was sitting by a window with Stella, looking out 
 at the darkening scene. In another group, round the tea- 
 table on the further side of the room were Miss Ollsen, 
 George Merrow, Lady Violet Tedburne, and Montagu 
 Rinde. Ralph chatted with Miss Ollsen and Merrow for 
 a few minutes while he had tea, and then went across and 
 joined Paul and Stella in the window. Monty Rinde's 
 shrill voice rang through the room. He was monopolising 
 the greater part of the conversation. I^ady Violet, delighted 
 at meeting an " interesting person " in George Merrow, 
 plied him with foolish questions, whenever a pause in 
 Rinde's strident monologue allowed her to do so. Merrow, 
 in ordinary circumstances, would have been furious with 
 both. As it was he did not like them. But he was in
 
 Tame Volcanoes 129 
 
 such a happy mood at being in the presence of Miss 
 Ollsen and away from his wife, that he would have tolerated 
 anytliing. And Miss Ollsen was happy, partly in seeing 
 him, partly, perhaps, in giving him proof of what exalted 
 friends she had. 
 
 Paul welcomed Ralph with quiet but unmistakable 
 cordiality, Stella with her usual half-indifferent friendliness. 
 Ralph felt inclined to be ruffled. Somehow Stella's manner 
 towards him always irritated him a little now. She hardly 
 seemed even to take him seriously. He took himself rather 
 seriously and resented this. Moreover he was very much 
 in love with her and wanted to gain her affection and 
 esteem. There was a touch of the desire for mastery. 
 He had been indulged all his life and was accustomed to 
 get what he wanted. In this case there did not seem the 
 smallest prospect of his getting what he wanted. And 
 though he was not a conceited youth and had not expected 
 an easy surrender, still he could not brook the idea of failure 
 in anything on which he had set his will. And, with the 
 added suspicion that the lady was inclined to laugh at 
 him, came a strong inclination to wrath against her. Also 
 he attributed the disposition to laugh, the hardness which 
 his wounded feeling imputed to her, to Paul's cynical 
 influence, at any rate in a measure. And consequently he 
 was inclined to be a little bristly towards Paul. He had 
 not seen very much of him lately. They had met occa- 
 sionally at the Ford, but Paul had been more distant and 
 less inclined for his society than formerly. Ralph was not 
 of a suspicious nature, but he could not help wondering 
 whether Paul were trying to influence Stella against him, 
 and were a little ashamed of it. He had plenty of the 
 absurd Gleddayne pride, and might not think Ralph a 
 good enough match. And Paul's heart was yearning 
 towards him, like a father's for a son. And Stella was 
 
 I
 
 130 The Ford 
 
 fluttering and quaking and glowing as he approached her. 
 And so the world goes ! 
 
 " I have never had a chance of thanking you for getting 
 Sir John Freyton to take me as his secretary," Ralph said 
 to Stella, " It was very kind of you to take so much 
 trouble." 
 
 "/didn't do it," she said. "It was Paul. He knew 
 Sir John and spoke to him on the subject." 
 
 Ralph turned to Paul with warm thanks. He felt a 
 glow of shame for the hard thoughts that had hovered 
 through his mind. 
 
 " Oh, it was nothing," Paul said. " Sir John is an old 
 acquaintance of mine, and as he heard that I was thinking 
 of standing for Parliament, he asked me if / would care to 
 go as his secretary for a bit, to learn the game. But I am 
 too old, so I shunted him off on you, which was much 
 better for him." 
 
 " I didn't know you were going to stand for Parliament," 
 said Ralph in astonishment. 
 
 " You didn't know the depths of my folly — at my age. 
 However it isn't settled that I s/ia// stand yet. You will 
 probably know all about it soon." 
 
 " I didn't know he had offered it to j'ou," Stella said to 
 Paul. " Surely you have thrown away a good chance — 
 though of course I am delighted that Mr Harrold should 
 have it." 
 
 Ralph compressed his lips. It was evident that Stella 
 regarded Paul as a very much more important personage 
 than he was. However Paul was her cousin — though a 
 distant one. 
 
 " What are chances to me ? " said Paul shrugging his 
 shoulders. " Ralph has a career before him. I have 
 none." 
 
 " I expect you would have taken it, all the same, if there
 
 Tame Volcanoes 
 
 [ ^i 
 
 had been no one for you to give it up to," Stella persisted. 
 It really seemed as if she were purposely trying to make 
 Ralph feel uncomfortable. " And as to a career — well I 
 would stake a good deal on your being a Minister within 
 five years of your getting into the House." 
 
 " God forbid," said Paul, laughing. " I should have to 
 answer questions, x^nd if there is a thing I hate in this 
 world it is being asked questions — even when I know the 
 answer. 
 
 " It is too late to take me in by saying that sort of 
 thing," Stella answered smilingly. 
 
 Ralph listened in silence. They seemed to understand 
 each other very well. He felt as if he were being left out 
 of the conversation, and a shade of anger rose against 
 them both, — anger with a touch of envy. He wondered if 
 he were growing jealous of Paul. It seemed an absurd 
 idea. Yet Paul jarred on him a little when Stella and 
 he talked so easily together. 
 
 Stella apparently felt that he was being neglected and 
 turned to him. 
 
 " So I hear you have really gone to live in the East 
 End," she said. "I think it is very good of you.' 
 
 " I don't see where the goodness comes in," Ralph 
 answered. " I am trying an experiment and looking for a 
 little knowledge. I shall not be there a great deal. 
 Please don't talk of me as if I were a philanthropist or 
 anything of that kind. I am going to make myself quite 
 comfortable, and there will be no sacrifice about it." 
 
 He spoke almost in a tone of irritation. He was not 
 going to be patronised. As a matter of fact he was making 
 a very considerable sacrifice, for he hated living in the East 
 End and did not look forward to the future there at all. 
 But, as Stella thought so lightly of it, he was determined 
 not to appeal to her for sympathy or approval.
 
 132 The Ford 
 
 Paul noticed the tone and looked at him curiously. He 
 also noticed a slight flush on Stella's face. But she did 
 not appear to be surprised or annoyed at Ralph's tone. 
 There was a distinct gleam of pleasure in her eyes. 
 
 Unfortunately there had been a slight pause in the talk 
 among the rest of the party, and Monty Rinde had over- 
 heard the last remark or two. He was feeling a little 
 neglected, for Merrow and Miss OUsen had got into 
 conversation, to which Lady Violet insisted on listening, 
 and all Rinde's strident efforts to capture the leading voice 
 had failed. He therefore turned on Ralph, looking for a 
 new audience. 
 
 " Are you really going to live in the East End ? " he said. 
 " How I envy you. It will be such a rare and curious 
 experience and such an opportunity for studying character. 
 I love studying character." 
 
 " Oh," said Ralph shortly, in a tone that was not 
 encouraging. 
 
 " Yes, I have always felt that I could write a novel," 
 Rinde continued, in loud, bleating tones. " Are you going 
 to write a book ? " 
 
 " No," said Ralph. 
 
 " Oh, then I suppose it is philanthropy. I have a great 
 admiration for philanthropy, though I have not practised 
 it much. I go to some of the meetings Lady Claydon 
 lends her drawing-room for, and I consider that a good 
 deal to do." 
 
 "I should say it was very good of you," said Ralph. 
 His face was flushed with anger. He felt annoyed with 
 Stella for having raised the subject at all and brought 
 Rinde upon him thus. Then he was annoyed with himself 
 for losing his temper, and felt that he was making a fool 
 of himself before her. Mr Rinde went on piercingly. 
 
 " Of course I think it very good of you to do a thing
 
 Tame Volcanoes 133 
 
 like that," he said. " 1 would do it myself if I could, but 
 I have never been able to face the idea of clergymen and 
 district visitors. I could delight in the society of navvies 
 and frolic with bargees, but district visitors ! " 
 
 He paused expecting a laugh. No one responded. 
 Ralph got up, looking very angry and rather handsome. 
 
 " Good-bye," he said to Stella shortly. He nodded to 
 Paul, bade a brief farewell to Miss OUsen and the others, 
 and left the room. Stella followed him with her eyes. 
 Then she turned to Paul and was surprised to see the look 
 on his face. He was gazing at the door through which 
 Ralph had gone with a strange, wistful expression. 
 
 " I am really afraid I offended the gentleman," said 
 Rinde to Paul. " He apparently lacks a sense of humour." 
 
 Stella had never known Paul rude to anyone before. 
 On this occasion he regarded Mr Rinde in silence, for 
 some seconds, with a look of supreme contempt on his 
 face. Then he ostentatiously turned his back on him. 
 
 " What is going on over there ? " called Lady Violet 
 across the room. " Is Monty making a nuisance of 
 himself." 
 
 Rinde had a collection of girl friends, of whom Lady 
 Violet was one, who called him by his Christian name, and 
 treated him like some pet animal. He certainly had his 
 uses at tea-parties and in ball-rooms. 
 
 " I have been irreverent and it is not appreciated," he 
 said sarcastically. 
 
 " Don't let him worry you, Stella," said Lady Violet. 
 " He is quite harmless, but flippant." 
 
 She thought him rather a wit herself. 
 
 Miss Ollsen and Merrow had ceased their conversation. 
 Miss Ollsen was listening. Merrow was apparently in a 
 brown study. 
 
 " I am afraid Miss Gleddayne does not approve of me,"
 
 134 The Ford 
 
 said Rinde, who was becoming rather cross. " She thinks 
 I am a wicked scoffer." 
 
 " You mean that you would like me to think you that," 
 said Stella, who had no intention of taking Monty Rinde 
 seriously. " I will try to do so, — if you will please be 
 wicked — and also scoff." 
 
 Rinde did not like being chaffed. 
 
 " At any rate I know I am not the sort of man you think 
 quite nice^^ he said rather impertinently. 
 
 " Good God ! " exclaimed George Merrow slowly, with 
 the air of one awakening from sleep. " Do you call 
 yourself a 7nan ! " 
 
 There was a prolonged hush. Rinde looked quite 
 disconcerted, for once, Merrow sat and gazed at him, 
 with his hands in his pockets and a puzzled, enquiring 
 look on his face. Miss Ollsen, very red and uncomfortable, 
 murmured " Oh, Mr Merrow," in a reproachful voice. 
 
 Suddenly Lady Violet sunk back in her chair and emitted 
 peals of laughter. Rinde's pale face flushed slightly. 
 
 " Good-bye, Miss Ollsen," he said angrily, " After such 
 a display of manners and of wit I must go. I feel I am 
 not fit for such company." 
 
 He made a jerky bow to the rest of the party and walked 
 through the doorway with his head in the air. Lady 
 Violet laughed uncontrollably. 
 
 " Poor Monty," she gasped. " I expect after this he'll 
 join the volunteers or take to playing golf. I shall suggest 
 the idea to him." 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry if I hurt his feelings," said Merrow 
 awkwardly. " I am afraid I was thinking out loud." 
 
 " My dear Mr Merrow, it's the best thing that could 
 have happened to him," said Lady Violet. " He isn't a 
 bad sort really. But he wants ragging a bit. He's too 
 much of a tame cat. Puss in boots ! That's rather a
 
 Tame Volcanoes 135 
 
 good name for him. I'll try it, the next time he wants 
 suppressing." 
 
 After which highly figurative discourse she summoned 
 Stella to depart, and they went out, accompanied by Paul. 
 
 As the door closed behind them, Merrow caught Miss 
 Ollsen by the hand, and they sat down upon a sofa, side 
 by side. 
 
 " At last, Maud," he said. " What ages since I have 
 been alone with you." 
 
 " Oh, my friend, my friend," was all she could say. 
 
 They were not unconscious in their secret hearts of a 
 certain satisfaction. It pleased their literary souls to find 
 themselves in this desolate and tragic plight. Their love 
 was genuine. But the imagination is a dreadful play-actor. 
 
 Still there was a truer satisfaction in the blessed sense 
 of peace and rest and companionship. They were not 
 made for great passions, and this chain that held them 
 apart did not gall as in some cases, whatever they might 
 like to think. They exchanged confidences. Merrow 
 poured out to her his domestic griefs, the daily irritation 
 of his nagging, sulky, self-righteous wife, the annoying 
 habits of the contributors to his Review, the misdeeds of 
 the printers, everything that worried him, even down to 
 the difficulties with his tea. And she listened with gentle 
 sympathy, and told him of her little troubles, of the parsi- 
 mony of publishers and the dishonesty of critics. And 
 probably Abelard and Heloise, and Paris and Helen, and 
 Anthony and Cleopatra, and all the great famous lovers, 
 talked of just as trivial things. 
 
 The sky grew dark outside and the tree-tops became a 
 black blur in the greyness, and these two sat, hand in 
 hand, and eased their aching hearts, as they had done 
 many times in the years during which their innocent liaison 
 had existed. Perhaps they would hardly have wished
 
 136 The Ford 
 
 things to change now. If Mrs Merrow were dead and 
 they could marry, a romantic sorrow would be gone, and 
 they were of the race that clings to romantic sorrows. 
 When they finally parted, Merrow kissed her once on the 
 forehead, as was his custom, and their joined hands lingered 
 reluctantly. Then he went out with a sigh, which she 
 echoed. Indeed her plight was worse than his, for he 
 went home to his children, even if to his wife also,^while 
 she was left to her loneliness. In great passions or in 
 small the woman usually pays most of the bill. She knew 
 that in a day or two she would probably receive a sonnet 
 on this last meeting, — as on most of the others, — which 
 she would love and cry over. But sighs and sonnets can 
 poorly atone for the lack of the domestic duties and 
 sorrows and joys. 
 
 It is a sad world for lonely women.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 MERRY ENGLAND 
 
 When Ralph Harrold left Miss Ollsen's flat he was not on 
 good terms with himself. He felt that he had behaved 
 rather ridiculously. And he was decidedly annoyed with 
 Stella. Somehow they seemed to get out of touch with 
 each other now. There was always a slight sense of 
 friction between them. And he was certain that in reality 
 they were in sympathy. It was an indescribable pleasure 
 to him to be with her, to see her. To look into her wide 
 fearless eyes, to hear the tones of her low soft voice seemed 
 to bring his spirit so close to hers. Yet her spirit now 
 was always hostile, defiant, fugitive. He could not under- 
 stand, and, as usually happens when we do not understand, 
 he was angry. 
 
 He made for Baker Street station. As he passed under 
 a lamp-post a hansom-cab went by, and a lady inside 
 suddenly leaned forward and bowed to him, with a smile 
 of pleased recognition. Under a marvellous hat he re- 
 cognised Lady Staneby's blue eyes and pathetic, laughing 
 face. The curious sense of disturbance, the movement in 
 his blood, which he had experienced at first meeting her, 
 came back. His brain throbbed for a moment, his present 
 sad thoughts faded, and a wave of exultant expectation 
 took their place. Ralph had lived a somewhat austere life 
 and had not mixed much with women of any kind. This 
 new sensation exhilarated and stirred him. He walked 
 buoyantly again. 
 
 »37
 
 138 The Ford 
 
 He went to Aldgate by the underground railway, think- 
 ing how invaluable such an experience would have been to 
 Dante. It would have supplied at least one new Canto 
 to the Inferno. Then he walked to the tram-car and 
 started on his homeward journey down the Commercial 
 Road. 
 
 Ralph had a fear of patronising the East End. He felt 
 that it would be an impertinence to work up the usual 
 cheap indignation and ready-made pathos and facile satire. 
 He realised that some millions of human beings were 
 living there, to whom life was as dear and as full of interest 
 as it was to him, who probably pitied themselves no more 
 than the average human being at the other end of the 
 town. Yet to a young and imaginative man, for whom life 
 had been made exceptionally soft, who had been accustomed 
 to regard a wish as the almost certain prelude to its grati- 
 fication, the East End was a Uttle depressing this evening. 
 A moist brown fog hung lurking in dismal streets, and 
 crept round the lamps whose very flame looked dirty. 
 The tram-lines gleamed coldly, the gaslight in the cheap 
 shops seemed crude and garish. On the crowded pave- 
 ments was all the restless hurry and fuss of the West End 
 without its variety. There was a depressing suggestion of 
 monotony everywhere in the streets, the houses, the people. 
 Yet it was picturesque enough in its way, and Ralph, whose 
 spirits were good, viewed the scene with interest and a 
 pleased sense of novelty. He felt a little lonely, but 
 refused to yield to the feeling. 
 
 Suddenly a voice from the seat behind him exclaimed, 
 " Hullo, Harrold, what are you doing here ? " 
 
 He turned round to look at the speaker, who proved to 
 be a short, broad-shouldered young man, in rather untidy 
 clerical clothes, smoking a brier-pipe. Harrold recognised 
 an old Oxford acquaintance named Gurdel.
 
 Merry England 139 
 
 " Oh, I'm going home," he said. " I've taken a house 
 in these parts. Do you live down here too ? " 
 
 "St Simeon's Mission, in Limehouse," replied Gurdel. 
 " I was only ordained last year, and I've been down here 
 since. Rum place, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Are you the curate ? " 
 
 "No, we don't belong to the parish church. We're 
 running a show on our own account, of course in harmony 
 with them. I'm second fiddle. The boss is a wonderful 
 chap, Father Winscombe ; was in a cavalry regiment once 
 and a thundering good polo-player. He has a history." 
 
 " Is it a secret ? " 
 
 " I don't know much of it. There was some woman, — 
 and I believe she committed suicide. He nearly did the 
 same, but by God's mercy he fell into the hands of some 
 parson who converted him, and he took orders, and now 
 he's just a stunner. You must come and hear him preach. 
 He'll make you sit up, my boy. We do a lot of street 
 preaching, and it's awfully interesting work. I tell you, it's 
 a jolly fine life we live down here, though it is a bit de- 
 pressing, — so much misery and want and ignorance and sin, 
 But God helps us." 
 
 The mixture of slang and piety amused Ralph. 
 
 " I hope you'll come and dine with me sometimes," he 
 said. "I expect I shall be down here a fair amount." 
 
 " Well, I must say it would be nice to get a Christian 
 dinner again," said Gurdel. " Father Winscombe doesn't 
 believe in pampering the flesh, and of course he's quite 
 right. But I do get a little tired of tea and cold meat, I 
 confess. A bottle of port, and a few fellows to kick up a 
 bit of a row with, is a thought that comes to me in my 
 dreams sometimes. One can't forget all one's old Oxford 
 habits. But what has brought you down here." 
 
 " Oh, I took a fancy to come and live near the works for
 
 I40 The Ford 
 
 a bit," said Ralph carelessly. " We are largely interested 
 in Harrold's Soap-works, you know." 
 
 " Splendid. There are a lot of your fellows belong to 
 our club, and you must come round and pal with them. 
 They're a gentle, kindly lot of blackguards. Drink too 
 much and gamble too much, but I think the salubrious 
 surroundings of Limehouse prevent their getting too up- 
 roarious. We've got some very pretty boxers, too, and I shall 
 be able to show you a nice scrap now and then. I take 
 one or two on myself occasionally, but these East Enders 
 are such light weights and I'm too heavy for them. But it 
 makes them more wiUing to come and hear me preach." 
 
 " I should think it would," said Ralph. 
 
 " Oh, it's all very well to laugh, but it takes some doing 
 to get hold of these fellows, I can tell you. And if some- 
 body doesn't get hold of them, there's no knowing what will 
 be the end of it all. Do you rich people at the other end 
 of the town ever realise what it will be like if a tribe of 
 savages grows up so close to you, — savages with a Board- 
 school education and their brains sharpened enough to 
 question the meaning of things in a lop-sided sort of way } 
 I'm after their souls, but I think there are more earthly 
 reasons for trying to civilize them. But none of you care." 
 
 " I care," said Ralph. " But I want to care in the right 
 way. That is why I came to live down here." 
 
 " Well it will do you no harm. I've been in the East 
 End on and off for three or four years, — I came down 
 before I was ordained, — and I know what an education it 
 is. It's like a Fresher trying to row in a sort of spiritual 
 tub. Are you getting down here? Well I'll get down too 
 and walk home. It isn't much further, and I've had no 
 exercise to-day; been reading the Burial Service and 
 baptising a baby that can't live and had to be seen to in a 
 hurry."
 
 Merry England 141 
 
 They descended from the tram-car and crossed the road. 
 They arrived at the door of Ralph's house, and paused for 
 a few final words, as Gurdel declined an invitation to enter. 
 The yellow gaslights flickered through the brown gloom. 
 Throngs of pale-faced, poorly-clad people hurried past. 
 The tram-cars rumbled and rattled and their bells clanged. 
 Dirty scarecrows of children loitered on the greasy pave- 
 ment, untidy with orange peel and other waste matter. 
 From afar came the faint reek of fried fish. 
 
 Ralph thought of Thirlwood. The commercial age had 
 produced the comfort there and also it had produced this. 
 He wondered uneasily if things were all right. 
 
 The Rev. Charles Gurdel poured out a good many more 
 of the thoughts of an undergraduate, clothed in the language 
 of a schoolboy, and yet curiously ennobled by flashes of 
 devoted earnestness. He was just taking leave of Ralph 
 when suddenly he exclaimed. 
 
 " Hullo, here is Father Winscombe." 
 
 A tall, thin figure stopped short and turned to them a 
 wasted, handsome face, whose lines were almost like scars. 
 Indeed they were traces of warfare, if the contrast between 
 the full-lipped, sensual mouth and the burning, hollow, 
 spiritual eyes spoke truly. These eyes seemed to gleam 
 through the dusk, and in their clear blue depths Ralph 
 caught a fleeting impression of something familiar, he could 
 not tell what. They were like eyes that he knew, but 
 whose he could not remember. Only, these were sterner 
 and more searching. 
 
 " Let me introduce Mr Harrold," said Gurdel. " We 
 knew each other well at Oxford, and he has come to live 
 down here." 
 
 " With what object ? " asked Father Winscombe. His 
 eyes searched Ralph's face gravely, and he spoke with an 
 abrupt directness which savoured of his former profession.
 
 142 The Ford 
 
 " I wish to see something of the men in Harrold's Soap- 
 works," said Ralph with equal directness of manner. " I 
 am a director of the company, and the business used to 
 belong to my father. I wish to know something of those 
 we employ." 
 
 " We'll make you a member of our Club," said Father 
 Winscombe. "You'll find plenty of them there. Are 
 you prepared to do any sort of work down here ? " 
 
 "No," said Ralph. " I shall have plenty else to do and 
 I haven't any vocation for that sort of thing. I don't 
 propose to live here regularly, only to come here when I 
 am in town instead of going to my old rooms in St James's. 
 I haven't the makings of either a missionary or a philan- 
 thropist in me. I shall be delighted to come to your Club 
 if you'll have me on these terms, but I won't come under 
 any false pretences." 
 
 Father Winscombe smiled, a sad, sweet smile that was 
 half professional and half angelic. He seemed made up 
 of opposing forces, and his manner was both autocratic 
 and humble. 
 
 " Perhaps when the clutch of St James is loosened you'll 
 feel more inclined to take up the burden," he said. " There's 
 plenty to be done here, — though no doubt the Devil is just 
 as strong in St James's too. He used to be, when I knew 
 that part of the world, but I haven't seen it for nearly ten 
 years." 
 
 " Don't you ever go away from here?" asked Ralph in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " I have to desert my post for a week or two in the 
 summer, to please my sister," said Father Winscombe 
 abruptly. "The rest of the year I am on duty always. 
 Are you a hunting man ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "So used I to be. It's the one earthly pleasure that
 
 Merry England 143 
 
 ever tempts me now, — the thought of the brown winter 
 mornings, with the moisture on the dead leaves gHttering 
 in the pale sunlight, and the horse eager and alive beneath 
 you at the covert-side. But when one has once known 
 what it is to hunt with God, one wants no other life. Come 
 and try it some day. You'll draw many coverts blank and 
 get many a fall. But you won't be able to leave off till the 
 run is finished." 
 
 He held out his hand with the same wan smile, and 
 grasped Ralph's warmly. There was a certain touch of 
 fanaticism and a vague hint of clerical sentimentalism in 
 his voice and eyes, but the genuine conviction and en- 
 thusiasm far outweighed both, and Ralph was moved deeply. 
 
 " If I ever feel like that I'll come," he said. " But I 
 tell you honestly that it isn't likely. I have my own path 
 to follow, and I don't think it lies that way." 
 
 " Everyone has his own work to do," replied Father 
 Winscombe, " and each has to find out what it is for him- 
 self. I only hope for your sake that you will be guided to 
 that which is the happiest and most satisfying of all. 
 Come, Charlie." 
 
 He passed his arm through Gurdel's, and, with a nod and 
 a smile to Ralph, the two clergymen passed down the murky 
 
 street. 
 
 During the few days of his residence in the East End 
 Ralph had always returned home fighting against a sense 
 of loneliness and a tendency to depression. This evening 
 he entered his house with different feelings. The sight of 
 these two educated men voluntarily devoting their lives to 
 a work so arduous and to surroundings so unpleasing had 
 a tonic effect. He might not agree with their views, nor 
 share their enthusiasm and beliefs. But he felt that they 
 were w^«, and wondered if he were not a paltry and useless 
 creature in comparison.
 
 144 The Ford 
 
 The tram-cars rattled and jingled outside. The hoofs of 
 the horses rang piercingly through the rumble of the wheels 
 and the harsh cries that echoed in the squalid streets. 
 Ralph looked round at his own comfortable room. It 
 was not a beautiful world outside. But it had grown up 
 along with the prosperity of such as he. 
 
 Something was wrong somewhere.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 TWO WORLDS 
 
 A FEW days later Ralph had got home early in the after- 
 noon, and he started to walk to St Simeon's Mission to 
 find his clerical friends. He was beginning to feel a little 
 lonely. He had made his house comfortable, and already 
 one or two men had come down to see him in what they 
 considered his exile. Also he had asked the manager of 
 the soap-works to dinner, a diplomatic move which had 
 conciliated that worthy. But he was beginning to realise 
 that he was living a very long way from most people whom 
 he knew, and for one who had been indulged and petted 
 at home, and ceaselessly amused abroad, this was some- 
 thing of an ordeal. 
 
 He had often thought of his mother lately. She would 
 have been so much interested in his new idea. Whenever 
 the sense of loneliness assailed him his fancy fled to her, 
 as it had done in his boyhood. He realised some of her 
 defects. But words could never tell what she had been to 
 him. 
 
 Then he naturally thought of Paul. He knew his 
 mother had been very fond of Paul. He wished he could 
 feel the same. But somehow the faint distrust, almost 
 dislike, was always there. He did not care to dwell on 
 the idea of his mother's friendship with this man, though 
 no thought of the relations which had really existed between 
 them had ever been allowed to cross his mind. He under- 
 
 K MS
 
 146 
 
 The Ford 
 
 stood that his father did not Hke Paul. He was beginning 
 to know his father better, to draw nearer to him than in old 
 days. He guessed that Richard Harrold had been jealous 
 of Paul. The thought rather disgusted him ; but Paul was 
 the object of disgust. And now Paul was the intimate 
 friend of Stella, whom he loved. And again he felt the 
 doubt. And, moreover, Stella seemed to be drifting more 
 and more out of his reach and he could not help a faint 
 suspicion that Paul's influence, slightly, — and no doubt 
 unconsciously, — contributed to this. 
 
 When he remembered Paul's unfailing kindness and 
 gentleness he was ashamed of his thoughts. Yet he could 
 never quite shake them off. He resolved, with compunction, 
 to invite Paul to come down and dine with him soon. He 
 had rather avoided him of late, and Paul had not seemed 
 to seek him so much as formerly. Ralph was not al- 
 together sorry to think that they might drift further apart. 
 And yet, aching with the thought of Stella as he was, he 
 longed to see anyone who was her friend. He was very 
 angry with her, and as nearly in despair about her as was 
 possible to his nature. Altogether, though he fought for 
 cheerfulness, he was very far from a happy frame of mind. 
 His surroundings did not cheer him much as he walked. 
 It was a fine day, and the sky was blue above the low 
 houses, and pale sunshine poured into the dreary streets. 
 The contrast seemed to intensify the squalor of the neigh- 
 bourhood. There was nothing actually repulsive, only the 
 hopeless, soulless monotony. And this was the best 
 Nature could do for these millions of people. The 
 English race, the race that had grown among trees and 
 rivers and hills, in wild solitudes and remote villages, was 
 breeding now, to a great measure, in these crowded, fester- 
 ing warrens. The old brutal days held nothing worse than 
 this. Would the future hold anything better ? Ralph
 
 Two Worlds 147 
 
 was not sentimental. The business nature was strong in 
 him, and the business nature does not look beyond the 
 surface much. But the touch of imagination he had 
 inherited from his mother, the touch which he had feared 
 and had tried to restrain, rose fiercely now to bid him see 
 that he at least should work for better things. 
 
 He reached St Simeon's Mission and met the Rev. 
 Charles Gurdel on the doorstep. 
 
 " Awfully sorry I can't stop with you now," said that 
 eccentric clergyman, " but I've got to go and read the 
 Bible to a sick old duffer who's as deaf as a post, and I 
 shall have several clergyman's sore throats afterwards and 
 no voice. But Father Winscombe's in the Club, with his 
 sister, who has turned up. She's a ripper, my boy. Let's 
 go round and have a look at her. I've got time to take 
 you there." 
 
 They started to walk, and Gurdel regaled Ralph with an 
 account of a conflict he had had with a Secularist orator 
 the night before. 
 
 " He's an awfully good chap, you know, really," he said, 
 " and we're rather pals. He always says if he had any use 
 for any sort of a parson he'd employ Father VVinscombe and 
 me. If he's ever ill, and at my mercy, I mean to go and 
 sit with him. I know he'd be glad enough, and I'd soon 
 argue some of the rot out of his head. But last night he 
 got excited and was a bit blasphemous, just a shade too 
 much. So I interrupted his speech, and we had ten 
 minutes of as pretty a slanging-match as ever you heard. 
 The crowd was awfully pleased, and when we shook hands 
 at the end, and he told 'em I was the most broad-minded 
 parson he'd ever come across, they cheered us both. It was 
 rather sport in a way. And really we are making head- 
 way here a bit. We had quite a big congregation at the 
 Mission Church on Sunday night. Poor people ! Poor
 
 148 
 
 The Ford 
 
 people ! If you knew how one's heart yearns to them, 
 Harrold." 
 
 " I am beginning to know it a little," said Ralph quietly. 
 
 "Until the day break and the shadows flee away," 
 murmured Gurdel half to himself, with a strange light gleam- 
 ing in his eyes. He was a plain young man, rather grot- 
 esque, but Ralph felt no inclination to laugh. " Here's the 
 Club," he went on. " It isn't a bad sort of shanty. You've 
 just joined in time to go in for our billiard handicap if 
 you want to. We've got some pretty good players here. 
 Some of your soap-boilers would enjoy beating their own 
 Director." 
 
 They went into the Club, which was empty of its 
 members, but the sound of voices came from an upper 
 room. They went there, and found Father Winscombe 
 giving instructions to an official, while a lady stood gazing 
 out of the window, waiting till he should have finished. 
 As Ralph and Gurdel entered, she turned round. It was 
 Lady Staneby. 
 
 Ralph saw in a moment the likeness that had puzzled 
 him in Father Winscombe's face. His of course was wasted 
 and ascetic, while hers was still wonderfully smooth and 
 round, save for a few wrinkles. She had none of his 
 half-fanatical, half-spiritual look. She seemed very much 
 of this world. But she had his vivid, shining blue eyes, 
 like sapphires, and he had her sensual mouth. They were 
 very like, yet very different. 
 
 She came forward, with her friendly, appealing smile, 
 and took Ralph's hand, looking into his eyes. Then he 
 greeted Father Winscombe, who received him cordially, but 
 seemed pre-occupied. 
 
 " I'm glad you've come," he said. " I should like to 
 have had a chat with you now, but I'm very busy and 
 haven't time. I shall hope to see you again soon. But I
 
 Two Worlds 149 
 
 wonder if you'd just walk down to the station with my 
 sister. I don't suppose you have much to do, and it would 
 be very kind of you, for I'm really too much occupied, and 
 she doesn't like walking about here alone." 
 
 Ralph was a little nettled at being treated in this un- 
 ceremonious fashion. Father Winscombe had no right to 
 assume that he was such a very idle person, and he did not 
 see why he should be told off to a job in this way, like a 
 little boy, however agreeable the job might be. But Father 
 Winscombe seemed to take it as a matter of course that he 
 would do what he was asked to do, and had already turned 
 his attention to other matters, which he was discussing 
 with the man before mentioned. And as Lady Staneby put 
 in a few words of grateful acceptance of his escort, — which 
 he had not offered, — in her rich plaintive voice, he could 
 only comply smilingly. 
 
 " Good-bye, dear old Fred," said Lady Staneby to her 
 brother. " I shall come down and see you the next time 
 I am in town, though I am afraid that won't be very soon." 
 
 "Yes, come and see me," said Father Winscombe, rather 
 absently. " It's always a pleasure. Good-bye, dear." 
 
 He turned away to the man once more, and Lady Staneby 
 went out of the room with Ralph. As they descended the 
 stairs he heard her sigh. 
 
 " Do you often come to the East End ? " Ralph asked, 
 after a considerable silence. 
 
 " Not oftener than I can help," she said, with a little 
 laugh. " It's a sort of nightmare to me. But it has 
 swallowed my brother up, and I can't let him slip away 
 from me altogether, though I don't think he'd mind much. 
 He is so absorbed in this wretched work of his. I hope I 
 don't shock you." 
 
 " I am not easily shocked." 
 
 "Well, it does seem dreadful to me. There was my
 
 150 The Ford 
 
 brother, getting on so well in his profession. He was the 
 smartest man in a very smart regiment. And he was a 
 splendid horseman and a beautiful dancer and every woman 
 he met was in love with him, — and he goes and throws it 
 all away for this." 
 
 " He is doing a very noble work," said Ralph, and felt 
 as if he were a trifle sanctimonious. 
 
 " Oh I daresay. Heaven knows I am sorry enough for 
 all these poor creatures. It makes my heart bleed to come 
 down here. That's one reason why I hate it so much. 
 But this place has eaten up my brother, and I am afraid I 
 don't feel sufificiently self-sacrificing to be pleased. I don't 
 suppose he ever cared for me as I have cared for him, — 
 men are like that. But he cared more before he got this 
 religious fit." 
 
 " Have you had such a disappointing experience of men, 
 then ? " Ralph asked smiling. 
 
 " I don't know that I have had much experience of the 
 best side of men," she answered. " I've had lovers enough. 
 And I have a husband. I don't know that any of them 
 have given me a lofty idea of the sex. But my brother ! 
 If you knew how I've looked up to him and worshipped 
 the ground he walked on. I do still, but he repulses me 
 and chills me." 
 
 She turned her mournful blue eyes on Ralph and her 
 soft voice had a pathetic, vibrating tone. She was a 
 wonderfully pretty woman. She looked curiously exotic 
 and out of place in her present surroundings. For, though 
 she was plainly dressed to-day, everything she wore had an 
 indefinable suggestion of taste and refinement and luxury. 
 She moved daintily on the dirty pavement. 
 
 " I expect a big work like this sits heavy on his mind and 
 prevents his expressing what he really feels," Ralph said. 
 
 " Perhaps I oughtn't to complain. And anyhow I don't
 
 Two Worlds 1 5 I 
 
 see why I should inflict it on you. The extent of our 
 acquaintance hardly justifies my confiding in you like 
 this." 
 
 " I thought it was rather nice of you," Ralph answered. 
 He was feeling her charm very strongly, and his brain was 
 unusually perturbed. Lady Staneby smiled. 
 
 " What are you doing down here ?" she asked. " Are 
 you going into the Church ? " 
 
 " Oh no. I'm hoping to go into Parliament some day. 
 I came down here for a variety of reasons, — but chiefly to 
 study some of the problems I shall have to deal with if I 
 take to a political life." 
 
 " I think it is very fine of you," she said, her eyes 
 lighting up, 
 
 " Nonsense," said Ralph, rather brusquely. 
 
 " Well, we won't argue that point," she said, with her 
 winning smile. " Anyhow I am glad you are going in for 
 politics. It is such a splendid thing to have an aim in life 
 and an ambition." 
 
 She sighed. A slatternly, dirty woman, with an ugly 
 child in her bare arms, looked up at her with a sudden 
 flash of admiration, and then shuffled on along the streets. 
 Lady Staneby saw the look, and Ralph thought he detected 
 a shade of pleasure on her face. He was angry, — annoyed 
 by the contrast, which seemed a mute reproach to him and 
 her and their class, — and also annoyed by the thought that 
 her vanity could feed on such poor stuff. 
 
 " You sound as if you were appealing to me for 
 sympathy," he said, rather roughly. 
 
 " No," she said gently. " I don't want to be pitied. I 
 wasn't thinking of myself, but of the men I have been 
 chiefly thrown with. They haven't had much in the way of 
 aims and ambitions — and ideas." 
 
 " Why haven't you chosen your company better?" he
 
 152 The Ford 
 
 asked, half in jest, and yet with a faint tinge of sarcasm in 
 his tone. He was trying to defend himself against the 
 power of her attractions by summoning scornful thoughts 
 to his aid. 
 
 " I don't think I have had a great deal of choice in the 
 matter," she said. " I have never been thrown amongst 
 the people I should have liked best. I don't love my 
 empty, frivolous world. But we go where Fate carries us." 
 
 " I don't believe it," he said. " We go where we choose. 
 If you had really cared for a different life you would have 
 had it. To get it you would have had to make sacrifices 
 and efforts which you probably shirked." 
 
 " You are not a flatterer," she remarked, with the same 
 gentle smile. 
 
 " No," he said. " Forgive me if I was rude. I didn't 
 mean to be. But I expect you are happier in your 
 frivolous world than you would have been in any other." 
 
 " Perhaps," she answered plaintively. " But I rather 
 hope not. Even if I deceive myself as much as you think, 
 I am at least genuine in looking up to those whose world 
 is different from mine." 
 
 Ralph's heart smote him as he listened. She was gentle 
 and humble, and her voice was touching and sweet. But 
 he felt that he was master of himself now. She was a 
 fascinating woman and he liked her very much, but she 
 should not fascinate him against his will. Perhaps he 
 might wish to be fascinated. The thought passed through 
 his mind. 
 
 They reached the dingy railway station and went down 
 on to the platform. It looked very desolate. Lady 
 Staneby shuddered, 
 
 " Thank goodness I shall be back in my own green 
 garden in a day or two," she said. " This place haunts 
 me like a nightmare, for weeks after I have been doWn
 
 Two Worlds 153 
 
 here. It's dreadful to think that human beings should live 
 in such surroundings." 
 
 "Perhaps it is the price that pays for our green 
 gardens," said Ralph. He was still feeling uneasy, — and 
 the thought made him brusque and unexpansive. The 
 fancy was tugging at his mind how delicious it would be to 
 walk in a green garden with this sweet-voiced woman, and 
 he felt like a traitor. 
 
 " I hope not," she said. " I should never enjoy my 
 garden again, if I thought so. Well, here is my train. 
 Thank you for taking care of me. Perhaps you will come 
 and see my garden some day." 
 
 " Thank you, I should like to very much," Ralph 
 answered, not very eagerly. " I must get settled here 
 first, and I shall have to go home for a bit soon. But 
 later on, I should be delighted." 
 
 His obviously defensive attitude pleased and amused 
 Lady Staneby ; and piqued her a little also. 
 
 " Au revoir," she said. " I shall write and ask you 
 before very long, and I know you won't refuse, will you ? " 
 
 Her blue eyes looked pleadingly into his, and her voice 
 was very plaintive. Ralph felt himself blushing a little. 
 
 " I will come if I can manage it, thanks," he said 
 awkwardly. " It is very good of you to ask me." 
 
 Her warm gloved hand rested in his for a minute, 
 before she got into the train. It started, and he was left 
 with a recollected glimpse of blue eyes and a red mouth, 
 that smiled mournfully yet mockingly. He turned and 
 went out of the station, suddenly feeling very lonely.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 DAFFODILS 
 
 Richard Harrold had been by no means pleased at his 
 son's freak for Hving in the East End. It reminded him 
 too much of some of the late Mrs Harrold's sentimental 
 vagaries, which he remembered with annoyance. The 
 whole idea seemed to him ridiculous and unnecessary. 
 He was not in sympathy with many of Ralph's views. He 
 regarded himself as an enlightened and progressive Con- 
 servative, — effecting a compromise between his aspirations 
 after social position, and his practical business-like ideals, — 
 but he did not at all care for his son's Socialistic Toryism. 
 He did not understand it. He could understand a 
 Radical, — would have been one himself, he felt, if he had 
 not prospered in the world. But he did not like any 
 pampering of the working man. Like most of the 
 prosperous middle class, he secretly feared and disliked the 
 working man. He clung to all the ancient theories about 
 the good sense of the trading classes and " the backbone 
 of the country." But he was as blind as the most fossilised 
 old fox-hunting squire to the coming revolution. 
 
 And what really angered him most about the affair .was 
 to feel that it was probably the result of Paul Gleddayne's 
 influence, and certainly in harmony with his views. He 
 had never been able to make up his mind whether Paul 
 was a cynic or a sentimentalist, remembering the many 
 mocking speeches which had puzzled him in old days. 
 
 '54
 
 Daffodils 155 
 
 Even Blanche had been puzzled by Paul, — and sometimes 
 annoyed too. This had pleased Harrold, though, in truth, 
 she was frequently annoyed, and it was no great event. 
 
 It was true that Ralph really did not appear to have 
 seen much of Paul lately. Harrold had watched jealously, 
 and was satisfied that Paul rather avoided Ralph than 
 otherwise, — frightened by his threats, he reflected with 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Moreover Ralph did not seem particularly fond of Paul 
 or anxious to see him. He had been silent and rather 
 depressed of late, after his visits to the Ford. Harrold 
 remembered the old gossip that Stella was going to marry 
 Paul, and, though he did not believe it, he wondered 
 whether it had anything to do with Ralph's mood. Of 
 course he would be glad of anything that might cause a 
 breach between Paul and his son. Yet he did not like the 
 idea of losing Stella as a daughter-in-law. He had 
 succeeded so well in other things. He had reached the 
 elevation aimed at, and for his son to marry into the 
 aristocracy was the natural corollary. It was always done 
 in the successful new families, to confirm their position 
 and to revitalise the impoverished blue blood, — an alliance 
 satisfactory to both sides. And as Ralph had shown 
 sufficient sense and good taste to fall in love with Stella as 
 well, Harrold was really eager for the match. He did not 
 want his son made unhappy, even if thereby he were 
 severed from Paul. Harrold was beginning to grow 
 fiercely fond of his son, after all these years of indifference. 
 But what a nuisance Paul's existence was. Why must this 
 fellow always cross his path ? 
 
