HE DAY'S
JOURNEY
NETTA S
TT
THE DAY'S JOURNEY
CECILY," HE SAID SUDDENLY, "WHAT ARE You
GOING TO Do ?"
[PAGE 260]
THE
DAYS JOURNEY
BY
NETTA SYRETT
AUTHOR OF " ROSANNE," "THE TREE OF LIFE," ETC.
"Does the road wind up-hill all the way ?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day ?
From morn to night, my friend."
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1906
COPYRIGHT
A. C. MCCLURG & Co.
1906
Published September 15, 1906
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
THE DAY'S JOURNEY
THE DAY'S JOURNEY
CHAPTER I
ROSE SUMMERS paused a moment be-
fore she lifted the latch of a little gate
set between two walls of yew. It was June.
The sky had the blue of larkspur, the air was
sweet with the scent of flowers. The gate in
the yew hedge opened upon a small flagged
court leading to a porch wreathed with roses.
Above the porch clematis and ivy continued
the wall of living green almost to the gables
of what had once been an Elizabethan farm-
house, and was now the picturesque home of
Robert Kingslake and of Cecily his wife.
To the left, above a walled garden, great
chestnut trees reared their heads, and flung
shadows across the lane in which Mrs. Sum-
mers was standing. The stillness, broken
only by the sleepy clucking of fowls, was of
that peculiar peacefulness which broods over
an English country-side. On the white dust
2 The Day's Journey
in the road the shadows lay asleep. The
trees themselves drowsed against the blue
sky ; the very roses above the house-porch
laid their pink faces together, and, cradled
in leaves, dreamt in the sunshine.
Only a moment passed before Mrs. Sum-
mers lifted the latch, yet in that moment she
saw in imagination one hill station after
another ; she hurried through adventures and
experiences which had filled five years, and
came back to the realization that, in the
meantime, her cousin Cecily had just lived
here at the Priory, listening to the clucking
of the fowls, looking at the chestnut trees
against the sky, perhaps tending the roses
round the porch. She walked up the flagged
path and rang the bell. The door was
opened in a few moments by a neat maid,
who said that Mrs. Kingslake was out. " But
she won't be long, ma'am, if you '11 come
in," she added.
The porch led almost directly into one of
those square, panelled halls which make the
most charming of sitting-rooms. At the
farther end a long, low casement window
framed a vista of the garden green, luxuriant,
brilliant with flowers. On the window-ledge
there was a china bowl of sweet peas.
The Day's Journey 3
Mrs. Summers looked about her with in-
terest. There was not much furniture, but
each piece, though simple, was beautiful in
form at least, and in some cases obviously
rather costly. It was furniture chosen with
discretion. " Better off than they used to
be," was her mental comment.
She glanced at the fresh chintz curtains,
O '
at the two or three little pieces of silver, ex-
quisitely cared for, on mantelpiece and tables ;
at the flowers everywhere. " She 's as dainty
as ever," was her next reflection.
A photograph on the top of a writing-table
caught her wandering attention. She took it
up, and examined it with interest.
It was that of a man of a possible five-
and-thirty, clean-shaven, handsome, with some-
thing eager, enthusiastic, almost childlike about
the eyes, and the mouth of a sensualist.
Mrs. Summers replaced the photograph ; it
was of Cecily's husband, but she was more
interested in Cecily, and of her she could find
no picture.
She walked presently to the door which
led into the garden. Looking out upon its
cool greenness and beauty, her thoughts were
full of its owner. A very close friendship,
rather than the tie of blood, bound her to the
4 The Day's Journey
woman for whose coming she waited. Much
of her girlhood had been spent with Cecily,
and up to the time of her own marriage, six
years ago, she had stayed weeks at a time at
the Meri vales' house in Chelsea. It had been
an interesting house to visit. Cecily's father,
a widower and a well-known doctor, was the
type of man who attracted the better minds,
the more striking personalities, and Cecily was
undoubtedly the woman to keep them.
Apparently gazing into the quiet Surrey
garden, in reality Mrs. Summers was looking
into the drawing-room at Carmarthen Terrace,
seeing it as it had appeared on many an even-
ing in the past. The room was full of firelight
and candlelight, a quiet, restful room, a little old-
fashioned with its traces of mid-Victorianism,
brought by Cecily's clever touch into har-
mony with a more modern standard of taste.
Mrs. Summers remembered the pattern of
the long chintz curtains, remembered the sub-
dued tone of the walls, the china in the big
cabinet, the water-colors which were the pride
of her uncle's heart. She saw him talking
earnestly at one end of the room, his fine gray
head conspicuous among the group of men
who surrounded him men well known in
the world of science, of letters, and of art.
The Day's Journey 5
Even more distinctly she saw Cecily, the young
hostess and mistress of the house, in the midst
of the younger men and women of their circle.
She heard the laughter. There was always
laughter near Cecily, whose airy insouciance
was amusing enough successfully to disguise
real ability.
" I 'm quite clever enough to pass for a
fluffy fool when necessary." This, a long-
ago remark of her cousin's, suddenly recurred
to Mrs. Summers, a propos of nothing, and she
wondered whether Cecily ever wrote anything
now. Then her thoughts went back to Cecily
as a hostess. She had been looked upon by
some of her friends as a brilliant woman, a
woman whose social gifts, whose power of
pleasing as well as leading should carry
her far in the yet wider world which would
open for her when she made the excellent
marriage that every one predicted.
And, after all, Cecily had married Robert
Kingslake, a writer with nothing but his pen
between him and starvation.
Rose remembered the first day he came to
the house, a rather sombre, rather picturesque
figure, with his dark eyes and graceful, lithe
body. Things moved very quickly after that
first evening, so quickly that in retrospect
6 The Day's Journey
there seemed to Mrs. Summers to have been
scarcely a moment of ordinary acquaintance-
ship. There was a slight interval devoted to
impetuous, ardent love-making, and then the
wedding, for which she, herself a year-old
bride, had not been able to stay.
Her husband's regiment had been ordered
to India a week before Cecily Merivale became
Cecily Kingslake, and she had sailed with him.
A breath of warm air swept towards the open
door, and fanned the short curtains at the
window ; it brought with it the scent of carna-
tions, and to Mrs. Summers a sudden vision
of Cecily as she had last seen her.
She was sitting on the edge of her bed in
her room at Carmarthen Terrace. The room
was flooded with sunshine. The basin on the
washstand was, Mrs. Summers remembered,
full of carnations, and as she entered the room
she had exclaimed at their beauty.
" They 've just come. I 'm going to ar-
range them," Cecily had said. She held a
letter which had also evidently just come, and
as she raised her head the look on her face
had startled her cousin. She remembered
fearing for her. Could any human being with
impunity be as ecstatically happy as that ? It
was like tempting Providence.
The Day's Journey 7
Something of this, half in jest, half seriously,
she had tried to say, and Cecily had laughed,
the low, trembling laugh of a delight too deep
to find other expression. She had given her-
self over to her love as the woman a little
difficult, more than a little fastidious, always
gives herself with a surrender complete and
unquestioning.
The sunny bedroom, the dainty new frocks
over the backs of the chairs, the litter of boxes
and paper about the room, the brilliant flowers,
and Cecily in her white petticoat, her white
shoulders bare ; beautiful, proud, and smil-
ing, Mrs. Summers saw her as though five
days rather than five years had passed since
they had met.
She moved, and glanced back over her
shoulder. The memory was so vivid that
it stirred her to impatience. Why did n't
Cecily come? A door closed sharply.
"Where? Where is she?" It was the
same clear, eager voice, and Mrs. Summers
smiled, suddenly reassured.
The next moment Cecily's arms were round
her, and there was a rush of incoherent ques-
tions. Then Rose gently pushed her back,
and they looked at one another.
Involuntarily an exclamation rose to the
8 The Day's Journey
elder woman's lips, mercifully checked, as she
recognized, by Cecily's eager words.
" You are just the same ! " she cried.
" You 've scarcely changed at all." And then
came the inevitable pause. Rose listened to
a thrush singing, and to the distant sound of
a mowing-machine. She seemed to have been
listening quite a long time before Cecily broke
in so sharply that her voice was almost like
a cry.
" Ah no ! don't look at me ! I 'm old and
ugly. I 've changed, have n't I, Rose ? " The
question ended in a nervous laugh.
CHAPTER II
"T'M dying to go into the garden," said
J_ Mrs. Summers. She slipped her arm
within Cecily's, and while she talked volubly,
felt its trembling gradually lessen. " Tongue
cannot tell what I 've endured since I landed
on Tuesday," she exclaimed. " The children's
ayah has been ill, relations have incessantly
banged at the front door, Mother has had one
of her attacks excitement, you know, and
I 've been tearing my hair. I dare n't write
to tell you when to expect me because I did n't
know from hour to hour when I could get
away. At last to-day there was a lull ; so,
forbidding anything to happen in my absence,
I just rushed of? to you."
" And the babies ? " asked Cecily.
" Splendid. They got horribly spoilt on
board, and now Mother 's putting the finish-
ing touches."
"And Jack?"
io The Day's Journey
" Very fit when I left him, a month ago.
But I 'm not going to talk babies, nor even
husbands. I want to know about you."
Cecily shrugged her shoulders. " There 's
nothing to tell," she said. " You saw me a
month before I came into this house ; I 've
been here ever since. This is rather a nice
seat."
They sat down on a bench under a beech
tree, and for all her volubility Rose felt her-
self nonplussed. She glanced at Cecily,
her momentary hesitation as to what to say
next indicated by a little furrow between the
eyes.
Rose Summers was scarcely a pretty, but
certainly a striking woman, who, in spite of
trying circumstances in the shape of an Eastern
climate, looked younger than her thirty-one
years. Her figure, of the athletic type, was
good ; she was exceedingly well dressed, and
she wore her clothes with distinction. Her
slightly freckled face had a healthy tint, and
her eyes gray, clear, and steady were beau-
tiful as well as kindly. Their expression
was contradicted, to some extent, by the sar-
casm indicated in a rather large and certainly
humorous mouth. The eyes she turned
upon her friend now were troubled, almost
The Day's Journey n
incredulous. Her mental picture of the
Cecily of five years back had been so vivid
that, even with the witness before her, she
could not realize the change those years had
brought.
Cecily was still graceful ; nothing could rob
her of the beautiful movements which charac-
terized every change of attitude ; and as she
threw herself back against the cushions in the
corner of the bench, for the first time Mrs.
Summers recognized the Cecily of the past.
But her beauty was wellnigh gone. It was
a beauty that had always largely depended on
happiness, and now, with her blue eyes faded,
the delicate color gone from her cheeks, her
hair still soft but lustreless, she was almost a
plain woman. Rose glanced furtively from
her face to her dress. It was of simple dark
blue linen, quite neat, quite serviceable. She
thought of the dainty muslins, the ribbons,
the flowers of earlier summers and the ludi-
crousness of even imagining Cecily in a gown
that could be characterized as serviceable !
" When you begin to neglect your frocks,
Cis, I shall know the end is near." In the
old days Mrs. Summers had often told her
this. She recalled it now, and made haste to
break the silence.
12 The Day's Journey
" Where is Robert ? " she asked. " Do I
call him Robert? I forget."
"Of course you do. He's in town
reading at the British Museum."
Rose raised her eyebrows with a laugh.
" Since when has our Robert become so
studious ? "
" He 's writing a historical novel, and has
to study up the period. Robert is getting
quite famous, you know, Rose," she added,
after a moment's pause.
" Yes but you, Cis ? Why are you not
famous ? "
" I ? Oh, I 'm married instead," she
replied, with a little laugh.
" Tell me all about Robert," demanded
Mrs. Summers. " If you only knew how
horribly out of things I feel ! I know noth-
ing of what 's been going on in the book
world."
"I should think not with two babies to
look after."
" And the constant moving from one
station to another. One loses touch so
quickly, and you know, Cis," with a touch
of reproach, " you have n't written. Why
did n't you write ? For the last year or two
I 've scarcely heard anything of you."
The Day's Journey 13
For a moment her cousin was silent, and
when she spoke her voice trembled.
" I know. But after baby died, I had n't
the heart. And then " She broke off
abruptly.
Mrs. Summers' voice was very gentle.
"Yes, dear, of course I understand," she
said. " But tell me everything now. Robert 's
getting famous ? That means that you 're get-
ting rich, you lucky little wretch ! "
"Yes," returned Cecily. "Yes, I suppose
we shall be rich," she added, slowly.
" Bless the child ! Are n't you glad ? Is n't
he glad ? "
" Oh, yes, he's very glad. We can get away
now." She spoke in a quiet, unemotional
tone, and Rose glanced at her sharply.
" Get away ? But does n't he love this
place ? "
"No, he's sick of it," she said, still in the
same indifferent voice. " We 're going to sell
it, and move to London in the autumn."
" But Robert was so wild to take it ! "
"That was five years ago."
"It's perfectly lovely, of course," returned
her friend, glancing round her. " But you
never wanted to come, I remember. You
wanted so much to live in town. The
i 4 The Day's Journey
discussion of town versus country was at its
height when I left. So country won ? "
"Yes, country won," Cecily repeated.
" Well, it 's beautiful," Rose repeated. " I
never saw such flowers. What a gardener you
must have ! "
Cecily laughed. " I am the gardener. I
do it nearly all myself."
Rose's astonishment kept her silent. Cecily,
who knew nothing of country things! Cecily,
who, in spite of her love for nature, belonged
first to the town to its life, its thoughts, its
opportunities ! To this meeting with the
friend of her girlhood she had been looking
forward for months, and she had met a
stranger. She had foolishly expected to take up
the thread of intimacy where she had dropped
it, and in the interval a whole new pattern had
been woven, a pattern in faded colors,
whose design she did not understand.
Cecily was obviously unhappy ; obviously,
also, she was keeping her at arm's length, and
with such success that she had not the courage to
ask direct questions. With gratitude she hailed
the appearance of a maid who came with tea,
as a relief to her embarrassment that terrible
embarrassment one feels in the presence of a
close friend to whose mind one has lost the key.
The Day's Journey 15
While the cloth was being spread, and the
maid was moving to and fro from the house,
they exchanged information on family matters.
" Diana is almost grown up," said Cecily,
speaking of her sister, whom Mrs. Summers
remembered as a child of twelve. " You know
she's been living with Uncle Henry and Aunt-
Mary since father died?" The softening of
her voice, the hesitation with which she spoke
his name, reminded Rose of one great grief, at
least, through which in her absence her friend
had passed. "You will like Diana," Cecily
added after a moment. " Of course you 're
going to stay to-night, Rose? "
Mrs. Summers admitted that she was open
to an invitation. " When is Robert coming
back ? " she inquired.
" This afternoon, I think. He was staying
last night at his godmother's Lady Wilmot,
you know."