 And, all the time, he could not resist the old inclination 
 to admire Paul a little. He wanted his son to hate him — 
 but to be rather like him. 
 
 But his bitterness and wrath against Paul revived from
 
 156 
 
 The Ford 
 
 a fresh cause. Ralph came down from London, and found 
 his father grimly savage. 
 
 " I've got bad news for you, Ralph," he said. " Gawley 
 publicly announced his impending resignation not long ago. 
 I've been writing round and running about to get at every- 
 one I could think of to bring influence to bear on the 
 Association, so that they should select yoti as candidate. 
 And a few days ago the Association met, and selected not 
 you, but, who the deuce do you think ? " 
 
 " I haven't an idea," said Ralph, his face showing signs 
 of disappointment. 
 
 " Paul Gleddayne." 
 
 Ralph stared at him in astonishment. 
 
 " Well," he said slowly, " I never thought of that. But 
 after all, I suppose it is natural." 
 
 Richard Harrold blazed out. 
 
 " Natural ! " he exclaimed. " Natural enough to a sneak- 
 ing, underhand brute like that ! He has got round Lord 
 Claydon, and the old fool has carried the whole thing 
 through. I understand there were a lot of people in favour 
 of choosing you, and you would have had it if Lord Claydon 
 hadn't thrust Gleddayne upon them. Why is that fellow 
 always to cross our path ? " 
 
 A similar question was passing through Ralph's mind, 
 but he gave it no utterance. He only said, " Well, it 
 doesn't matter much. I am quite sure Mr Gleddayne has 
 acted from good motives, — he certainly wouldn't stand in 
 my way without good cause, and it is only natural he should 
 take the chance if it is offered him." 
 
 " Damn him," said Richard Harrold. " I almost wish 
 you'd defy the Association and stand anyhow. You'd get 
 a lot of support." 
 
 " And lose the seat," said Ralph. " No, I shall wait a 
 bit. After all I am not sure that I wouldn't rather stand
 
 Daffodils 1 5 7 
 
 for a working-class constituency, — an East End of London 
 one for choice. At any rate I live in the place, which is 
 some claim." 
 
 He laughed, but he was evidently a good deal dis- 
 concerted and annoyed. His father pressed upon the 
 wound, hurting both Ralph and himself, yet with savage 
 pleasure. 
 
 " Gleddayne practically lives at the Ford I'm told now. 
 You'll have to look out, Ralph, or he'll be cutting you out in 
 other ways. If what Cantle tells me is true there's a lot of 
 gossip already." 
 
 Ralph turned very pale. 
 
 " What do you mean, Father ? " he asked. 
 
 " Well it sounds too ridiculous to be true, but there's a 
 rumour that he's going to marry his cousin. Of course 
 things can't be as bad as that, but there's no smoke with- 
 out fire. I expect the old Lord wishes it. And there's 
 always a possibility of a girl being over-persuaded, — unless 
 some other fellow sees to it." 
 
 " Why should Lord Gleddayne wish it ? " asked Ralph, 
 with dry lips. 
 
 " Well, it would provide for his daughter nicely and keep 
 the property for her descendants, — if she had any, with 
 that worn-out old husband." 
 
 He growled and snarled over his words like an angry dog. 
 
 "Well, I don't think we need pay much attention to 
 Cantle's gossip," Ralph said, more carelessly than he felt. 
 " He's a regular old woman and goes about tattling, — and 
 he must have something to tattle about, even if he invents it." 
 
 His father suddenly came across the room and laid his 
 hand on his arm. 
 
 " I hope I didn't hurt you, Ralph," he said. " I was a 
 fool to repeat such stuff, and I don't expect there's any 
 truth in it. Anyhow we are not beaten yet. There are one
 
 58 
 
 The Ford 
 
 or two more games I want to win before I die, one or two 
 more debts to pay." 
 
 He stopped abruptly. Ralph was surprised and touched 
 by his unwonted sympathy and perception. Richard 
 Harrold generally trampled cheerfully over people's feelings, 
 quite unconscious of causing pain. 
 
 " Thank you, Father," said Ralph. " You're very good 
 to me." 
 
 He touched his father's hand and went out of the room, 
 feeling that he must get away and think by himself. It 
 seemed as if he were being pulled in different directions. 
 
 In memory his mother was a very sacred figure to Ralph. 
 Whatever failings he may have noticed in her, he could 
 not forget the unchanging devotion, the unfailing sympathy, 
 the untiring solicitude which she had always shown towards 
 himself. That she had wished anything or cared for any- 
 thing was like a law to him. And he knew, as well as such 
 a thing could be known, that she had loved Paul Gleddayne. 
 
 The idea that such a love could have been in any way 
 reprehensible or regrettable he would not for an instant 
 entertain. He would not criticise her even in his thoughts. 
 His father had evidently neglected her and misunderstood 
 her, or it would probably not have happened. Much as he 
 had drawn near to his father of late, he would never be able 
 to forgive him altogether for that, — though he was ready 
 to make allowances for want of perception of a difficult 
 character. It was clear that her love was worthy of her, 
 and that the man she loved was worthy of her love. 
 
 And certainly he could allege nothing against Paul. 
 Paul had always been kind and thoughtful and gentle 
 so far as his own experience went. He had no solid 
 ground for the old half-conscious mistrust. But the 
 fortuitous clashing of Paul's destiny with his own had 
 certainly deepened that mistrust. He found himself
 
 Daffodils 159 
 
 struggling not to investigate and criticise his mother's 
 choice. 
 
 He wandered out into the park and across it to fields 
 on the other side, not far from the river. His footsteps 
 instinctively led him in the direction of the Ford. He 
 reached the brow of an undulation, at whose foot ran 
 Dead Man's Lane, and paused to gaze across the valley. 
 
 Not a mile away, the old house stood against the sky, 
 with the afternoon sunlight flashing on its window-panes. 
 Ralph could easily discern the parapet of the terrace and 
 the cedar at the end, near Stella's favourite standing-place, 
 but he saw no sign of her figure. Patches of vivid new 
 green were splashed over the rich brown of the wooded 
 banks, and broke the dark line of every hedge around. 
 The grass in the great meadow was also losing its winter 
 shade and brightening to a riper green, brilliant against 
 the unwonted blue of the water beyond. Close by, on 
 the right, a small straggling wood gleamed with a carpet 
 of daffodils. There were fresh scents in the air, and the 
 birds sang uproariously. 
 
 Ralph's senses were all busy, inhaling delight. It was 
 sweet to have all this again. Then his thoughts flew back 
 to his new home in the slums, and he strolled on across 
 the fields, pondering deeply. He reached the hedge and 
 looked over it into the lane, rough, rutted, between deep 
 banks, on which tufts of primroses made pale, yet brilliant, 
 patches. As he reached the hedge he heard his name 
 called in a well-known voice, and looked a few yards down 
 the lane to perceive Paul sitting on a gate smoking a 
 pipe. 
 
 Paul slipped off the gate at once, and strolled forward. 
 Ralph with some inward reluctance, scrambled over the 
 hedge and went to meet him. Paul took his hand and 
 pressed it, looking into his face with a cheerful smile that
 
 1 60 The Ford 
 
 somehow seemed hardly in keeping with the wistful, 
 hungry inquisition of his eyes. Ralph thought he looked 
 old and haggard. 
 
 " Taking a holiday from your slums ? " Paul asked. 
 
 " Yes, I am down here for a few days. One needs to 
 come into the air for a breathing space now and then, 
 like a stoker at sea." 
 
 "You find the atmosphere rather oppressive, then?" 
 
 " Oh, I suppose one will get used to it. At first one is 
 a little overwhelmed. One sees so little hope." 
 
 " Ah, you are very young," Paul said. " It takes a long 
 time to learn to hope." 
 
 " But what is the way out of it all ? " Ralph asked im- 
 petuously. "Things can't go on as they are. I don't 
 want to exaggerate, but the East End is not fit for human 
 habitation, — and yet millions of people live there. They 
 grow up and die, divorced from Nature, — and it isn't 
 right. If we can only grow rich at such a cost, we ought 
 not to be rich." 
 
 Paul looked at him with eyes that seemed almost tearful 
 in their affectionate approval. 
 
 " Don't worry," he said. " Things won't last as they are. 
 We don't often do things violently in this country, so I 
 expect the change will come silently. But it will be such 
 a change as will astonish a few worthy people. When the 
 world woke up, when the feudal system was finally broken, 
 people thought the change would go a certain way and 
 then stop. They'll find their mistake." 
 
 " But will the world be any happier ? " asked Ralph. 
 He had approached Paul almost with hostile feelings, and 
 already he was charmed by his personality and interested 
 in his ideas. For the moment he forgot the thoughts 
 that had disturbed him. Paul shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Who knows ? " he said. " I am not a prophet. I
 
 Daffodils 
 
 lOl 
 
 sometimes doubt if the sum of happiness ever increases, 
 if we are better off in that way than our savage ancestors. 
 But, after all, happiness doesn't matter much." 
 
 " Surely it is the thing that matters most," said Ralph 
 in surprise. 
 
 " Oh no. It is hope that matters most — the hope of 
 getting on, of lifting the race a little higher. Good God, 
 when you think what creatures we are, when you look 
 round at your fellow-men, playing with their toys and 
 talking their baby-talk, don't you want something more 
 vital than happiness, something that would be worth paying 
 even a good deal of unhappiness for? I want to see 
 men climbing towards the thrones of the Gods ! " 
 
 He spoke with a fervour that utterly astonished Ralph, 
 who had not believed him capable of strong feeling at all. 
 Then he broke off, with a laugh of self-ridicule. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said. " I was sitting so long 
 on that gate alone, that I fell into the unaccustomed 
 exercise of thinking, and it has unduly heated my brain, 
 I am a good deal occupied with the future of mankind at 
 present. I am going to stand for Parliament ; which must 
 affect it enormously." 
 
 He had got back into his usual bantering tone. Ralph 
 looked at him dubiously. 
 
 "So I heard," he said awkwardly. "I wish you suc- 
 
 cess." 
 
 " Thanks, I am sure you do," Paul answered. " Not 
 that it can be of much use to me now. Oh Ralph, don't 
 throw away the gifts of fortune. You have all your life 
 before you, and the spoils are all within your grasp. If 
 you knew what a satire it seems to me to have this chance 
 now. All my life I have longed for work that I could 
 use my mind upon, — and instead I have had drudgery and 
 useless repining and servitude and rebellion. I daresay it 
 
 L
 
 1 62 The Ford 
 
 is very foolish of me to try now to grasp at things that 
 have hung out of reach for such long years. As I say, 
 you will never know that feeling. They are hung within 
 your reach. But if you knew what it meant to me to get 
 this chance, even now, you would never rest till you had 
 used all your own chances and made sure of your own 
 inheritance." 
 
 This speech bewildered Ralph. Paul spoke with such 
 unusual feeling that it was impossible to doubt his sincerity. 
 But it really did seem rather comic that the man who had 
 just deprived Ralph of a real opportunity for pushing on 
 his career should preach this sermon on the neglect of 
 opportunities. Yet Paul hardly seemed to be preaching. 
 It was rather as if he were delivering his soul of a load of 
 long-concealed bitterness. An explanation flashed across 
 Ralph's mind. This was meant as an apology. Paul 
 realised the harm he had done him and wished to excuse 
 himself 
 
 Ralph felt that the apology was a little too circuitous. 
 He would have liked a plainer statement. He wondered 
 if Paul were really as subterranean as his father always 
 declared. Still the statement had made Paul's point of 
 view clear enough, and Ralph understood it, and even 
 sympathised with him. It certainly was hard that Paul 
 should have found no opening for his talents before. 
 
 " By Jove, how splendid the daffodils are ! " 
 
 Paul had scrambled on to his gate again and was look- 
 ing towards the wood. His eyes flashed back to Ralph, 
 after this remark, which he had made half dreamily. 
 
 " Youth and Spring," he said, with a laugh. " I didn't 
 notice those daffodils before, and I take them as an omen 
 for you. I suppose I'm in a sentimental mood to-day, but 
 I must talk : I wish you liked and trusted me more, Ralph, 
 — if only for your mother's sake. She was such a friend
 
 Daffodils 1 63 
 
 of mine and she wanted me to be your friend too. But I 
 suppose it is better not." 
 
 He stopped abruptly and sighed. Ralph was puzzled 
 by his mood. 
 
 "Why better not ! " he asked. " I hope we are friends." 
 Yet he did not speak with absolute conviction. 
 
 " I don't think your father likes it," said Paul. " And I 
 don't want to hurt him^ 
 
 Ralph was silent. He felt awkward. Paul had read 
 his thoughts too well, and he did not know what to say. 
 Paul looked at him with the same sad, gentle smile. 
 
 " The daffodils are yours," he said. " Mine are all 
 withered long ago. Well, go out and gather them, and I 
 wish you luck. Don't be an aimless wastrel like me when 
 you come to my age. Find work, find an object, — and 
 find a woman who will share them and help you in them." 
 
 Ralph flushed slightly and looked at Paul enquiringly. 
 He was half inclined to give way to an impulse of con- 
 fidence, to speak of the matter that had been troubling him 
 and arrive at an understanding with Paul. He felt certain 
 that at any rate Paul was not a liar and would respond 
 with equal frankness when he knew what Ralph's feelings 
 with regard to Stella were. But at this moment the sound 
 of wheels was heard faintly in the distance, and Paul turned 
 his head. 
 
 " I expect this is Stella," he said. " She has been over 
 to Renford and I said I would come across the river and 
 meet her. This lane's pretty bad for driving, but it saves 
 a mile or two on the way home." 
 
 Ralph felt his impulse frozen within him. His desire 
 was to go away at once, to avoid even meeting her. It 
 was quite unreasonable, but this unimportant arrangement 
 between Paul and Stella made him wince. However, he 
 could not well go, and waited with a troubled breast.
 
 164 
 
 The Ford 
 
 The sound of wheels drew nearer, and presently Stella's 
 grey pony came round the corner, the little yellow cart 
 jumping and swinging behind it on the rough road, while 
 Stella's figure swayed like a wind-tossed branch. She 
 came up to them, a little flushed, with a smile in her eyes. 
 Unconsciously the two men drew slightly apart from each 
 other, breathing slowly. She gave Ralph her usual friendly 
 smile, but turned her eyes quickly from his face. 
 
 " I am glad you have escaped from your cage," she said. 
 
 " I am a willing prisoner," he answered. 
 
 " I know you are," she said. 
 
 There was a silence, while Ralph pondered on the 
 meaning of a certain curious intonation in her voice. He 
 could not read it. She turned to Paul, who had stood 
 waiting beside the cart and requested him to get in, as she 
 must be going home. Ralph's listening ears noticed a 
 difference of tone, — it seemed more familiar and more 
 affectionate. He did not like it. 
 
 Paul got into the cart. They cried farewell to Ralph, as 
 they started on their undulatory journey over the ruts. 
 He was left gazing after them down the lane, aching with 
 a sense of banishment and neglect. Stella never seemed 
 to care to see him now. But she evidently cared to see 
 Paul. 
 
 Ralph set his teeth. He was not going to give up hope 
 yet, or to believe too readily the improbable. He thrust 
 the thought of Paul from his mind, and sent a mute, proud, 
 appealing message on the breeze after Stella. The cart 
 was nearing the end of the little wood. In another minute 
 it was out of sight round the corner, Paul turning to wave 
 his hand. Stella did not look round. 
 
 Ralph was conscious of a blank. To his blurred senses 
 no positive thing remained tangible, except the gold of the 
 daffodils behind which she had passed.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 NO SURRENDER 
 
 Knowledge is attained swiftly sometimes. Stella had 
 made a discovery of the utmost importance in the course of 
 one brief minute in Dead Man's lane. She had driven up, 
 thinking chiefly of the necessity of keeping a lookout for 
 Paul. She had driven away delirious, bewildered with the 
 certainty that she loved Ralph Harrold. One glance had 
 told her this secret and overwhelmed her. 
 
 The air was full of lyrical voices during the rest of the 
 drive, — voices alluring, soothing, maddening, terrifying. 
 She had suspected this truth before, but had put it aside. 
 And now the voices shouted it in chorus to her deafened 
 ears. 
 
 The world seemed laden with a new meaning. The 
 grass was a deeper green, the bare woods a richer brown. 
 A lark high above the meadow mocked her sweetly; the 
 choir of thrushes proclaimed her downfall joyfully. She 
 kept blushing, and felt inclined to sing and to cry. There 
 was a strange delight in her, and yet an angry sense of 
 defeat and shame. 
 
 She set herself deliberately to increase this latter sense 
 The joy she had experienced terrified her. Slowly she 
 armed herself with all her old prejudices. It was a difficult 
 process, but gradually she regained them. She would not 
 be the slave of passion. She would not sink to the level 
 of all these idle fools who exalted this human function into 
 
 165
 
 1 66 The Ford 
 
 a reign of false romance. She had heard so much rubbish 
 talked about love by other women, that she almost wished 
 some new name could be invented for the thing. 
 
 Moreover her pride was in revolt. The idea of loving a 
 man who had declared no love for her was full of shame. 
 And, again, the thought of her father's disgust and horror 
 at the suggestion of such a son-in-law, flashed across her 
 mind. But the notion of marriage with Ralph was not 
 sufficiently defined to occupy much of her thoughts. 
 It was the mere fact of her loving him that troubled 
 her. 
 
 What had caused her heart to turn traitor thus ? she 
 asked herself angrily. Was she a likely subject for such 
 flabby weakness ? She summoned fresh reinforcements of 
 pride. The love and the lovers that were good enough 
 for other women were not good enough for her, she decided ; 
 so completely had her sense of humour been engulfed 
 for the time. 
 
 As usual, Paul seemed instinctively to adapt himself to 
 her mood. He talked little during their drive, and spared 
 her the effort of bringing back her distracted thoughts. 
 She felt as if continual waves of sympathy and consolation 
 were passing from him to her. He was her ideal com- 
 panion. Her soul turned to him, appealing for protection 
 from this last danger. If one were married to a kind, 
 understanding man like that, how little these storms could 
 touch one. She almost wished she were married to him, — 
 and then shivered at the thought. 
 
 When they reached the house they found T-ord Gleddayne 
 pottering in the spring sunshine outside. Stella got down 
 and joined her father for a stroll. Paul went into the 
 house, and the groom drove the cart to the stables. 
 
 Lord Gleddayne had aged very much in the last few 
 months, but he was still erect and stern.
 
 No Surrender 167 
 
 " I am glad Paul is here again," he said. " I find it 
 hard to get on without him." 
 
 " Then you don't reproach me for having persuaded you 
 to get him here ? " she asked, laughing. 
 
 " I expect I should have done it anyhow," said Lord 
 Gleddayne, who was not going to own that he had been 
 guided in anything. " I always felt that he had been 
 hardly treated by the family." 
 
 "He tells me that Aunt Isabel has invited him to 
 Rodden next week," said Stella. 
 
 "If your Aunt Isabel's absurd prejudices have been 
 broken down I am glad to hear it," said Lord Gleddayne, 
 delightfully unconscious of the frequency with which his 
 sister made the same sort of remark about himself. " I 
 am glad she has asked him ; and particularly that she has 
 asked him at the same time as yourself." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Stella, flushing faintly. 
 
 " Because it shows that she is free from other prejudices," 
 replied her father, with less than his usual lucidity. Stella 
 looked at him hard. He continued with unwonted hesita- 
 tion, "You see, dear, I like to think that the family have 
 no objection to the companionship between you." 
 
 What business of the family's is it?" asked Stella 
 haughtily. 
 
 " None," he said. But I like to think that there would 
 be no unpleasantness in the event of — of certain events." 
 
 They were on the terrace now. Stella stopped and 
 leaned on the parapet. She did not look at her father, 
 but her eyes were turned across the broad, sunlit valley in 
 the direction of the trees that hid Thirlwood from sight. 
 
 " I think I must ask you to explain yourself, Father," 
 she said in her gentle, unmoved voice. 
 
 Lord Gleddayne, for almost the first time in his life, 
 showed signs of losing his self-possession.
 
 1 68 The Ford 
 
 " Dear child," he said nervously, " I don't want to 
 interfere with what does not concern me, or to dictate to 
 you in any way. But I can't help thinking of your future." 
 
 He paused, but Stella declined to help him out. 
 " Well ! " she said, immovably. 
 
 " I can't live very much longer," he went on. " 1 know 
 you don't hold the views women usually hold as to the 
 necessity of being married. But still I should feel happier 
 if I thought there would be someone to take care of you." 
 
 Stella said nothing. He felt that she was treating him 
 with unnecessary severity. 
 
 "It would be a great joy to me if I knew that you 
 would not be turned out of your old home," he said. 
 " And still more, to believe that my grandchildren might 
 carry on the line, — since it has not been granted to my 
 sons." 
 
 His voice shook a little, and Stella turned to him a 
 troubled, pleading, yet soothing face. 
 
 " Dear Father," she said. " Why don't you speak out 
 plainly as you generally do. It is hard to make me say 
 such a thing. You want me to marry Paul." 
 
 He put his arm round her and drew her towards him. , 
 
 " I should be glad," he said. 
 
 Stella turned her troubled, almost tearful face once 
 more towards the Thirlwood trees. 
 
 " I don't know that Paul wants to marry me," she said. 
 
 " No more do I. But I expect it," 
 
 Stella suddenly turned scarlet. 
 
 " Father," she exclaimed turning to him with wide, 
 frightened eyes. " You haven't breathed a hint, a sug- 
 gestion, — you haven't tried to find out from Paul ? " 
 
 Lord Gleddayne pressed his arm round her more tightly. 
 
 " You hardly need to ask that question, dear," he said. 
 " I do not cheapen my daughter in the eyes of any man."
 
 No Surrender 169 
 
 Stella's head went back proudly, but there was a loosen- 
 ing of the lips, as if from relief of mind. 
 
 " No," she said. " I need not have asked. Now let us 
 talk of something else, if you please, Father." 
 
 They strolled on the terrace for some little time, talking 
 of various matters in their customary unconcerned, un- 
 moved way, neither of them referring further to the con- 
 versation which had just shaken them both. They were 
 not demonstrative people. 
 
 Presently they went in and had tea, at which Paul joined 
 them. Their gatherings were rather silent than otherwise, 
 none of them being great chatterers. Yet there was a 
 fairly constant flow of jests and comments and little 
 intimate remarks, which showed how much at home they 
 all were together. If anyone said anything it was generally 
 rather worth listening to. 
 
 After tea, Stella started across the park to see Mrs Brent. 
 The days were growing long now, and it was light almost 
 till dressing-time. She met Derrick on the way, and 
 stopped for a few words with him. He was grimly familiar 
 as usual. 
 
 " I'm glad Mr Paul's to stand for Parliament," he said. 
 " I've heard say as some of them wanted to put up young 
 Harrold, but it isn't for the likes of him to do what a 
 Gleddayne can do, though I couldn't go for to deny that 
 he's a nice enough young gentleman. I suppose it's them 
 colleges does that for them. He's learned a lot from 
 mixing with his betters." 
 
 He shuffled away with one of his usual melancholy 
 chuckles, and Stella passed on, a little ruffled, and feeling 
 hot in the cheeks. It angered her to hear Ralph spoken 
 of in this way. She could not help a vague feeling that 
 she would have been glad if it had not been possible to 
 disparage him thus. She was proud of his manly inde-
 
 lyo The Ford 
 
 pendence, his absence of all vulgarity with regard to his 
 position. She hoped she was equally free from vulgarity 
 too, and esteemed him for what he was in himself, not for 
 his fortuitous setting. Yet she could not stifle a half 
 regret at the thought of his connection with trade. It 
 was not class prejudice. She would not have cared if his 
 forebears had been doctors or lawyers or engineers or 
 farmers or even labouring men. But trade seemed to her 
 the lowest of earthly occupations. She could not see that 
 it developed a single fine quality in those engaged in it. 
 She thought with a shudder of the hard, unimaginative 
 commercial world, engrossed in the pursuit of wealth and 
 using its intelligence for that alone. She seemed to see 
 " Harrold's Household Soap " written in flaming letters 
 across the sky before her. She lowered her eyes to the 
 ground. 
 
 She encouraged this feeling, for it helped her in her 
 struggle against this overmastering passion. Any auxiliary 
 was welcome to her pride. She knew that she was longing 
 for him, and poured scorn on herself accordingly. She 
 had always dreaded lest this madness should come upon 
 her ; but at least she was still conscious that it was madness. 
 She laughed at the thought that she could possibly be the 
 slave for long of a thing so opposed to reason — almost 
 incompatible with self-respect. There was no mirth in her 
 laughter and she felt very miserable — and likely to remain 
 so. But she was resolved not to give in. After all, she 
 would come to her senses in a little time, she thought. 
 She had seen enough of love to believe that it did not 
 have a very long life. 
 
 And again the soft breath of spring, drifting over the 
 coarse, withered grass, and the red-brown clumps of dead 
 bracken, and somehow suggesting the thought of the green 
 life that was awakening beneath them, moved her almost
 
 No Surrender i 7 i 
 
 to anguish. The rich voice of a blackbird on a neigh- 
 bouring thorn-tree thrilled her deliciously, yet with horror. 
 The whole world seemed steeped in prouder colour and 
 full of sweeter sound. She fought almost despairingly 
 against the insidious intoxication, and hurried on, pale and 
 panting, trying not to see Ralph's clear-cut, determined 
 young face, or hear his gently masterful voice. Her whole 
 scheme of life seemed to be tottering. 
 
 She gained the outward mastery of herself before she 
 reached Mrs Brent's door. That vigorous lady, looking 
 very healthy and handsome, seemed to scrutinize her face 
 somewhat searchingly but made no disturbing comment. 
 Her warm embrace and cordial greeting were as usual. 
 
 " You have just missed Ralph Harrold," she said. " He 
 dashed up in his motor-car a few minutes ago and told me 
 he was going back to London to-morrow, and must just 
 say good-bye, and then he whirled away again, throbbing 
 and panting and smelling, — the car I mean, of course, 
 nasty thing. I don't like these new modes of locomo- 
 tion. They'll be shooting us about in pneumatic tubes 
 
 soon." 
 
 Stella hoped that her heightened colour would be 
 attributed to her walk. 
 
 " I saw him for a few minutes this afternoon in Dead 
 Man's Lane," she said. "He was with Paul, who had 
 come there to meet me." 
 
 " You don't regret having brought those two into your 
 hfe, I fancy," said Mrs Brent. " It seems queer to think 
 of that day, such a short time ago, when you told me of 
 your wish to make peace with the hostile camps. You 
 have all become great friends since then." 
 
 " Do you like Paul now that you have seen more of 
 him ? " asked Stella, somewhat inconsequently. 
 
 " My dear, who could help liking him ? He is so kind
 
 172 The Ford 
 
 and gentle and thoughtful. Do you know that not ong 
 ago he came here and offered to help me with Reggie's 
 education. I know he is not a rich man, and I can't think 
 how he had guessed that I was a little worried about it." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs Brent. And 7ve never thought of it at all, 
 never even suspected you had difficulties of that kind ! " 
 
 " Bless you, my dear, why should you ! Mr Gleddayne 
 has been poor himself and knows one has little crises to 
 meet now and then. But there has been nothing in your life 
 to teach you that sort of thing, — and I hope there never will 
 be." 
 
 " But is the difficulty solved yet ? " asked Stella, flushed 
 with vexation and self-reproach. 
 
 " Oh yes, that dear boy Ralph, whose mother was 
 Reggie's godmother, has taken the whole of his education 
 off my hands. I didn't mind accepting it from him, 
 because his mother had been my friend, and also he is so 
 rich he won't feel it." 
 
 " And he has had no more in his life to teach it him 
 than /have," said Stella in a low voice. 
 
 " But, my dear, you make me ashamed when you talk 
 like that. You make me feel as if I were appealing to all 
 my friends for charity. Of course, I haven't got much 
 money, and it is rather a struggle with the children some- 
 times, so I have put my pride on one side and accepted 
 this help. But I wouldn't take it from anyone else — not 
 even from you." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs Brent, liow ignorant we sheltered, favoured 
 ones are ! " exclaimed Stella. ■" We enjoy — and never 
 think of these sordid little struggles that the rest of the 
 world is worn away by. No wonder Paul prophesies a 
 revolution, I feel that I deserve the guillotine." 
 
 " So do I for saying things that ought to be kept silent 
 and disturbing your dear, warm heart," said Mrs Brent.
 
 No Surrender 173 
 
 " But why does our sagacious Conservative candidate fear 
 a revolution ? " 
 
 " I don't think he fears it," said Stella. " He said 
 once that he would like to be on a barricade shooting 
 millionaires." 
 
 " And what do the leaders of his party think of his 
 sentiments ? I don't think Lord Claydon would approve 
 of them very highly." 
 
 " Poor Uncle Claydon can't understand Paul at all," 
 said Stella laughing. " But I think Paul is right. He 
 says the remnants of the aristocracy ought to join hands 
 with the working classes and overcome the commercial 
 classes. He says it doesn't much matter what political party 
 you belong to, because politics are merely part of a much 
 larger thing, and that what you have got to aim at is to 
 preserve the best in the human race and help on the 
 process of evolution, and that the chief obstacle to that is 
 the greed and vulgarity and soullessness of trade, which 
 has governed the world so long. War is terrible, but it 
 has its heroic side. There is no heroic side to ' Business.' " 
 
 "Dear me, what eloquence!" said Mrs Brent. "Curiously 
 enough, Ralph llarrold says much the same thing. He is 
 quite ashamed of his wealth, and has all sorts of semi- 
 socialistic ideas in his head. And yet he isn't at all 
 ashamed of his origin in ' Business.' " 
 
 " Oh, he and Paul and I are all agreed on these 
 subjects," said Stella lightly. " We have often discussed 
 them." 
 
 " It seems to me that Mr Paul has a way of making 
 people agree with him," said Mrs Brent. 
 
 " Oh of course I admit that he influences 77ie. But Mr 
 Harrold thinks for himself." 
 
 Having made this speech Stella suddenly blushed 
 violently. Mrs Brent showed no sign of noticing anything.
 
 174 The Ford 
 
 "I don't quite agree," she said. " Ralph's strong point 
 is his character, just as Mr Gleddayne's is his intellect. I 
 expect Ralph would be much under the influence of Mr 
 Gleddayne's thought and would take many ideas from him. 
 But if it came to a contest of will, I think I know which 
 would win, though I admit that Mr Gleddayne is no 
 weakling." 
 
 "Supposing they were both in love with the same 
 woman, which would she be likely to prefer?" asked 
 Stella, with a now immovable face. 
 
 "She would prefer Ralph; but she might marry Mr 
 Gleddayne, old as he is — supposing she had a will of her own 
 too," said Mrs Brent, suddenly looking at her very hard. 
 " And I think she would be wrong." 
 
 " From romantic reasons ? " asked Stella. " You know 
 what I think of them." 
 
 " My dear, we are only young once and there is only 
 romance once. It seems a pity to waste it." 
 
 " There is romance always, and you are a standing proof 
 of it," said Stella laughing. Soon afterwards she kissed 
 Mrs Brent and went on her way homewards, very thought- 
 ful and much troubled. Why had a sensible woman like 
 Mrs Brent these silly old romantic prejudices ? 
 
 Would it be very dreadful to marry one man and prefer 
 another ? She used to laugh at such matters, but somehow 
 now they had grown serious.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE CANDIDATE 
 
 At Rodden, their place in the north of the county, Lord 
 and Lady Claydon were entertaining a party of guests, 
 among whom they had included Paul Gleddayne and 
 Stella. Lady Claydon was aware of her brother's wish for 
 a marriage between these two. And though she did not 
 like Paul very much, to her practical mind the advantages 
 of the scheme were obvious. As she had been too busy 
 to go to the Ford for some time past, she wished to bring 
 the suspected pair under observation. And as Lord 
 Claydon was anxious to discuss many political matters 
 with Paul, and give him the benefit of his advice on various 
 points, he had been asked to accompany Stella from the 
 Ford, — it being impossible to induce Lord Gleddayne to 
 move. 
 
 The party, as usual at Rodden, was weighty and rather 
 solemn. The political element was strong, and such young 
 men as there were, were of a serious type, with the excep- 
 tion of Monty Rinde, whose frivolous imbecility was rather 
 amusing to Lady Claydon for some unknown reason, — 
 though she usually declined to notice a young man who 
 was not "doing something," unless he were very rich or 
 otherwise important. Her own son, Lord Tedburne, was 
 also an idler, though of another type ; a heavy, conceited, 
 swaggering young man, whose life was spent in a con- 
 ventional round of sports and amusements, of which 
 
 175
 
 176 
 
 The Ford 
 
 salmon-fishing and dissipation were the most prominent 
 features. He liked to think he was interested in politics 
 and had decided opinions, based on an equal absence of 
 knowledge and thought, which he was fond of announcing 
 to his father's guests. His only other intellectual amuse- 
 ment was the game of Bridge, which he discussed with 
 becoming reverence. His cousin Stella disliked him 
 cordially. 
 
 " Have I got to treat that new Gleddayne chap as a 
 cousin ? " he asked his mother when the guests had arrived. 
 He pronounced all his vowels as if they were dipthongs. 
 " I don't fancy the looks of him much." 
 
 " I think, as he is the future head of the Gleddayne 
 family, we must count him as a cousin," said Lady Claydon, 
 " though he is very distant, and we need not have noticed 
 him if Stella's brothers had lived. But there is a possibiUty 
 of his being a nearer cousin. I will tell you a little secret. 
 It is not unlikely that he will marry Stella." 
 
 " He's much too old," said her son. " She ought to 
 marry Cameron Stair. He's young and rich and a rising 
 politician." 
 
 " We'll give her the chance," said Lady Claydon. " But 
 she wouldn't look .at him the last time they met here." 
 
 Cameron Stair was accordingly told off to take Stella in 
 to dinner that night. He was a very rich young Scotch- 
 man, who had been in Parliament for two or three years. 
 He was of a grave disposition. Lord Tedburne was his 
 frequent guest in the North. The latter had reason to be- 
 lieve that Stair would like to marry Stella, and was resolved 
 to help him as much as he could. Moreover he had taken 
 an instinctive dislike to Paul Gleddayne. " A damned 
 intellectual ass," he summed him up. Lord Tedburne 
 had more than the usual English mistrust of brains. The 
 only kind of cleverness he admired was the cleverness that
 
 The Candidate 177 
 
 made money. This appeared to him as obviously the only 
 justification for cleverness. 
 
 When Stella was told off with Mr Stair, she accepted the 
 fact with a sort of depressed resignation. Most of her 
 aunt's guests bored her, but none quite so much as he. 
 She would have preferred even Monty Rinde, who was 
 sometimes rather amusing in his silly way. 
 
 " The last time we met was at Lady Claydon's house in 
 Belgrave Square," said Mr Stair. " I remember the occa- 
 sion well, because I made a speech in the House on the 
 Lobster-pot question that evening, and it was generally 
 considered particularly successful. The Amendment to 
 the Bill was defeated, and many thought that my remarks 
 had substantially contributed to the result. It is evident 
 that I had derived inspiration from my conversation with 
 you." 
 
 He was a good-looking young man and spoke with a 
 grave air of condescending kindness. Stella had seldom 
 seen him smile. When he did so it was always as though 
 he were reluctantly consenting to humour the weakness of 
 others, and at the same time to afford them enjoyment by 
 displaying the whiteness of his teeth. There was a kind 
 of professional benefaction in his every movement. 
 
 " I am glad that my views on the subject of Lobster- 
 pots were sound," said Stella, as they took their places at 
 the dinner-table. " I had forgotten that I had ever ex- 
 pressed any. It seems rather a trivial subject for the 
 House of Commons to discuss." 
 
 A faint expression of pain crossed Mr Stair's regular 
 features. 
 
 " No subjects are trivial," he said with gentle severity. 
 " To the true legislative mind even lobster-pots embody 
 a principle. I believe the measure then passed has had a 
 beneficial effect on an important industry. But I did not 
 
 M
 
 178 
 
 The Ford 
 
 mean to imply that I had discussed the actual subject of 
 debate with you. In these things I like to arrive at my 
 own conclusions unaided, and moreover I have a theory as 
 to the fitness of the female mind for political thinking. I 
 believe the sexes are counter-parts, and as there are many 
 charming matters on which we are quite incapable of form- 
 ing an opinion, so there are subjects with which the 
 feminine mind is incompetent to deal. It is rather a 
 beautiful thought, this idea of the interlocking of the two 
 minds, which is necessary before perfection can be 
 approached." 
 
 " Very beautiful," said Stella, gravely. " It makes me 
 feel like a bicycle-chain. I gather you are not in favour of 
 giving the vote to women." 
 
 Mr Stair smiled of his own accord, and showed all his 
 white teeth. 
 
 " I think it would be a dangerous plaything for them," 
 he said, in a tone of kindly reproof. 
 
 " Do you think they could possibly make a more 
 absurd use of it than most men do ? " asked Stella inno- 
 cently. 
 
 Mr Stair's features quivered, as if with anguish. Fortun- 
 ately at this moment Lady Claydon addressed a remark to 
 him down the table. Stella turned away and caught the 
 ball of conversation from the neighbour on her other hand. 
 This was Sir Roger Torpe, who had held various ofificial 
 posts, a bald-headed man with a fund of anecdote and a 
 taste in wine. He regaled Stella with the anecdotes and 
 made pathetic attempts to keep off the topic of wine, which 
 allured him insidiously, so that he was always pulling 
 himself up short in the middle of a disquisition on Lord 
 A's port or the Duke of B's old Madeira. Stella tried to 
 encourage him to pursue the topic, which was not so dull 
 to her as his anecdotes, but his gallantry overcame his
 
 The Candidate 179 
 
 natural inclinations. He explained delicately that he could 
 not inflict on her a subject of which she, as a woman, was 
 incapable of forming a judgment. Stella began to feel 
 acutely the inferiority of her sex. The inner temples of 
 politics and wine were not to be opened to her gaze. The 
 choicest thoughts of Mr Stair's and Sir Roger's minds were 
 not to be shared with her. 
 
 Once she glanced down the table and caught I^aul's eye. 
 A sympathetic twinkle touched a responsive chord in her, 
 and she lowered her gaze to save herself from an explosion 
 of laughter. Paul was planted between two ladies whose 
 intellects might have interlocked happily with those of her 
 neighbours, — to use Mr Stair's beautiful metaphor, — and 
 she felt that he appreciated the situation as much as she 
 did. She was clinging more and more to the consciousness 
 of sympathy with Paul. It helped her to shut out the 
 eager, determined young face that still tried persistently 
 to intrude on her mental vision. She told herself angrily 
 that Ralph Harrold would have taken these people quite 
 seriously and not have been amused at them as she and 
 Paul were. This was probably true, and yet somehow it 
 failed to give her satisfaction. 
 
 Mr Stair engaged her in conversation once more, by 
 sheer obstinacy, which overcame the persistent efforts of 
 Sir Roger to distract her attention. His best House of 
 Commons anecdotes were ineffectual against the steady 
 stream of Mr Stair's complacent egotism. Stella would 
 really have preferred talking to Sir Roger, but Stair was 
 irresistible. His rather harsh, even voice claimed her 
 attention whenever she tried to turn her head. He told 
 her how clever he had been in improving his place in 
 Scotland ; what a good landlord he was ; what a conscien- 
 tious politician ; what influence he held in his own country, 
 and his popularity there ; and so on till dinner was over.
 
 i8o The Ford 
 
 It seemed as if he were giving himself a character for a 
 place. And so, with a mingled sense of amusement and 
 horror, she realised that he was. His gaze became almost 
 tender. 
 
 Lady Torpe, sitting beside Paul, commented on Stella's 
 beauty to him, having noticed something of her husband's 
 evident prepossession. Paul glanced across the wide white 
 table, glittering with silver under the shaded candles, and 
 laden with the colour and perfume of rich flowers, and saw 
 Stella's face in semi-dimness beyond, her waving brown 
 hair, her large, thoughtful eyes, and the proud yet gentle 
 pose of her daintily moulded head. Beyond he saw Stair's 
 self-satisfied, handsome face, with its blend of courage, 
 arrogance, and dullness, and the sight moved him un- 
 pleasantly. It reminded him of possibilities that might 
 some day disturb a beautiful dream. 
 
 After dinner, when the men joined the ladies in the 
 saloon, Lord Tedburne clamoured for Bridge, and two 
 tables were soon in use. The rest engaged in conversation, 
 over which hung a certain air of stiffness. No one laughed 
 very much and no voices showed traces of any very eager 
 interest. Stair and Sir Roger swooped upon Stella again, 
 and a group gathered, augmented by Lady Violet Tedburne 
 and Rinde. Paul, feeling rather out of his element, after 
 some hesitation joined this group. He was not exactly ill 
 at ease, but the sense of the general uncongeniality of the 
 atmosphere depressed and subdued him, and the desire 
 to cling to Stella as his only comfort was so great, that he 
 felt half ashamed to yield to it. 
 
 Lady Violet, persevering in her efforts to attain intel- 
 lectual respectability and be worthy of the " interesting " 
 people whose society she desired, attacked Sir Roger at 
 once on political subjects. 
 
 " When are we likely to have a general Election, Sir
 
 The Candidate i8i 
 
 Roger," she asked. " I suppose the Government won't 
 hold on much longer." 
 
 Sir Roger looked very wise. "Ah, we shall see, we 
 shall see," he said mysteriously. As a matter of fact he 
 had no more satisfactory answer to offer, but he gave Lady 
 Violet a feeling that she was treading close to carefully- 
 veiled secrets, and the thought delighted her. 
 
 " There's a chance of an election in the Roatebridge 
 division soon, anyhow," she said, glad to impart information. 
 
 " Indeed," said Sir Roger, who wanted to talk to Stella, 
 and was rather bored. 
 