The mention of her husband's name did not,
as Rose hoped, lead to confidences. Cecily
began at once to inquire the earliest date at
which her friend could leave the children long
enough for a " proper visit," and Mrs. Sum-
mers was soon driven to make conversation.
" What a ridiculous little world it is ! " she
remarked, stirring her tea ; " I have n't yet
16 The Day's Journey
been home a week, and already I 've run across
people I 'd lost sight of for years before I left
England. Now, on Monday, for instance, I
was going to the dressmaker's when I met a
girl I used to know, a girl called Philippa
Burton."
"Philippa Burton!" echoed Cecily, with in-
terest. " Why, I went to school with her. A
rather pretty dark girl ? "
"Major Burton's daughter? Yes? How
strange ! "
" Philippa Burton ! How it brings all the
schooldays back ! " exclaimed Cecily, with a
retrospective laugh. " I had no idea you
knew her, Rose. When did you meet her ? "
"That year I went to Leipzig to study
music, you know. She was in the same
pension, studying something or other also ; I
forget what. Affectation, I should think."
" But she had brought that to a fine art
even as a schoolgirl," Cecily remarked. " Tell
me about her. We left school the same term,
I remember. Is she as pretty as ever ? " She
spoke with animation, obviously glad of a
topic which drew conversation away from per-
sonal matters.
" Pretty? yes, in a floppy fashion."
Cecily laughed. " Oh, she still flops ? She
The Day's Journey 17
used to be a most intense young woman.
When she asked you to pass the salt at dinner,
you felt inclined to burst into tears. She was
High Church when I knew her, but that was
early in her career."
" Oh, yes, there 's been Rationalism since
then, and Socialism, and Vegetarianism, and
Theosophy, and what not. Just now it's
Sandals and the Simple Life, whatever that
may mean. It seems to cover a multitude of
complexities."
" Does she still yearn ? "
" Oh, horribly ! She begins at breakfast-
time, I 'm sure. She 's doing miniatures and
mystic drawings now."
" And mouse-traps, and moonshine, and
everything else that begins with an M? It
sounds like Alice in Wonderland. Go on.
I 'm awfully interested to hear of her again.
Even as a schoolgirl Philippa posed more
than any other human being I 've ever met."
" She has a studio in Fulham somewhere,"
Mrs. Summers continued. " I happened to
be quite close to it when I met her, and she
asked me to come in to tea. She had grape-
nuts and plasmon. It's astonishing what
lurid views of life can be nourished upon this
apparently mild diet," she added, reflectively.
1 8 The Day's Journey
" Are Philippa's views lurid ? " asked Cecily.
" Oh, my uninstructed married ignorance
is to blame, of course ! " declared Mrs. Sum-
mers, with a meek expression.
" What did she say ? "
" A great many things most of them
quite unfit for publication. But the latest
and simplest gospel, according to Burton, ap-
pears to be, ' Down with the proprietary view
of marriage.' '
Cecily leaned back against her cushions.
"Ah!" she said.
" Yes," continued Mrs. Summers, medita-
tively, "there should be room in life for
frank, free comradeship camaraderie was, I
think, the word between husbands and ladies
who are living the Simple Life. Room for
beautiful, breezy, ennobling friendships, un-
trammelled by vulgar jealousy on the part of
the wife."
" I see," returned Cecily. " And is the wife
to have beautiful, breezy friendships too ? "
" Oh, yes ! Liberty, Fraternity (presumably),
and Equality, of course."
Cecily was silent a moment. " And you
don't believe in that kind of thing ? " she
asked.
Mrs. Summers shrugged her shoulders.
The Day's Journey 19
"My dear, I haven't lived the Simple Life,"
she returned, dryly.
" Some more tea ? " Cecily suggested.
" Well, a complicated biscuit, then ? I 'm
afraid I have n't any plasmon in the house.
I wonder now whether a woman like Philippa
Burton is more of a hypocrite or a self-
deceiver ? " she added, thoughtfully, after a
few moments.
" About her theories, you mean ? "
" Or her practices. A woman seldom has
a theory without a concrete example to illus-
trate it. Philippa has a concrete example,
of course ? "
" Oh, yes, one of the husbands who comes
to be ennobled."
" Is n't his wife suited to the task ? "
" Apparently not. He is a great genius,
warped, stifled, suffocated by the atmosphere
of domesticity."
" Poor man," said Cecily.
" The wife's crime, as far as I can under-
stand," pursued Mrs. Summers, " is her ex-
istence, and from Philippa's point of view
I admit it's enough. No doubt when a
man 's tired of his wife it is awfully annoying
and stultifying to his genius. But somehow,
while Philippa talked, I felt rather sorry for
20 The Day's Journey
the poor little woman whose mind is so ill-
balanced that she can't turn off her emotions
to order."
" Is the man in love with Philippa, do you
think?"
" Well, as he generally spends several hours
a day with her, I should say he was speak-
ing of the human man as I know him."
" And Philippa ? " asked Cecily.
" Philippa, my dear, has sandals and an
exalted mind. I also suspect her of a certain
amount of concealed jaeger, and she thinks
him very noble. He always speaks ' quite
nicely ' of his wife." Mrs. Summers paused,
the ironical smile deepening upon her lips.
" Under these circumstances," she continued,
" the denouement may be a little delayed."
" Ah well ! " observed Cecily, rising. " It 's
a very common little story, no doubt." There
was an underlying ring of bitterness in her
words which did not escape her friend's notice,
as she too got up from the bench. "You'd
like to come to your room, Rose ? Dinner 's at
half-past seven."
" Oh, common enough, of course," returned
Rose, in answer to her first remark. " There 's
nothing particularly remarkable about Mr.
Fergus Macdonald, I should imagine "
The Day's Journey 21
She was stooping to pick up her handker-
chief as she spoke, when a half-articulate
exclamation made her sharply raise her head.
Cecily was standing looking at her. " Mr.
? I did n't catch the name," she said, in
an odd voice.
"Fergus Macdonald," repeated Rose. "She
did n't tell me his name, but I could n't help
seeing a very soulful inscription in a book.
Why, Cecily, do you know him ? " She
stammered over the last words, for while she
spoke, every drop of color had ebbed away
from the other woman's face.
" Cecily ! " she urged.
Cecily sank into the seat she had just left.
There was silence for a moment, and then she
began to laugh.
" Cecily ! " said Mrs. S.ummers again.
" Don't, Cecily ! Do you know him ? "
" A little," she replied. " He 's my hus-
band."
There was quite a long silence. Rose
noticed the long shadows on the grass, was
conscious of the brilliance of a bed of flowers
in the sunset light.
" Robert I " she whispered at last. " But
how "
" It 's his writing name," said Cecily, wearily.
22 The Day's Journey
She had left off laughing now. " Oh, of
course, you did n't know, dear. As you say,
you have been out of things " Her voice
trailed off without finishing the sentence.
Mrs. Summers mentally reviewed the pre-
ceding conversation. " O Cis," she mur-
mured, " I could kill myself for it. What a
fool I am ! what afoot I "
CHAPTER III
"TTERE'S Robert!" exclaimed Cecily,
J. J. under her breath. " Don't worry. I 'm
all right. It does n't matter."
Rose saw with relief that though her face
was still colorless it was quite calm, and almost
before she had realized that a man was cross-
ing the lawn towards them, she heard her
voice again.
" Robert," she said, " it 's Rose. She took
me by surprise to-day."