 " Yes, and here's our candidate," said Lady Violet, 
 indicating Paul, to his great annoyance. " I'm going to 
 canvass for him." 
 
 " In that case he is sure to be elected," said Sir Roger 
 with ponderous sprightliness. 
 
 " I had heard that young Harrold was likely to stand 
 for that constituency," remarked Cameron Stair to Paul, 
 in his rather supercilious way. 
 
 " I have heard nothing of it," said Paul shortly. But 
 the suggestion filled him with a sudden vague uneasiness. 
 
 " I am quite sure there is no truth in that," said Lady 
 Violet decidedly. " The Harrolds are quite new-comers, 
 and new-made people into the bargain. I don't think any 
 of them would have a chance. The country people like to 
 be represented by someone whose family they know 
 something about." 
 
 This was a feminine shaft at Stella, as she knew that 
 Ralph Harrold was rather popular at the Ford. It went 
 home more than she knew. 
 
 " I remember Harrold at Eton," said Stair. " Rather an 
 underbred youth, I think." 
 
 Stella stole a glance at Paul and saw his face harden 
 angrily. The sight pleased and soothed her. He seemed
 
 1 82 The Ford 
 
 about to say something bitter, and then checked himself 
 and turned his gaze away from Mr Stair with an expression 
 of contempt that was hardly mistakeable. 
 
 " He's a worthy young man," broke in Rinde. " He 
 lives in the East End, and does good works. I always 
 associate the East End with good works and bad plays." 
 
 No one laughed at this except Lady Violet. Mr Stair 
 said solemnly, " I object to what are called good works. 
 They always seem to me to infringe all the principles of 
 political economy." 
 
 " What is political economy ? " asked Lady Violet. 
 
 Mr Stair was taken aback. He murmured incoherently. 
 
 " Political economy is the last refuge of plain women," 
 said the irrepressible Rinde. As it was beginning to dawn 
 upon the company that Rinde was intended to be a 
 humorist, several people laughed at this meaningless 
 speech. Lady Violet turned impatiently to Paul. 
 
 " Can't you tell me ? " she asked. " Everyone is always 
 talking about political economy, and I don't know what it 
 means, and it seems to me that no one else does." 
 
 " Political economy is fact founded upon fictions," 
 answered Paul, smiling. Lady Violet turned away in 
 despair, but Sir Roger laughed. 
 
 "That isn't half bad," he said condescendingly, and 
 engaged Paul in conversation. It was useless to try to 
 capture Stella, for Stair had marked her for his own, and 
 was not to be shaken off. As Sir Roger was a clever man 
 in his heavy way, Paul got more satisfaction out of him than 
 he had out of most of the guests hitherto. But he was 
 beginning to think that the path of a Parliamentary 
 Candidate lay through some very dry deserts. 
 
 When Lady Claydon at last gave the signal for bed, 
 Stair ostentatiously fetched a candle for Stella. Paul saw 
 Lady Claydon and one or two other ladies look meaningly
 
 Discords and Harmonies 183 
 
 at the pair, and it was evident that Stair's attentions were 
 observed. Lady Claydon was glad to see them. She had 
 quite made up her mind that she did not Ulce Paul. He 
 had puzzled one or two of her guests already with curious, 
 apparently cynical sayings. Lady Claydon could not make 
 him out ; and she disliked anyone or anything she could 
 not make out. There was a considerable field for her 
 dislike. 
 
 When the ladies disappeared up the staircase, Stair stood 
 for a minute in apparent ecstacy, the habitual self-satisfac- 
 tion heightened on his handsome face. Paul could have 
 kicked him.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 DISCORDS AND HARMONIES 
 
 In the smoking-room that evening Lord Claydon said to 
 his son, evidently for the benefit of the company in 
 general — 
 
 " Ahem ! I am informed that Mr Purling comes here 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " I can't think what Mother wants to ask a damned 
 underbred Radical brute like that for," growled Lord 
 Tedburne. " I'm always being expected to be civil to 
 people I can't stand." 
 
 He glanced furtively at Paul as he spoke. Lord Claydon 
 smiled benevolently. 
 
 " Mr Purling is our Member, you know," he said to the 
 occupants of the room who were listening. " Lady Claydon, 
 — ahem ! — has among her schemes a — er — er — philan- 
 thropic plan for the whole of the county, of some kind 
 which — er — er — I have not quite grasped, but — ahem ! — 
 it is I think something in the nature of parish — er — er 
 dairies. She wishes to ensure the er — er — the co-operation 
 of Mr Purhng, and has — ahem ! — invited him here. For 
 myself I must say that er — er — I welcome these oppor- 
 tunities of showing that with us Englishmen the — er — er — 
 bitterness of political discussion can be forgotten — ahem ! — 
 in the — er — er — amenities of social — er — er — intercourse 
 and the common labour of — er — er — beneficence." 
 
 He spoke with the air of one uttering deep and original 
 .84
 
 Discords and Harmonies 185 
 
 thoughts, and the silence that ensued was tactfully broken 
 by Sir Roger Torpe with a murmur of approval. 
 
 Mr Purling arrived the following afternoon. He was a 
 plain, pale young man, with a bald forehead and a pince- 
 nez. There was a subdued air of intellectual disdain in his 
 bearing. The difference between the self-satisfaction on his 
 countenance and that on the face of Cameron Stair was 
 subtle and interesting. He was the son of a doctor who 
 had prospered greatly in the world, and he himself had 
 done well at Cambridge and was already making a mark in 
 the House. In spite of his Radical views, he was highly 
 delighted at being asked to Rodden, and endeavoured 
 to avoid giving offence by uttering distasteful opinions. 
 But his way of uttering any opinions was so irritating that 
 this was perhaps a waste of effort on his part. 
 
 During the day Cameron Stair had lost no opportunity 
 of bestowing his company upon Stella, — a fact which 
 Lady Claydon had observed with satisfaction, as she had 
 quite decided that she did not want Stella to marry Paul. 
 She shrewdly divined that Paul was not likely to marry 
 anyone else, and so the Ford would be bound to come 
 back to Stella at his death. 
 
 Paul had noticed Stair's operations with growing 
 annoyance. It was the first time that the possibility of 
 Stella's marrying someone he did not like had been brought 
 home to him. He regarded Stair as so ludicrous and had 
 such confidence in Stella's judgment that he could hardly 
 believe that she would take a fancy to the man. But he 
 knew by experience the strange freaks which a woman's 
 fancy will take, and, after all, there was a good deal to be 
 said in Stair's favour. He was a gentleman, rich, good- 
 looking, and endowed with that dull, plodding ability which 
 is often so successful in public life. Paul was a little 
 ashamed of his own feelings. He even accused himself of
 
 1 86 The Ford 
 
 jealousy, though he knew that was not the cause of his 
 annoyance. He had no personal desire for possession in 
 the case of Stella. He had thrust aside all such ideas from 
 the very first. She was the companion of his soul, the 
 solace and refreshment of his weary heart. To marry her, 
 even to kiss her, would have been to him a kind of 
 sacrilege, a dragging down of their intercourse to the level 
 of those other loves that had failed and died. This had 
 been the one perfect thing in his life, and he did not want 
 it shattered. But would it not be hopelessly shattered if 
 Stella became permanently associated with some common- 
 place husband ? It was not that Paul feared to lose her by 
 the inevitable separation. His feeling for her was too 
 spiritual to be affected by circumstances in that way. But 
 the thought of her inharmoniously matched, lowered, 
 wasted, would be a constant jar and grief. Rather than 
 that, would it not be better, after all, to try to marry her 
 himself, to keep her in her old home, to let her children, 
 if there might be any, succeed to the ancient heritage ? 
 She would possibly consent, for many reasons. 
 
 He turned from the thought, as a mediaeval monk might 
 have turned from a whisper of the Evil One ; but, once 
 come to birth in his mind, it was not to be slain. He had 
 to keep a watch on himself to prevent its re-awakening. 
 
 However Mr Purling's arrival to some extent caused a 
 diversion of his thoughts. 
 
 Mr Purling had been struck with admiration of Stella at 
 the first sight of her. He had boundless self-confidence, 
 and he always knew very clearly what he wanted ; which, 
 in this world, is at least half-way towards getting it. He 
 had heard reports of Stella's mental gifts, and, though he 
 knew that she came of a Tory family, he also knew her 
 reputation for originality, perhaps eccentricity of thought. 
 Though his principles compelled him to despise blood and
 
 Discords and Harmonies 187 
 
 rank in the abstract, he had a lively admiration for them in 
 the concrete. And, while he was dressing for dinner on 
 the evening of his arrival, he was already thinking how nice 
 " The Honourable Mrs Purling " would sound, and how 
 much it would annoy the patrician suitors from whom he 
 should have borne her away. It would be a crowning 
 touch in his own career and a slap in the face to the 
 Party he opposed and hated. 
 
 He was delighted to find that it was his lot to take her 
 in to dinner, though not altogether surprised, having a pro- 
 found belief in his star. Before he had finished his soup 
 he was wondering where they should spend their honey- 
 moon. 
 
 He had not intended to touch on any political topics, 
 but habit was too strong, and he trod once or twice on 
 the dangerous ground. But he found that Stella, both in 
 politics and other branches of thought, went a good deal 
 further in some ways then he was prepared to go himself. 
 When she told him that she regarded " business " as the 
 lowest of earthly occupations, and that she looked forward 
 to a day when money-making of all kinds would be in the 
 hands of the State, carried out by an inferior class of 
 officials, and when it would be impossible for any in- 
 dividual to make a fortune, he was more surprised than 
 pleased. 
 
 " I have some Socialistic leanings myself. Miss Gled- 
 dayne," he said, condescendingly, "but I cannot quite 
 agree with such a Socialist as you." 
 
 " I don't know that I am a Socialist." she answered. 
 " I don't care much for parties or labels of any kind. I 
 see what I believe to be the chief causes of ugliness and 
 brutality and unhappiness in modern life, and I want to see 
 them removed." 
 
 " I also am an idealist, I hope," he said, rather testily.
 
 1 88 The Ford 
 
 " I am certainly a humble soldier in the army of progress. 
 But I think there are more important things to remove 
 first." 
 
 " What do you mean by progress ? " she asked. 
 
 He was almost taken aback, for once in his life, by this 
 Socratic method. 
 
 " I mean many things," he said, after a brief pause. 
 " I mean the abolition of unjust privileges and powers, and 
 more true equality and liberty. But I certainly do not 
 propose to put any check on the prosperity of commerce. 
 I only hope to see a far larger number sharing in its 
 benefits than have done so hitherto." 
 
 " You want to destroy the remaining powers of one class 
 to set up another in its place," said Stella, with more anima- 
 tion than she usually showed. "And that class, which you 
 want to increase and make predominant, is to be the one 
 solely engaged in the sordid task of making money. I 
 don't call that progress. I'd rather have the old days of 
 warfare. They did at any rate breed a few heroes." 
 
 " The heroes of warfare are a somewhat over-rated race," 
 he said loftily. He was beginning to feel a little annoyed. 
 " At least I hope to see the curse of militarism removed 
 from the world. That is part of my idea of progress." 
 
 " I don't see the good of removing such a very minor 
 curse, when you leave, and increase, larger ones," she 
 answered. 
 
 " A minor curse ! My dear Miss Gleddayne, don't you 
 realize that a soldier is merely a hired butcher ? " 
 
 Stella's face flushed as if with annoyance, but her soft 
 voice was undisturbed as she replied. 
 
 " I am afraid you have not grasped the truth which 
 Ruskin points out somewhere, that the significance of the 
 soldier is not that he goes out to kill, but that he goes out 
 to be killed."
 
 Discords and Harmonies 189 
 
 Mr Purling began to be quite angry. He always 
 disliked having his opinions questioned, and he objected 
 to having Ruskin thrown at his head, as he wished it to 
 be understood always that all superior minds thought as he 
 did. 
 
 " I don't quite see how that affects the case," he said. 
 " War is a brutal trade and soldiers are generally a stupid 
 and brutal race." 
 
 " I had two brothers who were soldiers," said Stella 
 with a tremble in her voice. " They were the kindest, 
 gentlest, most chivalrous men I have ever known. I have 
 known a good many other soldiers, and I can't say they 
 answer to your description. Warfare is horrible, I admit, 
 but the training for it produces some very fine qualities. 
 And the things you would put in its place, commerce, 
 politics, journalism, are only more degraded forms of war- 
 fare. Man is always at strife. And the man who endures 
 danger and pain and hardships for no material gain, seems 
 to me at least as noble as the man who sits safely within 
 four walls, and either tries to get the better of his adver- 
 saries financially or calls them names in a newspaper." 
 
 After which quite long speech she turned away, with an 
 air of offended gentleness that was rather eloquent, and 
 talked entirely to her other neighbour for the rest of the 
 dinner time. Mr Purling, who was on the Board of several 
 companies, and who also did a good deal of political 
 journalism of a scornfully abusive kind, was hit in so many 
 tender places by her remarks that he burned to justify 
 himself. But realising that he was not making so good an 
 impression as he had confidently expected, he thought it 
 better to wait a little, and return to the attack later. He 
 accordingly turned to Lady Violet, who sat on his other 
 hand, and who, suppressing her natural inclination to treat 
 him with disdainful haughtiness, conceded so far to the
 
 190 The Ford 
 
 laws of hospitality as to condescend to converse with him. 
 And, pursuing her search for intellectual improvement, she 
 immediately put to him the question which had so silenced 
 Cameron Stair, — what is political economy? This gave 
 Mr PurUng, who was well-read in the subject, a happy 
 opening, and he proceeded to enlighten her with a fulness 
 which soon restored his own self-satisfaction and made her 
 ardently wish that she had not broached the topic. 
 
 She told Monty Rinde afterwards that Mr Purling was a 
 bore as well as a bounder, whereupon Rinde immediately 
 christened him "the Weevil," which she thought very 
 funny and proceeded to repeat as her own ; though she 
 found it necessary to add " because a weevil both bores 
 and bounds, you know," and several people spoiled the 
 success of her sally by saying they didnt know it. 
 
 For the remaining two days of the visit Mr Purling was 
 a thorn in the side of Cameron Stair. Whenever oppor- 
 tunity offered he attached himself to Stella, and Stair, after 
 once vainly trying to drive him away by a display of con- 
 temptuous hostility that was quite insolent, but failed to do 
 more than provoke an irritatingly superior smile on 
 Purling's face, gave up attempting to dislodge him. Lady 
 Claydon did her best to help him, by telling off Purling to 
 other entertainments and throwing Stella in Stair's way as 
 much as she could. And Lord Tedburne even sacrificed 
 himself on the altar of friendship so far as to ask Purling 
 to come out fishing with him ; but was only rebuffed by 
 the assurance, delivered with cheerful self-righteousness, 
 that Mr Purling never indulged in any sport that caused 
 the death or the suffering of any living thing. 
 
 "And yet you eat strawberries without killing them 
 first," remarked Monty Rinde, who overheard; thereby 
 possibly hinting at a deeper truth than he knew. For once 
 Mr Purling had not a retort ready and looked a little put
 
 Discords and Harmonies 1 9 1 
 
 out, greatly to the delight of Lord Tedburne, who proceeded 
 to be quite civil to Rinde, for the first time in his life. 
 
 The result of the state of tension was a heated argument 
 between Stair and Purling on the last day of their stay. 
 Purling had made one of his usual gibes at militarism, and 
 Stair who was a Captain of Yeomanry, and regarded himself 
 as every inch a soldier, protested angrily. A violent dis- 
 cussion ensued, and that evening they each sought Stella 
 in turn to ask for sympathy. Stair secured her first, on 
 coming out of the dining-room. 
 
 " I have had a delightful visit here," he said. " It has 
 been a little marred by the presence of that very second- 
 rate Radical politician, but I am glad to think that he is 
 not likely to come within either your or my horizon again. 
 I have put him in his place once or twice to-day in a way 
 that he will not forget, but I am glad to say I did not lose 
 my temper with him, I do not wish to boast, but I have 
 rather a talent for suppressing impudent people without 
 showing any heat or rudeness. It has become quite pro- 
 verbial in my own neighbourhood in Scotland. I remember 
 once I was playing golf, and just as I was approaching the 
 third hole, — no, let me see ! — was it the third hole or the 
 fourth ? I am inclined to think it was the fourth. I dwell 
 upon the point because our course is a somewhat peculiar 
 one and the situation of the fourth hole is so unusual that 
 it is very difficult to approach it. The defect, if it is one, 
 was pointed out to me when I was first arranging for this new 
 course, — for you must know that I was the instigator of the 
 making of the new course, and practically planned it. Of 
 course, like the old one, it is on my own land, and entailed 
 some sacrifice upon me, which I gladly made for the good 
 of the community. Well, just as I was approaching the 
 fourth hole^ was actually on the green in fact, and was 
 getting out my putter for the final stroke, a spectator, a
 
 \g2 The Ford 
 
 disagreeable person from a neighbouring town, with whom 
 I once had some Httle trouble, which perhaps it would 
 interest you to hear about later on " 
 
 At this moment Purling came up, with his cheerfully 
 superior smile, and dropped into an empty chair beside 
 Stella. Stair stopped abruptly in his story, looked at him 
 superciliously, then cast at Stella a significant look full of 
 sympathy and resentment, shrugged his shoulders and, in 
 the most marked way, got up and moved slowly away. 
 Purling's smile increased a little, but he made no comment. 
 
 " I thought I should like to tell you. Miss Gleddayne," 
 he said, " what a pleasure it has been to me to meet a 
 kindred spirit here, — if I may say so." 
 
 Stella shuddered, half with horror, half with suppressed 
 laughter. Purling went on placidly. 
 
 " Of course I felt I was coming into a hostile camp here, 
 though Lord and Lady Claydon are always so kind that I 
 had no real fear. But, apart from political opinions, it is a 
 Httle awkward for any one who is a thinker to find himself in 
 a lion's den of non-thinkers, and, charming as our fellow- 
 guests are, they can hardly be considered in the advance 
 guard of thought." 
 
 " It must have been trying for you," said Stella, looking 
 at him with a calm gaze that might have disconcerted him 
 if anything could possibly have done so. 
 
 " Oh, one gets used to it," he answered magnanimously. 
 " One can't expect to be always meeting one's intellectual 
 companions. Those who are trying to advance the world 
 cannot hope to find themselves a very numerous body." 
 
 " I am glad you believe in an aristocratic principle," 
 said Stella mischievously. 
 
 Mr Purling looked disturbed. He sometimes had a 
 faint suspicion that Stella was laughing at him, though he 
 could hardly believe such a thing possible. He was sure
 
 Discords and Harmonies 193 
 
 that only fools ever laughed at him, and Stella was certainly 
 not a fool, whatever she might be. 
 
 " I think I could show you that the principle is really a 
 purely democratic one," he said, with his faint, patronising 
 smile. " But I will not embark on your conversion now. 
 I hope to have the chance of it again some day. That is 
 what I wished to tell you, that it has been a valuable gain 
 to me to add you to my list of acquaintances, and I hope 
 that, in the future, there may be opportunities of further 
 intercourse, so that I may even presume some day to count 
 you, not as an acquaintance, but as a friend." 
 
 " Oh, no doubt we shall meet again," said Stella care- 
 lessly. " After all, we belong to the same county, — at 
 least I suppose you belong to it, don't you." 
 
 " I can hardly claim that," he said. " I live in London, 
 and pay flying visits to my constituency, and spend some 
 weeks in it during the autumn. But I am only familiar 
 with the north of the county and I understand that you 
 live in the south. I shall only hope for an opportunity of 
 visiting it." 
 
 " Well, you must come over and see us if ever you are 
 in our neighbourhood," Stella answered, rather coldly. She 
 was annoyed by his obvious intention to be invited to stay 
 at the Ford, and by a suspicion that such a thick-skinned 
 and self-satisfied person was not easy to divert from his 
 purpose. 
 
 " I shall make a point of being in your neighbourhood," 
 said Purling, complacently. " And now I come to think 
 of it, a man called Harrold, whom I know, once asked me 
 to stay with him in those parts. Does he live anywhere 
 near you ? " 
 
 " Very near," said Stella, with a blush she would have 
 given much to hide. But Purling took it as a sign of his 
 own powers of disturbing her. 
 N
 
 194 The Ford 
 
 " Then I think I may prophesy that we shall meet again 
 soon," he said with a meaning smile. At this moment a 
 figure interposed between them, and, looking up, he saw 
 Paul Gleddayne, with a curious expression on his face. 
 
 " Lady Claydon has sent me to ask you to play some- 
 thing," Paul said to Stella. 
 
 Stella responded eagerly, thankful to escape from Purling ; 
 though it was no great pleasure to her, who was really 
 musical, to play to a room full of inattentive people, who 
 neither knew nor cared anything about music. She went 
 to the piano and sat down. She looked round the room 
 for a moment or two, and then, with a faint smile of 
 mockery on her face, she began to play Brahms. 
 
 Needless to say the majority of the company in the long 
 saloon took no notice. Cameron Stair glanced up for a 
 minute, with a feigned look of pleasure, and then renewed 
 his conversation. He was under the impression that the 
 sole object of music was to act as a hint from the hostess 
 that people were not talking enough, and that it would be 
 almost rude, if not indecent, to remain silent. Mr Purling 
 had also his idea as to the proper course to pursue. He 
 went and sat upart, with an expression of tender 
 melancholy, and tapped on the floor with his foot in time 
 to the music, — or rather out of time with it. He had no 
 idea what Stella was playing or what it meant. But as, 
 fortunately, he soon began to doze, he was released from 
 the boredom which music always caused him. 
 
 The only listener was Paul. He also sat apart on a big 
 sofa, his grey head comfortably plunged into a cushion. He 
 watched Stella as she played. 
 
 He was disturbed in mind. To him both Stair and 
 Purling were of as little interest as if they had been 
 cockroaches. He certainly was not jealous. He disliked 
 Stair, because he had spoken ill of Ralph. Otherwise, he
 
 Discords and Harmonies 195 
 
 was barely conscious of the existence of either of the 
 couple as human beings. But he was very much aware of 
 their existence as would-be lovers of Stella. If she were to 
 marry a man of that sort ! The thought came back again, 
 and with it the possible alternative, from which he shrank 
 with bitter self-mockery. He as her suitor, indeed ! And 
 yet better he than they. 
 
 He cursed fate for bringing this disturbance to him. 
 There had been such peace in his soul before. And now 
 the dream of the last few months was threatened. 
 
 The music suited his mood. The great composer 
 seemed to have poured his tragic soul into these sombre 
 strains, broken by laughter, jovial, defiant, yet scarcely 
 hopeful in its gaiety. Deep sorrow and dauntless courage, 
 such seemed the message he had to give, — the infinite 
 sadness of humanity and the infinite strength that could 
 yet conquer that sadness. It was the brave sorrow of a 
 great soul, not the hysterical sorrow of unsatisfied appetite 
 and disordered nerves. Paul felt himself growing slowly 
 quieter, calmer, saner. And he blessed the white hands 
 dancing on the keys. 
 
 The smile had died from Stella's face, and she sat with 
 her head slightly bent forward, her lips parted, her great 
 eyes fixed as if on vacancy, heedless of the richly furnished 
 room, the lights, the ripple of voices, the movement of 
 figures, the sweep of costly clothes, and the gleam of jewels. 
 Her face grew sadder. She had her own sorrowful 
 struggle, though Paul knew nothing of it. She played 
 rather well for an amateur. Of course there were plenty 
 of technical shortcomings, but she had some power of 
 expression to reveal her feeUng and understanding. And 
 she took the thoughts of the great genius she was trying to 
 interpret, and wove them with her own. Her playing 
 spoke to Paul. He watched her beautiful profile, pleased
 
 196 
 
 The Ford 
 
 as ever with the lines of her shapely head, and conscious 
 of an unusually intense feeling pictured in her face. His 
 thought stretched towards hers, floating on the waves of 
 sound, and trying to understand. 
 
 She finished. Her eyes sought his and the gleam of 
 half-comprehending sympathy, tender and deep, flashed to 
 and fro between them. 
 
 Mr Purling woke up, and began to clap his hands. 
 
 " Beautiful ! Beautiful ! " he said. " You play like a 
 professional. I have never heard better playing. It is as 
 good as a pianola."
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 HUMOUR OF OLYMPUS 
 
 George Merrow and his wife came to pay their long 
 promised visit at Thirlwood. Ralph had come home 
 again for about a week and arranged the visit, not 
 altogether to the satisfaction of his father, who had no 
 taste for literary people. They reminded him too much of 
 his late wife and the many snubs she and her friends had 
 inflicted on him. 
 
 However he was cordial to the guests in his rough, 
 brusque way when they arrived. Like the rest of the 
 world, he was not much attracted by Mrs Merrow, but 
 good-naturedly did his best to be agreeable to her. And 
 when he found how she usually treated her husband, the 
 awakened sympathy gave him quite a warm feeling of 
 friendship for that luckless man. Curiously, too, the fact 
 that Merrow was a friend of Paul's made him the more 
 disposed to like him, — though the thought that Merrow's 
 presence might bring Paul within his doors made him 
 uneasy and unhappy. He hated Paul as much as ever. 
 And yet he rather liked to hear Merrow talk of him, — 
 except when Ralph was present. Then he gave no 
 encouragement to the topic. 
 
 His daughter, Mrs Welland, was also staying in the 
 house, and took charge of Mrs Merrow. Mrs Welland 
 was anxious to be regarded as a lady of considerable 
 distinction in the social world. She was a good-natured, 
 
 '97
 
 98 
 
 The Ford 
 
 good-looking young woman, but her efforts at the imitation 
 of duchesses were rather wearisome ; and she had a good 
 deal of that kind of second-rate smartness, which, excluded 
 from the few remaining citadels of high birth and breeding, 
 is plentifully nourished in riverside clubs, expensive 
 restaurants, and all the other social shrines whose gates 
 may be opened by the golden key. Her father regarded 
 her as not the least of his triumphs ; but with Ralph she 
 was on somewhat lukewarm terms. Mrs Merrow was 
 decidedly impressed by her, and enjoyed her thoroughly 
 kind, though slightly patronising attitude, coupled with 
 plenteous gossip regarding the sort of people most often 
 mentioned in Society newspapers. In return, Mrs Merrow 
 told her of all George's shortcomings. 
 
 Richard Harrold's fears as to the advent of Paul were 
 groundless. Paul only returned to the Ford from Rodden 
 two days before the close of the Merrow's visit, and on the 
 last afternoon Ralph drove George Merrow over to see 
 him. Mrs Merrow had been provided by the Wellands 
 with another expedition, of which she was glad, as she 
 knew that Stella was Miss OUsen's friend and had no wish 
 to make her acquaintance. Her husband's devotion to 
 Miss Ollsen had long been obvious to her, and added to 
 the bitterness that had done so much to cause it, — for 
 Merrow was naturally of a constant disposition. 
 
 Ralph clung to a hope that on this occasion he would 
 get some considerable time alone with Stella, and perhaps 
 succeed, even now, in bridging the gulf which seemed to 
 be always widening between them. But Stella made the 
 most obvious efforts not to be alone with him. When, 
 after a considerable time, it seemed to occur to her that 
 Paul and Merrow might wish for a little conversation 
 together, she proposed to her father and Ralph to pay a 
 visit to the farm. And for nearly an hour they pottered
 
 Humour of Olympus 199 
 
 about talking commonplaces and debarred from all topics 
 that would not interest the old man. Ralph grew more 
 and more angry. Nor was his anger diminished by the 
 persistent consciousness of his love for her. Her gentle 
 kindness to her father, her beauty, the sweetness of her 
 low, soft voice, the atmosphere of fragrance and delicacy 
 and distinction that seemed to surround her, all combined 
 to entangle him deeper in the net. He was in love, and, 
 apparently, hopelessly so. And hopelessness was not a 
 thing familiar to Ralph, nor one to which he was inclined 
 to submit. 
 
 She was friendly and kindly enough in her attitude 
 towards him. But there was even more than before of 
 that subtle, scarcely apparent constraint, which seemed to 
 hold her back from the faintest risk of intimacy with him. 
 He attributed it to pride and exclusiveness, and felt hurt 
 as well as angry. 
 
 Meanwhile Paul and Merrow sat on the terrace in the 
 warm sunshine, smoking and chatting. Paul's thoughts 
 flew back to that afternoon on the other terrace at 
 Windsor, when he had seen Blanche Harrold alive for the 
 last time. The thought sent a wave of sad emotion 
 through his heart, and again rose up fiercely the yearning 
 for Ralph's affection and confidence. He had been quite 
 excited and moved by meeting the young man again 
 to-day. And Ralph, as usual, bad been cordially distant, 
 amicably reserved. Paul knew that he had not won from 
 the son any of the love that he had won from the mother. 
 Well, at least he could give, and that was better than 
 receiving. But still, as Merrow talked, and he realised 
 how much more Ralph had opened his heart to the poet, 
 he could not resist a throb of wistful envy. 
 
 " So you're not content to wait for your undeserved 
 place in one branch of the Legislature but you must needs
 
 200 The Ford 
 
 try to push yourself into the other," Merrow said, between 
 puffs of smoke. " What do you think you will do in the 
 House if you get there ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't suppose I shall do much," Paul answered, 
 laughing. "One can hardly hope to learn the tricks of the 
 trade soon enough to succeed in it very well, at my age. 
 But I can't help a quite absurd feeling of exultation at the 
 thought of getting a small chance of distinguishing myself 
 even now, I daresay I shall waste the chance, but I have 
 got it, for the first time in my life. I thought I had out- 
 grown ambition and the desire for distinction, that I took 
 a sufficiently cosmic view of things to be indifferent to any 
 personal element. But I find it isn't so — in more ways 
 than one." 
 
 He sighed. Merrow darted a look at him under his 
 bushy eyebrows, and smoked vigorously. 
 
 " Well I'm sorry you're going in as a Tory," he said. 
 
 " My dear fellow, one must take one side or the other." 
 
 " But why not take the side of freedom and progress ? " 
 
 "Because there isn't such a thing. I believe I can do 
 more for what I consider freedom and progress on the 
 Tory side than on the Radical. I admit the obstacles of 
 prejudice and privilege. But I don't think they are so 
 bad as the petty envy and silly sentimentality of the Liberal 
 point of view. And besides it suits my temperament 
 better. A Tory may be dull but he's usually good- 
 natured. A true Radical is never happy unless he is 
 blackguarding somebody. Look at all the great men who 
 have done so much difificult work in distant parts of the 
 world, and the way they have always been abused and 
 thwarted by the Liberal party. I don't care for parties, 
 but I choose the lesser evil as I have to make a choice." 
 
 " Well, I don't see how you can reconcile it with your 
 beliefs," said Merrow in a grumbling tone. "You're more
 
 Humour of Olympus 201 
 
 of an Anarchist at heart than anything else. All the stale 
 old pomps and powers they uphold are merely ridiculous 
 to you, if you spoke the truth." 
 
 " I expect if I made a full confession of my beliefs I 
 should find as few men to agree with me on one side as on 
 the other," Paul answered. " At anyrate I do believe in 
 some sort of an aristocratic principle, — though I should 
 select the aristocracy by a different method from that by 
 which it is selected now. I want to see fair play for all 
 classes and the best men at the top. I don't believe any 
 rot about one man being as good as another, any more 
 than you do." 
 
 " I really don't see what right you have to say that. I 
 haven't given much attention to political questions, but 
 I'm not sure I donU think one man as good as another." 
 
 " My dear fellow, haven't you told me often that 
 great literature can only really be appreciated by very few 
 people ? " asked Paul. " And doesn't that apply to painting 
 and music and every other form of thought ? Then why 
 the deuce should you make an exception of statesmanship ? " 
 
 "Well I don't know," said Merrow, looking straight 
 before him with his sad, serious eyes. " I never thought 
 of putting politics on anything like the same level as the 
 arts. Politics seem to me a smaller thing altogether, and 
 therefore more people are likely to understand them." 
 
 Paul laughed aloud. 
 
 " To tell you the honest truth I'm inclined to agree with 
 you," he said. " Politics seem a small thing to me too, 
 and I don't believe political questions affect the happiness 
 of the world half as much as people pretend. You see 
 there are so many people interested in keeping up the 
 pretence, — all the politicians and all the journalists to start 
 with. But still politics have an importance, if only as part 
 of a larger thing,"
 
 20 2 The Ford 
 
 "Yes," said Merrow. "After all, everything is small 
 compared with that larger thing. He who helps his fellow- 
 men to think a little more rightly does more for their 
 happiness than all the politicians and priests and philan- 
 thropists in the world. But, if you feel like this about it, I 
 can only wonder the more that you have gone in for the 
 thing, instead of allowing Ralph Harrold to. He, at anyrate, 
 thinks it important, and has all sorts of romantic and definite 
 ideas he wants to carry out, — a modernised feudahsm mixed 
 with a good deal of socialism, — Carlyle and Ruskin and a 
 touch of Nietsche and God knows what. He'd have been 
 a much better man for the job than youT 
 
 Paul started and turned towards him with a bewildered 
 look in his eyes. 
 
 " What the devil do you mean ? " he asked quite roughly. 
 " How have I stood in Ralph's way ? " 
 
 " Why, my dear fellow, that's really absurd. Here is a 
 probable vacancy for Parliament, a young man who is 
 anxious to fill it, and who has every prospect of being 
 allowed to fill it ; and you get yourself chosen over his 
 head at the last minute, and shut him out." 
 
 " Have you any authority for what you are saying ? " 
 asked Paul almost fiercely. 
 
 " My dear Gleddayne you really needn't be so damned 
 melodramatic. I only tell you what Ralph Harrold told 
 me, and I thought you knew all about it." 
 
 "Then he believes that it is true," said Paul quietly 
 now. 
 
 Merrow laughed noisily. 
 
 " Well I should say there's no doubt of its being true," 
 he said. He was amused at what he thought Paul's ridi- 
 culous seriousness over a not very important matter. 
 " There's no doubt that you are the Conservative candidate 
 for this constituency, and that Ralph wanted to be, and, as
 
 Humour of Olympus 203 
 
 I understand, would certainly have been if it hadn't been 
 for you." 
 
 " But does he think I had any idea of his wish to stand 
 or of his prospects of being selected." 
 
 "Of course he does. Everyone seems to know it. 
 Apparently there is some old feud between your family 
 and the Harrolds, and the idea appears to be that your 
 relations have thought this a good opportunity for snubbing 
 them. Of course the Harrolds don't believe that you were 
 any party to /Aa/." 
 
 " Well I'm glad they don't think quite so badly of me 
 as all that," said Paul, with a melancholy smile. " I don't 
 seem to appear in a very amiable light as it is. Do you 
 think Richard Harrold believes more to my discredit than 
 his son does ? " 
 
 " I don't think so. He has spoken to me with much 
 bitterness about the way Lord Gleddayne and Lord Claydon 
 have always been hostile to him. But he doesn't seem to 
 blame you much. He always speaks kindly of you. I 
 think he rather admires you in some ways." 
 
 Paul's face flushed and he turned his eyes away, peering 
 across the sun-bathed meadows into the woods where 
 Thirlwood lay, embosomed in a concealing rampart of rich 
 spring green. Somehow it hurt him a good deal to think 
 that this man, whom he had injured, should speak gener- 
 ously of him. It made him feel small and mean. He 
 had not quite realised before how much there was that 
 was fine in Richard Harrold. Harrold began to appear as 
 a far nobler figure than he had imagined him and this 
 thought gave him a sharp thrust, not exactly of remorse, 
 but of compunction and sorrow. What he had done he 
 had done. Regrets were follies. He had trampled 
 on Harrold because he stood in his path, and he was not 
 the hypocrite to pretend to repent of it now. He neither
 
 204 The Ford 
 
 condemned nor justified himself. The thing was done. 
 But through this self-controlled attitude a shaft would 
 thrust itself sometimes, and he was feeling one now. He 
 felt that Harrold ought at least to have the right to make 
 him suffer. 
 
 And he ivas suffering a good deal. To hear what Ralph 
 thought of him was not pleasant. And he had an irresistible 
 feeling that he must not try to clear himself, even if that 
 were possible. But perhaps Ralph would not even believe 
 his word now. Assuredly he had not made the conquest 
 of the lad's affections that he had planned ! 
 
 He turned to Merrow again. 
 
 " Don't let's talk about politics any more," he said 
 lightly. " They're dull things at the best. What has been 
 going on in the literary world ? Have any new works of 
 genius electrified the critics ? Judging by the Press, there 
 appears to be at least one masterpiece every week." 
 
 " Well there has been a rather shameless boom by 
 Claude Auvergne's friends of his last book of poems. 
 They say he writes something greater than mere literature, 
 — a new form in fact ; makes symphonies in words more 
 musical than music and suggests pictures more vivid than 
 paint. His poetry is the instrument of pure — or impure — 
 emotion, and is not degraded by the expression of ideas. 
 I need scarcely add that he is more erotic than a rabbit." 
 
 The friends showed their lack of respect for genius by 
 joining in hearty laughter, and proceeded to a long dis- 
 cussion of the subjects that really interested both of them 
 most. The Spring sunshine glowed on the terrace, making 
 vivid the colours of tulips and hyacinths in the garden 
 behind them. The sparrows twittered busily in the ivy 
 on the old house, and black-birds sang respondingly to 
 each other in the trees around. George Merrow's mourn- 
 ful eyes glowed, and his deep voice became eloquent. To
 
 • Humour of Olympus 205 
 
 him poetry meant life, and he actually talked of it with 
 as much earnestness as others might bestow on a motor- 
 car or a gold mine or even a rise in " Kaffirs.'' 
 
 Presently the rest of the party came back. Ralph 
 announced that it was time to go home, and Merrow shyly 
 made his clumsy adieux. Lord Gleddayne's grimness 
 frightened him so much that he blundered up against the 
 tea-table which stood on the terrace, and upset the tea- 
 pot, an accident he deplored, because the pot con- 
 tained, he said, the best tea he had tasted since 
 he left London, — a remark which, not unnaturally, 
 amused Ralph a good deal. Finally he was conducted 
 to the dog-cart, into which he climbed, with many in- 
 coherent ejaculations, and Ralph drove him away. 
 
 Lord Gleddayne went into the house, and Paul was left 
 with Stella. She looked sad and had almost a worried 
 look, different from her usual composure. 
 
 " I'm going to write to Lord Claydon to tell him that I 
 shall not stand for Parliament," he said abruptly. 
 
 Stella looked at him in surprise. 
 
 " I suppose you have some good reason," she said, 
 " It seems a pity." 
 
 " I find that if I had declined, Ralph Harrold would 
 probably have been chosen as the candidate," he said. 
 
 " Didn't you know that ? '' she asked. 
 
 " No. \^ you did, I wish you had told me." 
 
 " Mr Harrold's affairs are no concern of mine," she 
 answered, more irritably than he had ever known her to 
 speak before. 
 
 " I didn't mean that they were," he said gently. " But 
 they are a concern of mine. I would not stand in his way 
 for worlds." 
 
 "Are you so fond of him then?" she asked, turning 
 away her head.
 
 2o6 The Ford 
 
 " I love him like a son," he answered, with a shake in 
 his voice. " And he almost hates meP 
 
 Stella turned to him with sympathetic eyes. 
 
 " Poor old Paul," she said. " It's a topsy turvy world." 
 
 Then she sighed deeply, and went slowly away toward 
 the house, with a listless air. Paul wondered what was 
 wrong with her. Surely it couldn't be Cameron Stair ! 
 The thought made him bite his lip furiously and break 
 into a short laugh. 
 
 He went into the house and wrote a letter to Lord 
 Claydon, telling him that he had come to the conclusion, 
 for many reasons, not to stand for Parliament, and strongly 
 pleading that Ralph should be chosen as candidate in his 
 place. 
 
 After a day or two the answer came. He had expected 
 considerable reproach for his sudden change of plan. 
 He was relieved, but not flattered, to find that his 
 retirement was received with satisfaction. Lord Claydon 
 stated pompously that he hoped on some future occasion 
 Mr Ralph Harrold, who no doubt had many qualifications, 
 would have an opportunity of fighting for the constitutional 
 cause. But he was happy to say that he would now be 
 able to present to the Association a candidate whom they 
 had often solicited to stand, and about whose merits there 
 could be no dispute. He was glad to say that he had at 
 last succeeded in overcoming the repugnance hitherto ex- 
 hibited towards public life by his son. Lord Tedburne. 
 
 Paul showed the letter to Stella. Neither of them made 
 any comment. They both laughed a little, without much 
 merriment.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 GOSSIP 
 
 After all, Ralph remained at Thirlwood for nearly a month. 
 His chief was ill and had been sent abroad in the middle of 
 the Session ; and there was really no work for a more or 
 less ornamental private secretary to do. The Commercial 
 Road was not so attractive that he wished to hurry back to 
 it. And he did not care to go up for the amusements 
 taking place at the other end of London, where marriage- 
 able virgins were for sale — and perhaps other things also, 
 — and where people who despised him for his birth would 
 pursue him for his wealth. Richard Harrold had ahvays 
 been anxious for Ralph to take a prominent place in 
 fashionable Society. But in this, as in so many other 
 things, his son disappointed him. 
 
 However, the father and the son were undoubtedly 
 drawing a good deal closer to each other. Ralph was 
 beginning to understand his father better. Richard 
 Harrold's limitations were plain enough to him still, and 
 he did not alter his old opinion that it had been a mis- 
 fortune for a woman like his mother to be married to such 
 a man. But he also realised that his mother's judgment 
 of her husband had been a good deal coloured by passion 
 and prejudice, and that Richard Harrold was a very much 
 better fellow than she had believed or had encouraged her 
 son to believe. Indeed Ralph began to see dim indications 
 of a certain rugged nobility in his father. After a life 
 
 ao7
 
 2o8 The Ford 
 
 spent in business, Richard Harrold was still upright and 
 honest to a degree which many quite estimable business men 
 would have considered Quixotic. He was generous as 
 regards money, and was popular with his poorer neighbours, 
 who found him irascible and rather bullying, but just and 
 kind-hearted, so far as he could understand. He was not 
 naturally of a sympathetic nature, but he was by no means 
 a mere egoist. And, if he thought everything absurd 
 whose value he was incapable of comprehending, he was 
 not unlike the majority of his fellows in that respect. 
 