Kingslake put out his hand, smiling. " You
have been expected for some time. Why, it's
how many years ? "
" Five," returned Mrs. Summers, laconically.
" Only five? I thought it was longer." He
began to ask about the journey, the date of
her arrival, all the conventional questions re-
lating to the circumstances, in the midst of
which, as Rose observed, he had apparently
forgotten a greeting to his wife. He turned
to her at last.
24 The Day's Journey
"Well, dear! I'm rather late." He put
some letters on the tea-table. " The post 's
in. I found these in the hall."
Cecily took them up, and began to open
the envelopes.
" May I, Rose ? " she murmured, absently.
" Do sit down, Mrs. Summers," urged
Kingslake, " we need not go in for ten
minutes."
He seated himself also as she complied, and
while he continued the desultory conversation
he had begun with her, Rose noticed that he
glanced every now and then at his wife, who
was deep in her letters.
At first sight he was not much altered.
He was still the good-looking, rather pictur-
esque man she remembered ; but the hint of
weakness in his face was more pronounced,
and the lines about his mouth had grown
querulous. As she talked, Rose watched him
curiously. She was wondering at the reason
for the furtive looks he occasionally threw
in his wife's direction. There was a trace
of anxiety in his face for which she could
not account. Cecily's correspondence lasted
for some time, but at last she raised her
head.
" This is quite remarkable," she said, in a
The Day's Journey 25
voice which struck Rose as rather clearer even
than her usual clear tones. " I've just heard
from an old school-fellow a girl I've lost
sight of for years."
Mrs. Summers' eyes flashed with sudden
comprehension.
" She says she has met you, Robert," con-
tinued Cecily, in the same tone.
" Oh ? May I smoke, Mrs. Summers ? "
He drew out his cigarette-case. " Who is the
lady ? "
" Philippa Burton."
" Oh, yes ! She was dining at Lady Wil-
mot's last night." He threw away the match.
" What does she say ? "
His wife began to read :
" DEAR CECILY, You will wonder who is ad-
dressing you in this familiar fashion, and even when
you look at the signature, I wonder whether you will
remember your old school-fellow Philippa Burton ?
I am writing because, after this week, I shall be a near
neighbor of yours. I have broken down a little,
over my work; my doctor has ordered me country
air, and I find the village to which he is sending me
is your village ! Sheepcote is so easy of access to
town that I can run up when it is absolutely neces-
sary, do as much work as I am allowed, and, 1 hope,
renew my friendship with you. I met your husband
s6 The Day's Journey
yesterday at Lady Wilmot's. What a charming man
he is, and how proud you must be of him."
" Spare my blushes," interpolated Kingslake,
in a lazy voice. Cecily concluded
" May I sign myself, as in old days,
"Affectionately yours,
" PHILIPPA BURTON."
She folded the letter deliberately, and re-
placed it in its envelope.
" Well, you can look after her a little, can't
you ? " observed Kingslake. " You might see
about getting her rooms, perhaps ? Would n't
old Mrs. Green take her? or the Watford
woman ? But this is n't very amusing for
Mrs. Summers, I 'm afraid." He turned to
her politely.
"Oh, on the contrary," she answered,
<f these bright, brave young women who work
for their living, and at intervals have nervous
breakdowns, interest me enormously. It 's a
new type to me."
Kingslake's face darkened at her flippant
tone.
" Ah ! you happy married women who are
shielded from the world are rather slow to
understand some of the truths of life," he
The Day's Journey 27
observed, a note of indignation struggling
through the suavity of his tone.
" Is it only the lies we encounter then
we happy married women ? " she returned,
lightly. " That does n't speak well for the
men who shield us ! "
Cecily rose. "Come," she said, "it's nearly
dinner-time."
Upstairs, in the spare room to which she
showed her friend, Rose turned round with
sudden vehemence. " Little devil ! " she
exclaimed, pointing to the letter her cousin
still held. " It 's a feminine masterpiece.
Not one untrue statement, yet a lie from
beginning to end."
Cecily was silent. " Don't ! " she said at
last, under her breath. " I 've got to get
through the evening."
Rose glanced at her, and, without speaking
again, let her go.
When Cecily entered her bedroom, Kings-
lake opened his dressing-room door.
" Miss Burton told me she was a school-
fellow of yours," he began. " Were you
great friends ? "
" Not particularly," returned Cecily, taking
her tea-gown from the wardrobe.
28 The Day's Journey
There was silence for a moment.
" She seems a nice sort of girl," he con-
tinued, tentatively.
" She used to be pretty," said Cecily, staring
at herself in the glass as she took down her
hair. " Is she pretty now ? "
"Yes rather. At least, yes, I suppose
she is." His voice was studiedly careless.
" Mrs. Summers has n't altered much,"
he continued. " Looks very young still."
He pushed the door wider, and came into
the room as he spoke, still fidgeting with
his tie.
" We 're a contrast in that respect, are n't
we ? " said Cecily, slowly. " I Ve altered a
great deal since we were married, have n't I,
Robert ? " She still kept her eyes fixed upon
the glass from which, as she arranged her hair,
her own set face confronted her.
Robert was wandering rather aimlessly about
the room. " Oh, I don't know. Have you ? "
he replied, absently ; then, glancing over her
shoulder into the mirror, " You're looking very
washy just now," he added.
His wife said nothing, and presently he
flung himself on the window-seat, and began
to play with the silver ornaments on the
dressing-table.
The Day's Journey 29
" Oh, by the way, whom do you think I ran
across at Waterloo this afternoon ? " he broke
out with a suddenness obviously premeditated.
" Mayne Dick Mayne, you know, just
home from Alaska, or Siberia, or wherever it
was."
Cecily pinned on the brooch in front of her
tea-gown with deliberation.
" Central Africa," she said. " Did you
speak to him ? "
" Speak to him ? Of course," echoed her
husband. " I asked him to come down and
stay a bit," he added, opening and shutting
a pin-box while he spoke. " He 's a great
fisherman, fortunately, or else I don't know
what amusement we could offer him in this
God-forsaken spot."
He glanced at Cecily.
" Well ? " he broke out impatiently, after a
moment. " You Ve no objection, I suppose ?
What 's the matter ? "
She began to put on her rings, very slowly.
" Nothing 's the matter," she said. " I was
only thinking "
" Yes ? Thinking what ? " he urged, mov-
ing irritably.
" How jealous you used to be of Dick
Mayne." She turned from the glass, and her
30 The Day's Journey
eyes, for the first time, met her husband's.
He evaded their glance by springing up.
" Oh, my dear Cecily," he began angrily.
" What nonsense ! I do hate this " The
deep sound of the gong down-stairs cut him
short.
" Please don't let us discuss it now," she
said, and moved before him out of the room.
CHAPTER IV
evening had worn to an end a
A. really terrible evening for Rose, though
both she and Cecily had talked and laughed
with apparent ease. Cecily followed her
cousin into her bedroom, lighted the candles,
rearranged the curtains, was solicitous for her
comfort, and, with a flow of light talk, kept
her at a distance.
" Good-night, dear," she said at last, kissing
her hastily. "You must be dreadfully tired.
Don't be frightened if you hear a footstep on
the stair in the small hours. Robert does n't
generally come up till then. He writes so
late."
Mrs. Summers' eyes questioned her mutely,
but Cecily's did not waver.
"Jane will bring your tea when you ring
in the morning. Good-night. Sleep well."