 Much in this way did Ralph sum up his father during 
 their intercourse. His father occupied his attention more 
 than usual. Partly because he felt he had been unjust to 
 him and was not without some self-reproach. And partly 
 because a fierce desire for someone to confide in, to ask 
 sympathy of, — a desire which filled him with anger and 
 shame and yet remained, — was raging within him night 
 and day. He had never missed his mother so much. She 
 would have undeistood and helped him. But as things 
 were, he, who seldom confided in anyone or asked counsel 
 of anyone, was almost crying aloud for someone to lean 
 upon. After all, he was still very young. 
 
 Yet he did not yield to the temptation for a long time. 
 He avoided any mention of Stella in his conversations with 
 his father. Indeed he did not want to confide in his 
 father, — if only there had been anyone else. His thoughts 
 turned to Paul. If circumstances had been different he 
 would have liked to talk to Paul. Paul was his mother's 
 friend, — and moreover he felt instinctively that Paul would 
 understand. But Paul was debarred from him by several 
 walls ; by the old feeling of mistrust and vague resentment, 
 which never allowed him to dwell long on the thought of 
 Paul's friendship with his mother ; by Paul's own reserve 
 with, and apparent avoidance of him ; and, most of all, by
 
 Gossip 209 
 
 the sickening thought, which had been slowly thrust into 
 his mind, that Paul loved Stella himself, and that she, with 
 her beauty and freshness, was allowing her family pride to 
 master all other feelings, and was likely to hand over her 
 life to this worn-out, cynical, elderly man. 
 
 As is not uncommon with youth, Ralph himself began to 
 take refuge in cynicism. After all, what was the good 
 of all these ideals about Love ? Were it not better done 
 as others use ? Could not he find an Amaryllis in the 
 shade or a Neasra with tangled hair, who would help him 
 to forget this haughty creature who despised him, and 
 whom he was almost beginning to despise ? He salved his 
 conscience by growing still more idealistic over his fellow- 
 men, by dreaming of many labours and endurances and 
 self-sacrifices on their behalf; and he encouraged himself 
 to think lightly of Love. He began to laugh at himself 
 for past austerities. Youth was passing and he was making 
 small use of its golden opportunities. He began to feel a 
 longing for some reckless, defiant adventure that would turn 
 life into wine. At present it was rather like vinegar. 
 
 One beautiful afternoon he sat with his father on the 
 lawn, each of them stretched in a long cane chair, smoking 
 tobacco. Richard Harrold was studying a miscellaneous pile 
 of newspapers and reviews, — mostly of a financial and com- 
 mercial cast. Ralph was reading Leopardi, and sharing his 
 pessimism as much as a healthy, well-fed, vigorous young 
 Englishman could. Above them great rounded white clouds 
 rolled slowly across a blue sky. In the shrubberies the thorn- 
 trees were red and white with Mayblossoms, the lilacs lifted 
 a standard of delicate colour, the laburnums dropped 
 motionless showers of gold. The cuckoo was calling in 
 the park and the birds sang uproariously everywhere. The 
 pulse of the world was beating with joy. 
 
 Presently the trim, grey-headed little figure of Major 
 o
 
 2IO The Ford 
 
 Cantle appeared in the drive, approaching them. Richard 
 Harrold laughed. 
 
 " There must be some important gossip going if that Httle 
 beggar can take the trouble to walk all the way from Roate- 
 bridge on a warm day like this," he said. 
 
 He shouted to the little man to attract his attention. 
 Then he bellowed in the direction of the house for a 
 servant. He received the Major with rough cordiality but 
 without attempting to rise from his chair. A footman, 
 after more bellowing, at last arrived, and was despatched 
 for another long chair and also a long tumbler — not an 
 empty one. The Major, having indulged in various more 
 or less servile pleasantries, was at length settled down in 
 comfort, sheltering behind a cigar half as large as himself. 
 
 " Well, what's the news ? " Richard Harrold asked. 
 
 Major Cantle chuckled. 
 
 "There's plenty of it," he said in his thin, dry voice, and 
 proceeded to puff out smoke and nod his head mysteriously. 
 After a minute or so he went on. 
 
 "I suppose you've heard that Gawley has applied for 
 the Chiltern Hundreds and that we shall have an election 
 almost at once," he said. 
 
 Ralph moved uneasily in his chair and threw away a 
 half-smoked cigarette. Then he lighted another. His 
 father's face grew darker. 
 
 " I suppose Paul Gleddayne will get in all right," he 
 said. "The family name will make up for any deficiencies 
 in the candidate, with these benighted yokels." 
 
 The Major's face lit up with anticipated triumph. He 
 seemed to inflate himself, to grow larger and more pompous, 
 as the bearer of tidings. 
 
 "I'm going to surprise you," he said, slowly. Then, 
 after a pause, " Paul Gleddayne isn't going to stand.-" 
 
 He looked round for a dramatic reception and got it to
 
 Gossip 2 1 1 
 
 some extent. Ralph threw away the new cigarette and sat 
 upright. Richard Harrold stared apoplectically. 
 
 " The devil ! " he said. " Are you sure ? " 
 
 " Absolutely certain," said the Major, " I had it from 
 Brown." 
 
 Brown was the conservative agent. 
 
 "Then, by God, we'll get Ralph in after all," exclaimed 
 Richard Harrold excitedly. But the Major held up a 
 deprecating hand, with a countenance of polite sympathy. 
 
 " I am afraid not this time," he said. " It's all a little 
 family affair. He has retired to make room for Lord 
 Tedburne. You know they've been wanting him to stand 
 for a long time \ and the Association just jumped at him 
 when they heard of the change." 
 
 " I tell you what it is, Cantle," said Harrold, savagely, 
 " I'm about sick of the way the Gleddaynes and the 
 Tedburnes run the political affairs of this County. It's 
 enough to make one turn Radical. As to Paul Gleddayre 
 I simply can't understand his conduct." 
 
 " Of course, I don't want to be inquisitive," said Major 
 Cantle, — as if he ever wanted to be anything else, — " but 
 has Paul Gleddayne any reason for disliking your son ? " 
 
 " Disliking ! He's known him since he was a small 
 child, 2ir\d pretends to be fond of him anyhow." 
 
 " Oh, of course, I daresay it's all nonsense. But people 
 are saying that he only stood to keep him out and didn't 
 mean it seriously at all, and was only too glad to retire 
 when Tedburne was ready to come forward." 
 
 " Then you can tell anyone who suggests it that it's a 
 lie," broke in Ralph hotly. " I am quite sure Paul 
 Gleddayne wouldn't do such a thing." 
 
 " Oh, of course not," said the Major, " that is, under 
 ordinary circumstances." 
 
 " Look here, Cantle," said Richard Harrold in his
 
 2 I 2 The Ford 
 
 bullying way, " you've no right to make insinuations. If 
 you know anything say it out. What do you mean by 
 ordinary circumstances." 
 
 Major Cantle sniggered apologetically. 
 
 "You mustn' t 2iXX3.c\i me" he said, "/suggest nothing. 
 I know nothing. But, however much one may hate gossip, 
 one can't help hearing what people say. And they're all 
 saying pretty much the same thing." 
 
 " And what's that ? " asked Harrold brusquely. 
 
 "Well, really, I hardly like to talk of such a thing. 
 Ladies' names are best left out of men's discussions," said 
 the Major, with fine chivalry. " But of course everyone 
 knows now that Paul Gleddayne is trying to marry his 
 cousin. And, like some more of us, he isn't quite as 
 young as he was, and hasn't the attractions of youth." 
 
 At this point he suddenly recollected having heard vague 
 rumours of a scandal concerning Paul and the late Mrs 
 Harrold, and stopped in some confusion. He prided 
 himself on his tact, and was annoyed to think that he 
 might have made a false step. Certainly Richard Harrold's 
 face was black enough. 
 
 " I see what you mean," Harrold said. " Ralph might 
 be a dangerous rival, if he were inclined that way." 
 
 Ralph writhed silently. That his father should speak on 
 such a subject before him, and to such a man as Cantle, 
 was torment. But he knew his father's limitations, and was 
 more hurt than surprised. 
 
 The Major also writhed, nervously. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," he said. " Please remember that 
 I am only repeating what I have heard. I've said more 
 than I intended, but it slipped out." 
 
 " Well if you hear anything of the kind again you can 
 contradict it," said Ralph, so sternly that the Major felt 
 quite uneasy. " I am obliged to you for telling me this
 
 Gossip 213 
 
 tittle-tattle, as it gives me an opportunity of denying it. 
 Miss Gleddayne and I are the best of friends and there 
 has never been any idea of anything else on either side." 
 
 " I am sure there hasn't," said the Major, eager to 
 please. " And now that it is settled that Miss Gleddayne 
 is to marry her cousin it will give me very great pleasure to 
 be able to contradict these silly stories." 
 
 " Settled ! " exclaimed Richard Harrold. Ralph turned 
 very white and said nothing. 
 
 " Well, I believe so, from what I hear, though it isn't 
 announced yet. Miss Gleddayne has just gone off to 
 London for a month of the season with Lady Claydon. 
 And I understand that the engagement will be announced 
 as soon as she comes back." 
 
 In justice to Major Cantle it should be said that he had 
 not the smallest suspicion of the state of Ralph's feelings. 
 He did not know how frequently the young man visited 
 the Ford. He knew that there was an old feud between 
 Lord Gleddayne and Richard Harrold, and, though he 
 understood that this was now to some extent patched up, 
 he imagined that there was not much friendliness between 
 the two families. He rather disliked the Gleddaynes, who, 
 he considered, had slighted him, as they never invited him 
 to the Ford ; and he believed that both the Harrolds shared 
 his sentiments. 
 
 He sat and talked for a considerable time, hoping that 
 Harrold would ask him to stay and dine. But as the 
 invitation did not come, he at last rose to go. Harrold 
 had a gleam of compunction at the thought of his tramp 
 back to Roatebridge. 
 
 "You mustn't walk," he said, witli rough kindliness. 
 " I'll send you in the dog-cart. There's a horse that wants 
 exercising." 
 
 The Major, who felt that he had given little pleasure with
 
 2 14 The Ford 
 
 his news, reflected that the loss of a hoped for dinner was 
 not so heavy a penalty for the bearer of bad tidings, if it 
 was counterbalanced by a drive behind one of Harrold's 
 fast trotting horses. He thankfully accepted another 
 whiskey and soda and another big cigar. And, feeling 
 genuinely contrite for any disturbance his news might have 
 caused to his hosts, he pressed their hands with real warmth 
 and was shortly driven away. 
 
 As the dog-cart rolled down the drive Richard Harrold 
 came across to Ralph and laid his hand on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " I'm sorry, lad," he said. " I know it's a bit of a blow 
 to you. I wish it had been otherwise." 
 
 Ralph laughed, with wonderful self-control. He was 
 touched by his father's unwonted sympathy and his eyes 
 moistened. 
 
 " It's all right. Father," he said. " I've been expecting 
 it for a long time past. But I'm not going to break my 
 heart over it." 
 
 " Curse the whole lot of them," exclaimed Richard 
 Harrold bitterly. " I wanted to see you married to that 
 girl, Ralph. It's only right that you should take your 
 proper position in the world, and you're good enough for 
 any girl, whoever she is." 
 
 "You don't understand the Gleddaynes, Father," said 
 Ralph sadly. " They don't really regard us as the same 
 flesh and blood. I know there are instances every day of 
 girls in their class marrying men who have made money, 
 and come from a bit lower down than I do. They aren't 
 the sort of girls I should want to marry myself, as a rule, — 
 girls who would despise my family and want me to drop all 
 my poor relations. We've never done that sort of thing 
 anyhow, Father." 
 
 " No, by God, and we never will," said Richard Harrold.
 
 Gossip 215 
 
 •' We're as good as any of them and they shall know it yet. 
 After all, they all had a beginning once, and some of them 
 not very far back either, — and pretty low down too ; a good 
 deal lower than w^." 
 
 Richard Harrold had always been generous to his less 
 successful relations. 
 
 " Of course Stella Gleddayne isn't like that," Ralph 
 went on ruefully. "If she had cared for me and had 
 married me she'd have thrown her whole soul into my life. 
 There's nothing petty or snobbish about her. But she 
 didn't care — and perhaps it's as well. Her father would 
 never have consented, and the rest of her family would 
 have given her hell. And at any rate now she'll please 
 them, and she'll keep her old home into the bargain. This 
 is the first knock down blow I've ever had in my life, and 
 I'm not going to lie down long. I expect everything is for 
 the best." 
 
 The muscles of his jaw hardened as he spoke and he 
 looked at his father with a gleam of defiance in his eyes. 
 Richard Harrold's heart warmed to him as it had never 
 done before. 
 
 " You're made of the right stuff, Ralph," he said, " like 
 you're father before you. We'll forget these people. We'll 
 wipe them out of our lives. And you shall be happy some 
 day. I've never been baulked for long in anything yet. 
 And I'll help you to a wife that is fit for you sooner or 
 later." 
 
 He spoke in all sincerity. Life had taught him that few 
 things were impossible to his stubborn determination and 
 his wealth. 
 
 " I think I shall be happy before long," said Ralph. " I 
 don't mean to let a thing like this break me down. If 
 these people have their pride, so have we, Father, and I'm 
 not sure we haven't more to be proud of, when all's said
 
 2 1 6 The Ford 
 
 and done. Thank you for caring so much. It was good 
 of you. I shan't forget it." 
 
 Richard Harrold's face flushed deeply. His burly frame 
 was strangely agitated, and his hand shook as he laid it on 
 his son's shoulder, more tenderly than Ralph would have 
 thought possible. The father looked away vaguely into 
 the bushes through a blurr of tears.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 A COUNTER-IRRITANT 
 
 The Commercial Road did not look attractive when Ralph 
 returned to it. Not that the advent of summer had not 
 affected the neighbourhood. There were quite new smells 
 there, more powerful than the winter odours. Also the 
 life of the inhabitants was passed even more out of doors 
 than before ; and their domestic differences and recrimina- 
 tions and humours were even more public. A whole race 
 was growing up who knew not reticence or dignity. The 
 age which Harrold's Household Soap typified had given 
 them other blessings. Ralph began to feel as if the 
 Revolution were faintly trumpeting afar. 
 
 He was conscious of a precarious mental position. His 
 present heart-burning against the injustice wrought by the 
 pride of birth could hardly leave him the right to oppose 
 those who cried against the insolence of wealth. Only 
 what was to take the place of these things ? He was no 
 sentimentalist and did not believe much in Utopias founded 
 on violence and popular clamour and lawless ignorance. 
 The French Revolution, with all its benefits to humanity, 
 had shattered that delusion once for all. He decided 
 that as he was a rich man it would be better to remain one 
 till some really practical and more desirable alternative 
 suggested itself. So he sent large donations to the Charity 
 Organisation Society and various Hospitals, and resolved 
 to wait for events, not unconscious of the humour of 
 
 the matter. 
 
 217
 
 2i8 The Ford 
 
 He was busy for a time, and usually got home for a very 
 late dinner, after which he did not sit up very long. The 
 sense of loneliness was rather strong upon him, in spite of 
 the enterprise of several old Oxford or Eton friends who 
 came all the way to dine with him. He felt sad and 
 wounded and rather angry. During his daily uncomfortable 
 journeys between Whitechapel and Whitehall the irony of 
 their nomenclature amused him. The world did not look 
 a very white place. He was still unable to repress a 
 certain sense of hungry yearning as he approached the 
 West End, knowing that Stella was so near. He supposed 
 she was enjoying herself, having a final burst of gaiety before 
 she was immolated on the altar of family pride ; for that 
 she had any deep passion for Paul he was unable to believe. 
 But then perhaps she was not capable of passion. People 
 always said she was cold, and perhaps it was true. The 
 sacrifice might be a very slight one after all. 
 
 He was in London nearly a fortnight before he found 
 time to call upon his friends at St Simeon's Mission. At 
 last, however, he wandered there and was about to ring the 
 front-door bell when the door opened and the Reverend 
 Charles Gurdel appeared on the threshold. 
 
 " Oh Harrold," he said, " glad to see you. It was awfully 
 good of you to come round. He really is convalescent at 
 last and I hope he'll be off to the sea-side to-morrow." 
 
 " He ! Who ? " 
 
 " Don't you know ? Father Winscombe has been at 
 death's door. But by God's mercy he has pulled through 
 and I hope he'll soon be quite fit again. We've had a 
 rollicking old time here, I can tell you. I thought he was 
 going off the hooks once or twice, but, thank God, he has 
 been spared to us." 
 
 " I wish I had known," exclaimed Ralph. " I'd have 
 had things sent round, and told my servants to come and
 
 A Counter-irritant 219 
 
 help, and done what I could. I'm afraid you haven't many 
 opportunities of making him comfortable here. Has he 
 had a nurse." 
 
 Gurdel distinctly blushed. 
 
 " He has indeed," he said. " And I tell you what it is, 
 my boy, I wouldn't mind being dangerously ill myself, if I 
 could have a nurse like that." 
 
 " Who is it ? " asked Ralph with a smile. 
 
 " An angel from Heaven," said Gurdel fervently. " But 
 you know her as Lady Staneby, his sister. Though it's 
 only natural that his sister should be an angel, for he's a 
 holy saint. I tell you what it is, Harrold, I'd go through 
 fire and water for that woman." 
 
 " And you a parson, and she another man's wife," said 
 Ralph, laughing. 
 
 "Of course you chaff about it. But bar all rot, old 
 chap, it does one good to be brought into contact with a 
 wom.an like that. She's been living here, enduring every 
 discomfort, and working herself to a shadow, and she's 
 always been bright and cheerful and sweet-tempered, and 
 never grumbled or said a cross word or made a sign that 
 she wasn't getting everything she wanted. And it's been 
 no blessed bean-feast for her, I can tell you." 
 
 Ralph smiled again. Yet somehow he felt a curious 
 sensation of excitement at hearing that Lady Staneby was 
 there. He found himself wishing that he had come back 
 sooner. His heart was heavy and sore enough. But he 
 was resolved to find some opiate drug for it. And through 
 his grey thoughts moved a faint flutter of hope. 
 
 " Do you think Father Winscombe would care to see 
 me? " he asked. 
 
 " I'm sure he would," said Gurdel. " Come in. I was 
 going to see an old woman, but she can wait a little, and 
 I'll stay a bit longer to see you."
 
 2 20 The Ford 
 
 Ralph was a little surprised at the alacrity with which 
 the clergyman put aside what was more or less a duty, for 
 the sake of his society. It was so very unlike Gurdel, 
 and though it was flattering, it was puzzling, because 
 certainly politeness would never have been allowed to 
 intervene between the Reverend Charles and any of his 
 plans ; while Ralph could hardly believe that affection for 
 himself was so strong as to deflect him from his course, 
 seeing how comparatively slight their acquaintance was. 
 But the reason became more apparent when Gurdel opened 
 the door of Father Winscombe's room. 
 
 Father Winscombe lay in a long chair, wasted to a 
 shadow. His blue eyes burned in their hollow sockets 
 like great lamps and his face was so thin as to be almost 
 dreadful. He had evidently been very ill. Beside him 
 sat Lady Staneby, sewing some dehcate piece of female 
 drapery. She also was pale and a little worn. The 
 wrinkles and crow's-feet in her skin, though fine as threads, 
 were rather more conspicuous than before. But as she 
 lifted her face Ralph saw that its slightly haggard aspect 
 only enhanced its beauty, giving it a touch of the spirituality 
 in which it was rather deficient. Her great eyes, so 
 strangely like her brother's, met his with a welcoming 
 smile of pleasure. She was neatly dressed in a linen gown 
 and wore a dainty muslin apron, that somehow suggested 
 a fancy-dress, rather than practical nursing work. There 
 seemed the same suggestion of incongruity in the contrast 
 between the rings and the thimble on her shapely hand. 
 
 She held out the soft, warm hand to Ralph, and, as he 
 felt its faint pressure and looked into her vaguely challeng- 
 ing eyes, her air of languid indiiTerence seemed almost a 
 cloak, though it was natural enough. He was half conscious 
 of being attracted and of attracting, in some subtle electric 
 fashion, and the blood beat faster in his veins.
 
 A Counter-irritant 221 
 
 She turned her eyes, still rather pleading, yet imperious, 
 on Gurdel, and made some jesting remark, in her rich 
 plaintive voice, on his reappearance after declaring that he 
 was going out ; and, by the blush, and the awkward 
 tormented look she roused, Ralph saw at once that the 
 unfortunate young clergyman was her slave. No wonder 
 Gurdel had been so glad of an excuse to come back. 
 Father Winscombe evidently viewed the matter otherwise. 
 
 " I am sorry you have returned, Charles," he said in a 
 weak voice. " Already too much attention is being 
 bestowed on my worthless self. Now that Harrold has 
 come, I can have no excuse for enjoying your society, 
 grateful as I am for it. Please do not let me come 
 between you and your real duties." 
 
 A humorous curve showed in the corners of Lady 
 Staneby's mouth. Poor Gurdel ruefully obeyed his superior 
 and left the room. Father Winscombe greeted Harrold 
 with his charming smile, so like his sister's, and held out 
 a thin hand to him. 
 
 " It is good of you to come," he said. " I am being 
 dreadfully spoiled. Fortunately, it is ended now, and I 
 shall be able to get away soon and atone for this period of 
 self-indulgence." 
 
 " I should think nothing but hair-shirts and scourges 
 could make up for the sinful luxury of your illness," said 
 Lady Staneby, flippantly. 
 
 A stern, hard look gleamed for a moment in her brother's 
 eyes, but she was as nearly a privileged person as anyone 
 could be with him, and his face softened into a more gentle 
 sadness. 
 
 "Ah, Lily," he said, in the tone of one reproving a 
 child, " will you never learn to be serious about anything ? " 
 
 " Never, my dear, I hope," answered his sister, with 
 humorous eyes. " You'd be wanting me to come and live
 
 2 22 The Ford 
 
 in your horrid East End if I did. And all I want to do is 
 to get you out of it." 
 
 " Lily," said her brother, still more seriously, " do not 
 try to be a temptation to me, I shouldn't like Harrold to 
 think that there was even a suggestion of faltering on my 
 part. I have given myself, body and soul, to the Master's 
 Service. I shall live here, and I mean to die here. I 
 have consented to go away for a little now, much against 
 my wishes, but because I see thereby I shall the more 
 quickly get back my strength. And one needs strength, 
 though I sometimes think it would be better to work in 
 suffering if one could. You have been kind and loving to 
 me in my illness, and from your point of view you were 
 right to come and see to me. But I sometimes fear that 
 I may have erred in accepting such an indulgence, and at 
 least I hope that you will not again try to tempt me to 
 others." 
 
 His voice was gentle, and he laid his hand on hers as 
 he spoke. But there was a very stern glare in his blue 
 eyes, and an iron edge to his tone. Lady Staneby 
 shrugged her shoulders and turned away, with a fleeting 
 cloud of sadness on her face, which was immediately 
 replaced by one of her delightful smiles. Ralph watched 
 her, moved and interested. 
 
 " When are you going away ? " he asked Father 
 Winscombe. 
 
 " In three or four days," replied the clergyman. " My 
 sister has consented to give up her post of indulger and 
 corrupter the day after to-morrow, and I shall leave for 
 a short time soon afterwards. But I hope soon to be 
 back." 
 
 " Well, you'll please take care of yourself when you do 
 come back," said Lady Staneby. " I shall send you some 
 fruit and some proper things to eat, and you'll just be good
 
 A Counter-irritant 223 
 
 enough to eat them, and not go and give them all away 
 to your East Enders. You've no idea what they live on 
 here, Mr Harrold. Most of their food comes out of tins, and 
 goodness knows what it was before it got into them. I've 
 been having chickens and things sent in, and my brother 
 thinks it almost wicked, I know / shouldn't have lived 
 if I hadn't, and certainly he wouldn't. I'm just longing 
 to get back to my own cook." 
 
 Father Winscombe made a gesture of impatient sadness. 
 
 " It is a pity you ever came, my dear, if you have learned 
 no better lesson than to crave for these fleshly indulgences," 
 he said. 
 
 Lady Staneby laughed a little, but there was something 
 about Father Winscombe that made it impossible, even 
 for her, to laugh at him much. The gentleness and 
 humility were strangely blended with the old military 
 sternness and habit of command. 
 
 " Well," said Ralph, " I can offer you a decent dinner 
 to-morrow, if you think you could leave Father Winscombe 
 for an hour or two. Will you come and dine with me ? 
 There will be no one else but an East End doctor, who 
 will at any rate be a new experience to you. And I will 
 ask Gurdel too, if he is free." 
 
 "Oh no," said Lady Staneby, "Mr Gurdel must stay 
 and look after my brother." 
 
 Father Winscombe seemed about to protest, and then 
 checked himself. His sister smiled rather mischievously. 
 " I shall ask Mr Gurdel to come and fetch me home," 
 she said. 
 
 Father Winscombe frowned, but said nothing. Ralph 
 guessed that he was a little disturbed by Gurdel's evident 
 enslavement by the syren. 
 
 " But I haven't answered you," said Lady Staneby, 
 turning to Ralph with a smile that troubled him a little.
 
 2 24 The Ford 
 
 " Thank you so much. I will come most gladly. Fancy 
 a dinner-party in the East End ! It's like going to a 
 ball in a church." 
 
 She laughed merrily and Father Winscombe's face 
 showed a curious struggle between amusement and dis- 
 approval. Finally the amusement conquered and they all 
 laughed together. 
 
 " You are a bright creature, Lily," he said, stroking her 
 hand rather wistfully. Her eyes gleamed with tears, in 
 a second, and her cheeks flushed with pleasure like a 
 child's. Evidently it was easy to move that capricious 
 nature. 
 
 Ralph took his leave and went out into the dingy 
 sunshine. Somehow he felt as if there were a little more 
 colour and warmth in life. There was not only one woman 
 in the world, he kept repeating to himself, with a sort of 
 savage pleasure. He grudged the faintest tribute of regret 
 to that proud maiden at the other end of the town.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 LOVE IN IDLENESS 
 
 It was a curious little party that sat in Ralph's dining- 
 room. Doctor Maclean, a middle-aged Scotchman, clad 
 in his rusty morning clothes ; a kindly, solemn man, with 
 a round, pallid face and a fringe of sandy hair to his bald 
 head, Ralph, looking clean and slim and boyish. Lady 
 Staneby, in a dress whose simplicity only enhanced its 
 value as a work of art, with her hair gleaming like ruddy 
 gold, her blue eyes shining like sunlit pools, rather sug- 
 gesting a fallen angel, who had not been broken by the 
 fall. 
 
 The doctor had been a little stiff at first. He was not 
 much used to ladies of any kind, scarcely at all to ladies 
 of title, however humble the title might be. He had lived 
 in the East End for more than twenty years and had hardly 
 put on his evening clothes once during the last ten. He 
 did make an apology for his costume on his arrival, ex- 
 plaining that Ralph had not told him that there would be 
 a lady present, and rather letting it be understood that he 
 would have taken very good care not to come if he had 
 known. But the apology was a mere formality, for it 
 certainly never occurred to him that it mattered what 
 clothes he wore. 
 
 Moreover he was a Radical, and objected to the 
 aristocracy. And he had a Scotch conscience, and objected 
 to ladies who looked improper, — as he thought Lady 
 
 P 225
 
 2 26 The Ford 
 
 Staneby did. However, he had a regard for Father 
 Winscombe, whom he knew sHghtly and had heard much 
 of, and he thawed a Httle when he discovered her relation- 
 ship ; though it seemed to him almost incredible, as he 
 looked at her fair, voluptuous face, and listened to her 
 plaintive, languorous tones. This was not his idea of 
 a clergyman's sister. But at any rate she was not one of 
 the fashionable philanthropic tribe, whom he sometimes 
 encountered poaching in his preserves, and for whom he 
 had a profound contempt. 
 
 He was not a man given to silence, and as he had no 
 idea what to say to her he began by addressing his con- 
 versation entirely to Ralph. This took the form of some 
 outspoken comments on Ralph's sojourn in the East End. 
 
 " It will do ye good, lad," he said. " It will open your 
 eyes and teach you that the men who earn your money for 
 you are the Lord's creatures as well as yourself. Not that 
 I hold with any of these new fashioned ideas about the 
 working man. He just needs to be kept in his right place, 
 and he's a good fellow enough if there's a master to drive 
 him. But I have no wish to see him getting too much 
 power, for he hasn't the education that will teach him to 
 use it properly. Aye, it will do ye much good. But for 
 all the good that youUl do, you might as well have stayed 
 in Piccadilly. Not that your kindness hasn't helped a poor 
 soul here and there ; I know it well enough. But I fear 
 you're a thought too sentimental. May be you're a bit of 
 a Socialist ? " 
 
 " May be I am," said Ralph smiling. 
 
 " Well I just don't hold with all that socialistic stuff," 
 said the doctor. " I believe that each man must work out 
 his own salvation and not be ever leaning on the State for 
 support. I'd like to see a few more of the ideas of Mr 
 Bright and the great Mr Cobden in modern Ufe. I'll never
 
 Love in Idleness 227 
 
 forget all I learned from thon^ when I was a lad in 
 Aberdeenshire. 
 
 This gave Lady Staneby her chance, and she chimed in 
 with a question as to what part of Aberdeenshire he be- 
 longed to. He answered, rather brusquely, and she 
 immediately discovered that she had often stayed with friends 
 in that identical neighbourhood, indeed knew the people 
 on whose estate the Doctor's father, and subsequently his 
 brothers, had been farmers. He began to grow perceptibly 
 more cordial. By the middle of dinner he was almost 
 flirting with her. 
 
 Lady Staneby certainly played the game well. Ralph 
 watched her with admiration. And he discovered that it 
 was not a sham game with her, a game of pretence and 
 make-believe. She was really trying to put the doctor at 
 his ease, to get into sympathetic communion with him. 
 She was just as anxious to please him as if he had been a 
 duke. It was sheer goodness of heart — touched with a 
 love of conquest. 
 
 The doctor had to leave rather early, to attend to some 
 patients. As Gurdel was to have the honour of calling for 
 Lady Staneby and escorting her home, Ralph left her in 
 the drawing-room for a minute, while he went to the door 
 with his other guest. She took leave of the doctor with a 
 sudden flash of her eyes, melting into a look of sympathetic 
 interest, and the worthy man walked downstairs with signs 
 of faint disturbance in his demeanour. 
 
 " That's a fine woman," he said to Ralph, with a slightly 
 self-conscious smile, and something almost akin to an air of 
 triumph. " I regret that my professional duties should call 
 me away so soon. I would have enjoyed some more of 
 her conversation. A very intelligent body, and winsome 
 too. Well, good-night, lad. I thank ye for such an agree- 
 able evening as does not come here many whiles. You'll
 
 2 28 The Ford 
 
 do no good staying here, but I hope you'll stay on for my 
 sake." 
 
 He gripped Ralph warmly by the hand, with a kindly 
 look on his parchment face, stuck his hat quite jauntily on 
 one side of his head and passed into the street with as much 
 swagger as his somewhat shambling gait permitted. Ralph 
 had never seen him like this before. 
 
 He returned to Lady Staneby, who lifted her eyes, as he 
 entered the room, with a look in them that disturbed him 
 strangely, 
 
 " I'm afraid you'll have to endure a tete-a-tete with me." 
 she said. " Mr Gurdel won't be here before half-past 
 ten." 
 
 " I am so glad," said Ralph, more warmly than he in- 
 tended. She looked at him again, with her pathetic smile. 
 
 " You are so nice and young," she said. Then she 
 sighed and remained silent, as if brooding over the passing 
 of her own youth. Ralph came and sat down near her, 
 feeling a desire to take her hand and comfort her a little, 
 and not daring to do it, 
 
 " Oh how thankful I am to think that I leave this 
 dreadful place to-morrow," she exclaimed. " How I have 
 hated it. And I might just as well never have come." 
 
 " Surely you can't say that," he said gently. 
 
 " Oh, of course I have been able to do a little for my 
 brother, — but he doesn't care. He would much rather I 
 had never come. He thinks I am only a temptation and 
 lead him into self-indulgence. I'm sick of all their creeds 
 and their unnatural, inhuman ideas. Life was meant to be 
 joyful, and they kill all the joy. I believe my brother 
 thinks it almost wicked of me to love him as I do. He 
 certainly can't love me one little bit now-a-days ; too busy 
 loving God, I suppose ! And he used to care for me more 
 than all the world."
 
 Love in Idleness 229 
 
 She turned her eyes to Ralph, hke a child appealing for 
 sympathy, shades of sorrow darkening their blue depths. 
 He was moved, but could find no words, in his agitation, 
 and sat silent though he drew a little nearer to her chair 
 and laid his hand on the arm of it. He chanced to touch 
 her delicate, shapely fingers, and both he and she started a 
 little: Then she smiled, still rather sadly, and there was a 
 hushed pause. 
 
 It was a hot night. Outside, the tram-cars rumbled, 
 the horse's hoofs clattered, the harsh voices echoed and 
 rang in a blurred, ugly cry. It seemed quite like a haven of 
 rest in Ralph's well-furnished room, where only a shaded 
 lamp turned the darkness into soft, dreamy light, — a con- 
 trast to the dingy gas-glare beyond the open window. Lady 
 Staneby sat, sunk back in a big arm-chair, her bare white 
 arms stretched along its sides. She wore little jewellery, 
 but the light gleamed on a bracelet and a few rings. She 
 looked very beautiful in this dim light. The almost perfect 
 oval of her face was crowned with the thick, gleaming hair, 
 done in rather unusual fashion, and drawn back in rippling 
 waves on each side, so as to show the whole of her white, 
 finely modelled forehead. Below, her great blue eyes 
 shone like sapphires. The classical type was in her face, 
 the face of an Artemis, with the mouth of a Phryne. 
 
 " I suppose it is a mistake to love people," she said. 
 " Certainly I have had reason enough to regret it. And 
 yet what would life be without love ? " 
 
 " I am not sure it isn't better not to love too much," 
 said Ralph cynically. He was thinking of Stella, and how 
 many a sigh she had cost him. Love, in the lighter shape, 
 which it would be likely to take with this fair heroine of 
 many adventures, as he instinctively felt her to be, would 
 be little likely so to disturb his heart. 
 
 " Have you had disappointments too ? " asked Lady
 
 230 The Ford 
 
 Staneby with her bewitching manner that was half-mockery 
 and half-serious. " It's impossible. You're much too 
 young. You don't know what life is yet." 
 
 "Perhaps not in some ways," Ralph answered. " But I 
 am more than half inclined to learn." 
 
 " How do you propose to begin ? " 
 
 She asked the question with a very challenging smile and 
 then turned away, took a cigarette out of a box that Ralph 
 had placed beside her, and lit it. 
 
 " Wasn't it noble of me to go without my smoke so as 
 not to shock the doctor," she said. " I don't know why I 
 was so self-sacrificing, it would have been rather fun to 
 shock him, in a way. But somehow, he was such a nice 
 old thing, I hadn't the heart. He seemed to be enjoying 
 his evening, and I didn't want to spoil it in any way ; and 
 though he was getting more lively than I expected he ever 
 was before, still I could see he was the sort of man who 
 would be perfectly horrified by a woman smoking. Poor 
 man, what an awful life he must have down here." 
 
 " I don't think he minds it much," said Ralph, somewhat 
 relieved at not being expected to give an immediate answer 
 to her former question. " I don't suppose he knows much 
 else ; and if a countryman can once reconcile himself to 
 living in a town, probably one town is much the same as 
 another." 
 
 " Oh no, that can't be. I am a very rustic and bucolic 
 creature, and yet I like a spell of London every now and 
 then. But /lere ! I think it is too dreadful. How can 
 you stand it. Whatever made you come here ? " 
 
 " Oh I told you all that before," he said, smiling. 
 
 " Of course you did. How stupid of me. Do you know, 
 I have often thought of you since that last talk of ours. 
 You are so different from the men I have known as a rule. 
 You interest me."
 
 Love in Idleness 231 
 
 She looked straight into his face, with unusual seriousness. 
 Ralph felt shy and yet pleased. 
 
 " Don't men interest you as a rule ? " he asked. 
 
 " I hardly know. Yes, I suppose some have interested 
 me — several. But they have always disappointed me in the 
 end. I wonder if you will disappoint me." 
 
 " It depends on what you expect of me," he answered 
 more boldly. She smiled, half in mockery, half caressingly, 
 and remained silent, watching the smoke curl from her 
 cigarette. 
 
 " The first thing I shall expect of you is to fulfil your 
 promise and come down to stay with me," she said 
 at last. " Will you come for a Sunday soon ? I know 
 you are a busy man, so different from most of my 
 friends. But I expect you can get away from Saturday 
 to Monday, at any rate. Will you come on Saturday 
 week ? Do." 
 
 She spoke quite pleadingly, and there was a serious, 
 almost anxious look in her eyes. 
 
 " I shall be most glad to come," Ralph said. 
 
 " It will be very quiet," she went on. " There will pro- 
 bably be only one or two people there, and my husband is 
 sure to be away, so it is possible you may find yourself 
 alone with a small group of women. Does that prospect 
 terrify you ? " 
 
 " Not in the least," he said smiling. 
 
 " I want you to be my friend," she said, the pleading 
 tone suddenly reappearing. " And if you are to be my 
 friend you must see my home and love it, because I love 
 it. Of course I never lived there before I married, but I 
 have grown to feel as if I were a part of it. Do you love 
 downs ? It is in a little dimple in the bosom of the 
 downs. There is a rampart of woodland clustered round 
 the house, but beyond, the downs stretch away for miles,
 
 232 The Ford 
 
 and in front is the eternal sea. You will try to love it, 
 won't you ?" 
 
 She spoke like an eager child, scanning his face with her 
 great serious eyes, and Ralph was stirred. 
 
 " I love it already," he said in a tone that meant more 
 than the words. She dropped her eyes and turned her 
 face partly away, with a sigh. 
 
 " I always remember the first time we went there after 
 our honeymoon," she said. " It was all so beautiful, and 
 the people of the estate came and cheered us, and 
 welcomed us, and Graham looked so handsome, and I was 
 quite proud and happy, — though I wasn't very much in 
 love with him. But he did care for me a little in those 
 days, and he was kind and gentle, — he has always been 
 that^ — and I only wanted someone to care for me and be 
 kind to me. But that soon went. Only the downs and 
 the sea and the woods remain ; and they are my friends, 
 my memorials of happy days." 
 
 She stopped abruptly and shivered. Then her eyes 
 went sadly, appealingly to Ralph's face again, and a wave 
 of pity and passion swept through him in response. He 
 bent forward, catching up her soft, warm hand, with the 
 blood throbbing in his temples and his brain whirling. 
 But at this instant there came a thunderous knock on the 
 front door and he started back and dropped her hand 
 reluctantly. 
 
 " I suppose that's Mr Gurdel," said Lady Staneby in a 
 low voice. " Thank you for your sympathy, dear friend. 
 I don't know why I have said all that I have to you, — but 
 I do not regret it." 
 
 She stretched her hand out towards him caressingly and 
 he took it and pressed hot kisses upon it. Then he 
 slowly relinquished it and drew his chair further away, just 
 as the door opened, and Gurdel was announced.
 
 Love in Idleness 233 
 
 In an instant Lady Staneby's mood changed, and she 
 laughed and chaffed the young clergyman till he blushed 
 and spluttered with delight. Then she rose languidly from 
 her chair and floated down the staircase. Gurdel stopped 
 Ralph for a minute at the threshold of the room. 
 
 " Don't you be misled by her laughter, old chap," he 
 said in a solemn whisper. " I expect she has been bally- 
 ragging and playing the fool and talking nonsense all the 
 evening with you. Very likely you were taken in by her. 
 But, my dear fellow, it's only to hide her real nature. 
 That woman is an angel. / know her. I've seen her 
 pretty closely these past few weeks. There are many 
 good, solemn people 1 know, who are a long way further 
 from Heaven than that beautiful, mirthful creature. I 
 think it's a privilege to have known her." 
 
 Ralph smiled at his enthusiasm, yet not without certain 
 internal twinges. He knew she was hardly a saint, from 
 the clerical point of view, and he had learned a good deal 
 more about her in one evening than Gurdel had in many 
 weeks ; yet he did not feel certain that his knowledge was a 
 thing to be proud of, compared with the young clergyman's 
 innocent, chivalrous ignorance. Anyhow, he also was 
 convinced of her kindness and gentleness and goodness of 
 heart, and what did anything else matter? He was not in 
 a mood for the weighing of delicate moral questions. 
 
 In the hall, where his servant had already helped Lady 
 Staneby into her cloak, she was faintly reproachful towards 
 her negligent cavaliers. Gurdel generously owned that he 
 was the cause of the delay and received a jesting, yet 
 rather plaintive rebuke, which reduced him to an attitude 
 of apologetic humility. Lady Staneby forbore to trample 
 on him, and led him away like a submissive dog, parting 
 from Ralph with a prolonged grasp of her soft, warm hand 
 and a gaze into his eyes that made his head whirl. Yet
 
 2 34 The Ford 
 
 there was a more serious, timid look in her face than 
 usually accompanied her coquettish glances. 
 
 Ralph returned to his sitting-room, and sat down Hke a 
 man in a dream. He felt uneasy, struggling to suppress a 
 reproachful self-accusation of levity, fickleness, weakness. 
 Yet he excused himself by recalling the hopelessness of his 
 love for Stella. He was not sufficiently unjust to blame 
 her for his present conduct. He accepted his own re- 
 sponsibilities and realised that he was wilfully and 
 recklessly playing with fire. But anything for a distraction, 
 a relief from his sad and angry thoughts. Here at least 
 was excitement and passion and affectionate admiration, if 
 not love, as he knew the real thing. He cast away all 
 other thoughts, and abandoned himself to the luxurious, 
 exciting prospect of the adventure that was beginning. 
 He would take this sparkling draught of life and drink it 
 at any cost. Let the future take care of itself. 
 
 It never occurred to him to consider what the adventure 
 might mean to Lady Staneby. He assumed that, to a 
 woman of her experiences, love was a plaything rather 
 than a peril. Let them both play, and not trouble about 
 the stakes.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 FINITE HEARTS 
 
 On the morning of his promised visit to Lady Staneby 
 Ralph received a letter from her, telling him that her 
 husband had returned home unexpectedly for a few days, 
 and that she had been obliged to invite one or two people 
 whom he wished to see. Consequently, she hoped Ralph 
 would excuse a rather larger party than she had anticipated. 
 Ralph, who was in a mood of reckless excitement, was 
 prepared to excuse anything, provided it did not keep him 
 too much apart from Lady Staneby. And, as he trusted 
 to her tact and skill to prevent this, he was not much 
 disturbed by her news. 
 
 He was really glad to get out of London for a day or 
 two. The weather had been hot and oppressive, and his 
 spirits rose as he left the train at the little station, and 
 started, in the dog-cart that was awaiting him, on the 
 drive through leafy, dust-whitened lanes, with the hedges 
 ablush with dog-roses and the banks a very bed of wild- 
 flowers. He was driven through woods and pleasant 
 pasture-lands, until they climbed by a chalky road to the 
 ridge of the down, and passed on in undulating progress, 
 now in full sight of the sea, and again sunk behind a slope 
 of bare, rough grass. At last they came to a wood, in the 
 middle of which stood a lodge-gate. There they entered ; 
 and, after passing for some time through its dappled region 
 of sunshine and shadows, where the voices of the wood- 
 
 aas
 
 236 
 
 The Ford 
 
 pigeons drifted softly on the hot, slumbrous air, they 
 emerged within a few yards of a stately early Georgian 
 house, round which the wood clung like a cloak ; leaving 
 only an open space in front, where a deep, descending 
 valley widened out into a curious narrow park, beyond 
 which, between green headlands on either side, sparkled 
 the flaming sea. A broad lawn stretched along in front of 
 the house, only separated from it by the carriage drive. 
 And, on the farther side of this, under the shade of trees 
 at the fringe of the wood, a white cloth and a gleam of 
 silver proclaimed a tea-table, round which a group of 
 people sat, or reclined in a variety of garden chairs. As 
 Ralph descended from the cart. Lady Staneby's plaintive, 
 musical voice called to him from the shade. And he 
 walked across the gravel, and joined the party on the soft 
 turf. 
 
 He was introduced to Sir Graham Staneby, a sinister- 
 looking man of about fifty years of age, lean, wrinkled and 
 rather good-looking, with thin hair and a pointed moustache. 
 Ralph knew slightly one or two other men present, — a life- 
 guardsman whom he had met in the hunting field, a rich 
 young polo-player whom he had known at Oxford, and 
 Harry Barle, the celebrated gentleman-rider, whom all men 
 knew, more or less. The ladies were strangers to him. 
 All were good-looking, and well dressed, some of them 
 were a little painted, and one or two had conspicuously 
 dyed hair. The whole party seemed in high spirits, and 
 on the best of terms with each other, and they welcomed 
 Ralph to their circle with cordial familiarity. 
 
 Just as the process of introduction was finished, a man 
 appeared at the front door of the house and sauntered 
 across the gravel towards them. Ralph felt the blood 
 mounting to his face for some strange reason. It was 
 Paul Gleddayne.
 
 Finite Hearts 237 
 
 He strolled up to the group, tossing back with interest 
 a few sallies of chaff that were cast at him from different 
 sides, and greeted Ralph warmly, though quietly, looking 
 into his face with the cynical, wistful, longing look which 
 Ralph had so often seen there and could never quite under- 
 stand. He was evidently not taken by surprise by the 
 young man's arrival. Ralph, recovering from his own 
 surprise, which was, after all, rather unwarranted, began to 
 realise how very much he was annoyed to find Paul here. 
 He did not at all want such a witness of his flirtation with 
 Lady Staneby. But, apart from that, the presence of 
 Stella's probable husband was painful to him. Why was 
 Paul eternally crossing his path, he asked himself? And 
 yet he was glad to see him in a way, and was warmed by 
 his kind welcome. After all, this was the man his mother 
 had loved. But he did not greatly care to think of that. 
 
 Tea passed, in an atmosphere of badinage. Afterwards 
 Lady Staneby was summoned to the house on some 
 domestic business. The rest of the party paired off in the 
 most quaint way, and wandered among the trees ; with the 
 exception of Paul, who moved to a distant seat, where he 
 planted himself with a book and a pipe, and Harry Barle, 
 who remained with Ralph. 
 
 " Ever been to stay here before ? " Barle asked laconically. 
 
 " Never," said Ralph. 
 
 " Rum house to stay in. But they do you top-hole. 
 Not that that's much use to me." 
 
 " I suppose you have to keep your weight down," Ralph 
 remarked. 
 
 " Weight — nerves — general health. Never smoke. 
 Almost a teetotaller. Eat brown meat and apples. Gad, 
 fellows talk about work. It's no bloomin' sinecure, my 
 life, I can tell you. Thank the Lord, I don't have any 
 wastin' at this time of year. That's cruel."
 
 38 
 
 The Ford 
 
 " I suppose you like it." 
 
 " Wouldn't change jobs with the King. Look at all 
 these chaps here. Not one of 'em has an occupation. 
 Just fiUin' their beUies and smokin' cigarettes and spoonin' 
 these pretty ladies. Now I've got something to do in life. 
 You ought to have gone in for the game. You ain't too 
 heavy, and I know you can ride a bit." 
 
 " I rode in a Grind or two at Oxford. But I'm not 
 much good." 
 
 " We'll get old Graham to let us have a couple of horses 
 to-morrow and go for a ride on the Downs, — unless you're 
 on duty with My Lady. Perhaps you are." 
 
 " I think Lady Staneby will probably want to talk one 
 or two things over with me," said Ralph, blushing a little. 
 
 " Expected it," said Barle, without moving a muscle of 
 his thin, impassive face. " She likes to have a young 'un 
 to play with. Known her long ? " 
 
 " Not very long," said Ralph shortly. He objected to 
 being cross-examined in this way. But Barle was a privi- 
 leged person, though no one could explain why. 
 
 " She's a sweet woman, — the very best. She's so kind 
 and warm-hearted and generous. And she's had a bit to 
 put up with. Graham's a good chap in his way, — but he 
 wasn't meant to run in this class of race. A sellin' handi- 
 cap's more in his line." 
 
 While Ralph was pondering over this highly metaphorical 
 utterance, Lady Staneby appeared in sight once more and 
 beckoned to him to join her. Barle looked towards her 
 with a faint expression of softness in his enigmatical eyes. 
 Then he glanced at the hastening Ralph, sighed, whistled, 
 and plunged into the pages of the Sportitig Tunes. 
 
 Lady Staneby welcomed Ralph with an affectionate and 
 intimate smile that was like a tender confidence. 
 
 " How have you been getting on with Harry ? " she asked.
 
 Finite Hearts 239 
 
 " He's a little eccentric, but he is such a dear fellow. I 
 hope you liked him." 
 
 *' I have known him a little for some time," said Ralph. 
 " I like him so far as I know him." 
 
 " I want you to like my best friends ; and he is one of 
 the best of all. Poor old Harry ! I don't know why I am 
 not in love with him. I have been in love with men who 
 weren't fit to black his boots, and bitterly have I paid 
 for it. But one can't arrange these things. What is it 
 Browning says about it's not being under our control to 
 love or not to love ? But poor Harry ivill persist in think- 
 ing me a saint, which I am very far from being, I am afraid. 
 He is a true soul." 
 
 Already it had begun to seem quite natural to Ralph to 
 receive these confidences from her. They moved among 
 the shady trees, listening to the soft, drowsy voices of the 
 wood-pigeons and the buzzing of insects. 
 
 " I want him to marry Hester Beverley," Lady Staneby 
 went on. " I have asked her here to meet him, but it is 
 no good. He won't take any notice of her. And she 
 consoles herself by flirting with my husband, — though that 
 isn't much use if she only knew. He won't look twice at 
 any Englishwoman. He goes back to Dieppe on Monday 
 morning." 
 
 They wandered lazily under the trees, till they came to 
 a gate on the further side of the wood, opening on to the 
 Downs, — a bare, solitary expanse of rounded green slopes, 
 with farms dotted in the hollows, and here and there, a 
 lonely human figure moving, or a few roaming cows. 
 Below, the flakes of light flashed and quivered on the 
 burnished sea. 
 
 They leaned on the gate and talked for some time. The 
 thought crossed Ralph's mind, with how many other men 
 had Lady Staneby leaned on this gate and uttered intimate
 
 240 The Ford 
 
 self-revelations in her low, plaintive voice ? But neither 
 the past nor the future troubled him much. He had 
 delivered himself up to the intoxication of her personality 
 and felt like one in a dream, drugged by her beauty and 
 fragrance and voluptuous charm. His hand rested on 
 hers as she grasped the top of the gate, and she made no 
 attempt to withdraw it. Indeed she nestled against him 
 as closely as the exposing daylight allowed. 
 
 They talked of many things. He of his life in the East 
 End, — of his hopes and ambitions. Her eyes flashed 
 sympathy and interest to him out of their blue depths. 
 
 " How splendid it sounds," she said. "You will have a 
 great career, and make a great name. I wish I had known 
 more men like you. You see the kind I am used to. I 
 wouldn't say a word against them, for they are old and 
 true friends. But, except Paul Gleddayne, they are not 
 much troubled with ideas or ambitions. It doesn't seem 
 quite fair that one should be given so few chances. I 
 envy you. And I envy whatever woman will share it with 
 you." 
 
 " I doubt if any woman will do that," said Ralph with a 
 frown, turning away his head. He had done with the 
 thought of an Egeria. The very suggestion gave him a 
 pang. He did not want companionship now, — only ex- 
 citement and oblivion. 
 
 " Oh yes," she said in her pleading voice. " There will 
 be. There must be." 
 
 He suppressed a desire to catch her in his arms and ask 
 for delirium in place of ambition, passion instead of 
 dreams. He shook his head smilingly and turned the 
 subject, asking her if she had no hopes or ambitions. 
 She sighed. 
 
 "Hopes? Yes, I suppose so," she said. "I still want 
 to be happy. I still want to find what I have looked for."
 
 Finite Hearts 241 
 
 She trembled a little, and her face was graver than 
 usual as she looked at him. He turned away again, afraid 
 to trust himself. 
 
 " As to ambitions," she went on, " what is there possible ? 
 My husband will never distinguish himself. And since 
 my children died there is no one, — no future." 
 
 Her voice shook and her eyes filled with tears. 
 
 " I didn't know you had had children," said Ralph in 
 an uneven voice. 
 
 " I have had three," she said. " They all died very young, 
 I sometimes wonder why God does these things." 
 
 Ralph drew nearer to her, deeply moved. He was 
 surprised, and had a sensation of compunction. She 
 might be frivolous, wanton, capricious. But the depth of 
 grief and yearning and regret in her last words could not 
 have been feigned. His cynical, feverish craving for 
 excitement seemed tawdry and vulgar beside this touch of 
 real feeling. If he should be misjudging her, insulting her 
 with his lack of true seriousness. Was not this a woman 
 worthy of genuine love ? 
 
 At this moment the life-guardsman, accompanied by a 
 lady whose wonderful rhubarb-coloured hair was the final 
 triumph of civilization, appeared moving slowly among the 
 trees. They caught sight of the other pair and started apart, 
 as if they had at least been holding each other's hands. 
 Then, without coming nearer they turned up the path of 
 turf that led towards the house, and disappeared. 
 
 The sight acted like a douche on Ralph's flicker of 
 
 emotion. What was the use of being serious in such an 
 
 atmosphere as this ? Everyone was playing a game. And 
 
 it was a pleasant and exciting game and he would play it 
 
 too. 
 
 " Poor Mrs Raymond," said Lady Staneby, looking 
 
 after them. " She has been so happy with Captain 
 Q
 
 242 The Ford 
 
 Harville these last few months. And now her husband is 
 coming back from Canada, and she will have to go and 
 vegetate in Northumberland, and see next to nothing of 
 him. I'm trying to give them one last good time here." 
 
 " Is her husband very disagreeable ? " asked Ralph, 
 wondering if she were aware of the irony of her own words. 
 
 " Oh, I don't fancy he is a bad sort. But he only cares 
 about sport, and lives the life of a recluse. And it's 
 rather hard on a bright, pretty, sociable woman like that. 
 But we must go back to the house. It's dressing time." 
 
 They wandered back through the wood, walking very 
 close together, Ralph's blood tingling and his brain 
 throbbing. As they approached the house, Lady Staneby 
 said, " Don't play cards with my husband to-night, if he 
 asks you. For one thing you're pretty sure to lose a good 
 deal of money to him if you do. And also we may be 
 able to escape for a stroll in the garden in the dark, which 
 would be nice, wouldn't it ? " 
 
 Ralph assented to the proposal with a fierce gleam in 
 his eyes to answer the smiling light in hers. And they 
 went indoors. 
 
 Dinner passed in hilarious fashion, with a constant inter- 
 change of chaff and frivolity, that might not be very witty, 
 but was eminently good-natured. Ralph noticed that the 
 topics of interest among the company were limited to food 
 and amusements. He began to see why Lady Staneby 
 was a little weary of her atmosphere, though it was such a 
 cheerful one and though she hardly knew any other. A 
 life-time spent in discussing the best restaurants, the best 
 race-horses, and the best actors and actresses, might become 
 a trifle monotonous. Still she took part in it all with as 
 much zest as the others, her constant humour adding to 
 the piquancy of her sad, gentle voice. The general effect 
 on Ralph was that of mental and moral champagne,
 
 Finite Hearts 243 
 
 which harmonized with the excellent wine he was drinking. 
 The whole party might be going to the devil ; but they 
 were going merrily. 
 
 During dinner a violent thunderstorm suddenly came on 
 and continued for a couple of hours, effectually preventing 
 the proposed stroll in the darkness. However, Ralph re- 
 fused the invitation to play cards which Sir Graham made 
 to him after dinner, considering that his instructions to 
 that effect still held good. Sir Graham looked at him 
 with a faint, suppressed smile and turned away. Ralph 
 had avoided conversing with him. Though he stifled all 
 self-reproach, he was not blind to certain aspects of his 
 conduct in accepting a man's hospitality and making love 
 to his wife under his roof. But probably Sir Graham did 
 not care. Certainly he did not deserve much considera- 
 tion. And, having flung these well worn excuses to his 
 internal questioner, Ralph abandoned himself once more 
 to his reckless mood. 
 
 Sir Graham collected his card-party and retired to the 
 library with them. In the drawing-room Ralph found 
 himself with Lady Staneby, the rhubarb-haired lady, and 
 the life-guardsman. The ill-used wife of the sporting 
 recluse went to the piano, and proceeded to sing, while 
 the life-guardsman, a huddled heap of adoration, with a 
 countenance of the tenderest ecstacy, sat near by in a low 
 chair. Lady Staneby and Ralph retired to the far end of 
 the room. 
 
 The lady had a rich voice of better quality than cultiva- 
 tion. She poured out a series of the songs popular in 
 amorous circles, with words of ungrammatical despair, and 
 music of tuneful inanity. She sang with valour rather than 
 discretion, but there was a certain note of passion in her 
 otherwise rather tawdry performance, and Ralph, who was 
 in the key for such things, was a good deal moved. He
 
 244 The Ford 
 
 enjoyed a long and tenderly intimate talk with the fair 
 woman whose voluptuous charm was becoming almost 
 unendurably vivid to him. They sat close together with 
 hands and arms touching, speaking in low, earnest voices. 
 Each of them had learned to see far into the life of the 
 other before the evening ended. To Ralph the revelation 
 brought certain shocks, but far more sympathy and tender- 
 ness and even pity. She was like some lovely, draggled 
 flower, with a certain deathless purity under all the bruises 
 and stains. 
 
 They parted for the night with clinging hands and 
 eloquent glances, hoping for renewed intercourse on the 
 morrow. But the morrow brought many minor disappoint- 
 ments. They found it difficult to get apart by themselves 
 during the morning. Some visitors came to luncheon and 
 more visitors in the afternoon, so that Lady Staneby's 
 time and attention were much occupied. By dinner-time 
 they had only had a few brief saunters in the wood to- 
 gether. Dinner passed much as before. Much the same 
 developments followed it. Once more Mrs Raymond 
 warbled passionate pinchbeck to Captain Harville. But 
 to-night there was no thunderstorm. The sky was a bed 
 of darkest purple, quivering with golden stars. And, after 
 a brief pause in the drawing-room. Lady Staneby and 
 Ralph glided side by side, through an open window, into 
 the summer night.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 INFINITE PASSION 
 
 Lady Staneby sighed. 
 
 "How I wish I could sing," she said. "Some people 
 have all the gifts." 
 
 " I should have expected you to sing," Ralph answered. 
 " You have such a beautiful speaking voice." 
 
 " I ought to have sung. But I had diphtheria when I 
 was twenty, and my voice has never recovered. It has left 
 something permanently wrong with my throat." 
 
 The sound of Mrs Raymond's song grew fainter as they 
 turned the corner of the house. The soft, warm night 
 air seemed to meet them in noiseless waves, and light- 
 winged moths fluttered dimly round them as they drew 
 near to the wood. A corn-crake was croaking somewhere 
 in the park grass, and far away, at the back of the wood, 
 an owl hooted. The scent of many fiowers and herbs 
 floated to them from the dewy ground. 
 
 " How I wish the nightingales had not finished singing," 
 said Lady Staneby in low, thrilling tones, as they passed 
 under the trees. " You don't know what they are like here 
 in the Spring." 
 
 Ralph made no reply. He drew closer to her. Her 
 hand was occupied in holding up her soft rustling skirt, 
 while her feet trod daintily in the gloom on the soft turf. 
 She changed the hand and instantly he caught hold of the 
 one disengaged. She made no attempt to withdraw it. 
 
 a4S
 
 246 
 
 The Ford 
 
 Both breathed shortly and deeply, their hearts beating, 
 till they trembled. She stopped and turned half towards 
 him, with a wild, pleading look burning out of her eyes in 
 the darkness. The next moment his arms were round her, 
 and breast to breast, mouth to mouth, they stood and 
 swayed beneath the motionless trees. 
 
 After a minute she drew back her head, looking at 
 him with happy, triumphant eyes. Then her long, 
 white arms went over his shoulders and she sank on 
 his breast. 
 
 " Ralph, — darling Ralph," she half sobbed. " I am 
 yours, — all yours. But I am afraid — with Graham here 
 — and all these people in the house. Don't go to-morrow, 
 darling. Stay with me. They will all be gone — except 
 Captain Harville and Mrs Raymond, We shall be alone. 
 The world will be ours." 
 
 Ralph bowed his head and kissed her furiously, passion- 
 ately. 
 
 " I will stay with you, Lily," he said. 
 
 Thus they remained for some minutes, speaking with 
 hoarse, incoherent abruptness, embracing fiercely. Lady 
 Staneby returned to sanity first. She drew herself up 
 straight again, with quite a new look in her eyes, that 
 gleamed so in the darkness. There was something girlish, 
 playful in her manner. The discontent and complaint had 
 faded from her voice when she spoke. 
 
 " Come, darling," she said. " Let us walk on to the 
 gate for a few minutes. We must go back directly and 
 pretend to think of other things. But it is only till to- 
 
 morrow." 
 
 Ralph was by no means so eager to emerge from 
 madness. He wanted to drown thought. A vague sense 
 of hoUowness and unreality suggested itself faintly in his 
 whirling mind. He had been swept off his feet by passion,
 
 Infinite Passion 247 
 
 and he wanted to remain off his feet. When he felt them 
 again he was perturbed. Dim remembrances of Stella, 
 shadows of a dream of quite another sort of love, a certain 
 shame and fear threatened him like lowering mists. He 
 thrust them away and plunged into the present frenzy 
 again. 
 
 They walked slowly to the gate, with disjointed, endear- 
 ing talk, and much passionate clinging. They leaned on 
 the top bar, his arm holding her against him. Pale moon- 
 light lay on the silent downs. The distant sea gleamed 
 like silver. All was very still, save for the occasional cry 
 of the owl in the depths of the wood. 
 
 They talked for a few minutes as lovers talk. Then they 
 reluctantly dragged themselves away, and slowly, as before, 
 crept back towards the house. Under the shade of the 
 last spreading trees they took a final and fervid draught of 
 the wine of passion in a long, burning embrace. Then 
 they came out on to the lawn. 
 
 A man's figure, moving, slow and solitary, by the sunk 
 fence that separated them from the park, caused Lady 
 Staneby to start, with a m.uffled cry. 
 
 " Who is that ? " she asked. 
 
 " It is Paul Gleddayne," Ralph answered, peering through 
 the moonlight. Lady Staneby laughed, reassured. 
 
 " Unsociable old Paul," she said. " How like him to 
 go and prowl about by himself." 
 
 Evidently she thought it mattered little what Paul might 
 see. Ralph did not share her view. It had disturbed him 
 greatly to see Paul, to know that he must have observed 
 a good deal and guessed more. But Ralph was beginning 
 to have a very bitter feeling about Paul which he scarcely 
 tried to smother. 
 
 They re-entered the house, and joined the rest of the 
 party, and were frivolous and merry and hilarious with the
 
 248 
 
 The Ford 
 
 others till bedtime. But when they parted there was 
 something more than the flush of conquest in the look Lady 
 Staneby threw to Ralph. And he, still feeling exhilarated 
 and yet perturbed, joyful but uneasy, lowered his eyes as 
 he pressed her warm, lingering hand.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 INFELIX DIDO ! 
 
 There was a garden seat under a beech-tree just where 
 the lawn merged itself in the wood, and here Paul Gleddayne 
 sat next morning. He was reading George Merrow's new 
 book of poems ; — a book which had captured so much atten- 
 tion that the hurried gentleman who reviewed it had mostly 
 read it first, and even Mr Buntin had distinguished it with 
 his praise. Something in one of the poems made him 
 think of Ralph. It was merely a description of a young 
 and chivalrous warrior in a mediaeval setting, but it seemed 
 clear to Paul that Ralph had suggested the particular figure 
 to Merrow. Paul laid down the book and began to think, 
 
 Paul was not a penitent. But he had no great admira- 
 tion for his own past life. He regarded marriage as a 
 merely human institution, protected by nothing more than 
 the necessities of society. But it was a more or less 
 necessary institution, and might be the symbol of an 
 altogether unearthly love. Anyhow, there was nothing 
 particularly beautiful in trampling on it. Indeed, consider- 
 ing that the chief tramplers were not, as a rule, the advanced 
 and enlightened thinkers, but generally the frivolous and 
 vulgar-minded, who never thought at all, to do so was 
 rather commonplace. He certainly would not choose a 
 hero of romance from among them. And he wanted Ralph 
 to be a hero of romance. 
 
 He had of course seen what was going on. He realised 
 
 349
 
 250 The Ford 
 
 that, if Ralph were not already Lady Staneby's lover, he 
 very soon would be. And he did not like the thought. 
 Even from a prosaic point of view, such a liaison could 
 hardly advance Ralph's prospects in life. It would plunge 
 him into an atmosphere of idle, mindless pleasure-seeking, 
 quite foreign to his nature, in which his aspirations and 
 ambitions would soon be weakened and perhaps destroyed. 
 It could bring him no permanent happiness. Lady Staneby 
 was at least ten years his senior, and Paul knew too well 
 by experience how a connection which rests on concealment 
 and deception soon begets a further atmosphere of jealousy 
 and discontent and mistrust. He wanted Ralph to have 
 a great career, and this new development was a grave 
 danger. 
 
 As he sat and reflected he suddenly became aware of 
 Lady Staneby, advancing across the turf from the flower- 
 garden, with her hands full of roses and carnations. 
 She moved with a graceful, easy step and her fair head 
 was carried proudly. There was a joyful, excited glitter 
 in her clear blue eyes. Paul's heart softened towards her 
 as she approached. She stooped under the drooping 
 branches of the beech-tree and came and sat beside him. 
 
 " What are you reading ? " she asked, taking up the 
 book from his knee. 
 
 " George Merrow's new poems," he answered. " I 
 think I have lighted on a portrait of Ralph Harrold." 
 
 "Oh, where? Show it to me," she said eagerly. 
 
 Paul smiled, rather sadly. He took the book from her, 
 found the place, and returned it. 
 
 "Still hunting for the fairy prince, I see, Lily," he said 
 gently. Lady Staneby paused over the book and lifted 
 her smiling eyes. 
 
 " I think I have found him at last, Paul," she said 
 
 "You have thought that so often."
 
 Infelix Dido 251 
 
 " I never thought it in your case, at any rate, you old 
 croaker," she said, in her soft, mocking way. 
 
 " Lily, dear," he said gravely. " It isn't my business, 
 and you must forgive me for interfering. But I'm rather 
 sorry you have taken that boy prisoner." 
 
 "Jealous, Paul?" she asked mischievously. 
 
 " No, my dear. I've long outlived feelings of that sort. 
 But I am very much attached to Ralph." 
 
 "So am I," she said, laughing softly. 
 
 " I have noticed it," he answered gravely. 
 
 " And you want to rescue the blameless youth from the 
 dangerous syren ! My dear Paul, I didn't think you were 
 so conventional and ridiculous." 
 
 " Look here, Lily. Ralph is a very clever and ambitious 
 lad. He has everything in his favour and a big career 
 before him. Now you know I don't want to say anything 
 unkind, but can you help him in such a career ? If he 
 becomes your cavalier you won't let him remain in his 
 present atmosphere. You'll bring him into yours. I don't 
 want to abuse your friends. But it means bringing him 
 into a constant atmosphere of card-playing and expensive 
 amusements and wasteful luxury and general idleness. 
 He won't meet men who will sympathise with his aims 
 or help him on. And he won't meet women who will be 
 very profitable guardian angels. He is only a lad, and 
 much younger than you. Do you think it is fair ? " 
 
 Paul looked at her quite sternly as he put the question. 
 She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. 
 
 " You don't mince matters, Paul," she said fretfully. 
 "You don't spare either me or my friends in your new 
 fervour for preaching. I should have a perfect right to 
 resent your interference and to refuse to answer you, but 
 I won't. You utterly misunderstand me. Don't you 
 suppose that I see things as clearly as you do ? Don t
 
 252 The Ford 
 
 you think I am sick of my atmosphere ? I want something 
 better, and I have found it. It is because Ralph is so 
 different from all the other men I have known that I love 
 him. Yes, I do love him, and I am not ashamed of it." 
 
 She flashed a defiant glance at him. He laid his hand 
 gently on hers. 
 
 " We none of us understand altogether, Lily," he said. 
 " Try not to misunderstand me either. You know I am 
 your friend." 
 
 " I know you are, Paul. A dear and faithful friend. I 
 have no doubt of that." 
 
 "Then I will say no more, dear. I hope all you say 
 will prove true. But you know you were going to find 
 a new atmosphere with me. You were just as tired of the 
 old one, then. But there isn't much change." 
 
 " That was different, Paul. You and I were only half 
 in earnest. We were looking for a refuge from disappoint- 
 ment and loneliness. We didn't care as Ralph and I care. 
 Oh Paul, don't try to spoil this or hinder it. It is my 
 last chance. I'm no longer young, — as you kindly re- 
 minded me. I have found something different from any- 
 thing I have found before. This is the real thing at 
 last. You needn't believe it, but I never knew what love 
 meant before. Don't quarrel with me over it ! " 
 
 " I should never quarrel with you, Lily," he answered, 
 getting up from the seat. She lifted her face like a child 
 and he bent down and kissed her. Then, with the book 
 under his arm, he strolled away towards the house, ponder- 
 ing deeply. How often had he heard Lily Staneby declare 
 that she had found the real thing at last, that she was 
 going to start in a new atmosphere and a new life ? He 
 laughed softly to himself, and then sighed deeply, and 
 sauntered on with a very grave face. He must see if 
 his luggage was ready, for he was leaving soon. Sir
 
 Infelix Dido 253 
 
 Graham had gone quite early in the morning, and most 
 of the guests were departing before luncheon. 
 
 As he moved away Lady Staneby heard the crackle of 
 twigs under a footstep on the grass path behind the seat. 
 She turned her head, and Ralph came forward and stood 
 before her. She held out her hands to him with a happy, 
 trustful, appealing smile. But it died from her eyes as 
 she saw the expression in his face. 
 
 " What is the matter, darling ? " she asked anxiously, 
 her face contracted by a sudden fear. Ralph gazed at 
 her with grim coldness. 
 
 " I am sorry to be an involuntary spy," he said. " But 
 I saw you kiss Paul Gleddayne." 
 
 Lady Staneby's face brightened, and she burst into a 
 merry laugh. 
 
 " You, dear, silly old boy," she said. " What does a 
 kiss matter ? Paul is one of my oldest friends. I expect 
 you'll often see me kiss him again." 
 
 But Ralph's face did not relax. 
 
 " Is he your lover ? " he asked. 
 
 " No, dearest boy, certainly not. There has been 
 nothmg of that kind between us for years and years." 
 
 " Then he tvas your lover once ? " 
 
 " Really, dearest Ralph, you needn't be so solemn and 
 absurd," she said coaxingly, but with a slight shade of 
 irritation. " I have been perfectly honest with you. I 
 never pretended that I was a saint. I told you there had 
 been others." 
 
 " Ah, but not Paul Gleddayne," he said, turning away 
 his eyes with a hopeless, despairing gesture. His face was 
 less harsh than at first, but very sad. 
 
 "Paul Gleddayne, or anyone else, — what do they 
 matter? " she said. " I know you are too broad-minded to 
 think that past faults can stand in the way of love.
 
 2 54 The Ford 
 
 And, besides, Paul was very little to me. I was lonely 
 and unhappy and he came to me, unhappy too because he 
 had quarrelled with some woman whom he cared for far 
 more than he ever cared for me. We tried to console each 
 other. But it only lasted a very short time and it is over 
 ever so many years ago." 
 
 She leaned forward, eagerly expecting that her words 
 would clear the clouds away. But Ralph shivered, and 
 never looked at her. 
 
 " He came to you from the woman he loved," he said 
 thickly. 
 
 "Oh Ralph, don't go on like this," she almost screamed. 
 "You'll drive me mad. What do these past things matter! 
 You love me and I love you. I love you as I have never 
 loved anyone before. It is like a consuming fire and has 
 burned all the past up." 
 
 She stretched out her hands to him again. The roses 
 and carnations had all fallen beneath the seat and lay 
 scattered on the mossy ground. Ralph looked at her. 
 The cruelty had gone out of his face. It was infinitely 
 sad, troubled, bewildered. 
 
 " Oh Lily," he murmured, " I wish I had never seen 
 you — never come here." 
 
 " Oh darling, don't talk like that," she wailed. " Ralph, 
 my sweet one, trust me. Forget everything but our love. 
 Forget Paul. He will never trouble us. They say he is 
 going to marry his cousin Stella soon." 
 
 "So I understand," said Ralph, wincing as if a whip 
 had struck him. Lady Staneby stared at him in silence, 
 trying to read his thoughts. She had forgotten long ago 
 that Paul had been Mrs Harrold's friend. And she was 
 bewildered by Ralph's attitude. She had hidden nothing 
 from him. He knew all that was necessary of her past, 
 and had not thought it worth a sigh. Why should he be
 
 Infelix Dido 255 
 
 so changed now ? Woman-like she attributed the cause to 
 another woman. Suddenly her face grew livid. 
 
 " Ralph," she gasped. " Are you in love with Stella 
 Glcddayne." 
 
 He dropped his eyes and said nothing. 
 
 "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, and sat speechless. 
 Then she spoke at last in slow tortured accents. " How 
 dare you come and make love to me ? " she said, through 
 her teeth. 
 
 Ralph lifted his face, lined with an agony of sorrow and 
 shame and regret. 
 
 " Oh Lily," he said, "I am a brute and a cad. But 
 I'm not so bad as you think. I do love Stella Gleddayne, 
 but she despises me and I have no hope there. I was 
 wretched and desperate, and you were kind and gentle, 
 and attracted me in a hundred ways. I thought I would 
 find forgetfulness with you. I thought you didn't take 
 life very seriously and that I might be happy with you, 
 without taking it too seriously either. I didn't look beyond 
 the minute. I only wanted a little joy." 
 
 " You thought I was a light woman, — a woman to be 
 handed on from one man to another ! A woman to pass a 
 few careless hours with and then go away and forget her ! 
 Oh Ralph ! " 
 
 She spoke with heart-broken reproachful gentleness. 
 Ralph shrank. 
 
 " I suppose I deserve it," she said. " I suppose that is 
 how I must naturally seem to you. Well, whatever my 
 faults, I am punished. Oh Ralph, I thought you were so 
 different from the others. I thought I had found a man I 
 could look up to and respect, who would help me to a better 
 life than the old one. And I find you just like the rest." 
 
 " Forgive me, Lily," Ralph said in a choking voice. "I 
 can only go. Forget me."
 
 256 
 
 The Ford 
 
 He turned away, but she sprang from the seat and 
 caught him by the arm. 
 
 " Ralph ! " she cried in anguish. " Don't go ! Don't 
 leave me, my darling. I don't care what you have done 
 or said or thought. You may count me what you like. 
 It doesn't matter. You are mine and I am yours. Take 
 me. Do what you like with me. I will give up everything 
 and go off with you, if you like. I never thought I should 
 say that to any man, but I say it to you. I will bear 
 anything — anything you ask of me. But don't leave me. 
 Oh, my darling, don't leave me ! " 
 
 She clung to him with piteous eyes and trembling lips. 
 But he disengaged himself gently from her grasp. 
 
 " Good-bye Lily," he said faintly, with hanging head. 
 Then he blundered out from under the tree and across the 
 lawn, his mind a pandemonium of shame and remorse and 
 misery and blind anger, his heart crying for the curse of 
 Heaven to fall on Paul Gleddayne. 
 
 Lady Staneby sank back on to the seat, and sat with 
 her arms hanging down limply, her eyes staring as if at 
 some horrible vision, her breath coming and going in a 
 feeble moan. Once or twice a tearless sob shook her whole 
 frame. She was utterly dazed, bewildered, overwhelmed. 
 It all seemed so unnecessary. Not knowing the real 
 cause of Ralph's emotion she could only wonder helplessly 
 what it all meant. Paul — Stella Gleddayne — her own 
 past — every explanation seemed so inadequate. It was a 
 cruel jest of Fate. 
 
 The roses and carnations lay scattered round her feet, 
 almost like blood-stains on the moss.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 ROMANCE 
 
 Miss Ollsen went down at the beginning of August to 
 stay at the Ford. Few visitors came there now. Lord 
 Gleddayne had failed perceptibly during the summer, and 
 was becoming very old and feeble. Stella had cut short 
 her stay in London, and come back some time before, to 
 look after her father. She realised that it would not be 
 possible to leave him much during the remainder of his 
 life. And after that — what ? 
 
 Stella had passed the last few months in the rather tiring 
 and futile process of quarrelling with herself. During her 
 brief stay in London, she had looked on all sides for proofs 
 of the absurdity of the passion of love, to hurl at her own 
 head, so to speak. She had convinced herself that it was 
 mainly a ridiculous and unnatural game, chiefly played out 
 of idleness and lack of better employment. Where were 
 all these romances among the labouring classes ? People 
 who had to work hard and live hard did not count such a 
 commonplace business as the uniting of two individuals 
 for the propagation of the race, the highly coloured affair 
 that poets and novelists made it out. If the world was to 
 progress, if the process of evolution were going on, — and 
 it was hard to see how it could stop, — educated people 
 would have to learn to regard these things in a new light. 
 The idea that a woman's life was more or less wasted 
 unless she should be so fortunate as to attract the desires 
 
 R '57
 
 258 
 
 The Ford 
 
 of a man, — and the man chosen from a very Hmited selec- 
 tion, — that idea had got to be put away in the mental 
 lumber-rooms containing so much of the former wisdom of 
 governesses and other instructors. Stella meant to live 
 for thought, and not for the passions. 
 
 It was irritating, therefore, to find within herself, if not 
 a justification, at any rate a certain pretext for the accepted 
 and conventional view. There had always been the faint 
 hankering after a hero, the usual girlish dream of a 
 masculine ideal, — a hankering and a dream suppressed, if 
 not yet abolished, by irreverent laughter persistently 
 summoned to her aid, and by the steady contemplation of 
 other subjects. But now, the hero having sprung fully- 
 armed into being, and the masculine ideal having insisted 
 on making itself absurd by assuming a concrete shape, she 
 found whole oceans of laughter, however vigorously pumped 
 up, powerless to extinguish and obliterate the flame lighted ; 
 while the contemplation of other subjects had become so 
 fragmentary and spasmodic, owing to the persistent inter- 
 ruption of this intrusive figure, that she was beginning to 
 despair of deliverance from her own treacherous heart. 
 
 Miss Ollsen feared that she must be worried about her 
 father. She was thin and pale, and rather lifeless, and 
 even inclined to be irritable at times, a thing absolutely 
 without precedent. 
 
 " That booby Tedburne is coming here next week," 
 Stella said to her one morning. " The election will be 
 the week after, and he is going to stay for the last few 
 days. I wish to goodness he wasn't coming." 
 
 " My dear, I daresay he will be very agreeable," said 
 Miss Ollsen, to whom the advent of the unmarried heir to 
 an Earldom could not be otherwise than interesting, in 
 spite of her constancy to George Merrow. 
 
 " I don't want anyone here now who is likely to tire my
 
 Romance 259 
 
 father," Stella said. " He ought to be quite quiet. And 
 even Mr Stair is coming for a day or two. Tedburne 
 asked us to ask him, and Father made me say yes." 
 
 Miss OUsen, who knew that Cameron Stair wanted to 
 marry Stella, and who regarded all lovers with a kindly 
 eye, laughed contentedly. 
 
 " I think it will be very nice and very exciting," she 
 said. "Who is Lord Tedburne's opponent?" 
 
 " An excellent creature from the other side of the 
 County," Stella answered. " He manufactures soda-water 
 and preaches in a Chapel. He has a pathetic belief that 
 everyone who isn't a Radical, a Nonconformist, and a 
 Teetotaler, lives in a varying degree of wickedness. He 
 thinks all the world ought to consume his wares, spiritual 
 and material. He is very vulgar, and rather nice. I hope 
 he will be elected. He would make a much more sensible 
 Member of Parliament than Tedburne." 
 
 " Are the Harrolds taking any part in the election ? " 
 asked Miss OUsen. 
 
 " Mr Richard Harrold took the chair at one of Tedburne's 
 meetings, which was rather noble and generous of him, 
 considering all things. Ralph Harrold is still in the East 
 End, I believe." 
 
 Stella spoke with such self control that Miss Ollsen did 
 not notice the perturbation caused by her question. 
 
 " And Mr Gleddayne ? " 
 
 " Oh, he thought it best to keep out of the way. He 
 isn't coming here till the election is over." 
 
 " Why not ? " asked Miss Ollsen in surprise. 
 
 "There was a little misunderstanding about it all. He 
 was going to stand, and then withdrew, hoping it would 
 give a chance to Ralph Harrold ; but Tedburne thrust 
 himself in instead." 
 
 " It sounds very self-sacrificing of Mr Gleddayne."
 
 2 6o The Ford 
 
 "Yes. I don't think he ever considers himself very 
 much," said Stella. 
 
 Miss Ollsen looked at her inquiringly. She could not 
 make Stella out. She had heard a rumour of a probable 
 engagement with Paul Gleddayne, but could not believe it. 
 Stella persisted in taking an unromantic view of life, but 
 could she possibly be so unromantic as to marry her elderly 
 cousin ? Not that Paul Gleddayne was not a very pleasant 
 and interesting and good-looking survival. But as a hero 
 for such a love-affair ! Better Cameron Stair, who was at 
 least young. 
 
 Mrs Brent came to afternoon tea, and the three had a 
 comfortable gossip. Mrs Brent was fond of Miss Ollsen, 
 though a little inclined to clip the exuberant flowers of her 
 conversation. Miss Ollsen regarded her as intelligent, but 
 unimaginative. 
 
 Tea was laid on the terrace, as usual in the summer. 
 During its consumption they discussed Miss Ollsen's new 
 novel, " Love and Time," recently published ; which essayed 
 to prove that the former was stronger than the latter. 
 
 " You make a regular business of love, Maud," Stella 
 objected. " We all know the dreadful old commercial 
 saying, Time is money. Well, you live in a sort of 
 amorous Cheapside and the motto of your trade is. Time 
 is love. You keep a kind of Bank of Venus, whose 
 business is to discount Cupid's Bills, — or rather to pay 
 them at a premium, which I believe is a ruinous proceeding. 
 If you novelists and all these idle people who devote 
 themselves to love-making go on as you are doing, there'll 
 be nothing left of love but a bankrupt stock. There ! 
 You didn't know I could talk the language of the city as 
 well as that, did you ? " 
 
 " I think it's very horrid of you to associate such ideas 
 with the one thing that makes life beautiful," said Miss
 
 Romance 261 
 
 Ollsen. " I don't know why you do it. I agree with 
 most of your ideas — about commerce and money-grubbing 
 and all that. But I can't see why you should try to pretend 
 that love is as bad." 
 
 " Oh no, dear, nothing like as bad. I will even go so 
 far as to say that love might be a very big thing. But the 
 modern way of looking at it prevents that.'' 
 
 " I am afraid it will be a dreadfully big thing if it ever 
 gets hold of yoic, Stella," put in Mrs Brent. She was 
 watching Stella with her frank, kindly eyes, a little puzzled 
 and clouded. Stella flushed slightly. 
 
 " Dear Mrs Brent," she said, " don't join the enemy. 
 You \ix\o\v you don't believe in all this stuff." 
 
 " I don't believe in all that your smart friends say about 
 love ; or even all that Maud says about it, in her clever 
 books," said Mrs Brent. " But I do believe in the thing 
 itself. I have known it." 
 
 " Ah, but that is so dififerent," said Stella. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "You didn't love anyone against your will. You 
 weren't overmastered and carried off your feet, and made 
 to forget all your duties and obligations, and all your 
 common-sense, and made to feel as if you were being 
 swept along towards a whirlpool. You didn't have to give 
 up your pride and your self-respect and feel that you were 
 surrendering all that had made you believe in yourself. 
 You didn't feel it as a degradation, a humiliation." 
 