She went out smiling, and as the door closed
upon her Rose moved mechanically to the
nearest chair and sat down. She felt dazed
j2 The Day's Journey
and stupid. Emotions had succeeded one
another so rapidly in the past eight hours
that the state of mind of which she was
most acutely conscious was bewilderment.
Through this confused sense, however, self-
reproach pierced sharply. How like one of
life's practical jokes it was, to bring her
thousands of miles over-sea to tell her best
friend what any spiteful acquaintance in the
village might have placed within her knowl-
edge. Mrs. Summers looked round the
pretty, peaceful room with a sense of oppres-
sion. Over the windows, the rose-patterned
chintz curtains hung primly. She got up and
pushed them aside, and then blew out the
candles. A lovely night had succeeded the
lovely day, and the garden was magical with
moonlight. Sweet scents rose from it. Pools
of shadow lay on the silvered grass. Deep
and mysterious the great trees stood massed
against the luminous sky.
Rose leaned against the window-frame, and let
the silence and the peace quiet her thoughts,
while she tried to realize the stranger she
had found in the place of the old impulsive
Cecily. It was the self-control that chilled
and baffled her, even while she admired its
exercise. Mentally she reviewed the evening,
The Day's Journey 33
and found Cecily's demeanor excellent. Her
manner towards her husband had been per-
fectly friendly. A stranger seeing them to-
gether, she reflected, would have thought
them on very good terms, though Robert
might have been pronounced rather absent-
minded and preoccupied. At the remem-
brance of Kingslake, Rose's face darkened.
" She need n't have taken so much trouble,"
was her bitter reflection. " He would n't have
noticed even if she 'd been disagreeable. His
mind was elsewhere."
To Rose, whose recollection of Robert was
as a lover, so devoted that the only clear idea
she had retained about his personality was
that he loved Cecily, to Rose, his present
obvious indifference seemed a thing almost
incredible. It brought to her, as nothing else
since her home-coming had brought to her,
the realization that five years is long that
the heart of life may oe cut out with its passing.
Mrs. Summers felt her eyes dim with
sudden tears. She was hurt at her friend's
reticence. The Cecily she knew had vanished,
and with her, it seemed, she had taken all
youth, all keenness, all desire. In that mo-
ment of disappointment, Rose had a horrible
premonition of age.
3
34 The Day's Journey
A tap at the door startled her. While she
was hurrying towards it, across the moonlit
room, it opened, and Cecily came in.
She was in a long, pale-colored Japanese
wrapper, her hair all loose about her face.
Standing there in the moonlight, she was the
girl Mrs. Summers remembered, and with a
revulsion of feeling too glad for words she
took her by the arms and put her into an
easy-chair near the window.
" It was so lovely, I blew out the candles,"
she began.
" Yes," murmured Cecily, absently. She
leaned forward and touched her cousin's dress
with trembling ringers. " It was n't because
I was horrid or anything that I did n't stay,"
she said, incoherently. " It was because I was
afraid to begin. I 'm afraid to let myself "
She put her hand on her breast with a gesture
that, to Rose, was more eloquent than the
broken sentence.
" Tell me, dear," she urged. " I would have
bitten off my tongue rather than have said all
I did to-day, but, apart from that, I can't help
seeing that things are wrong with you. I felt
it from the first moment. It made me nervous,
I suppose, and so I babbled on like a fool
about the first thing that came into my head."
The Day's Journey 35
"It does n't matter," returned Cecily, in a
weak voice. " It is n't that."
"Tell me," urged Rose again.
"It's difficult," she murmured, after a
moment, " because there does n't seem any-
thing definite to tell. It's just come like
this."
There was a silence through which Mrs.
Summers waited patiently.
" Rose," she heard at last, " you saw Robert
with me, before you went away. He seemed
in love, did n't he ? "
" I never saw any one quite so infatuated."
Mrs. Summers' reply was emphatic.
" And now he speaks of me c quite nicely.'
... It seems strange, does n't it ? " She
spoke very quietly, as though she were
tired.
"I shall never forgive myself!" murmured
Rose, turning her head away.
Cecily was roused. " Don't worry about
that ! " she exclaimed. " It 's almost a relief
to know that there 's something definite that
it's not only just boredom with me." Be-
fore Rose could speak, she added, hastily, as
though with a determination to get out the
words, " Do you know he 's invited Dick
Mayne to stay here ? "
36 The Day's Journey
Rose's dress rustled with her quick move-
ment of surprise. " He I Invited Dick
Mayne?" she echoed.
"Yes Dick Mayne to amuse me," re-
plied Cecily. In the moonlight Rose saw the
bitter little smile on her lips.
"But surely he remembers why, he used
to be as jealous as "
" Hush ! " exclaimed Cecily, with a mockery
at which her friend winced. "Jealousy is a
vulgar passion ! "
"Don't!" murmured Mrs. Summers,
vaguely.
" No," returned Cecily, after a moment.
" Because I suppose there 's a good deal to be
said for Robert. I did n't understand the
game. I did n't understand men a bit when
I married, Rose, though I knew so many.
And I was no baby either. I was five-and-
twenty."
" One can be very much of a baby at five-
and-twenty," observed Mrs. Summers.
"You see, when we married," Cecily went
on, in the same even voice, " Robert wanted
me all to himself. He was quite unreasonable
about it. He was hurt because I urged -that
we should live in town. ... I tried to have
some common-sense. I tried to look ahead
The Day's Journey 37
for both of us. I knew in my heart it would
be bad for him for any man to have no
circle, to drop out of things. But he would n't
see it. We needed only one another, he said.
So I gave in at last, and we settled down here.
And naturally we dropped out of all the town
set. You know how easily one can do that,
especially when there 's very little money.
And we had very little indeed at first."
Rose nodded. " I know," she said.
"At first, of course, for the first year or
more perhaps, it was Paradise. I need n't bore
you with all that. . . . Then at the end of
the second year, baby came . . . and I was
awfully happy. Perhaps even then Robert
was beginning to be bored I don't know.
I was too happy to suspect it." There was a
long pause. As she talked, Cecily had drawn
herself into the shadow, so that her face was
hidden ; when she spoke again her voice was
almost inaudible.
" She was a sweet baby, Rose. . . . Her hair
. . ." She checked herself abruptly, with a
half sob. Mrs. Summers' hand touched hers.
She knew the whole bitterness of the tragedy.
Cecily's life had been in danger at the birth of
her little girl, and later she had written that
this would be her only child.
38 The Day's Journey
" I got very ugly after that," she went on at
last. " I fretted so. I could n't help it. I
must have been very dull then. I dare say
I did n't amuse Robert."
Mrs. Summers made an impatient exclama-
tion.
" Ah, but it was a mistake ! " cried Cecily ;
" men expect to be amused. If we want to
keep them we must work . hard. . . . And
then when I did try to pull myself together
and be cheerful, it was too late. Nothing I
did pleased him. If I put on a pretty frock
he never noticed. If I tried to talk in my old
way I used to be quite amusing once, was n't
I, Rose? " She broke off with a pathetic little
laugh. " When I fooled, you know, he was
irritated, and asked me what on earth I was
driving at. He would never let me talk
about his work. He said it annoyed him to
have it c pawed over.' ' She stopped short,
and Rose felt her trembling. " I can't tell
you all of it," she whispered. "It hurts too
much."
Mrs. Summers waited a few moments.
" And lately he has begun to talk about the
necessity for friendships," she began, in a voice
purposely hard and matter of fact.
"Yes," she continued, "while you were
The Day's Journey 39
telling me about that girl and her theories it
all sounded so familiar."