 " Oh no, Stella. That wouldn't be a humiliation. It 
 would be a glory — a joy. The loss of self in something 
 infinitely greater ! " Miss Ollsen turned her eyes towards 
 Heaven and looked rapt and ecstatic, as she uttered these 
 words. But Mrs Brent did not reply at once. She was 
 watching Stella with something like concern. She had 
 noticed several things which Miss Ollsen, absorbed in her
 
 262 The Ford 
 
 own feelings, had not observed. Stella had spoken 
 feverishly, excitedly, with a tone of mocking contempt 
 that had ended abruptly as if on the brink of tears. Mrs 
 Brent suspected some personal feeling under the 
 generalisation. 
 
 " I don't think that is quite a wholesome way to look 
 at the matter," she said at last. " Love need not be such 
 a lawless thing as all that." 
 
 "Needn't it!" exclaimed Stella. "Why it is like a 
 devastating torrent. Lawless, indeed ! A lot Love cares 
 for laws — or morals or anything else, if it is once started ! " 
 She checked herself abruptly and adopted a lighter tone. 
 "Of course I am talking of a kind of love that doesn't 
 exist nowadays. We have two kinds only, — the tame, 
 domestic species, which may be summed up as family 
 prayers and plain sewing ; and the french-novel-and-water- 
 kind of romance, with people playing with naughtiness, 
 perhaps being naughty, — but taking good care not to lose 
 control of themselves, not to do anything to cause a 
 scandal or to bring unpleasant consequences on them. 
 I daresay both these kinds have many attractions, but 
 I can't take them very seriously." 
 
 Miss Ollsen continued the argument. But Mrs Brent 
 became rather silent and thoughtful. The only question 
 in her mind was. Who is the man? She could see 
 how Stella was fighting against herself. Was he the right 
 man to intervene in such a struggle? There had been 
 so many men wooing Stella, it was hard to guess which 
 had touched her heart. Mrs Brent felt pretty sure 
 that it was either Paul Gleddayne or Ralph. If only it 
 might be her beloved Ralph ! But Paul seemed the more 
 hkely one. True, he was absurdly old for Stella. But 
 Stella was a peculiar girl and that might not affect her 
 much.
 
 Romance 263 
 
 So when the good friend took her departure she was 
 puzzled and perplexed. 
 
 "Good-bye, dear," she said. "You don't believe in 
 marrying and giving in marriage, because you are an 
 Angel. But I sometimes wish you would come down to 
 Earth." 
 
 Miss Ollsen was more vehement. 
 
 "Stella," she said, "aren't you human? Don't you 
 ever have a natural feeling? You live in the clouds, like 
 a fairy on an iceberg, and look down on all us poor weak 
 mortals, and send little pale, fluttering snow-flakes of 
 laughter floating over our warmer world. And I believe 
 you find it very cold and lonely really, only you're too 
 proud to confess it." 
 
 With this figurative outburst she went off into the 
 drawing-room, and sat down at the piano and began to 
 sing, which she did rather well. And the ice-fairy thawed 
 as soon as she was alone, and mopped her eyes with a 
 pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 Presently she rose and strolled to the parapet at her 
 favourite corner by the cedar. She looked out over the 
 valley, the dark, loaded, motionless trees, the yellow fields, 
 where moving figures were already busy reaping. Groups 
 of cattle or sheep were gathered under the shady branches 
 in the wide pasture-lands, languid with the summer heat. 
 In a dull blue sky a fiery sun was bending down towards 
 the west. Here and there a water-hen cried under the 
 willows or moved out into the stream, leaving a fan-shaped 
 trail. Close to the bank a chub was rising at flies. 
 Already there was a suggestion of mist on the distant 
 landscape, and midges and mosquitoes were coming up 
 from the water. 
 
 She looked towards Thirlwood, with an aching heart, 
 against which she forgot to protest to herself. Things
 
 264 
 
 The Ford 
 
 seemed very much awry. From the house Miss Ollsen's 
 voice came floating. She was singing Schubert's 
 " Wanderer/' and it suited Stella's mood. She waited for 
 the last words. 
 
 " Dort wo du nicht bist 
 Dort ist das Gltick," 
 
 Then she sighed as the notes faded. Happiness cer- 
 tainly was not here. 
 
 Yes, she owned to herself, after all, — yes, she did want 
 romance, she did want all that she had tried to laugh at. She 
 was beaten, humiliated. If Ralph had walked up the bank 
 there and then, and asked her for herself he would not 
 have asked in vain. She knew it. The thought was pain. 
 It hurt her pride to feel thus about a man who might not 
 have any similar feeling for her. This she hardly believed, 
 however. She had read it in his eyes. True she had 
 checked him, flouted him, thrust him away. But if he 
 really loved, if he were the man she believed, would this 
 retard him for long? 
 
 Why were things so crooked ? Why was he almost a 
 hereditary enemy ? Why was he so rich and prosperous 
 and commercial ? Why was he Harrold's Household Soap ? 
 Ah, if he had been a fresh-skinned young farmer in one 
 of those snug homesteads in the valley there, what a joy it 
 might have been to give up all for him, to sacrifice her 
 world, and all that it meant. She longed for some such 
 sacrifice. If she married Ralph Harrold it would all be 
 so prosaic and commonplace. Girls of her class were 
 marrying these new rich men every day, and it was 
 expected. She wanted her life to accomplish the un- 
 expected. 
 
 And yet he was very splendid. He lured her, terribly. 
 And her pride revolted again, at his attractions even more
 
 Romance 265 
 
 than at his disadvantages. She was a weary, unhappy girl, 
 as she leaned on the parapet. 
 
 And her thoughts turned despairingly, with the old 
 sense of refuge and peace, to Paul Gleddayne. She began 
 to wish she were married to him and all were finished. 
 Her father satisfied, her future assured, all as it should be. 
 
 She mocked at Romance again. But Romance was im- 
 perturbable.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 ILLUMINATION, LIMITED 
 
 The town of Roatebridge had for some time been stirred by 
 an internal feud. Nobody understood very clearly what 
 it all meant. It was certain that the Town Council had 
 proposed to light the town by electricity ; and that the 
 Mayor, who was also the leading Liberal politician in the 
 place, had more or less committed them to a small Electri- 
 cal Company in a neighbouring manufacturing town, known 
 by the brief and brilliant title of " Illumination, Limited." 
 But there was also a struggling and sickly Gas Company 
 in Roatebridge itself, which had hitherto been the supposed 
 instrument for dispelling darkness, though the gas supplied 
 was of such a quality as to add new terrors to the night. 
 Those interested in the Gas Company naturally offered a 
 vigorous opposition to the proposal of the Town Council. 
 And when some alert Conservative discovered that the 
 Mayor himself was a leading shareholder in " Illumination, 
 Limited," there was a very pretty flare-up, with threats of 
 illumination 2^«limited on the subject. 
 
 And certainly it produced statements and results more 
 flashing and unexpected than fire-works. It was discovered 
 that the question of Municipal trading was involved, and that 
 it was a fight between Socialism and Individualism, that Local 
 Government and the control of Education were not so remote 
 as might appear, even that Protection and Free Trade were 
 
 implicated in the issue, — and there were actually vague 
 266
 
 Illumination, Limited 267 
 
 hints and mutterings as to men thrown out of employment 
 and Chinese labour. 
 
 When the Parliamentary Candidates faced the electorate 
 they found that this obscure feud was the principal topic 
 of interest. Who wanted what, and why, was not very 
 clear. It was certain that a great many people were very 
 angry, that a great many were in fear of losing something 
 of value, and that a certain number were in hopes of making 
 acquisitions. The whole countryside was feverishly parti- 
 san. Roughly speaking, the Liberals were for " Illumina- 
 tion, Limited " and the Conservatives for the Gas Company. 
 But there were so many ramifications and subtleties that 
 this is only a very partial statement of the case. 
 
 It is true that much literature was issued and many 
 speeches made, dealing with questions of a wider import- 
 ance. The pretence of supporting or condemning the 
 Government in power was kept to the front, though with 
 difficulty. The London newspapers devoted long articles 
 to the Election, and talked much of mandates, and warnings 
 to quit, and emphatic endorsements, and Imperialism, and 
 the breaking down of privilege, and all sorts of beautiful 
 and lofty ideas. But the fact remained that the real 
 fight was between the Gas Company and " Illumination, 
 Limited." 
 
 However nobody quite realised this, except perhaps the 
 Liberal and Conservative Agents, and they naturally kept 
 a professional silence on the subject. They could hardly 
 be expected to expose the pretences out of which they 
 made their hving. They issued leaflets and pamphlets 
 and posters, and supplied paragraphs to the local press, 
 all assuming as a matter of course that the free and en- 
 lightened electors of the Roatebridge Division were keenly 
 interested in the British Empire, and the aggression of 
 some foreign Powers, and the benevolence of others and
 
 2 68 The Ford 
 
 the housing of the working class in the great cities, and 
 the education of children, and a host of other topics ; 
 which were just the things that the free and enlightened 
 electors of the Roatebridge Division, — speaking generally, 
 — cared not two straws about. They did care very much 
 about doing as little work and getting as much pay as 
 possible, and about annoying people who attended differ- 
 ent places of worship from theirs, and about beer, and one 
 or two other things ; but a political agent could hardly 
 issue pamphlets and posters about these. 
 
 Consequently the great majority were able to take their 
 election-contest seriously. Indeed seriousness became in- 
 fectious. There was an epidemic of it. Lord Tedburne was 
 unusually and terribly serious. His opponent, Mr Bamber, 
 was so serious by nature that nothing could make him more 
 so, but he tried his best. Miss Ollsen caught the infection, 
 and took to canvassing vigorously. " A damned sensible 
 girl " Lord Tedburne said she was ; with a thought in his 
 mind respecting his cousin, who was alone unaffected by 
 the prevailing seriousness, and practised the pianoforte 
 just at the time he was struggling to understand what all 
 sorts of dreadful new terms meant, — political and 
 economic terms representing things for or against which 
 he was fighting, God alone knew why. His room was 
 immediately over the piano, and the result was that in his 
 next speech, touching on some economic questions, he 
 spoke of the Law of Diminishing Return as one of the 
 Factory Acts, and attributed it to Malthus. Fortunately 
 none of the audience saw anything odd in this. Indeed it 
 gained him the votes of some of the more thoughtful. 
 
 But all previous attempts at seriousness were surpassed 
 when Cameron Stair arrived, two days before the Election. 
 He resembled Milton's conception of the Archangel, and 
 he told everybody everything they wanted to know, with a
 
 Illumination, Limited 269 
 
 considerable margin. He made speeches of the most 
 lofty eloquence, — the thought of a dictionary, the passionate 
 feeling of a blue-book, burst from him in the language 
 of an eighteenth-century sermon. His militant patriotism 
 caused several of the Electors to forget the Gas-works. 
 They recognised a superior effort in the same industry. 
 
 He was roused to unusual efforts by the fact that Mr 
 Purling had come into the constituency and was working 
 hard on the other side. He went through all the speeches 
 Mr Purling had made, and tore them to ribbons. As 
 Purling did not get a chance of reading his speech, with 
 its bitter personalities, till the day of the Election, Stair 
 was unanswered. He deemed himself unanswerable. 
 
 Perhaps his eloquence did help a little. It was of 
 the kind to appeal to country audiences. Anyhow, he 
 considered that much was due to him, when the figures 
 were announced, and Lord Tedburne stood at the head of 
 the poll, though with a diminished majority. For the 
 diminution in the majority Purling gave himself credit. 
 Neither of them gave either of the candidates credit for 
 anything. 
 
 The poll was declared in the morning, and Stair returned 
 to the Ford to lunch and fetch his luggage. He was 
 radiant with triumph. 
 
 " It's lucky I came down when I did," he said. " I was 
 just in time to turn the scale. Of course Tedburne had 
 worked well, but he hasn't the experience or the know- 
 ledge of politics. Now, to give an example. Last night, 
 when I was in the middle of my speech, and was dwelling 
 on the subject of the excess of imports over exports, a 
 fellow in the audience tried to disconcert me by calling 
 out " What about foreign criminals ? " Perhaps I should 
 explain that some years ago I made a careful study of the 
 question of alien immigration, and addressed several meet-
 
 270 The Ford 
 
 ings on the subject. I have reason to believe that my 
 efforts were much appreciated by my political chiefs and 
 that they regard me as being something in the nature of an 
 authority on that matter. Well, as I say, when I heard 
 the exclamation, I was at first inclined to believe that 
 there was a gibe intended against myself, as being 
 prominently associated with this particular subject. But a 
 moment's reflection " 
 
 Lord Gleddayne and Stella had listened in patience, 
 but the old man could bear no more, and interrupted 
 Stair with the remark that he was afraid luncheon was 
 getting cold. However this only gave them a moment's 
 relief, for he continued his narration during the whole of 
 the meal. 
 
 After luncheon he pursued Stella on to the terrace, for a 
 farewell talk, as he said. As Stella had managed to evade 
 having any previous talks with him, she resigned herself, 
 though not without apprehension. There was a pomposity 
 in his manner, a light in his eyes, that alarmed her. And 
 not without cause. After a prolonged description of his 
 own feats during the election, interwoven with reminiscences 
 of previous triumphs, he assumed a tone which was appar- 
 ently meant to be tender. 
 
 " May I say that, through all the labour and anxiety of 
 this fight, I have been much cheered and encouraged by 
 the consciousness of your presence ? " he said. " I felt 
 that there was sympathy between us, that you were watch- 
 ing my efforts with approval. In these days, when every- 
 thing is attacked, when nothing, however sacred, is safe, 
 one is apt to be discouraged sometimes. You may not 
 believe it, but I am discouraged now and then. Many 
 things discourage me. The apathy of the mass of my 
 countrymen as regards my country's good is heart-breaking. 
 And then I feel the need of sympathy in many ways. I am
 
 Illumination, Limited 271 
 
 much alone. I am, as you are perhaps aware, an excep- 
 tionally good golf-player. I am also rather out of the 
 common at billiards. Yet I assure you that there are 
 whole days during which I have no one to play with. It is 
 a trying situation. Do you think that you could possibly 
 help me to change it ? Miss Gleddayne, — perhaps I might 
 say Stella, — I do not wish to startle or upset you. Think 
 it over. Tell me if you find it possible, after due reflection, 
 to share my work, to assist me in filling my position in 
 life, — which as you know, is a responsible and important 
 
 one." 
 
 Stella turned her big eyes upon him, full of grave regret 
 and compunction. 
 
 " Oh, Mr Stair," she said. " I am so sorry. I hoped 
 we were such good friends." 
 
 She paused, and Stair, with unexpected nimbleness of 
 mind, flew to his own rescue. He felt that he had been 
 precipitate, that it was unfair to spring such a suggestion 
 upon her with so little warning. He would intervene 
 before she said anything rash. She should not have the 
 humiliation of remembering some day that, in her folly, she 
 had refused Cameron Stair. 
 
 He was also quite determined that she should not have 
 a chance of remembering that Cameron Stair had been 
 refused. 
 
 He waved his hand, as if brushing away phantoms, and 
 gazed at her with his most benevolent and encouraging 
 smile. 
 
 " We will pass by that subject," he said with unusual 
 rapidity. " It shall keep for a more auspicious occasion. 
 I have been too hasty, and have upset, perhaps alarmed 
 you. But have no fear. I understand. I am not one of 
 your clumsy clowns, ignorant of a woman's susceptibilities. 
 You may trust me. Some day we will return to the subject
 
 272 The Ford 
 
 again. In the meantime your image will be in my 
 thoughts." 
 
 He stooped, and lifting her hand, kissed her fingers. 
 Pie certainly looked very handsome and acted with a 
 graceful courtesy which almost obliterated his ludicrous 
 pomposity. Stella really felt quite grateful to him for 
 skating so lightly out of an awkward situation, though she 
 was rather inclined to be angry at his calm assurance. She 
 murmured " good-bye," and, with a sweep of his hat and 
 another encouraging smile, he strutted away to the house. 
 Somehow she could not laugh at him. She was a little 
 frightened, and dreaded the thought of his returning to the 
 topic before very long. She did not want to hurt him, yet 
 it would be impossible to avoid paining him deeply. His 
 self-esteem, like pierced armour, would aggravate the 
 wound. She felt sad and depressed. 
 
 Her depression was tinged with annoyance later on. 
 After tea, she was sitting on the terrace with Miss Ollsen, 
 when Mr Purling was announced. He was at the front 
 door enquiring if she was at home to him. Her first 
 impulse was to say " no." But she shrank from hurting 
 his feelings, and reluctantly gave orders for him to be 
 brought to her. Miss Ollsen, who had taken a dislike to 
 him during the election, fled, and left her alone. 
 
 The idea that he might be unwelcome evidently did not 
 trouble Mr Purling. He advanced with a smile of greeting 
 which almost seemed to imply that he was the host and 
 Stella the guest. 
 
 " How do you do, Miss Gleddayne," he said. " I am 
 so glad to see you again. I have been tempted to come 
 over before, but I was very busy with the election. And 
 also as this had been converted into a hostile camp, I 
 thought perhaps you would rather I waited till the enemy 
 had departed."
 
 Illumination, Limited 273 
 
 "That is very tactful of you," said Stella, who wished he 
 had waited a good deal longer. 
 
 " Not at all, not at all," he replied, with cheerful geniality. 
 "Well, we've had a hard fight, and, if defeated, are not 
 disgraced. I think we shook the walls of Jericho a little." 
 
 " My cousin said he wished you would go there," said 
 Stella placidly. Mr Purling looked at her sharply. Once 
 or twice before, the untenable suspicion that she was 
 laughing at him had crossed his mind. She smiled, with 
 gentle seriousness, and the fear passed. 
 
 " Surely I am right in thinking that you sympathise with 
 us, Miss Gleddayne," he said. 
 
 " You have my deep commiseration," she replied. 
 
 " Oh, I didn't mean fhat" he said, rather irritably. " I 
 wasn't thinking of our defeat, — which was in itself almost 
 a victory. But, after our talks at Rodden, I feel sure that 
 you don't sympathise with the ancient and respectable 
 iniquities against which we are fighting." 
 
 " My poor cousin ! " said Stella, smiling. " However, 
 even if he is an iniquity, I am glad to hear he is respectable. 
 But really he isnt very ancient." 
 
 " You misunderstand me," he said. " I wasn't referring 
 to your cousin. I spoke humorously, — though my 
 humour was a little bitter. I spoke of Toryism, — of the 
 tyranny of the squire and the parson. We have given it a 
 hard blow, in this part of the world. Before very long it 
 will be broken everywhere." 
 
 " And do you think the tyranny of the wire-puller and 
 the journalist will be much better ? " Stella asked gravely. 
 
 Mr Purling was startled and annoyed. 
 
 " I don't quite see your point," he said, rather snappishly, 
 and readjusted his pince-nez on his uplifted nose. 
 
 " Well it really seems as if human beings couldn't 
 manage without tyranny of some kind," Stella said, with 
 S
 
 2 74 The Ford 
 
 the same calm smile. "They abolished the tyranny of 
 Charles I. to set up the tyranny of Cromwell. They 
 replaced feudalism by capitalism. Now they are destroying 
 the tyranny of privilege to set up the tyranny of public 
 opinion. And I am not sure that that isn't the worst 
 tyranny of all." 
 
 She was guiltily conscious that she was only quoting 
 Paul Gleddayne. But Mr Purling irritated her, and, she 
 felt that he was better armed than she. Why were not 
 women allowed the precious weapons of knowledge? 
 She could not argue against this man, not from want of 
 conviction or want of brains, but from want of any real 
 education. It was a cruel injustice. 
 
 Mr Purling looked at her with his infuriating, superior 
 smile. 
 
 " Have no fears," he said. " We are on the right course. 
 I know you are with us really. You are a reformer at 
 heart." 
 
 "I am a reformer, if that means love and pity for 
 those who are down," she answered. " Not if it only 
 means hatred and jealousy of those who are up." 
 
 " Surely you would not suspect ine of such a motive," he 
 answered, rather angrily again. He was beginning to 
 wonder if she were so clever as he had at first thought her. 
 
 " I was not speaking personally," she said coldly. " I 
 quite realise the existence of many wrongs in the world. 
 But I don't think any political party will do much to redress 
 them in reality." 
 
 " That disparagement of politicians is very common," he 
 answered, with nasal annoyance in his voice. " But we 
 are going to do much for the well-being of the people all 
 the same." 
 
 " I daresay you'll make them a little more comfortable. 
 You and your party have been teaching the world that
 
 Illumination, Limited 275 
 
 comfort means happiness. The world is beginning to 
 doubt you a httle." 
 
 " It may not be so to transcendentahsts," he answered. 
 ** But to the ordinary man it does make a good deal of 
 diflference whether he has clothes and food enough or not. 
 If you had to labour for your daily bread, I think you'd 
 see it more in that light." 
 
 It was a partial statement of the case, but he spoke 
 in a less aggressive and dictatorial tone, which mollified 
 Stella ; while the portion of truth in his remark robbed 
 her of all desire for disputation. 
 
 " Forgive me," she said gently. " I am becoming 
 dreadfully argumentative. I believe anyone who is honestly 
 working on any one side must do good, and, after all, what 
 do opinions matter ? They are only guesses, — gropings 
 after the truth." 
 
 This statement did not please Mr Purling, who con- 
 sidered that his own opinions mattered very much, as they 
 were all absolutely right. But he was disarmed by Stella's 
 gentleness, and satisfied by what he considered a confession 
 of his own intellectual authority. He turned to less con- 
 troversial subjects, and gave her a good deal of inform- 
 ation, chiefly about his own beliefs and hopes. He was a 
 clever man and well-informed, and Stella listened not 
 without interest ; though his assumption of infallibility tried 
 her patience. He was too fond of speaking of " enlightened 
 opinion," meaning the views of those who agreed with him. 
 And though Stella had no great enthusiasm for his political 
 opponents, it was rather irritating to hear them spoken of 
 invariably as possessing neither brains nor hearts. But 
 Mr Purling had been indulging for some weeks in the 
 luxury of denouncing the sins of others ; an inexpensive 
 way of feeding one's own self-esteem which is much 
 practised by those in search of cheap gratification ; and he
 
 276 
 
 The Ford 
 
 had become so intoxicated with the sense of his own virtue 
 that it was difficult for him to speak tolerantly of those 
 who might be expected to doubt it. 
 
 Stella listened, almost in silence. At last he rose to 
 take his departure. 
 
 " Good-bye," he said, pressing her hand, and casting an 
 encouraging glance at her through his pince-nez. " It has 
 been so nice to exchange views in this way, and still nicer 
 to find how much we are in sympathy. I am leaving 
 this part of the world to-morrow. But I shall venture to 
 hope that it will not be long before we meet again." 
 
 He pressed her hand again, and then turned beaming 
 away, leaving Stella to wonder what views they had 
 exchanged. 
 
 She felt weary and despondent. Why must these tire- 
 some men come and make love to her, — for that was 
 evidently what Purling imagined he had been doing. She 
 began to long for a protector, a watchman to warn off the 
 amorous. 
 
 But Mr Purling and Cameron Stair went on their ways 
 full of confidence and hope, and read long articles in all 
 the newspapers of their respective parties on the Roatebridge 
 Election. 
 
 Both sides seemed delighted with the result, and spoke 
 of the great questions involved. And no one suggested 
 that it was all Illumination, Limited.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 A READING IN BYRON 
 
 Miss Ollsen left the next day, and Paul Gleddayne returned, 
 wearily cheerful and patient as usual. Everything in the 
 house seemed to go a little more smoothly after his arrival. 
 Lord Gleddayne cheered up and became more talkative, 
 and there appeared to be quite a number of interesting 
 topics to discuss. Stella was conscious of the change. 
 
 Paul had been staying with George Merrow, who had 
 recently seen Ralph Harrold, apparently full of projects 
 and schemes. 
 
 " He quite frightened Merrow," Paul said with a laugh. 
 " He seems to have developed a set of opinions and ambi- 
 tions which will thoroughly displease all parties. He 
 wants to have compulsory military service, and state- 
 ownership of all land, and a sort of Academy of Merit to 
 bestow Peerages and all other honours, and goodness 
 knows what else besides. He is looking out for a working- 
 class constituency to stand for, and he is determined to be 
 Prime Minister some day. And I don't mind betting that 
 he will." 
 
 It always warmed Stella's heart to hear Paul speak of 
 Ralph, there was such a depth of affection in his friendly 
 mockery. She could not help thinking what a delight it 
 would be to share the ambitions and dreams of anyone so 
 much alive, so full of hope and purpose and vigour as 
 Ralph. But she turned from the thought in anger. She 
 
 277
 
 278 
 
 The Ford 
 
 allowed her mind to dwell with fondness and gratitude on 
 Paul. 
 
 She knew how glad her father would be if they were 
 married, and she considered seriously his possibilities as a 
 husband. She did not mind his age. His mind was as 
 young as ever, and in companionship with it she certainly 
 would not be dull. There was one thing which made her 
 shrink a little, — the recollection of the scandal about Mrs 
 Harrold, and of other slight rumours she had heard con- 
 cerning him. Though she was determined not to be 
 romantic, in Miss OUsen's sense of the word, she would not 
 like to feel that she was tied to a man stained and sullied 
 with fleshly indulgence. But, after all, the stories were 
 very vague, and she knew little. She did not expect her 
 husband to be a saint, and certainly, whatever Paul's record 
 might be, he was no coarse sensualist. She regarded him 
 rather as one who had wandered astray in chasing will-o- 
 the-wisp ideals. She knew too much of his life, its priva- 
 tions and disappointments, to judge him harshly. And, 
 anyhow, he was kind and gentle and unselfish, and that 
 mattered most of all. 
 
 When they were living this quiet life alone, it was often 
 her habit to read to her father after tea. Lord Gleddayne 
 belonged to a benighted generation which had considered 
 some taste for poetry as part of the equipment of a gentle- 
 man. And as Stella had a passion for poetry, — a fact 
 which puzzled Miss Ollsen, — she usually chose some 
 singer for their refreshment. Paul used to attend these 
 readings, and loved them. Stella's beautiful voice was a 
 fit instrument for intelligent elocution. The ring of passion 
 and emotion in it was sometimes a little startling, — though 
 it did not surprise Paul. And now that the readings were 
 usually held on the terrace, with the sun-bathed summer 
 landscape spread before them, and faint rustic sounds from
 
 A Reading in Byron 279 
 
 cattle and harvest gatherers and distant dogs and far-away 
 wood-pigeons mingling as a sort of undertone and back- 
 ground to Stella's voice, the great poets seemed to gain a 
 fresh magic and power. 
 
 A day or two later than his arrival Stella produced her 
 book after tea. 
 
 " What have you got to-day ? " Paul asked. 
 
 " Byron." 
 
 "Capital," said Lord Gleddayne. "I'm old-fashioned 
 enough to be very fond of Byron, though I believe he isn't 
 thought much of now." 
 
 " The giant critics of our day have dethroned him," said 
 Paul, laughing. " We must console ourselves with the 
 fact that he was good enough for Goethe, Scott, and a 
 few other such small fry throughout Europe in his 
 time." 
 
 " I'll give you some of the short pieces to-day," Stella 
 said. " They always seem to me like voices from a 
 more fiery, more alive, and more romantic time than 
 ours." 
 
 She opened the book and began to read, turning at 
 random from one favourite to another. Paul sat gazing 
 across the valley, intoxicated by the music of her soft, rich 
 voice, hearing as if in a dream the faint meaning of the 
 words she read, and pondering deeply on the reader. 
 
 Paul, too, had been going through a struggle lately, — 
 such a struggle as he had thought impossible for him now. 
 His considerable separation from Stella during the last two 
 months had aroused sensations which had astonished him. 
 He could hardly have believed that the aching sense of 
 bereavement, the palpitating hunger for re-union could 
 have assailed him thus. She had become terribly necessary 
 to him. 
 
 Stella, turning through her book, suddenly launched
 
 2 8o The Ford 
 
 forth with those lofty and pathetic lines that rang down 
 the curtain on the tragi-comedy of the poet's life. 
 
 " 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved 
 Since others it has ceased to move ; 
 Yet, though I cannot be beloved, 
 Still let me love." 
 
 Paul moved uneasily. He had not asked for love 
 hitherto. He had given. He had worshipped her from 
 afar. He had never meant to bring his passion down to 
 earth. But suddenly had this tormenting thirst awakened 
 in him. One last chance of happiness, kind Heaven ! 
 
 " My days are in the yellow leaf, 
 The flowers and fruits of love are gone ; 
 The worm, the canker, and the grief 
 Are mine alone." 
 
 He told himself bitterly how ridiculous this folly was. He 
 
 was old enough to be Stella's father. And she certainly 
 
 was not in love with him, however much she might like 
 
 him. His experience of the love of women was sufificient 
 
 to tell him that. 
 
 "The hope, the fear, the jealous care, 
 The exalted portion of the pain 
 And power of love, I cannot share, 
 But wear the chain." 
 
 He reproached himself. Had he not been learning to 
 
 practise renunciation for years ? He had been slowly 
 
 mastering self, slowly rising to the higher plane where 
 
 personal motives were subdued and personal desires 
 
 ignored. He had expanded his soul among the souls of 
 
 men, and now he had suddenly drawn it back again into 
 
 its former prison, like a snail into its shell. He had 
 
 indeed fallen back to earth. 
 
 " Tread those reviving passions down, 
 Unworthy Manhood ! — Unto thee 
 Indifferent should the smile or frown 
 Of beauty be."
 
 A Reading in Byron 281 
 
 But the cry of loneliness and desire, and the prayer for 
 a little joy yet, rang through his heart. Stella might not 
 love him, but she was happy in his companionship, there 
 was a real and deep sympathy between them. She was 
 such a strange girl, and she might easily do worse than 
 marry him. He knew that Cameron Stair had been here 
 lately, and the thought of what some rash moment might 
 lead her to do made him shudder. After all, the majority 
 of girls would think themselves lucky to capture Cameron 
 Stair, and no woman could ignore the many advantages 
 his wife would possess. On the other hand Paul at least 
 could offer her a humble and faithful devotion, and a 
 wealth of intellectual companionship and sympathy. From 
 a practical point of view their union was greatly to be 
 wished. Lord Gleddayne had made it pretty clear that 
 he would be pleased. Stella would be fixed for life in her 
 old and dearly loved home. And there would be a chance 
 of the house of Gleddayne continuing to descend in the 
 male line. Was it not really rather a foolish scruple, a 
 Quixotic bit of false reasoning that held him back ? He 
 knew it was 7iot reasoning, but an instinct that stood in 
 the way ; but perhaps even the instinct was wrong. 
 
 Stella's soft voice murmured on through his thoughts. 
 
 With a tremor of passion she declaimed the last words of 
 
 the poem. 
 
 " Then look around and choose thy ground 
 And take thy rest." 
 
 Then there was a silence. 
 
 Lord Gleddayne got up slowly from his chair and went 
 away to the house, with rather shuffling steps. Stella also 
 rose, to help her father, and then walked across the terrace 
 to her corner by the cedar. She leaned on the parapet 
 and looked out into the valley. After a few moments 
 Paul moved slowly to her side. They stood there in
 
 282 The Ford 
 
 silence, his face very pale, hers overshadowed with 
 foreboding. 
 
 Suddenly he laid his hand on hers, with a kind of gasp. 
 
 " Stella," he said huskily, " if I asked you to marry me, 
 what should you say ? " 
 
 She turned a blanched face to him, quivering into a 
 smile, and searched him with her frank, fearless eyes. 
 
 " I should say ' yes,' Paul," she answered simply.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 ENTSAGEN 
 
 For a moment they stood, each scrutinising the face of 
 the other. Both looked troubled. It was a strange way 
 of making love. 
 
 "You aren't in love with me, Stella," said Paul at last. 
 He was so much occupied with his own mental struggle 
 that he spoke like one thinking aloud, hardly addressing 
 his words to her. 
 
 " I am very fond of you, Paul," she answered. " What 
 is being in love ? I wish to forget all that sort of nonsense. 
 It is a delusion." 
 
 " Not always," he said. His face was beginning to look 
 less troubled. 
 
 " Have yoit found it otherwise ? " she asked, almost 
 bitterly. 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " I chased many phantoms. But 
 I found the reality when I met you. Oh Stella, forgive 
 me. I ought never to have compelled you to talk like 
 this. And yet I suppose a crisis of some kind had to 
 come some day." 
 
 Instead of drawing nearer to her he had moved a little 
 further away. She said nothing, but looked down. 
 
 " I have had a weak moment, but strength is coming 
 
 back," he went on, more quietly. " You probably will not 
 
 forgive me for this. But it had to happen. You and I 
 
 must understand each other at all costs." 
 
 283
 
 284 
 
 The Ford 
 
 She turned to him again with an affectionate smile. 
 
 "Dear Paul," she said, '-you could never hurt me. 
 You are the best friend I have in the world. I will marry 
 you, if you like. If you think it better not, we will go on 
 as before." 
 
 "Oh Stella, how can you," he said. "But you don't 
 even tempt me now. I see things clearly again. You 
 sweet child! And you would have sacrificed your life to 
 me ! " 
 
 "It would be no sacrifice, Paul. I know how good 
 you would be to me. I should be quite happy. And it 
 would make Father happy too." 
 
 Paul moved nearer again, and laid his hand on her 
 shoulder caressingly. 
 
 "Stella," he said, "it is indeed something that we can 
 discuss such a matter as this without hurting or misunder- 
 standing each other. I don't think our souls could come 
 much nearer than they are now. And, apart from other 
 considerations, marriage might have spoiled that." 
 
 Stella laughed brightly. 
 
 "So you won't marry me after all," she said, with tender 
 mockery. 
 
 Paul smiled, a little sadly. 
 
 " Thank you, dear,^' he said. " It makes things easier 
 when you take them like that. I had an awful moment 
 of temptation. Our intercourse has been so ideal, and I 
 actually ran the risk of spoiling it all. I think you under- 
 stand, dear. You know how I love you ; how you have 
 been to me a guiding star, a spiritual sister, the companion 
 of my dreams. I never even wished to put such a relation- 
 ship to any earthly test. But I had a mad moment. 
 And I will be honest with you, as always. I didn't want 
 to have the relationship spoiled by anything ugly happening. 
 I had a fear, — forgive me, — but I had a fear that you might
 
 Entsagen 285 
 
 make some worldly, dreadful marriage that would shatter 
 my dream. The thought came to me that, rather than 
 such a fate as that, even to marry me would not be such 
 degradation for you." 
 
 Stella blushed, and lowered her eyes. 
 
 "You make me ashamed, Paul," she said. "I am not 
 worthy of being regarded like that. I did not even know 
 you thought marriage such a sacred thing." 
 
 "God knows I have no right to pretend that" he 
 answered. " But, at any rate, marriage may be a sacred 
 thing, — if it is hallowed by love. It seldom is so hallowed. 
 But to be married to a man like me, — old, battered, mud- 
 stained, — there could be nothing very sacred about that. 
 And no loveless marriage could be otherwise than a 
 degradation for you. You don't know what marriage 
 means. You don't realise all the intimacy, all the rending 
 of veils that it implies. Marriage is either a sacred mystery 
 or a fleshly commonplace. And love alone can make it 
 a sacred mystery. Oh, Stella, I know what you think 
 about these things. I know you have been sickened by 
 the cant of love, by the exalting of vanity and appetite 
 into a thing of romance. But the real thing does exist. 
 Don't doubt it any more ! Play for the big stakes ! You 
 may lose. Life is a gamble. But you may win. And 
 you will find it was worth winning." 
 
 Stella shivered. 
 
 " Oh Paul," she said, " are you going to fail me too ? 
 Are you going to advocate that which would drag me down 
 in my own eyes ? I can't be the slave of a passion. I 
 can't give myself up to something that is stronger than I 
 am. I know if I once let myself go I should be swept off 
 my feet, — and that is so weak, so humiliating. I thought 
 if I married you, I should have a rampart to defend me 
 against that. I am afraid."
 
 2 86 The Ford 
 
 Certainly neither of them took much trouble to shield 
 the vanity of the other, if it existed. But they were both 
 too proud to be vain, and they knew it. 
 
 Paul smiled. 
 
 " I never knew you afraid of anything before," he said. 
 " And I don't think you will let fear govern you in this, 
 either. Good God, Stella ! do you imagine that such a 
 marriage as you thought of could be a rampart against that ! 
 I am afraid I have cause to know better. You would only 
 be preparing for yourself a much worse fate, — a thing that 
 might drag you down, in truth. Don't have these morbid 
 ideas, dear. Trust to your own nature, to the great Nature 
 that speaks through it. You must run some risks, But 
 when were you afraid of risks ? If such a passion as you 
 speak of is within your reach, give yourself up to it, and take 
 your chance. It's the only way. That may lead to Heaven. 
 Anything else rnust lead to Hell." 
 
 Stella turned to him, her eyes brimming with tears, her 
 whole frame agitated. 
 
 " Paul," she said, " you have been more than a brother 
 to me. I will think over what you say. But oh, you 
 don't know how difficult and saddening and trying it all 
 is. I wish I could tell you, but I can't. Only I am very 
 miserable." 
 
 And suddenly she broke down and bowed herself over 
 the parapet, weeping bitterly. Paul stood by her in silence, 
 his hand still on her shoulder. His face was a little drawn 
 with the strain of emotion, but his eyes held a deep calm. 
 
 Gradually she controlled herself and looked at him, with 
 a smile through her tears. 
 
 " I am a dreadful fool," she said. " But I have been 
 going through an awful strain. I don't see the way yet. 
 But you have helped me, as you always do. God bless 
 you, Paul."
 
 Entsagen 287 
 
 Paul turned away his pale face. 
 
 " Be true to your own heart, Stella,"' he said, " and you 
 won't want help from anyone else." 
 
 Stella laid her hand on his arm and gave it a little 
 squeeze, as if to express gratitude and comradeship. Then 
 she walked away to the house, leaving him there alone. 
 
 Paul gazed out at the landscape with eyes that saw it 
 not, although the shadows were deepening and the colours 
 growing richer, as the sun stooped towards the rim of the 
 distant hills. He felt peaceful, but a little dazed. He 
 hardly realised yet what had been within his reach, what 
 he had renounced. But his had been the sacrifice, — not 
 hers. 
 
 And he had not even kissed her hand.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 SUGAR-PLUMS 
 
 After successfully proposing to a lady, and then persuad- 
 ing her not to marry you, it is excusable to feel a little 
 embarrassment in her presence. Paul was not exactly 
 embarrassed with Stella after the interview just recorded. 
 That would have been almost impossible. She was frank 
 and friendly as ever, and showed no trace of the crisis they 
 had passed through. But still he felt that a few days of 
 separation would help to lighten the air, so he went away 
 on a visit to Lady Staneby, who was always glad to receive 
 him. He hardly liked leaving the Ford. Lord Gleddayne 
 was unwell, confined to his room, though not in bed. He 
 seemed to lean on Paul more than ever. But a few days 
 could not make very much difference, and Stella would be 
 there. 
 
 Lady Staneby appeared to be in low spirits, which even 
 the arrival of an exquisite Parisian costume seemed power- 
 less to raise. There was only a small party, — a couple of 
 well-dressed, talkative, and profoundly uninteresting women, 
 and the faithful Harry Barle. He welcomed Paul with his 
 usual inscrutable bluntness, but with unmistakeable liking. 
 Barle had a pretty distinct idea as to who had been the 
 favoured lovers of this goddess whom he so humbly and 
 vainly adored ; but he never showed a trace of jealousy or 
 ill-will. 
 
 "How's young Harrold ? " he asked in his abrupt way, 
 
 when they were alone. 
 288
 
 Sugar-Plums 289 
 
 " I haven't see him lately," said Paul in some surprise. 
 " Hasn't he been here?" 
 
 " Not since you were here last, I believe," said Barle, 
 with a face like a mask. But there was a faint, pathetic 
 shade of satisfaction in his tone as he made the statement, 
 and Paul understood and was rather touched. He was re- 
 lieved to find that Ralph was not in attendance on Lady 
 Staneby after all, and he hoped, for Barle's sake, that she 
 would keep the vacant post untenanted. 
 
 Paul was not inquisitive, but his interest in Ralph made 
 him curious to know what had ended so fierce a flirtation. 
 He was not long in ignorance. Lady Staneby could be 
 trusted with the secrets of other people ; but about herself 
 she was frank to a degree that was embarrassing. Paul 
 had heard the full details of each of her love affairs in 
 turn, and it was inevitable that he should be informed as 
 to this last one. 
 
 " I could almost hate you, Paul," Lady Staneby said, in 
 her gentle, plaintive voice, when they were alone together. 
 " It isn't fair to blame you, because you couldn't help it. 
 But you did me a bad turn, and I can hardly bear to see 
 you, even now." 
 
 " I'm very sorry, Lily," said Paul with his characteristic 
 smile. " What have I done ? Ruined a new dress, or 
 upset a box of sugar-plums ? " 
 
 " You always laugh at me," she answered discontentedly. 
 •' You think I am a vain, light fribble, who takes nothing 
 seriously and cares for nothing deeply. I suppose it is 
 my own fault, and I can't blame you." 
 
 She sighed. Paul laid his hand on hers, as if she were 
 a child. 
 
 "You know I understand you better than that," he 
 said. " But you and I agreed not to be serious about 
 anything, long ago. Tell me how I have injured you."
 
 290 The Ford 
 
 " I don't know. It puzzles me. But I know that 
 through you I have lost the only man I have ever really 
 loved in my life." 
 
 " But, Lily, you have found and lost him so often 
 before." 
 
 " Oh, don't jeer at me now, Paul. You can believe it 
 or not as you like. I know you wanted to keep him from 
 me, for you told me so. And you succeeded, without 
 knowing it." 
 
 " But I did nothing," he protested. " I never referred 
 to the matter with him." 
 
 " No. But he saw you kiss me. That ended it all, — 
 God knows why. He wouldn't look at me or speak to me 
 again. He scarcely answers my letters and refuses to see 
 me, — gently and kindly, it is true. And he is sorry and 
 owns that he has treated me badly, but that is no use. 
 Oh Paul, what have you done ? What does it mean ? He 
 knew everything about me, — vaguely of course, but quite 
 clearly. He knew I had had other lovers. He didn't 
 seem to mind that much. But you, — you drove him 
 away at once." 
 
 Paul had turned very red. Then the colour faded 
 away again, leaving him pale. 
 
 " I don't know why he should take it like that," he said 
 in a slow, constrained voice, looking away from her as he 
 spoke. 
 
 "I am sure you do," she said. "Oh, Paul, tell me 
 what it means. I am so miserable." 
 
 But Paul still looked away and said nothing. 
 
 Lady Staneby watched h'.r. closely for some minutes in 
 silence. Suddenly she asked, " When are you going to 
 marry your cousin Stella ? " 
 
 Paul started and flushed again. He was about to reply 
 angrily but checked himself. After all, Lady Staneby
 
 Sugar-Plums 291 
 
 had been so frank she had almost established a claim to 
 equal frankness in him. 
 
 " I am not going to marry her at all," he replied, a little 
 more impatiently than he intended. 
 
 Lady Staneby started up with a look, almost of despair 
 on her face. 
 
 " Aren't you ? " she exclaimed. " Is that true really ? " 
 
 " Perfectly true," he said shortly. 
 
 " But Ralph believes you are going to, doesn't he ? " 
 
 " I don't know what Ralph believes." 
 
 " Oh, my God," moaned Lady Staneby, clasping her 
 hands and bowing her head, " and he loves her. He 
 thought she wouldn't have him, — I supposed because of 
 you. But she will get him now. Ah, Paul, you have got 
 your way more than I thought." 
 
 She sat and stared before her, with parted lips and 
 strained eyes. Paul looked at her in astonishment. 
 
 " Ralph in love with Stella ! " he exclaimed. " It's 
 impossible. I should have seen it." 
 
 " You I " said Lady Staneby fiercely. " You'd see 
 nothing. What have you seen now in all this puzzle? 
 He does love her. He told me so. He came and made 
 love to me and his heart was hers. He thought I didn't 
 matter, I suppose, — any man's fair game. Well, I dare- 
 say I deserve it. But that doesn't make it hurt less." 
 
 Paul gazed into space, in bewilderment. 
 
 "Well, I'm damned," he said. 
 
 "Probably," remarked Lady Staneby. "But that 
 doesn't help me." 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry, Lily," Paul said gently. " I wish I 
 could help you. But it's no good saying that." 
 
 " Not much," she said, with a forlorn smile. " Paul, I 
 know what you think of me. Oh yes, of course I know 
 you're very fond of me and all that, but still you do think
 
 292 The Ford 
 
 me incapable of being really in love. You've told me so 
 heaps of times. Well, I am in love at last ; and of course 
 it's no use. Oh Paul, if you knew what I felt about him. 
 He was so different from all the others. He treated me 
 badly, but that was a mystery, and not a bit like him. It 
 seems hard to lose him. But I suppose I can't complain. 
 I daresay I've forfeited the right to that sort of happiness, 
 — at any rate all the good people would say so." 
 
 "Please don't talk like that, dear," he said. " I can't 
 bear to hear you." 
 
 " Oh it's no good blinking facts. I've been a bad lot. 
 Perhaps I'm not entirely to blame. I haven't had much 
 of a chance, one way and another. And other people may 
 be a little to blame too. You were about the best of the 
 lot, Paul, but perhaps you've helped a little in the process. 
 Anyhow, the woman pays the bill as usual. Just give me 
 that bon-bon box will you, dear." 
 
 "Poor Lily," Paul said, with remorseful tenderness, as 
 he handed her the box, " I've paid my bill too." 
 
 " Well, then, have some sugar plums and we'll be miser- 
 able together," said Lady Staneby, with her mouth full of 
 confectionery. 
 
 " But I'm not miserable," he answered. " I've passed 
 through all that. Lily, dear, it's no good wishing you to 
 be happy. But I hope some day you'll know what it is to 
 have passed beyond happiness and unhappiness." 
 
 " Oh, I hate those ideas of yours," said Lady Staneby 
 impatiently. " I do want to be happy." 
 
 "Then I hope the sugar-plum cure will have good 
 results," he answered laughing, as he rose from his chair. 
 And she hurled caramels at him to the door of the room. 
 
 He returned to the Ford a few days later, with his 
 thoughts very busily at work. More than ever was he 
 thankful that he had thrust aside the temptation to take
 
 Sugar-Plums 293 
 
 Stella for himself. He was aghast at the narrowness of 
 his escape. Ralph loved Stella, and he had almost come 
 between them. Perhaps Ralph thought he had come 
 between them. Perhaps some of his difficulties with 
 Ralph arose from this suspicion, and it might account for 
 the way in which the young man had seemed to shun him 
 and refuse him his confidence. Already, by fate's irony, 
 he had unwittingly stood in Ralph's way in other things. 
 He thought of his promise to the woman who lay in the 
 churchyard at Thirlwood, of his own tender affection for 
 her son, of how he had striven to carry out that promise, 
 and of the negative result so far. 
 
 " I suppose I deserve it, as poor Lily says," he murmured 
 to himself with a sad, ironical smile. " But I'll try to 
 break the spell yet." 
 
 Before he could do anything more it was necessary to 
 get some insight into Stella's mind on the subject, and that 
 was not easy. Did Stella love Ralph ? He was fairly sure 
 she loved someone, after what she had said. Might it be 
 Ralph ! 
 
 He had mastered himself pretty completely, but the 
 thought of surrendering Stella, even to Ralph, cost him a 
 pang or two. When he returned, and she greeted him with 
 her affectionate, sisterly warmth, and the trustful, sym- 
 pathetic look in her fearless grey eyes that he knew well 
 now, some symptoms of the former struggle made them- 
 selves known in his breast. She showed not a trace of 
 embarrassment or resentment or agitation, and the great- 
 ness of her nature, thus revealed, wrung his heart with 
 admiring homage that threatened once more to leap into 
 passion. But the revolt was soon over, and his will re- 
 asserted itself triumphantly. He had no fear now of losing 
 the grip again. 
 
 A day or two after his return he was strolling in the
 
 294 The Ford 
 
 park, near the ford, when he observed a horseman crossing 
 the great meadow. He was riding a bright chestnut horse, 
 evidently very fresh and giving his master no easy ride. 
 The horseman approached the opposite bank and, some- 
 what to his surprise and much to his pleasure, Paul 
 recognised Ralph. 
 
 " Are you coming across," Paul shouted. "The water's 
 rather high and the bottom's more uncertain than ever, so 
 be careful." 
 
 "We'll manage it all right," Ralph shouted back, and 
 brought his horse to the river's edge. 
 
 Plunging and snorting, the animal refused to enter the 
 water. Paul sat down opposite, lighted his pipe and 
 watched the contest that arose. 
 
 It lasted for a quarter of an hour at least. He could 
 see the stern, determined look on Ralph's face ; but there 
 was never a sign of temper or impatience. He set himself 
 quietly and resolutely to master the refractory animal, and 
 Paul's heart went out to him in approval and affection. 
 Glancing upwards for a moment, he was suddenly aware of 
 Stella's face above the parapet of the terrace. Whether 
 Ralph had seen her or not he could not tell. 
 
 At last the horse was coaxed into the river. It drew 
 back several times, snorting with apprehension, and shrink- 
 from the current that swept against its legs. Once it 
 swung round, so sharply as nearly to lose its balance, and 
 Paul thought they were over. Derrick had now appeared 
 near Paul, and was watching the proceedings with his 
 usual immovable but sardonic countenance. 
 
 The struggle continued right across the river, Ralph 
 urging and coaxing the nervous animal forward, and the 
 horse plunging and slipping perilously on the uncertain 
 foothold. They came at last nearly to the landing-place. 
 The horse made another plunge, slipped a Uttle further
 
 Sugar-Plums 295 
 
 down the bed of the stream and displaced a large stone, 
 which the current caused to bump against its forelegs. It 
 reared, turned half round, lost balance, and went over 
 sideways. 
 
 Paul heard Stella's voice cry faintly, as he leaped down 
 the bank into the water. The horse had rolled over, and 
 was up again, and plunged to the bank, — where Derrick 
 caught it, and hastily looped its bridle to a tree ; beside 
 which it stood, panting and quivering. Meanwhile Paul 
 was wading back up the bank again, half carrying half 
 dragging Ralph's limp and dripping form. 
 
 Ralph had a cut on his head and they laid him down on 
 the bank, bleeding a good deal. 
 
 " The ford weren't made for hint" said Derrick 
 gloomily. 
 
 "Run to the house and send someone for the doctor," 
 said Paul brusquely, kneeling down to feel Ralph's heart. 
 He was vaguely aware that Stella glided to his side and 
 stood motionless. 
 
 There was a faint flutter in Ralph's breast and his colour 
 had begun to come back a little. Presently he opened his 
 eyes and stared at Paul in a dazed and bewildered way, 
 murmuring some inarticulate sound. 
 
 " Be quiet, you're all right," said Paul gruffly, and Ralph 
 relapsed into semi-consciousness again. 
 
 Presently help arrived from the house and they carried 
 him up and put him to bed. He seemed to be coming to 
 himself, but made no effort to speak. By great good 
 fortune, the doctor, who was in attendance on Lord 
 Gleddayne, arrived a few minutes after Ralph was safe in 
 bed, and at once proceeded to examine him. 
 
 Paul came out of Ralph's room a little later, shivering, 
 for he was very wet. On the landing he met Stella and 
 started at the sight of her pale, anxious face.
 
 296 
 
 The Ford 
 
 " What does the doctor say ? " she asked, her usually 
 calm voice trembhng and broken. 
 
 " Oh, it's nothing," Paul answered, a little impatiently. 
 He felt damp and chilly and wanted to change his clothes. 
 " Just a slight concussion, that is all. Ralph must stay in 
 bed to-morrow and keep quiet for a few days afterwards, 
 and then he'll be all right." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Stella in a long, quavering moan of relief. 
 Suddenly she leaned forward, her face glowing, her eyes 
 tear-brimmed. " Paul," she said, " you saved his life." 
 And again she turned away, shaken with emotion. 
 
 " Bosh ! " said Paul, quite roughly. But there was a 
 curious smile on his face as he hurried away. He had 
 learned all he wanted to know.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 A FLAG OF TRUCE ; AND A CAPITULATION 
 
 Though Ralph's condition was not serious, tidings of the 
 accident had, of course, to be sent to his father. 
 Stella, now relieved of a burden of anxiety, went to Lord 
 Gleddayne's room, to inform him of this and of all that 
 had happened. The old man was sitting in an arm-chair 
 near the window, reading his favourite Horace by the light 
 of the afternoon sun. He looked feeble and ill, and Stella 
 had a sense of apprehension as she regarded him. 
 
 " Father, dear," she said, sitting down on the arm of his 
 chair, " Mr Ralph Harrold has had a fall from his horse at 
 the ford and has been rather hurt. They had to bring him 
 in here and put him to bed. Doctor Rogers has seen him 
 and says he must be kept quiet for a day or two. I hope 
 you won't mind." 
 
 She spoke quietly and naturally, though she blushed as 
 she mentioned Ralph's name. Whether the blush was 
 perceptible to her father's faded eyes she could not 
 tell. 
 
 " I am sorry," said Lord Gleddayne. " All that my 
 
 house can offer, is at Mr Ralph Harrold's service. You 
 
 are mistaken in supposing that I should mind, dear. I 
 
 wish to pass the end of my life in peace and charity with 
 
 my neighbours. Moreover, Mr Harrold is a very pleasant 
 
 young fellow. I am sorry he is hurt and shall be glad to 
 
 be of any small assistance to him." 
 
 297
 
 298 The Ford 
 
 " I had to send word over to Mr Richard Harrold," 
 Stella went on. 
 
 " Quite right. It was necessary that he should know as 
 quickly as possible, and be spared all anxiety about his 
 son. He would certainly have heard exaggerated rumours." 
 
 " Father," said Stella, with some hesitation, " I hope 
 you will forgive me. But I sent word to Mr Harrold that 
 if he liked to come over and assure himself of his son's 
 condition, you would gladly invite him to do so." 
 
 Lord Gleddayne remained silent for a space, gazing out 
 of the window, his head turned away from her. At last 
 he turned towards her with a grim smile. 
 
 " I suppose you are right, dear," he said, laying his hand 
 on hers. " You generally are. It is rather a big pill for 
 me to swallow. But at least I shall escape seeing him 
 personally. I daresay I have been in the wrong always, 
 but I should not like to have to confess it to him, even 
 tacitly. But you shall be my spokesman. If Mr Soap- 
 boiler comes over, please receive him, and offer him 
 whatever welcome you think fit, in my name. And please, 
 after this, do not mention his existence to me, if you can 
 help it." 
 
 " Oh Father," exclaimed Stella, distressed and appre- 
 hensive. " Isn't there to be peace between us even now ? 
 Will you not forget and forgive ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear," said Lord Gleddayne, almost apologetically. 
 " I don't bear any malice. But the fellow's a cad and has 
 behaved to me Hke one, and I find it hard to forget it. 
 Mind you, I don't say a word against the son. I don't 
 know how they've managed to make a gentleman of him so 
 quickly, but he certainly is a very decent young fellow. I 
 suppose the mother was superior." 
 
 " She certainly was," replied Stella, somewhat relieved 
 by the latter part of his remarks. She kissed the old man
 
 A Flag of Truce 299 
 
 and went away, sending word to the servants to show Mr 
 Richard Harrold into her boudoir when he arrived. 
 
 He came, very shortly, in a motor car, Lord Gleddayne's 
 chief abomination. Stella trusted that her father had not 
 heard its noisy arrival. His room faced the terrace, at the 
 back of the house. 
 
 Richard Harrold had been much agitated by the news of 
 his son's accident. Ralph had grown very deeply into his 
 father's affections since Blanche Harrold's death. The 
 barriers between them were to a great extent broken now. 
 Richard Harrold still resented the poetical side of Ralph's 
 nature, the side inherited from the mother who wounded 
 her Philistine husband more than she knew with her scorn. 
 He would have liked his son to be more practical, as he 
 understood the word, more conventional, and less given to 
 dreams. He was always a little afraid that Ralph might 
 despise him secretly, as his wife had done openly. But he 
 had a desire for affection and companionship deep in his 
 rugged, lonely heart, and, now that he saw little of his 
 daughters, Ralph had become more essential to him. 
 
 Apart from his agitation at the thought of Ralph's danger 
 he had been moved and disturbed by the invitation to 
 visit the Ford. Of course it was only natural. They 
 could hardly have kept him out on such an occasion. 
 But still, the message had reached him in such a courteous 
 and even friendly form that he had felt it to be a covert 
 attempt at reconciliation, a concession to make amends for 
 the past. He was flattered, and a momentary sensation of 
 final triumph exhilarated his vanity. But he had been too 
 deeply hurt, both in that vanity and in more worthy 
 feelings, by the slight that had been put upon him in the 
 past, to be able to forgive. He resolved to adopt an 
 attitude of neutral dignity on his arrival. But, unfortun- 
 ately, the strange, hysterical side of his nature, which his
 
 300 The Ford 
 
 strength of will could not always control, took temporary 
 possession of him, agitated as he was by such conflicting 
 feelings ; and when he found himself replying to Stella's 
 quiet, gentle greeting it was in a blustering, noisy, and 
 rather bullying tone, of which he was painfully conscious 
 and somewhat ashamed. 
 
 But Stella somehow seemed to make him divine that she 
 was not deceived by his outer manner, but understood and 
 sympathised with his emotion. Her frank, gentle smile 
 was so full of friendliness that the curious tendency to 
 tears, which so belied the apparent coarseness of his 
 nature, asserted itself till his eyes moistened. 
 
 " My father asked me to say how much he regretted 
 being unable to receive you himself," she said. " He is 
 tied to his room. In fact I am afraid he is far from well 
 and I am anxious about him. But he would not have let 
 you enter his house with such an inhospitable reception 
 if he could have helped it. I hope you will excuse him." 
 
 Richard Harrold turned very red. He was moved, and 
 felt the force of Stella's sympathy. But the old wound was 
 very sore still. 
 
 " I'm sorry Lord Gleddayne's ill," he said, trying to 
 moderate the voice that would bluster a little. " Please 
 thank him for his civility and tell him I am sorry to have 
 to intrude in his house. If I find my son's going on all 
 right I won't trouble him again. And, — you'll excuse me, 
 but I'm a httle upset and can't trust myself to talk much. 
 Perhaps I might just go and see the lad." 
 
 He laboured with so much embarrassment and emotion 
 that Stella was deeply touched. She merely said " I will 
 show you your son's room," and immediately opened the 
 door and went out, leaving him to follow. She said 
 nothing more till they reached the sick-chamber, and then 
 she stopped.
 
 A Flag of Truce 30 1 
 
 " You'll find him in there, Mr Harrold," she said. 
 " Thank you very much for the delicate feeling you have 
 shown. I wish we could heal up old feuds. But anyhow, 
 let us respect and like each other." 
 
 She turned and glided away down the passage. 
 Richard Harrold gave a convulsive catch at his breath, and 
 turned impetuously as if to arrest her. But he did not 
 pursue his intention and turned slowly back. He paused 
 for a moment, as if to recover himself, and then quietly 
 entered the room. 
 
 Before very long he came out again. A servant met him 
 in the passage, who told him that Miss Gleddayne would 
 like to see him before he left, and he followed the man to 
 Stella's boudoir again. She rose, as he entered, with the 
 friendly smile that had already disarmed him. 
 
 " What do you think of him ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh, he's all right. A crack on the head, but nothing 
 much. I shan't worry about him. But you can under- 
 stand I was a little upset." 
 
 He spoke gruffly and awkwardly, but Stella was not 
 deceived. She held out her hand to him, as he showed 
 signs of wanting to go. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said. " It has been a great pleasure 
 to me to see you again — and especially here. I hope we 
 are friends." 
 
 " Till death," said Richard Harrold, struggling to soften 
 the gruffness of his voice, made all the more unmanageable 
 by strong emotion. " God bless you, my dear," he went 
 on, and then checked himself. " Forgive me, — I'm rather 
 upset to-day, — and I'm an old man, so it doesn't matter." 
 
 He squeezed her hand till he hurt her, and, muttering 
 incoherently, he hurried from the room. A moment later 
 she heard the hum of his motor car. She sent a kindly 
 thought after him. Was he not Ralph's father? But he
 
 302 The Ford 
 
 had also made a personal conquest of which he was 
 unaware. 
 
 Meanwhile Paul, having had a hot bath, rubbed himself 
 into a certain amount of warmth with a bath-towel, and put 
 on dry clothes, had proceeded to Lord Gleddayne's room. 
 He knew that Richard Plarrold was in the house, and 
 wished to avoid him. A meeting could only be disagree- 
 able for both. And yet he would have been glad if it had 
 been possible. 
 
 He found Lord Gleddayne a little perturbed. 
 
 " That fellow Harrold is here," said the old man. " I 
 suppose I've been wrong about that business. But I don't 
 like his coming into my house, all the same." 
 
 " Well, he isn't likely to come here again," Paul answered 
 consolingly. " Ralph is getting better every minute." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear it. He's a nice lad. But his father's 
 a cad. Why, if he'd only asked me about using the ford 
 I'd have given him leave, — though I didn't like a soap-boiler 
 in the place of Thirlwood of Thirlwood. But to use it and 
 defy me, — well it wasn't the way to start as a new man 
 in the county, was it ?" 
 
 "No," said Paul. "But, after all, that was long ago, 
 and I expect he has been sorry since." 
 
 " I expect he has," said Lord Gleddayne, grimly. " It 
 would have made a lot of difference to him if he'd been 
 friendly with me, — and I expect he knows it now, I hope 
 it wasn't a mistake of Stella's to ask him over to-day." 
 
 "Surely you could not keep him out, when his son was 
 laid up here ? " 
 
 " No, I suppose not. After all, Stella always is right. 
 To tell you the truth, I'm not happy in my mind, and 
 that's why I talk as I do. I know I have behaved hardly 
 to the man, and I'm ashamed to confess it. But you 
 know he did provoke me unnecessarily."
 
 A Flag of Truce 303 
 
 He looked away out of the window again. Confessing 
 his mistakes was not congenial work to him. Paul, who 
 felt the delicacy of discussing Richard Harrold, for more 
 reasons than one, was silent for a time. 
 
 " It is difificult for me to speak of the matter," he said 
 at last. " Harrold and I are not on good terms. But I 
 respect his character, which is a much finer one than it 
 seems. I should be glad if all bitterness could be 
 removed." 
 
 " I can guess what you are partly thinking of," said Lord 
 Gleddayne. " But I won't refer to that. As to myself, I 
 should be glad to make things up with him, and die at 
 peace with all men, — but it is too late for that now. I 
 leave it to the next generation. I have done my best to 
 give them the chance." 
 
 Paul moved uneasily. 
 
 "I have always been grateful to you for the delicacy 
 you have shown on one subject," he said. " I would 
 gladly tell you everything frankly, but of course it is out of 
 the question, and it was good of you never to ask anything. 
 But let's leave all that, and think only of the next genera- 
 tion. There is something I want very much to say to you, 
 and this gives me an opening. I know that Stella's future 
 is constantly in your thoughts." 
 
 Lord Gleddayne looked up eagerly. 
 
 " Well ? " he said. 
 
 Paul showed more hesitation. 
 
 " It is difficult to talk of this also," he said, slowly, " but 
 it is best to be quite frank. I believe that you have had 
 some idea, — that you would not mind very much if you 
 thought that I, — that Stella could bring herself to marry 
 me." 
 
 " I wish it above all things," said Lord Gleddayne. 
 
 "Would you wish it if Stella's heart were not in it.?
 
 304 The Ford 
 
 Would you wish her to sacrifice herself, against her real 
 inclinations, for the sake of the family considerations that 
 must be your chief motive, — for you cant think me 
 altogether the most desirable husband for her in an 
 ordinary way." 
 
 Lord Gleddayne, in turn, became uneasy and embarrassed. 
 
 " You know how much I like you, Paul," he said. 
 " You're a good fellow, and I'm sure you'd do your best 
 to make her happy. Of course you're a bit old for her, 
 but girls often don't mind that at all." 
 
 " But supposing Stella didn't see it in that way ? 
 Supposing she had formed another attachment. Would 
 you have her sacrifice that^ — and her best chance of 
 happiness with it, — and marry me, with whom she is not 
 in love, merely for the sake of carrying on the family ? — 
 which, after all, we might fail to do." 
 
 Lord Gleddayne's fingers fidgetted impatiently. 
 
 " You're all a little hard on me to-day, I think," he said, 
 discontentedly. " What reason is there for supposing all 
 these tragic things ? " 
 
 " I have a very good reason. I am practically convinced 
 that the case is as I have suggested." 
 
 Lord Gleddayne was silent and thoughtful. Then he 
 sighed. 
 
 " I can generally trust your judgment, Paul. I won't 
 ask how you know all this. I have no wish to ask curious 
 questions. But if your are right, who is the man ? " 
 
 " Ralph Harrold." 
 
 Lord Gleddayne started slightly, but he showed little 
 outward emotion. " The soap-boiler's son. Well, I won't 
 say anything against him. He's a nice lad, and they've 
 managed to make a gentleman of him somehow. I'm 
 having a good many shocks to-day. Does he care for 
 Stella ? "
 
 A Flag of Truce 305 
 
 " I understand so." 
 
 " Has he proposed to her yet ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " But you think she will accept him, if he does ? " 
 
 " I don't know what she will do. I only know that she 
 is in love with him, and he with her. Don't think me 
 officious and meddlesome, but her happiness is very dear 
 to me, — as it is to you. If Ralph Harrold asks her to 
 marry him, nothing could make her refuse but the fear of 
 making you unhappy. Can't you remove that fear ? " 
 
 " But it would make me unhappy." 
 
 "But it need not," Paul exclaimed, almost pleadingly. 
 " As you say, he is a nice fellow, and a gentleman. He is 
 very rich, which is not a thing to despise. His money will 
 come in useful on this property." 
 
 " But the property will be yours, Paul," said Lord 
 Gleddayne. 
 
 "Only for a very few years. I am not likely to make 
 an old man. And I shall never marry. I can promise 
 you that without any hesitation. I love Stella as I have 
 never loved a woman in my life. She would have married 
 me, but I could not take such a sacrifice. I am sorry to 
 disappoint you, but her happiness matters most. And her 
 children will live here, and your grandchildren will carry 
 on the direct line, even if the old name isn't theirs. Surely 
 her happiness matters most." 
 
 " She would have married you, and you love her, — and 
 yet you wouldn't ? " asked Lord Gleddayne, looking at him 
 fixedly. 
 
 " No. I gave that up gladly for her sake. Won't you 
 give up your scheme for her sake too?" 
 
 " You're a good chap, Paul," said Lord Gleddayne. " I 
 wish she had cared for you. She might have done worse. 
 But I'll say no more. She shall marry anyone she likes, 
 u
 
 3o6 
 
 The Ford 
 
 and she shall be sure of my blessing. After all, she always 
 knows best." 
 
 "Thank you," said Paul quietly, and rose to go. 
 Suddenly Lord Gleddayne leaned forward and caught him 
 by the arm. 
 
 " Paul," he said. " Forgive me, — but is he your son ? " 
 
 " No," said Paul, with a dark flush on his face. " I 
 wish to God he was." 
 
 Lord Gleddayne sunk back again, resignedly. 
 
 " I suppose it's very wrong of me," he said, " but so do 
 I."
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 ROMANCE TRIUMPHANT 
 
 It was a subdued and chastened Ralph who had ridden 
 
 over to the Ford, with such uncomfortable results. He 
 
 had been engaged for some time past in regarding himself 
 
 from a new and not very flattering point of view. As he 
 
 had been fairly satisfied with himself hitherto, this was 
 
 disconcerting. 
 
 Ralph was not by nature particularly conceited or 
 
 particularly selfish. But he had been brought up in a way 
 
 that would have spoiled most lads. He had never known 
 
 what it was to be denied anything. No one had ever 
 
 thwarted his wishes or questioned his judgment. He had 
 
 been made much of and encouraged to think much of 
 
 himself, to regard his own wishes as the chief laws of his 
 
 conduct and his own likes and dislikes the chief tests of 
 
 value. His natural disposition had curbed these tendencies. 
 
 And Eton and Oxford, whatever their value from an 
 
 educational point of view, were certainly not likely to leave 
 
 his ignorance of his own defects unshaken. Consequently 
 
 he had become, on the whole, a modest and simple-minded 
 
 young man. But he had always taken it for granted in 
 
 his own thoughts that he was a little superior to the 
 
 common run. And when he woke up and realised that he 
 
 had behaved rather like a selfish cad concerning Lady 
 
 Staneby, the discovery had an element of surprise as well 
 
 as of annoyance. It was as if he had caught his trusted 
 
 valet pawning his studs. 
 
 307
 
 ;o 
 
 8 The Ford 
 
 His remorse concerning Lady Staneby had started a train 
 
 of thought which had led him to reconsider his conduct 
 
 regarding Stella, — and thus, in the old familiar way, one 
 
 woman was likely to gain from the knowledge acquired by 
 
 a man at another woman's expense. It was true that he 
 
 was still conscious of having been snubbed and kept at a 
 
 distance by Stella, though in a very gentle way. But 
 
 judging things by his new lights, he began to wonder if he 
 
 had not deserved it. He did not wish to be the kind of 
 
 lover who grovels at the feet of his adored one and whines 
 
 for recompense for his devotion. But he saw now that his 
 
 attitude of mind had been a good deal too much in the 
 
 other direction. He had regarded Stella's heart rather as 
 
 a province to conquer ; as something which he wanted and 
 
 in consequence must have. He had now begun to see 
 
 things from a humbler point of view. ■ And, ashamed of 
 
 his long and petulant absence, he had ridden over to the 
 
 Ford with new hopes and new schemes, — to be pulled up 
 
 short by a ducking and a broken head. 
 
 However the ducking had done no harm, and the broken 
 head mended rapidly, and after a couple of day's quiet he 
 was able to leave his room. He was still stiff and sore 
 and shaky, and decided therefore to accept the pressing 
 invitation which Paul conveyed to him to remain another 
 day, and not attempt to go home. The weather was 
 gorgeously fine and warm, and he was able to sit out on 
 the terrace in the sunshine. 
 
 Paul himself was stiff with rheumatism and had a bad 
 cold, as a result of the wetting he had received in pulling 
 Ralph out of the river. When Ralph realised this his 
 remorse and humiliation were increased. He remembered 
 all the thoughts regarding Paul that had passed through 
 his mind. And though they were not all quiet yet, he felt 
 how unjust and ungenerous many of them had been.
 
 Romance Triumphant 309 
 
 " You saved my life," he said to Paul, rather awkwardly. 
 
 " Rubbish," said Paul. " Someone else would have 
 fished you out if I hadn't. And the water wasn't up to 
 my waist. One would think I had qualified for a Royal 
 Humane Society's medal by the way you talk." 
 
 " You can put it that way if you like," Ralph answered, 
 " I only know that I should certainly be a dead man now 
 if you hadn't pulled me out of the river, and I also know 
 that you are suffering from the effects of what you did, 
 and ran the risk of even worse consequences in doing it. 
 I won't say any more. I believe you think gratitude a 
 bore, so I will keep it to myself." 
 
 " My dear Ralph, people are always complaining of 
 ingratitude. And it seems to me that one is always being 
 plagued with quite excessive and quite unwarranted 
 gratitude for little trifles that anyone could do. I'm glad 
 you weren't drowned." Paul spoke in his usual bantering 
 tone, but suddenly his eyes grew serious. " Ah, my dear 
 fellow," he said, laying his hand on Ralph's shoulder, 
 " I only wish I had the chance of doing something bigger 
 for your mother's son." 
 
 He walked away abruptly, and Ralph sat staring into 
 the sunlight, asking himself questions. Had not his mother 
 loved this man ? Had not Paul always shown him the 
 kindest and friendliest affection ? Might he not crush 
 down the old vague mistrust and misgiving once for all ? 
 
 And certainly they were fainter now than they had ever 
 been before. 
 
 He sat out on the terrace all day, feeling better every 
 hour. Stella had not been near him. Lord Gleddayne 
 was not so well and had taken to his bed. Since his 
 conversation with Paul and the other agitations of that 
 day, he had seemed much exhausted. Stella did not 
 leave his room very much. Whether she would have left
 
 3IO The Ford 
 
 it more if Ralph had not been in the house she hardly 
 knew. She was conscious of a longing to go out on to 
 the terrace and talk to him, and of the necessity of 
 resisting it. 
 
 However, in the afternoon, Paul came to Lord Gled- 
 dayne's room and turned her out, gently but forcibly. 
 
 "You'll knock yourself up if you stay in all day," he 
 said. "Go out on the terrace and talk to Ralph." 
 
 Strange to say, she obeyed him meekly. She was 
 beginning to realise that Paul knew what was good for 
 her better than she did herself. The mighty were indeed 
 fallen. 
 
 She went down on to the terrace and approached Ralph's 
 chair with a fluttering of the heart which she could not 
 control. She was thankful for the dazzling blaze of the 
 afternoon sun. It partly blinded her, and prevented her 
 seeing Ralph's face very clearly for a moment, which, for 
 some ostrich-like reason, gave her courage. Ralph had 
 flushed deeply, and he was too much occupied in con- 
 ceahng his own agitation to be conscious of hers. He 
 rose slowly and rather stiffly from his chair as she 
 approached. 
 
 " Oh, please don't get up," she exclaimed in a voice of 
 such concern that even he noticed it. 
 
 " Thank you," he said, looking into her face more 
 boldly than at first. " It will do me good to move a 
 little. I have been sitting still so long, and I can walk 
 very comfortably now. Let us go over there in the shade 
 and have a talk. It is too hot for you in this burning 
 sun." 
 
 There was a pause, and they walked to Stella's corner 
 by the cedar in silence, Ralph Umping and shuffling, and 
 Stella casting sidelong glances at him, in which she tried 
 vainly to hide her commiseration. They stopped by the
 
 Romance Triumphant 3 1 1 
 
 parapet and leaned on it, side by side, though there was 
 a space between them. 
 
 " It is quite a long time since we have met," he said. 
 
 "Quite," she answered. "You have been away so 
 much. Your East End has swallowed you up. Do you 
 intend to go back there ? " 
 
 " I am not sure. I begin to have doubts as to whether 
 it is the least use to any mortal being. And certainly / 
 don't like it. I am beginning to mistrust this whole 
 modern idea about doing good to the world. Every fool 
 I know talks the same cant about it. They all want to 
 make the world a little better, they say, and they think 
 to do it by a little occasional philanthropy and general 
 meddlesomeness. I'm beginning to hate the sound of the 
 expression " doing good." I don't think I shall try to do 
 good any more. I shall just try to do what happens to 
 come along and not bother about the results. We can't 
 possibly foretell results, and trying to guess them and aim 
 at them seems to lead us astray a good deal," 
 
 Stella smiled. It was a pleasure to hear him talking 
 in the old vehement way again. He was so splendidly 
 alive. 
 
 " Paul always says that you can't help doing good, what- 
 ever you do," she said, " and that the only really harmful 
 thing is doing nothing. I think I see what he means, in 
 a way, though it sounds rather a paradox." 
 
 The word brought back a good deal of Ralph's former 
 jealous pain. He wondered if Stella were going to marry 
 Paul. She quoted him much as a woman might quote 
 her husband, he thought. 
 
 " What people do has pretty bad consequences some- 
 times, though," he said, rather bitterly. " I should have 
 thought Mr Gleddayne would have realised that." 
 
 " Why do you speak of him in that tone ? " she asked,
 
 312 The Ford 
 
 turning her eyes straight upon him. " I don't suppose he 
 has gone through life without making mistakes and com- 
 mitting faults, which have hurt himself and others too, no 
 doubt. No one is perfect. But after all, what we do is 
 more or less accidental. It is what we are that matters. 
 It is that which affects other people most. And I know 
 what he is, if you don't. Why do you dislike him as you 
 do ? He gives you unending affection, he has helped you 
 in various ways, and he has saved your life. Why don't 
 you like him ? Is it very generous of you ? " 
 
 Her voice quivered indignantly and yet sorrowfully. 
 This lack of generosity seemed the one flaw in Ralph. 
 He was conscious of the reproof in her tone. He was 
 silent for a while. At last he said. 
 
 " I will tell you something I would not breathe to 
 another living soul. When my mother was dying I learnt 
 that she loved Paul Gleddayne. They had not seen each 
 other for ten years. It gave me thoughts which have 
 troubled me since. You do not know what my mother 
 was to me." 
 
 Stella moved impulsively as if to make a deprecating 
 and apologetic gesture. But she checked herself and there 
 was another long pause. She could hardly trust herself 
 to speak. 
 
 " Forgive me," she said at last. " I have guessed some- 
 thing of this. But does it all matter very much ? Your 
 mother is still as you know her. And Paul is as I know 
 him. He may have hurt her. She may have hurt him. 
 I only know how her death affected him. If she loved 
 him to the end, cannot you take him on trust. Life is 
 so difficult. Fate ties such strange knots. Do you — have 
 you always found these things quite easy yourself?" 
 
 She spoke painfully, with much hesitation. Neither of 
 them looked at each other. Ralph felt his position falling
 
 Romance Triumphant 3 1 3 
 
 to pieces before her words. Lady Staneby's accusing, 
 pathetic face rose in his thoughts and humbled him. What 
 right had he to judge, to resent, to suspect ? He felt as if 
 he had been false to his mother's memory. Nothing could 
 alter her for him. Yet he had to be told so by Stella. 
 
 " I am wrong," he said simply. " But it has been more 
 a feeling than a thought, and therefore much harder to 
 conquer. And besides, you know, Gleddayne has stood 
 in my way and thwarted me in the most inexplicable way. 
 I can hardly believe that it was conscious on his part, and 
 yet it has been very marked." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " Stella asked. " Are you referring 
 to the question of the vacancy for Parliament ? " 
 
 " Partly," said Ralph, rather stiffly. 
 
 " Haven't you heard the truth about that yet ? Paul 
 had no idea that you wished to stand when he agreed to 
 do so. He wanted to go into Parliament. It was the 
 first chance of a career that had come to him, after so 
 many years. But, directly he learned from a conversation 
 with Mr Merrow that you wanted to stand, he wrote to my 
 uncle, withdrawing his own name and suggesting yours. 
 Unfortunately, they chose Tedburne instead of you, — 
 which wasn't Paul's fault." 
 
 Ralph had listened, with a face that expressed a good 
 many sudden and rather uncomfortable emotions. When 
 she stopped, he turned to her, looking so crestfallen and 
 repentant that her indignation melted into pity. 
 
 " I see now," he said slowly. " I have been a fool — 
 an unjust and ungenerous fool." He paused, and then 
 suddenly he made a gesture of appeal, touchingly unlike 
 his usual masterful manner. 
 
 " Can't you see what is at the back of it all ? " he ex- 
 claimed in a low voice that moved her to the depths. " I 
 know it is no good saying it, but I am beyond caring about
 
 314 The Ford 
 
 pride or any nonsense of that kind. I love you. I love 
 you ! My God, how I love you ! And I know that it is 
 useless, and I know that you are going to hitnr 
 
 The blood rushed to Stella's brain in a sudden wave 
 of joy. She drew dizzy with rapture. She turned her face 
 away, white and quivering. 
 
 " I am 7iot going to him," she murmured. 
 
 " What do you mean. Aren't you going to marry him? " 
 His voice was as pleading as before, but not quite so 
 despairing. If she wanted the triumph of seeing his 
 strength brought low, she had it. " Forgive me," he went 
 on. " I have no right to ask such a thing." 
 
 Her face was still turned away. 
 
 " You have been very open with me," she said, her voice 
 low but steady. " I will be open with you. Paul Gleddayne 
 might have married me if he had chosen. He didn't 
 choose." She paused, and Ralph remained silent, not 
 daring to speak, yet longing for her to say more. At last 
 she went on again. 
 
 " I would have married him, but he knew I was not in 
 love with him. I think I have been afraid of love. He 
 told me to wait for the man I did love. It was very 
 generous of him." 
 
 Her voice was shaking now. Ralph suddenly caught 
 her by the hand. 
 
 " Stella," he said in a thrilling tone. 
 
 She turned slowly towards him. Her face was agitated. 
 The whole force of proud maidenhood was fighting within 
 her for the supremacy that was at last shaken. She tried 
 to meet his eyes, tried to draw away as he drew her towards 
 him. But her eyes went down again and the colour flooded 
 her face. He drew her closer still and his arm went round 
 her. She shuddered a little, resisting yet. But the resist- 
 ance ended, and she sank towards him. In a moment she
 
 Romance Triumphant 3 1 5 
 
 was crushed to his breast and his mouth was on hers. It 
 was the first kiss of passion she had ever known. Her 
 brain feebly protested. But the protest was blotted out as 
 with a surge of fire. They seemed to cling together in a 
 whirlwind. 
 
 Solid earth came back to her slowly. At last she drew 
 away a little, shy, fluttering, helpless, as she had never been 
 in her life before. 
 
 " Oh Ralph," she murmured, almost with a sob. " My 
 father." 
 
 Ralph's face darkened as he looked down at her. 
 
 " Will he object ? " he asked. 
 
 " I am afraid he will hate it," she murmured, her head 
 drooping guiltily. 
 
 "Darling," said Ralph huskily. " It isn't _jw/r fault if he 
 thinks I am not good enough, — and I am not good enough 
 for you. But, since you have chosen me, I am fit to be his 
 son-in-law. I will tell him so. He can't forbid it. He 
 has always been kind and friendly to me. He wouldn't 
 carry his prejudice so far as to hurt you." 
 
 " Oh but Ralph he is so ill and feeble," she pleaded 
 sadly. " I am afraid of the effect it might have to suggest 
 the idea to him. Don't be angry with him, dearest ! He 
 is an old man, and it is hard to give up the ideas of a life- 
 time, however old-fashioned and outworn they may be. 
 And you know all that has happened in the past." 
 
 " My darling, I don't blame him," Ralph said tenderly. 
 " I can see the reason for it all, from his point of view. 
 But he cannot keep you from me. I won't have it. I owe 
 it to you as well as to myself. You are mine — mine. I 
 take you, whatever the obstacles. Let us think what to do, 
 darling. Cannot I speak to him ? Surely it would not 
 hurt him." 
 
 "Oh, Ralph, but don't you see? — even if he bears that^
 
 3i6 
 
 The Ford 
 
 there still remains the difficulty of my doing what he does 
 not wish. He wouldn't refuse it to me, I know. But it 
 would grieve him deeply. I hate to tell you so, but I am 
 certain of it. He cannot change now, he is too old. And 
 can I do a thing that will make him unhappy ? Have I 
 the right to take my own happiness at such a cost? I 
 can't see the way, darling. What are we to do ? — Oh what 
 are we to do ? " 
 
 Her voice trembled to the brink of tears. Ralph looked 
 round fiercely at the sweet sunshine and the fair blue sky. 
 His face was growing rather grim. 
 
 " I suppose we must wait, then," he said. " It seems 
 hard. I want you very badly, dear one. But I can wait 
 a long time for you, if it must be." 
 
 She looked at him with a sad, appealing smile. 
 " Don't ask me to count on his — his death, Ralph," she 
 said. "I can't do that. I love him so dearly that I 
 would rather keep him at any cost. And if you are 
 content to wait, you must wait free. I cannot tie you. I 
 could not for your sake. And I could not for my own 
 either, for it would be too dishonourable not to tell him, 
 if I were meaning to do what he disliked some day. It 
 would be worse than doing it." 
 
 " But, good God ! Stella," exclaimed Ralph in anguish, 
 and half in anger, " I ca}ii give you up. I wo7it. I love 
 you. You love me. I will wait if I must. But you are 
 mine — now and for ever." 
 
 She looked at his resolute face helplessly, almost 
 blinded with the mist of the conflict between joy and 
 bitter pain. She felt very weak and irresolute. She 
 stretched out her arms to him piteously and he caught 
 her to him. She hid her face on his breast sobbing. He 
 said nothing, but glared fiercely into the sunlight, trying to 
 see his way through the puzzle.
 
 Romance Triumphant 3 [ 7 
 
 The sunlight prevented his seeing much else. But the 
 sound of footsteps at last drew so near that Stella started 
 up, hastily wiping her eyes, and they both turned to see 
 Paul approaching them. He moved with some difficulty, 
 looking pale and unwell, but there was more than physical 
 suffering in his face. Stella blushed, and Ralph looked a 
 little self-conscious, but Paul seemed hardly to have 
 noticed their demeanour. 
 