" She has adopted your husband's theories,
you think ? "
Cecily shook her head with a faint smile.
" No. He has adopted hers. It 's a new
phase with Robert. That 's why I Ve been
suspecting a fresh influence lately." She hesi-
tated. " Robert 's like that," she said at last.
" He 's susceptible to every new impression.
He reflects everything that " She paused.
"It's the same with his work," she went
on. " He is always under some fresh in-
fluence. Lately it 's been swashbuckling. He 's
made money out of that."
" Why, his work used to be psychologi-
cal ! " exclaimed Rose. " Minute analysis and
hair-splitting distinctions ! "
" I know. That was one of the phases.
There have been many masters since then.
And now, I suppose, there will be as many
mistresses."
She spoke with a quiet irony, more painful
than any display of grief. It was the tone of
a woman already so disillusioned that a fact more
or less made comparatively little difference.
" Cecily," ventured Mrs. Summers, almost
timidly, " there may be nothing wrong."
40 The Day's Journey
Cecily made a weary movement. " Do you
know, that seems of little importance. It's
the other things that count, and when they Ve
gone " She did not finish the sentence.
Outside, the garden, all vaporous, blue and
silver, was like a vision. Softly, quite softly
at first, a nightingale began to sing, each note
falling like a drop of crystal water through
the blue air. Both women were motionless
till the song ceased as suddenly as it had
begun.
" How beautiful ! " murmured Rose.
" I shall miss this garden," said Cecily, sud-
denly. " I have worked in it for three years.
Every woman ought to have a garden then
at least she gets some of the roses of life. Are
you happy ? " she added, almost in the same
breath, with startling abruptness.
Mrs. Summers hesitated. " Yes," she re-
turned, finally, " in a placid way yes. But
then, I 'm a practical woman. I always left
the stars out of my calculations, did n't I ?
Jack and I suited each other. We have con-
tinued to suit each other. I never expected
him to be the lover of romance. Poor dear !
he 's not at all made for the part. But he
wears well, you know, Cis. And," her voice
softened, " I have the babies."
The Day's Journey 41
Cecily was silent. " Yours is the sane view
of life," she said at last.
" I know ; though in moods, fortunately
rare, I would exchange it for an z'wsane one," re-
turned Mrs. Summers, with a laugh. " Though
I leave the stars out, I don't forget they are
there."
" I wonder ? " returned Cecily.
" Are you going to say anything about this
to your husband ? " asked Mrs. Summers, with
apparent irrelevance.
" No," said Cecily, briefly.
" And Mayne ? Are you going to have
him down here ? "
"Yes. Why not? If Robert wishes it,
how can I object ? I shall be very glad to
see Dick again," she added.
" Is it wise ? "
"That's Robert's affair."
" I was thinking of Dick."
" That 's his affair. He had my answer
long ago, and he knows I meant it. Besides,"
she smiled a little, " don't worry I 've lost
my looks."
" Dick is not that sort."
" Every man is that sort."
Mrs. Summers glanced at her, as she sat
with the little mocking smile still on her lips.
42 The Day's Journey
" O Cis, dear," she murmured, deprecat-
ingly.
Cecily got up. " I must go," she said ;
" I 'm wearing you out."
Mrs. Summers also rose. With a sudden
movement she drew her friend into her arms.
For a moment Cecily resisted. Then to the
elder woman's relief she broke into a passion
of tears.
" I 've been so wretched, Rose," she whis-
pered, incoherently. "He was everything to
me. All the world ! And now he goes to
another woman, and tells her all the things
that he used and says all the words that
Oh, what 's the good of talking ! " she wailed.
" It 's all over and done with. He does n't
care any more. And I suppose he can't help
it. Sometimes I think I don't care either.
And then, all at once "
It was the old wail, the woman's plaint,
eternal as the hills, ever recurring as the wind
and the rains recur ; as monotonous as they.
CHAPTER V
IT was Lady Wilmot's at-home day, but so
early in the afternoon that she could still
indulge in the tete-a-tete gossip with the friend
who had lunched with her, a branch of her
life's occupation in which she excelled.
She was a woman who supported well her
fifty-five years. A little portly, her gray
crinkled hair arranged a la Marquise, her ample
skirts further suggesting the era of powder and
patches, her bright eyes full of rather malicious
humor, Lady Wilmot was a somewhat strik-
ing figure. That she was more feared than
loved probably flattered the vanity which was
not the least of her characteristics. The cir-
cumstance certainly did not affect her. Pos-
sessed of an income sufficiently large to make
the exercise of life's amenities a matter of
inclination rather than of necessity, her inclin-
ation was naturally capricious, and she not
infrequently smiled to hear herself described
with a nervous laugh as " so delightfully
uncommon."
44 The Day's Journey
" Uncommon rude, my dear," had been her
reply in one instance, " as you would have dis-
covered if I had happened to be Mrs. Brown,
Mrs. Smith, or Mrs. Robinson."
As it was, Lady Wilmot's parties were
attended by as heterogeneous a throng as any
private house in London. In search of
possible amusement, she cast her net wide,
and, in company with men and women of her
own sort, drew into the Onslow Square
drawing-room, journalists who wrote fashion
articles, novelists who went into many editions,
painters whose imposing canvases appeared
every year on the sacred walls of the Academy,
as well as those who worked in Chelsea garrets.
Then there were the faddists.
" I have the best collection in London,"
Lady Wilmot was wont to boast. " I have
several excellent antique Vegetarians, a very
good color, considering ; a complete set of
Mystics, only slightly cracked; any number
of women athletes in a fairly good state of
preservation, as well as one or two interesting
oddments."
Lady Wilmot's present guest was her niece,
a sharp-faced little woman, who for two or
three years had been living quietly in the
country on account of her health. This fact
The Day's Journey 45
at least was stimulating. It meant arrears of
gossip to be retailed respecting the life-history
of their common acquaintances, and since
half-past one Lady Wilmot's tongue had not
been idle.
The doings of the immediate family lasted
through a protracted and hilarious lunch, and
when, somewhat maimed and damaged, its mem-
bers had been dismissed, there still remained
the concentric circles of acquaintances. Lady
Wilmot began at the inner rings.
" You know Rose Summers is home ? " she
said, settling the fat cushions at her back with
a view to lengthy comfort. " No, dear,
without her gaby of a husband. She 's left
him out there to get into mischief. Oh, yes,
my dear, he 's not too great a fool for that.
None of them are. Did you never meet
Jack Summers ? A huge imbecile, you know.
Over life-size, all body and no brains. The
ideal man for a soldier."
" Rose had enough brains for two," re-
turned Mrs. Carruthers.
" Yes, but no looks. Most unfortunate
arrangement for a woman. She has to marry
a man stupid enough not to know she 's got
them. She 's staying with Cecily Kingslake."
" Oh, tell me about the Kingslakes,"
46 The Day's Journey
asked Mrs. Carruthers, with interest. " They
were just married the last time I met them.
I used to think Cecily so pretty. What a
mistake to make such a poor match ! "
" You should see her now," returned Lady
Wilmot, composedly.
" Gone off? "
" Gone under. Buried beneath honey-
suckle and green stuff. The worst of love in
a cottage is that love does n't last, and the
cottage does."
"But I thought Robert was getting on?
Some one was talking about his last book the
other day, and saying "
" Yes, quite lately he 's been making
money. There was always a popular streak
in Robert which only needed working. Some
woman 's shown him where it lies, and he 's
got it in full swing now, so the guineas are
beginning to roll in."
" Why some woman ? "
Lady Wilmot chuckled. " Don't you
know our Robert? A clever woman laughs
when she sees him coming."
" Susceptible ? "
" That 's putting it mildly. All men can
take flattery in gigantic doses. Robert lives
on it entirely. He dined here last night.
The Day's Journey 47
Incidentally he ate his dinner, but his true
meal was provided by the girl he took down,
who flung at him pounds of the best butter,
solid pounds. I blushed for her and trembled
for him, but I might have spared myself the
trouble. She 's too clever, and he has too
good a digestion."
" Did n't his wife come ? "
" No. He comes up to town ( to read,' if
one may believe him. And I happened to
have asked Philippa Burton and young
Nevern in to dine last night not a dinner-
party so I invited Robert too."
"Perhaps she's the lady who inspires the
new style of writing ? " observed Mrs. Car-
ruthers, building better than she knew.
" She 's quite capable of it," returned Lady
Wilmot, " but they only met last night. She
has designs on Nevern, I think, temporarily
abandoned for Robert. She 's coming this
afternoon, by the way." Lady Wilmot
laughed again. " I asked her on purpose
to meet Dick Mayne. I thought they 'd be
so quaint together."
" Why ? " inquired her niece.
" You have n't seen Philippa ? She's one of
the most interesting objects in my collection.'*
" Where did you find her ? "
48 The Day's Journey
" Don't you remember Major Burton, that
seedy-looking man at Cheltenham ? Retired,
you know, on half-pay. Used to be in your
father's regiment. Well, she's his daughter.
He died some five or six years ago, leaving
her next to nothing, and now she potters about.
You know the sort of thing such girls do ;
tinkering with copper, messing about with
furnaces to make enamel hat-pins, designing
horrible, bleak-looking furniture, and so on."
" Does she get a living at that ? "
" My dear, don't ask me to probe the
mysteries of a woman's income," exclaimed
her hostess with a laugh. " She 's pretty, and
evidently she finds sandals and mystic gowns
useful. When a woman 's not sufficiently
original to get money or notoriety by her
brains, she often achieves both through her
fads. Philippa is one of those young women
who will always be taken up ' by some one.
Silly spinsters of uncertain age have a habit of
doing it. She 's just been living with one of
them who adored her thought her a tran-
scendent genius instead of a clever little hum-
bug. Now the smash has come. If you
mention Miss Wetherby to Philippa, she looks
pained and sighs : ( It is so sad to lose one 's
illusions. Miss Wetherby is not quite the fine
The Day's Journey 49
woman I thought her.' What Miss Wetherby
says about Philippa, I don't know I 'm not
acquainted with the lady but I can guess.
There used to be a man about. What 's be-
come of him now I don't know. Another
illusion gone, possibly. Philippa 's mysterious
in more ways than one. But there, my dear,
what does it matter ? If you begin to be
moral, you lose half the fun of life. I 'm
strictly unmoral on principle unmoral 's such
a good word, is n't it ? Anyhow I 'm looking
forward to the meeting between Philippa and
Dick Mayne. He does n't know the type,
and she '11 embarrass him so beautifully. I
hope she '11 try to flirt with him. I think I
shall scream with joy if she does. It will be
too funny."
"You know Mr. Mayne is going to stay
with the Kingslakes ? " gasped Mrs. Carruthers,
placing edgeways with difficulty her little con-
tribution to " the news."
"No!" It was a piece of information
that had hitherto escaped her aunt, whose
manner of receiving it caused Mrs. Carruthers
to bridle with importance.
" Yes, I happened to meet him yesterday
at the Vezeys', and he told me so. Why
should n't he ? "
4
50 The Day's Journey
" Why, you know how desperately in love
he was with Cecily."
" But that was years ago."
" When they were engaged ? Yes. My
dear, if you 'd heard Robert's ravings at the
time ! Heavens ! how funny it was ! He
and Cecily nearly came to grief over it, because
Cecily said Mayne was an old friend, and she
could n't refuse to see him, which was, I be-
lieve, what the lunatic wanted her to promise.
Robert's my godson, and he's good-looking
enough to make me quite fond of him, but
he 's a heaven-born fool for all that. Have
you ever heard his rhetoric when he 's excited ?
You should. It 's worthy of a successful
melodrama. He used to d6 the romantic
hero-in-love to perfection. His feeling for
Cecily was such that it was a profanation for
any other man to touch her hand, and did I
think a woman who allowed a rejected suitor
to have tea in the same drawing-room with
her, could possess that burning, white-souled
adoration for her affianced husband which he
required from the woman who was to bear his
name ? I offered him the impossible advice
of not being a fool, and Mayne went away to
catch tigers and fevers and the public ear."
"Yes, he's done that," returned Mrs.
The Day's Journey 51
Carruthers. " He 's quite a great man now
the papers are full of him."
" Mr. Mayne," announced the footman at
the door.
" We were talking about you," said Lady
Wilmot, rising graciously.
" I was unconscious of my danger," re-
turned Mayne, with an audacious smile which
met its friendly response. Mayne was, with
Lady Wilmot, a privileged person, chiefly
because he took her maliciousness for granted.
" You Ve grown," she remarked, regarding
with critical attention his bronzed face and tall,
well-knit figure.
" What did you expect ? I was but a lad
of thirty when I left you." He had shaken
hands with Mrs. Carruthers, and seated him-
self on the end of a divan by this time
very much at his ease.
" You 're much better looking," was Lady
Wilmot's next comment.
" I can bear it," he returned, imperturbably.
" If I say you have n't altered at all it 's the
best compliment I can pay you."
" I will ignore its lack of truthfulness, and
give you some tea," she said, crossing to the
tea-table. " Are you going to read any more
papers this time ? Why did n't you come
52 The Day's Journey
to see me when you were home two years
ago?"
" Because, dear lady, you were abroad."
" Was I ? So I was. Who did you see
then ? Did you see the Kingslakes ? " She
shot a glance at him as he rose to take the
cup she offered, but his face was immovable.
" I did n't see any one. After reading
an exceedingly dull paper before the Royal
Society, I fled to the shelter of the paternal
roof in Ireland, desperately ashamed of
myself."
" You don't want me to ask you about your
travels and explorings, do you ? It would
bore me a great deal to hear them. Sugar? "
" Thanks, no. Not half so much, I 'm
sure, as it would bore me to tell them. I
came to hear all the latest scandal. Won't
you begin before the actors arrive ? "
" Miss Burton," said the man at the door.
" Too late ! " ejaculated Lady Wilmot, as
she went forward to meet her new guest.
' " Ah, how do you do, Philippa, my dear ?
Did you bring an escort of police ? or is the
untutored savage getting used to sandals ?
My dear, where will your hair stop ? You
look like Melisande. Can't you throw some
of it out of the window ? Mr. Mayne will
The Day's Journey 5j
run down and climb up. He's used to
athletic exercises. By the way, Mr. Mayne
Miss Burton. Now you can go and talk
lions and things. He 's an explorer, you
know. Here 's Mr. Nevern. He '11 have to
put up with me. How do you do, Mr.
Nevern ? "
During these somewhat incoherent remarks
Miss Burton had adopted the simple ex-
pedient of doing nothing, and, as Mayne
was constrained to admit, doing it rather
well.
She stood with a faint, dreamy smile just
touching her lips, and waited till there was
an opportunity of offering her hand to Mayne.