 " Stella," he said hurriedly, " your father has suddenly 
 become very ill. I am afraid his condition is serious. I 
 have sent for the doctor. He is quite conscious and 
 would like to see you." 
 
 Stella's tears, — unwonted sight in her, — flowed still, and 
 her face was wrung with a new grief. She turned once 
 more to Ralph and held out her hand to him pathetically. 
 He clasped it in his, his eyes reflecting her pain. Then 
 she drew it away and turned to go. 
 
 Paul was watching them with a grave smile. 
 
 " You need not say good-bye to Ralph," he said gently. 
 " Your father would hke you to bring him with you."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 " OUR being's end and aim " 
 
 Early in the New Year, on a soft sunny day, when 
 January was flirting with Spring, Paul Gleddayne sauntered 
 beside Rotten Row. Among the blackened twigs of the 
 leafless elms, a thrush was already singing. The sky, 
 veiled by the eternal film of smoke, was yet blue above 
 him, and its colour tinged the pale waters of the Serpentine. 
 Except children and nursery-maids there were few people 
 about. Suddenly he saw a well known figure moving 
 towards him, and hastened forward to greet Lady Staneby. 
 
 She was pale, and her face was rather haggard. Her 
 clothes were inspiring. 
 
 " Are you staying in London ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, I am nursing poor Harry Barle. I suppose you 
 heard of his smash." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " He was going to try a new horse, and directly he got 
 on to the brute it reared and fell backwards with him. He 
 was terribly hurt. They say it is doubtful if he will ever 
 ride again. It seems hard lines that a man who has 
 ridden over all the steeple-chase courses in England with- 
 out coming to serious grief should end in this way." 
 
 " Poor chap. I am sorry. However, I daresay he 
 
 finds some consolation if it has brought j/^« to look after 
 
 him." 
 
 Lady Staneby smiled sadly. 
 318
 
 " Our Being's End and Aim " 319 
 
 " Poor Harry," she said. " I believe he is the only man 
 who has ever loved me quite unselfishly. And I have 
 treated him like a dog, and have been made a fool of by 
 men who weren't fit to black his boots. Well, I'm trying 
 to make up for it a little now. For a week I never left 
 his room for more than an hour. Of course everybody is 
 talking. My reputation will be rather more tattered 
 than ever, after this. But I don't care. I'm going to 
 see poor old Harry through and they may say what 
 they like." 
 
 " You're a plucky little devil, Lily," he said. " You 
 never did care much about other people's opinion." 
 
 " I care about nothing now," she said, with a deep sigh. 
 She was silent for a moment and then she went on. " I 
 saw Ralph was married last month." 
 
 " Yes. It was a very quiet affair. Stella's father had 
 only been dead three months. There were only about 
 half a dozen of us altogether in the little church." 
 
 " Oh Paul, why didn't you marry her ? Didn't you care 
 for her ? " 
 
 "Yes," he said, with his smile of faint mockery. 
 " That's why." 
 
 Lady Staneby looked at him dubiously. She did not 
 understand. But she was not sufficiently interested to ask 
 for an explanation. 
 
 " If you had been my friend you would have married 
 her," she said. " That would have sent him straight back 
 to me." 
 
 " Do you still want him ? I thought you could not 
 forgive him for his behaviour to you." 
 
 Lady Staneby sighed again. 
 
 " I don't seem to have any pride left," she said. " I 
 would forgive him anything and take him back on any 
 terms. But it's no good thinking of that. I suppose I
 
 320 The Ford 
 
 shall get over it some day. I don't feel much like it at 
 present." 
 
 " Poor Lily," Paul said gently. 
 
 " I don't want to be pitied," she said, rather petulantly. 
 " But tell me about yourself. How are you ? You don't 
 look very well." 
 
 " I got rather a bad ducking some time ago, and it has 
 left me very rheumatic and uncomfortable. But I shall be 
 all right when the summer comes again." 
 
 "Ah, the summer," she sighed. " Will there ever be a 
 summer again. It seems like one eternal stretch of grey 
 ahead. But I want to know more about your cousin. Is 
 she happy? Does she love him." 
 
 "She certainly loves him, and I hope she is happy. 
 But I have seen next to nothing of her since her father's 
 death." 
 
 " No, I suppose not. What became of her then ? 
 Where did she go ? I suppose she didn't go on living 
 alone in the house with you.^^ 
 
 "I didn't stay in the house," he answered smiling. "I 
 wanted her to remain on there, but she preferred to go to 
 an old friend, a Mrs Brent, in the village close by. Some 
 people were shocked at her marrying so soon after her father's 
 death, but it seemed to Mrs Brent and to me much the 
 best thing to do, so we encouraged them to get it done as 
 soon as possible, and they were married in the village 
 church, and went away from the church door. 
 " And what have you been doing ? " 
 " I have been living in London till the wedding, and 
 then I went back to the Ford. I am going back there 
 again to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh, of course, you're Lord Gleddayne now," she said. 
 " How do you like it ? " 
 Paul smiled.
 
 "Our Being's End and Aim" 321 
 
 " It doesn't make much difference," he answered. " I 
 can't even be much amused by the ridiculous people who 
 have suddenly discovered what an interesting and valuable 
 person I am. The world's ways are so monotonous that 
 they have ceased to be funny." 
 
 Lady Staneby made a caressing gesture. 
 
 "Poor old Paul," she said. "I hope you'll have a 
 good time now. It isn't a bit too late. And you haven't 
 had such a magnificent life so far, when all is said and 
 done. How are you going to spend your time ? " 
 
 " In fox-hunting and the study of metaphysics," he 
 answered, with his customary smile. 
 
 " I don't know what metaphysics are. But I'm glad 
 you're going to hunt. Have you done any yet ? " 
 
 " No. I have only just got some horses. I have been 
 buying one this morning, — rather a nice one, I think. But 
 I doubt if he's up to my weight. If I find he isn't I'll 
 give him to you." 
 
 "Thanks. But I don't think I shall ever ride again. 
 I don't seem to care to do anything. All the colour has 
 gone out of my life." 
 
 Paul said nothing, but looked at her with compassion as 
 they sauntered on. The sun was stooping to a real 
 London sunset, a fiery glory of piled clouds, lurid and 
 reddened with illumined smoke. The roar of traffic came 
 faintly but incessantly to their ears. The sombre haze of 
 the city's evening was already drawing its folds together. 
 Wild duck wheeled and circled rapidly, high up above the 
 water. There was a curious mixture of artificiality and 
 nature in the scene, an incongruous blending of the 
 works of men with the works that are not of men. It 
 brought a tender yearning to these two country-bred people, 
 as they watched it, a vague reminiscence and suggestion 
 of peaceful solitudes somewhere, that could not quite be
 
 32 2 The Ford 
 
 recalled, though strangely familiar. Lady Staneby stopped 
 and looked around with straining eyes. 
 
 " Oh Paul," she said, " where are the islands of the 
 blessed? Where is this happiness whose shadow always 
 seems to mock us ? I have not asked for so very much, 
 after all. Why is it always denied to me ? " 
 
 " I gave up asking those questions a long time ago," he 
 answered, looking at her with sympathetic mockery. " Per- 
 haps we have been hunting the wrong fox all the time. 
 Perhaps we are better off really for not being happy just yet." 
 
 " You still have all your ridiculous theories," she said. 
 " What is the good of living if one is not to be happy ? 
 What is the meaning of it all ? " 
 
 " I am not sure the meaning isn't more or less hinted in 
 one word," he said. 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " Renunciation," 
 
 " How depressing you are," she exclaimed. " I can't 
 bear your view of life. And yet you seem horribly con- 
 tented, I must admit." 
 
 " I don't know," he said. " I don't understand the 
 thing myself. But since I put happiness aside it seems to 
 have come nearer to me in some mysterious way. I am 
 not contented. But I am tolerably peaceful." 
 
 " Oh, but Paul, I can't give happiness up. I cant. I 
 want to be happy. Don't tell me that there is no happiness 
 in life. I shall be happy some day." 
 
 " I am sure I hope so, dear," he said gently. " Nobody 
 wishes you to be happy more than I do. And yet I am 
 not sure that it matters very much, — for you or anyone 
 else." 
 
 They had reached the Park gate now, and she stopped 
 and held out her hand. 
 
 " Goodbye, dear old Paul," she said, " Perhaps I shall
 
 cc 
 
 Our Being's End and Aim" 323 
 
 see things as you do some day, but I can't at present. I 
 do want to be happy. I see little chance of ever being 
 happy again. But I shan't leave off wanting it." 
 
 She got into a hansom and drove away. Paul had a 
 last glimpse of her expensive hat, her wistful, smiling eyes, 
 and her bright hair, as the cab turned out of sight. He 
 sighed and smiled. He had learned long ago not to pity 
 himself. He was learning now not to pity others. He felt 
 that there was a meaning in all things, though he could 
 not see it yet. 
 
 He walked into Knightsbridge and looked at the fierce 
 red splendour of the cloud-rampart above the roofs in 
 the West. Through the rattle and roar of the street Lady 
 Staneby's plaintive voice seemed to murmur still, " I want 
 to be happy. I want to be happy."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 NO THOROUGHFARE 
 
 Two or three days later Paul Gleddayne, on a tired, droop- 
 ing horse, rode slowly through the scattered hamlet of 
 Thirlwood. He had been out hunting — on the new horse. 
 As he had feared, it was not up to his weight. It had not, 
 indeed, given him a fall, but that was chiefly because he 
 had realised early the impossibility of attempting to keep 
 company with the hounds, and had confined himself to 
 futile efforts to cut them off by cross routes. Finally he 
 had given up the attempt to find them again, and had 
 started on a long, slow ride home. 
 
 In truth Paul and his horse were not ill-matched. He 
 was tired and listless, and had felt little of the joy of the 
 chase from the first. It raised a slight ironical smile to 
 his lips to think of the many years during which he had 
 desired to hunt and had been unable to do so. And, now 
 that the opportunity had at last come, he found that his 
 nerve was no longer of the best, his strength failed easily, 
 and his passion for the sport was but lukewarm. He 
 doubted if he would wish to pursue it at all in a short time. 
 Not that he cared much. It was of small importance, as 
 nearly all personal things were now. His life seemed to 
 be not more than half in this world. One foot, as it were, 
 was permanently over the line in the land of mystery. 
 Phenomena of all kinds were beginning to show, however 
 faintly, traces of the reahties behind. 
 
 When he reached the gate of the churchyard, a sudden 
 324
 
 No Thoroughfare 325 
 
 impulse led him to dismount. Throwing the bridle of his 
 tired horse over the gate-post he went into the churchyard 
 and walked slowly to Blanche Harrold's grave. There 
 was a memorial stone there now, a plain cross, with a brief 
 statement of names and dates. It seemed to him to be in 
 good taste. 
 
 He stood there for some time, his mind flooded with 
 memories. The sun had set, and the twilight was creeping 
 over the fields and beginning to blur the tall bare elms at 
 the edge of the churchyard. There was a sense of hushed 
 solemnity, almost of ghostliness about the empty church, 
 where no light or sign of life appeared. Paul's thoughts, 
 tinged with tender melancholy, were a little sad but not 
 depressed. He felt that all was as it should be, though he 
 knew not why. 
 
 He had done what he could for her son, and the thought 
 gave him peace, as he stood there, gently recalling the 
 bright, fair, living woman who lay in silence. Then his 
 thoughts wandered to the house close by, where that son 
 now was, with his bride. Again Paul smiled faintly with 
 sad irony. Here were the two beings he loved most in 
 the world, and he must pass by and not see them. No 
 doubt they did not want him or think of him. But, apart 
 from that, Thirlwood was forbidden ground to him while 
 Richard Harrold lived, — which was likely to be at least as 
 long as Paul. 
 
 He wondered what the future held for them. Sorrows 
 and trials, no doubt, but not ugliness, he hoped. He 
 trusted they might survive to the end the ordeal of marriage, 
 — that leaky compromise man makes with facts. He could 
 not bear to think of them as disillusioned, bored, unfaithful, 
 or even as substituting mutual tolerance for their present 
 glowing comradeship. Many are called but few are chosen. 
 Might they be of the few !
 
 326 
 
 The Ford 
 
 And he hoped also to get some joy and consolation in 
 his remaining years from their love and companionship. 
 It was the only personal wish he allowed himself. 
 
 He turned from the grave, and walked slowly between 
 the green mounds to the gate. He mounted again, and 
 rode off down the road. But, after a moment's hesitation, 
 he turned aside and entered the park, striking across it for 
 the line of gates which led to Dead Man's lane. 
 
 In the fields, as he rose over the brow of the undulation 
 that made Thirlwood's horizon, he could see the ridge of 
 the Banks, and the lights that already gleamed in the 
 windows of his own house. A sense of irony struck 
 him again. It seemed so odd to think of the small 
 kingdom to which he had suddenly been appointed king, 
 by so strange and antiquated a process. But perhaps the 
 modern procedure for the choice of such kings, — chiefly 
 based on their capacity for filling their pockets with gold, — 
 was no great improvement. Anyhow it was not for long 
 either. 
 
 At least he meant to govern as intelligently as he could. 
 And he looked forward to the governing, without elation, 
 but not without interest. He did not care much when life 
 might end. But he was very well contented with it while 
 it lasted. 
 
 As he drew near the gate that opened into Dead Man's 
 lane he became aware of a human figure beside it in the 
 dusk. He approached, and discovered that it was Richard 
 Harrold. 
 
 Harrold made no attempt to open the gate for him, but 
 stood squarely in front of it, frowning at him through the 
 gloom. 
 
 " You're trespassing," he said. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," Paul replied. " I had no idea 
 you would object. I will not come here again."
 
 No Thoroughfare 327 
 
 His quiet voice made a strong contrast to Harrold's 
 blustering tones, and Harrold was conscious of it. A sense 
 of injustice smote the owner of Thirlwood. Here was a 
 man, who had done him a bitter wrong, who ought to be 
 ashamed to meet him. And yet the fact was that Paul 
 had the advantage in the encounter — now as always. 
 Harrold felt that he was unfairly handicapped. The self- 
 possession of good-breeding was something that he coveted 
 in vain. It was a weapon in Paul's hand, deadlier than his 
 own just resentment and masterful strength. 
 
 But the old inexplicable feeling of envious liking for Paul 
 threaded itself through his rage. He glared at the slim 
 motionless grey-haired man on the horse before him with 
 admiration and approval, in spite of his growing anger. 
 Then the tendency to hysteria began to assert itself His 
 control of himself was shaken, and, to hide the disturbance, 
 he adopted a still more violent tone and manner. 
 
 " You've been to my house," he thundered. 
 
 " You are mistaken," Paul answered quietly and rather 
 wearily. " I have not been to your house. I should not 
 dream of doing so against your wishes."' 
 
 Harrold laughed savagely. 
 
 " Indeed," he said. "You weren't so scrupulous once. 
 You sneaked in then against my wishes a good many 
 times." 
 
 Paul remained silent. 
 
 Harrold was a little ashamed of his own violence. It 
 was rather like hitting an unresisting man. He began to 
 wish that this meeting had not taken place. He was sore 
 and smarting, and yet the impulse to hurt Paul was only 
 half-hearted. They seemed almost to be fellow-victims of 
 a bungling fate. But the thought of Ralph came into his 
 mind again, and blind jealousy blotted out the gentler 
 feeling.
 
 328 
 
 The Ford 
 
 " Look here, Gleddayne," he said in his most bullying 
 tone, " I want you clearly to understand that you're not 
 going to have my son for a friend now." 
 
 " I don't want to say anything offensive," Paul answered, 
 quietly as before. " But it seems to me that that rests 
 with Ralph. He is old enough to choose his own friends." 
 
 " So you think you'll be able to set him against his 
 father," Harrold said in a taunting voice. 
 
 " You might try to be just, Harrold," Paul answered. 
 " You know there is no danger of my attempting that." 
 
 The slightest appeal to Richard Harrold's generosity was 
 always sure of a quick response. 
 
 " No, I don't think you would," he admitted gruffly. 
 Then he went on in what was almost an appealing tone. 
 " How can you expect me to trust you in any way, 
 Gleddayne ? I know your cursed ways. As likely as not 
 you'll begin trying to make love to Ralph's wife next. I 
 believe you thought you were going to marry her, till he 
 came and cut you out." 
 
 Again he felt vaguely that his tone was not quite so 
 dignified as he wished it to be. But he saw Paul wince, 
 in spite of the dim light. 
 
 " I don't know if you mean that seriously," Paul said, 
 after a pause, in slow, slightly shaking tones. " However 
 great a beast you may think me, you can hardly suppose 
 me to be such an utter fool." 
 
 " Well, no, it certainly wouldn't be much use," said 
 Harrold in a tone meant to wound still further. He was 
 growing angrier again, and the old tide of hatred was 
 rising in his heart. 
 
 " It doesn't seem much good continuing this dispute," 
 Paul said. " If you would kindly let me get at the gate I 
 will be off your land as soon as possible. You have my 
 apology for the trespass."
 
 No Thoroughfare 329 
 
 Harrold unlatched the gate and paused, with his hand 
 on the bar. 
 
 " Before you go I want to make things quite clear," he 
 said. " I don't want to interfere with you in any way. I 
 never want to see you again. You can go your own way, 
 and welcome, so far as I am concerned. But you shall not 
 have any more intercourse with my son or his wife. 
 Promise me that and I'll never trouble you again." 
 
 Paul was silent for some moments. 
 
 " I cannot promise that," he said at last, in a low voice. 
 " I admit your right to be revenged on me, — if you care for 
 revenge. But I can't accept your dictation in such a 
 matter without knowing anything of their wishes. I will 
 promise to make no advances to them. But if they show 
 any desire to hold communication with me, I shall not 
 refuse." 
 
 " Curse you, I'll make your refuse," shouted Harrold, 
 almost beside himself. 
 
 " I shall do what I think right," said Paul, a shade of 
 pride ringing through his former quiet humility. " I cannot 
 be made to do anything." 
 
 " But you can. Don't make any mistake about that." 
 
 " May I ask how ? " 
 
 Richard Harrold lifted his clenched hand. 
 
 " If you attempt to have anything more to do with 
 them," he said in biting, deliberate tones, " I'll tell Ralph 
 what his mother was, and what you helped to make her." 
 
 He knew he had got home this time. Paul uttered a 
 muffled ejaculation and relapsed into another long pause 
 before he spoke once more, in a voice that trembled 
 huskily. 
 
 " I can hardly believe you'd do such a thing as that," he 
 said. 
 
 " But, by God, I will,^' Harrold hurled back at him.
 
 33 o The Ford 
 
 " Ralph would not believe you," Paul said faintly. 
 
 " Believe me ! I'd prove it to him. I've got your letters 
 to show him. I've been treasuring them for a good many 
 years, and now perhaps they're going to be useful. They 
 won't leave much doubt in his mind, if he sees them." 
 
 He laughed savagely. '■'■Now will you promise?" he 
 said. 
 
 " No," said Paul, his voice suddenly become clear and 
 firm again. " If you like to do such a devilish thing you 
 can. You won't hurt 7ne. I'm long past any bitterness 
 that this world can give. Go and destroy the boy's ideal 
 of his mother, if you like. Make him miserable ! He'll 
 hate me perhaps. But, by God, Harrold, it will be nothing 
 to the way he'll \\2Xq. you. I may have injured you, but it 
 was from no wish to injure you, and anyhow I have paid 
 the cost. But your bill will be rather a bigger one if you 
 let that come in. I don't think there's any more to be 
 said. Do your worst ! I leave it to you. Now, be good 
 enough to let me pass." 
 
 Richard Harrold sprang forward with uplifted stick, as 
 if to strike him. Then he suddenly shrank back almost 
 helplessly. 
 
 " I was a fool to threaten you like that, Gleddayne," he 
 said. " I couldn't do it, and you know I couldn't. You 
 always try to play on me, curse you. Well. I shall burn 
 those letters to-night. I think you have some of the 
 feelings of a gentleman, and I think you'll realise that it's 
 rather a generous thing to do. You can continue to 
 thwart my wishes in this matter afterwards, if you like. 
 I know which of us will have played the straighter game, 
 if you do." 
 
 As he uttered this sudden counter-stroke, he realised 
 that he had won the game at the very moment of defeat. 
 Paul's figure, which had stiffened before his threatened
 
 No Thoroughfare 331 
 
 assault, relaxed limply in the saddle. His head sank 
 forward. 
 
 " I can't decide now," he said in lifeless tones. " I 
 must think it over. Be good enough to let me get to the 
 gate." 
 
 Harrold flung the gate wide open, 
 
 " Go ! " he said. " And let me and mine be rid of you." 
 
 Paul rode through the gateway and out into the slushy 
 lane. His horse's hoofs made flopping, sucking noises in 
 the spongy ground. They moved on, a limp pair. 
 
 He was shaken and half-stunned by this encounter. 
 Yet the disturbance was superficial. The internal peace 
 was unruffled. He rode down the lane, already oblivious 
 of Richard Harrold, merely realising that a final renuncia- 
 tion was required of him, that almost the last tie which 
 held his soul to earth had to be broken. He did not 
 resist at all now. His acceptance was complete. He 
 would give up Ralph and Stella. The only thing that hurt 
 him at all was the thought that they might not understand, 
 might misconstrue his leaving of them. But that soon 
 passed. He could trust Stella. 
 
 The best thing would probably be to go and live abroad 
 for the rest of his days. But that could all be settled 
 later. He was too tired now. 
 
 He approached the gate which led into the great 
 meadow. It seemed a very long way round by Roate- 
 bridge. He glanced across at the glowing windows of the 
 Ford. He longed to be home quickly and rest body and 
 brain. The river was not supposed to be fordable after 
 months of heavy rain, but perhaps he could get across 
 somehow. He turned into the meadow. 
 
 To his weary brain everything seemed to grow dream- 
 like. There were symbols rather than realities in the dark 
 vagueness of the meadow, the line of white mist in front.
 
 332 The Ford 
 
 the distant, gleaming house on the ridge. He was passing 
 through rough waters indeed, but there 7vas a ford, and 
 beyond lay rest and peace. 
 
 He moved away across the meadow. 
 
 Richard Harrold had remained by the gate, watching 
 his receding figure. He also was shaken and excited, but 
 he had a sense of triumph. This was the crowning victory. 
 It had been good to get Stella at last for his son. But to 
 cut Ralph off from this hated man was even better. And 
 to see the enemy retiring, broken and crushed, was a thing 
 full of savage joy. 
 
 Yet, even now, gleams of compunction and the old 
 strange liking shot through Harrold's fierce thoughts, as he 
 watched Paul's bent figure slowly receding. But when 
 Paul turned into the meadow, Harrold started in astonish- 
 ment. Surely the man was not so mad as to attempt 
 to cross the ford ! The river was in flood, almost over- 
 flowing. There was a wild leap of exultation in Harrold's 
 mind. A man could not swim very far in boots and spurs. 
 
 Paul's figure was soon lost in the gloom, and Harrold 
 turned towards home, chuckling to himself, feverish and 
 excited. Yet his mind was in conflict. At one moment 
 he rejoiced in the thought that Paul would almost certainly 
 be drowned. At the next he felt an impulse to turn back 
 and try to save him. He was sorry for the man, in a way. 
 And moreover he had a vague feeling that he was driving 
 Paul to his death. He tried to laugh it off, but the 
 thought stuck. Once or twice he stopped and turned 
 round, peering into the darkness, and irresolute as to his 
 course. But finally he shrugged his shoulders, flung the 
 scruples out of his mind, and walked resolutely home.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 THE FORD 
 
 Ralph and Stella were both early risers, and when the 
 next morning proved to be a bright clear winter's day, 
 with the rising sun beating through a white mist and 
 glittering on a carpet of hoar-frost, they resolved to go for 
 a walk before breakfast. They had acceded to Richard 
 Harrold's wish that they should live with him at Thirlwood. 
 Stella and he got on splendidly. He showed a softness 
 and gentleness with her which surprised Ralph. And she 
 genuinely liked him, and seemed to delight in digging out 
 the ore of good feelings under his craggy surface. 
 
 Stella was still a little subdued and overshadowed by her 
 father's death. But she was warmly and peacefully happy. 
 Ralph was all that she had expected him to be. He 
 seemed to have broken through the thin crust of egotism 
 and selfishness which circumstances had laid upon him. 
 And every day, as his character revealed itself, it pleased 
 her more. As a natural result of her long defiance of the 
 passion, love had mastered her very completely. And her 
 adoration of her very attractive young husband was none 
 the less absolute for being tenderly hidden under her usual 
 self-possessed calm. 
 
 Ralph was dressed first, and waited for her in the hall, 
 playing with the eager, impatient dogs who were to be their 
 companions. Presently she appeared, looking very fresh 
 and bright, in spite of her black clothes, and Ralph felt as 
 
 333
 
 334 The Ford 
 
 overjoyed as if they had been separated for months, instead 
 of for half an hour. 
 
 " I can't find my stick," she said, " the one you gave 
 me. I won't go out walking without it. I must have left 
 it in the stables yesterday." 
 
 Ralph sent a footman to look, and they sat down to wait 
 for it. He sat on the arm of her chair, with his own arm 
 round her. It still seemed a quite astonishing thing to him 
 to be allowed to put his arm round Stella. It was like 
 suddenly finding yourself on equal and familiar terms with 
 the Venus of Milo. 
 
 " I find Father has been seized with the taste for an 
 early walk too," he said. " He went out soon after seven 
 o'clock, so Brooks tells me. Complained of not having 
 slept." 
 
 " Oh, poor man," exclaimed Stella. " I am sorry. Does 
 he often sleep badly." 
 
 " Never lay awake in his life, I believe," said Ralph 
 laughing. " I should think he must have done it out of 
 curiosity, to see what it was like. If he wanted to sleep, 
 the battle of Waterloo in the next room wouldn't keep him 
 awake." 
 
 " All the same I didn't think he looked very well last 
 night," she said. 
 
 " Well no, that's true," said Ralph, cogitating. " He 
 seemed in a queer mood last night, — restless and rather 
 excited. Though he wouldn't talk to us much, he was 
 muttering to himself several times, — and after we had 
 gone to bed I heard him walking about in his room for 
 quite a long time. I hope nothing is worrying the old 
 man. He isn't much given to worrying, and I don't see 
 what there could possibly be to trouble him." 
 
 " I went into his study just before dressing time, and 
 found him burning a bundle of papers," Stella said. " He
 
 The Ford 335 
 
 seemed a little upset at my coming in. Perhaps they were 
 connected with some old reminiscence which might have 
 been re-awakened and disturbed him." 
 
 " I don't know what the reminiscence could be," Ralph 
 said. " If I know my father's character at all, I'll bet it 
 wasn't of a sentimental nature. The papers were more 
 likely to be old receipted bills. He's very methodical 
 about those things." 
 
 Stella sat silent for a minute. Then she turned her eyes 
 up to her husband's face. 
 
 " I wish I could see my way to make friends of him and 
 Paul," she said. 
 
 Ralph's face grew serious. 
 
 " I wish you could, darling," he said. " I'd do anything 
 I could to help you. But it doesn't seem possible. There's 
 a rooted aversion in my father's mind, and he's terribly 
 tenacious. I'm afraid we must let it alone. After all, it 
 needn't interfere with our intercourse with Paul Gleddayne, 
 — except that we must always go to him, and he not come 
 here." 
 
 " But I don't like to think of his not coming here," she 
 said. " He has been so good to me, Ralph. And he is 
 likely to be rather lonely as time goes on. He told me that 
 he would certainly never marry. And I'm afraid he 
 wouldn't. He is determined that I shall go back to the 
 Ford, some day. I can never pay all my debt to him." 
 
 " We'll find a way to keep up with him somehow," said 
 Ralph with a cheerful laugh, " Poor chap, I'd be glad 
 enough to do anything to help him to be happy. Oh 
 Stella, I wish we could make all the world as happy as 
 
 we are." 
 
 Stella lifted a glowing face to kiss him, in response to 
 this declaration. And at this moment the footman entered 
 with her stick, and found the situation comic, after his
 
 33^ 
 
 The Ford 
 
 kind, though he preserved the stohd countenance of his 
 kind also. The hall door was opened, and the imprisoned 
 dogs swept out on to the gravel, a barking, shrieking 
 medley of leapmg forms. Ralph and Stella followed into 
 the keen air, exhilarated by the dazzling brightness of a 
 world whose coat of rime glittered in white sunshine under 
 a pale, clear sky. 
 
 They had not walked more than a hundred yards when 
 a cry behind caused them to look round. Ralph laughed 
 at the spectacle of Brooks, the fat butler, waddling after 
 them in an unsteady run. But the man's face checked all 
 laughter as he drew near, — though it had a look of comic 
 pomposity even under the shadow of obvious concern. 
 
 " I thought I ought to tell you, sir," he panted. "Jones 
 has just come in — with terrible news — from the Ford. His 
 lordship tried to cross the river — last night — and was 
 drowned. They're dragging for the body." 
 
 Stella lurched up against Ralph and his arm had to go 
 round her quickly for her support, but her pale face was 
 under control and her eyes met his anxious gaze re- 
 assuringly. 
 
 " Let us go there at once," she said in a faint voice. 
 " I'll run to the stable and bring round the pony-cart 
 in a minute or two," he said. " It will save time. Will 
 you wait here, darling. Are you all right ? " 
 
 " Yes, quite right. Go," she answered, in firm, though 
 stifled tones. 
 
 Ralph ran off and she remained standing in the middle 
 of the drive. The puzzled dogs stood around, watching 
 her with expectant eyes, and waving their tails as an 
 invitation to her to proceed. But she only gazed blankly 
 out over the frosty grass. 
 
 The shock was too sudden and unexpected to enable 
 her to take in very much at present. Slowly she realised
 
 The Ford 337 
 
 that Paul was dead, and big tears began to trickle down 
 her bloodless face. She dimly gathered together memories 
 of the past year, thoughts of all that he had done and said 
 to her and for her, of all the ideas that she owed to him. 
 But her brain could not grasp anything very clearly. 
 Ralph seemed a long time coming with the cart. 
 
 He dashed up at last. She smiled a faint reply to his 
 gaze of anxiety, and climbed in. Then they drove off at 
 a reckless pace, across the park and on to the road by 
 which Paul had gone home last night. They spoke little. 
 Stella pressed herself very close against Ralph, and the tears 
 silently crept down her face. At each gate he handed her 
 the reins and got down to open it. She kept firm control 
 over the lathered, excited, pulling pony till Ralph was 
 back in the cart and they tore on again. They were 
 swung about and violently jolted on the rough farm-road. 
 
 At last they reached Dead Man's lane and rattled on 
 to the gate of the great meadow. Ralph pulled up and 
 they looked across. 
 
 The mist was rolling away and the sky growing bluer 
 above the brown, wooded banks and the peaceful old 
 house. Near the ford there were moving figures. A 
 little further down, just below the willows, there appeared 
 to be a man in a boat. Suddenly they heard a faint 
 shout from him, and the other figures started to run in 
 his direction. 
 
 Ralph jumped out of the cart and turned to look 
 enquiringly at Stella. " You go," she whispered. " I 
 couldn't bear it." 
 
 Then her head suddenly sank forward and she burst 
 into a torrent of weeping. Ralph gave her hand a squeeze, 
 turned reluctantly away, hesitated a moment, and then 
 started to run across the meadow. 
 
 It took him some little time to get across, and he saw 
 
 Y
 
 33^ 
 
 The Ford 
 
 the group gather, and quick movements, and men bending 
 down. Then they drew back a little from the water and 
 clustered close together again. 
 
 He raced up to them, and they made way for him, 
 disclosing what they surrounded. On the river bank sat 
 Richard Harrold, with the body of Paul Gleddayne across 
 his knees. His head was bent and he was slowly picking 
 shreds of river-weed from the motionless face and out of 
 the grey hair. Paul's features were like those of a man 
 asleep. His clothes were muddy but his face was un- 
 stained, save for the scraps of weed. Beside them stood 
 Derrick, with immovable, sardonic countenance. Ralph 
 was already overstrung, and the sight brought a choking 
 lump into his throat. He stooped and laid his hand on 
 his father's shoulder. 
 
 " Father," he said. " Hadn't you better come home." 
 
 Richard Harrold lifted a haggard countenance and 
 stared blankly before him. His fingers went on smoothing 
 out Paul's hair. There was something in the horror of 
 his face that compelled Ralph to turn aside his head, with 
 his eyes full of blinding tears. 
 
 " I think we had better go, Father," he murmured again, 
 in a choking voice. 
 
 Richard Harrold gently lifted the head of the dead man 
 from his knee, and laid it softly on the grass beside him. 
 Then he climbed to his feet and stood for a moment, gazing 
 down at the pallid, clear-cut face. He made no sound. 
 
 Ralph took him by the arm, and his head sunk on his 
 breast again as he turned unresistingly towards his son. 
 The group of spectators parted before them, and they 
 stumbled silently away over the rough, frozen grass.
 
 THE FORD 
 
 SOME PRESS OPINIONS 
 
 Standard. — " An impressive novel . . . clever and 
 thoughtful." 
 
 Daily Chronicle. — "A clever work; a cleverness 
 due to the author's skill in the portraying of his 
 characters, his sense of humour, and his cynical 
 insight." 
 
 Onlooker. — " The story is in itself decidedly attrac- 
 tive ... an unusually clever and entertaining work of 
 fiction. Mr Legge's latest work places him in the front 
 rank of the imaginative writers of the present day." 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette. — "The main story ... is ex- 
 cellently told." 
 
 Evening Standard. — "One of Mr Arthur E. J. 
 Legge's excellent cjuiet novels of modern life, well 
 constructed and well written. ... It is difficult not to 
 become a little fulsome when, among the work of 
 hysteria and unreality, one has the refreshment of such 
 strong and genuine human work." 
 
 Daily Mail. — " A clever book, well worth reading, 
 and has a dramatic close." 
 
 Mr James Douglas, in ^'/'^r.—" Admirably written 
 . . . full of finely phrased wit and costly satire." 
 
 Daily News. — " Mr Legge is to be congratulated. 
 ... A novel which has no dull pages. . . . Stella 
 Gleddayne is finely drawn." 
 
 Mr Sidney Dark, in Daily Express. — "An ex- 
 cellent novel . . . written with knowledge, sympathy, 
 and skill ... a book of real outstanding ability." 
 
 Darlington and Stockton Times.— '■'■ h. novel far 
 above the average in ability and interest." 
 
 JOHN LANE: the bodi.ev head, vigost., london, w.
 
 Dundee Advertiser. — " The author is one of our little 
 company of literary novelists, and one of the yet 
 smaller circle who add to their gift of expression wit, 
 insight into human nature, and a delicate sense of the 
 beauty of things." 
 
 Daily Telegraph. — " Distinctly pleasant reading." 
 
 Literary World. — " ' The Ford ' is much, very much, 
 above the average . . . frequently we have cause to 
 admire Mr Legge's insight and skill." 
 
 Academy. — " Mr Legge's literary style is excellent." 
 
 Morning Leader. — " The theme is a good one, and 
 Mr Legge handles it with real strength. He never 
 falls below a steady level of distinction." 
 
 Pelican. — " An interesting story, told in powerful 
 and telling fashion." 
 
 Lloyd's News. — '' Distinctly an impressive novel 
 . . . will not only keep the reader's attention through- 
 out, but will bear re-reading." 
 
 Birmingham Daily Post. — " A clever and powerful 
 study of social contrasts. . . . Told with literary 
 ability and with the convincing manner that comes of 
 a knowledge of human nature." 
 
 Glasgow Herald. — " Full of excellent character 
 drawing." 
 
 Yorkshire Daily Observer. — "A very clever book 
 ... as a character study his book is pre-eminently 
 good." 
 
 Newcastle Daily ChroJticle. — " Mr Legge's clever 
 book. . . . The characters are strongly drawn and 
 cleverly differentiated." 
 
 Matichester Courier. — " A notable achievement. 
 ' The Ford ' ranks among the best novels of recent 
 years alike in construction and in execution." 
 
 Liverpool Echo. — " A very clever book." 
 
 JOHN LANE: the bodlev he.\d, vigo st., london, \v.
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 MUTINEERS: a Novel 
 
 Crown 8vo, 6s. 
 
 The Speaker. — " An interesting story related with 
 admirable lucidity and remarkable grasp of character. 
 Mr Legge writes with polish and grace ; he has a 
 happy sense of humour, and a certain distinction of 
 style that quite removes 'Mutineers' from the ranks 
 of the commonplace. Alike in conception and execu- 
 tion this novel has many excellent qualities, and must 
 be regarded as one of undeniable promise." 
 
 Literature. — " The story is a good one : the char- 
 acters real and life-like, and several are of exceptional 
 merit." 
 
 The World. — " A more than usually interesting 
 piece of fiction." 
 
 The Illustrated London News. — " Where Mr Legge 
 specially excels is in description out of doors. There 
 he is a master. A high ideal of workmanship is 
 maintained throughout. There is not a slipshod 
 page in the book, and there are many that must 
 give delight to every reader sensitive to style." 
 
 The Literary World. — "A novel sure to win ap- 
 plause." 
 
 The Outlook. — "A well written and 'full' piece of 
 work." 
 
 Punch. — " Pleasant and bright." 
 
 The Star. — " It is a real pleasure to meet with such 
 good work as this, and to have the opportunity of 
 praising it." 
 
 The Boohnan. — "The intelligence, the conscien- 
 tiousness, the knowledge of life and human nature 
 displayed are exceptional." 
 
 JOHN LANE : the boulev head, vigo st., London, w
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 Both Great and Small 
 
 Crown Svo, 6s. 
 
 The Ti7nes. — "The style of the book ... is terse 
 and witty." 
 
 Spectator. — " Full of quiet and clever observation, 
 and written with a good deal of descriptive talent." 
 
 Saturday Review. — " We read on and on with in- 
 creasing pleasure." 
 
 The Bookman. — " It is a real pleasure to read a 
 story written with the care and affection which the 
 author betrays on almost every page. . . . Throughout 
 the book one finds vigour, truth, and lucidity, together 
 with some descriptive touches of nature which are 
 admirable." 
 
 The Outlook. — " Mr Arthur Legge is to be con- 
 gratulated on ' Both Great and Small.' Story, God 
 bless you ! he has one to tell, sir, and he tells it with 
 no little art and in excellent English, graceful and 
 masculine." 
 
 British Weekly. — " Mr Legge's powers are far above 
 the average. ... His correct, forcible, and pure 
 English is in itself a pleasure to read, but he has 
 other gifts than that of language. Not one of his 
 characters but brings his and her own conviction of 
 reality." 
 
 Vanity Fair. — " There is some very excellent draw- 
 ing of secondary characters in Mr Legge's clever and 
 entertaining novel." 
 
 The Literary World. — " It is our pleasant duty to 
 offer Mr A. E. J. Legge our cordial thanks for 'Both 
 Great and Small,' the novel with which he has 
 followed up the success achieved by him when he 
 published 'Mutineers.'" 
 
 JOHN LANE : THE bodlev head, vigo st., London, w.
 
 LAND AND SEA PIECES: 
 
 POEMS 
 
 By ARTHUR E. J. LEGGE 
 Crown 8vo, ^s. 6d. net 
 
 Daily Chronicle. — " Mr Legge has noticed some of 
 the most delicate effects of poetry, and has been 
 moved by man and nature to aim at effects of his 
 own." 
 
 Outlook. — "There is real talent in his work, and a 
 gift for striking expression." 
 
 Guardian. — " Mr Legge possesses real poetic power 
 . . . and a fine note of daring and adventure." 
 
 Manchester Guardian. — " Undeniable grace and 
 facility . . . daintiness, lightness of touch." 
 
 Globe. — " Mr Legge . . . has genuine cleverness, 
 and is certainly the most promising of recent bards." 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette. — " Those pieces breathe genuine 
 poetry." 
 
 Scotsman. — "Thoughtful, artistic, and marked by 
 an uncommon dignity of style." 
 
 Dundee Advertiser. — " Unfailingly musical . . . 
 few books of poetry nowadays contain such treasure 
 trove." 
 
 Newcastle Chrojiicle. — " Mr Legge commands a 
 stately diction and a delicate sense of form." 
 
 JOHN LANE : the bodlev head, vigo st., london, w.
 
 A GREAT SUCCESS 
 Eighth Thousand 
 
 THE MORALS OF 
 MARCUS ORDEYNE 
 
 Some Press Opinions upon Mr W. J. Locke's 
 Great Novel 
 
 Truth. — "Mr Locke's new novel is one of the most 
 artistic pieces of work I have met with for many a day. 
 He tells his story with just that gentle ironic touch the 
 subject requires, with altogether delightful results." 
 
 Mr L. F. Austin, in Daily Ck7-onicle. — " Mr Locke 
 succeeds, indeed, in every crisis of this most original story. 
 The book has great literary charm, and is full of humour 
 and humanity." 
 
 Athemciim. — " Clever throughout . . . the success of the 
 book is the figure of the girl Carlotta." 
 
 Daily Mail. — "Brightness of dialogue, a pleasant wit, 
 and an engaging cynicism go to make this tale a very 
 attractive one." 
 
 The Literary World. — "Carlotta is the most remarkable 
 heroine we remember to have encountered in recent fiction." 
 
 Mr James Douglas, in the Star. — "This fascinating 
 romance." 
 
 Mr Hamilton Fyfe, in Evening Nezvs. — "I shall be 
 surprised if in a few weeks' time everybody is not reading 
 and laughing over ' The Morals of Marcus Ordeyne,' and 
 telling all their friends to read it." 
 
 Daily Telegraph. — " Brightly written, clever and cynical." 
 
 Vanity Fair. — "A very striking work." 
 
 Scotsman. — "The literary charm is exquisite. ... A 
 delightful romance." 
 
 Evening Standard. — "Astrong, whimsical, original work." 
 
 Morning Leader. — " A remarkably clever study." 
 
 Mr Sidney Dark, in Daily Express. — "A fine novel." 
 
 Mr C. K. Shorter, in Sphere. — "A book which has just 
 delighted my heart." 
 
 JOHN LANE : the bodley head, vigo st., london, w.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CLVLIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angcleii 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 50m-7,'69(N296s4)— C-120 
 
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