This she did with a slow movement, accord-
ing to the state of mind of its recipient,
subtly graceful, or somewhat affected. Rather
characteristically Mayne inclined to the least
flattering of these strictures. He did not
like " that kind of thing," even though in
this instance it was the act of a woman by
many people considered beautiful.
Philippa Burton's tall figure was of the
sinuous type, and she clothed it in trailing
garments cut on the latest hygienic principle,
combining conspicuousness with impractica-
bility. The robe she now wore was of some
54 The Day's Journey
coarse white material, a little soiled at the
hem where it trailed, and a little too low at
the neck, where several necklaces of beads
were wound about a full white throat. Her
hat, of that peculiar make which flies from the
head, and is restrained by ribbons tied under
the ear, revealed, rather than covered, quanti-
ties of dark, rippling hair of the Rossetti texture.
Her dark eyes, full of a cultivated mystery,
very effectively lit a pale face, whose excessive
spirituality was redeemed by full red lips.
" You are the Mr. Mayne ? " she began,
with an elusive smile. " I read your travel-
book. It is wonderful. A book that sets the
blood racing in one 's veins. You are one of
the strong men. I worship strength in men."
Mayne felt uncomfortable. He had been
out of the civilized world for some time, and
was new to the fashion of emotional conver-
sation in drawing-rooms and omnibuses.
" Oh my little book ! " he answered, care-
lessly. " I can't write a bit, you know. It
was awful stuff. At least, the way it was put
together. The material was all right."
" But indeed you do yourself injustice,"
Philippa returned, in her peculiar low voice,
as always, surcharged with feeling. " Mr.
Kingslake was saying only the other night how
The Day's Journey 55
wonderfully vivid is your style. So much
color so much "
" You know Robert Kingslake ? " inter-
rupted Mayne, with interest.
" We met here the other night, at dinner,"
she said, fixing her wonderful eyes upon his
face in an abstracted way. " What a charming
man ! He has a beautiful soul, I 'm sure.
There is poetry in his work, idealism "
" He 's made a lot of money over this last
novel of his," remarked Mayne, a little
brutally.
" Yes. Does n't that show that the world
is waiting for a message ? The poor sad
world that longs to be shown the beauty it
is missing."
" I had n't noticed it," returned Mayne.
" But then I have n't seen much of the paying
world lately."
" One must have faith," said Philippa, softly.
" The faith that removes mountains."
" And brings in the shekels," laughed
Mayne. " Kingslake's has been justified,
anyway. I 'm going down there next week,"
he added, for the sake of changing the rarefied
atmosphere of the conversation. " To Sheep-
cote, you know, with the Kingslakes."
"Yes, so Mr. Macdonald told me Mr.
56 The Day's Journey
Kingslake, I mean. I knew his work first
through his now de guerre^ and 1 can scarcely
think of him yet as Mr. Kingslake. We shall
meet again, then," she went on. " I 'm going
to Sheepcote too."
" What 's that ? " asked Lady Wilmot, who,
as Mayne rightly surmised, had been keeping
one amused ear upon the conversation, while
she failed to listen to Mr. Nevern with the
other. "What's that? You going down to
Sheepcote, Philippa ? What for ? "
" So strange ! " returned Philippa, absolutely
undisconcerted by the brusque impertinence
of the question, and she recounted the infor-
mation she had written to Cecily. " And do
you know, dear Lady Wilmot, that I went to
school with Mrs. Kingslake Cecily Meri-
vale ? Was n't it a charming discovery to
make ? I 'm longing to meet her again.
Dear Cecily ! I have n't seen her since she
was about seventeen. She was so pretty."
" Well, if it 's her looks you care about,
you '11 be disappointed. She 's lost them.
I Ve no patience with a woman who loses her
looks. It's so careless."
" But, dear Lady Wilmot," began Philippa,
with a tender smile, " after all, do looks
matter ? "
The Day's Journey 57
" Don't be a humbug, my dear. You know
they do," returned her hostess with finality.
Mayne rose. " Don't go, I have n't spoken
to you," Lady Wilmot commanded. " Now,
Mr. Nevern, you can talk to Philippa. So
you are going to stay with the Kingslakes ? "
" Kingslake asked me to go down yes."
" I thought you and he were not the best
of friends ? "
Mayne shrugged his shoulders with a smile.
" I have no recollection of any quarrel."
"Quarrel? No, but " She paused. It
was difficult even for Lady Wilmot to continue,
before the impassivity of his face.
" I 'm sorry Cecily is not looking well," he
said, deliberately mentioning the name he
knew trembled on her tongue. " Diana told
me. I went to see her yesterday. Diana 's
grown," he added, with a broad smile.
" Grown up. How do you like Philippa ? "
she inquired, in a slightly lower tone, as she
walked with him to the door.
" There are questions of yours which I have
always resolutely refused to answer."
Lady Wilmot laughed with evident enjoy-
ment.
" You felt what a little boy feels when some
one sings a hymn in the drawing-room on
58 The Day's Journey
week-days," she declared. " Turn round.
She's telling Nevern what a beautiful soul
he 's got."
Involuntarily, Mayne followed the direction
of her eyes. Mr. Nevern, a round-faced young
poet, was leaning towards Miss Burton, and
regarding her with an expression in which flat-
tered vanity struggled with boyish admiration,
and it was with difficulty that Mayne checked
the laugh his hostess had been anxious to
provoke.
" Good-bye," he said. " I meant what I
told you. You have n't altered a bit in any
way."
CHAPTER VI
ROSE SUMMERS had gone, and during
the week which separated her departure
from Mayne's expected visit, Cecily spent the
long solitary days in the garden. Early every
morning Robert cycled to the station. There
was always a little fuss and confusion before he
started. Robert was more helpless than most
men. He could never find anything. His
cigarette-case was lost, and when it was dis-
D *
covered by Cecily under a heap of papers in
his study, there were no cigarettes left. She
must open a fresh box ; she must run to find
his notes without which he could not get on at
the Museum. Always, since their marriage,
Cecily had been at hand to perform these little
services, which had gradually become a matter
of habit to both of them.
For the last few days, however, as she ran
from the dining-room to the study, and from
the study to the flagged courtyard, where
Robert was feverishly busy at the last moment,
60 The Day's Journey
adjusting bicycle screws, and blowing up tires,
Cecily's mind was active. She thought of early
days, and of the joy of discovering that Robert
was such a child, needing so much care, and, in
little things, so dependent upon her. She re-
membered his kisses, his words of extravagant
praise when she found one of the many things
he had lost, the brightening of his eyes when
he saw her running downstairs.
To-day, just as he was started, she had found
a note-book he had evidently intended to take,
lying on the hall table, and she had dashed out
with it. He had travelled a few paces down
the lane when she called to him, and with an
irritable exclamation he had dismounted and
returned, wheeling his bicycle with one hand,
and reaching for the book with the other.
" It did n't matter," he muttered, and absent-
mindedly took the book without thanks, and
rode off.
Cecily stood leaning upon the gate, watching
his retreating figure. Presently her lips parted
in a bitter smile. " No. It did n't matter.
He won't use notes to-day," she thought, and
quietly retraced her steps up the flagged path,
through the hall, and out into the garden.
She went at once to her favorite seat under
the beech tree and sat down. For the last few
The Day's Journey 61
days she had done this almost mechanically.
It seemed impossible to do anything else. She
idly sat there with a book on her lap, and let
thoughts sweep through her mind. Thoughts
and memories memories of past caresses, of
intimate talks, when she and Robert had been
really one; when to disassociate her mind from
Robert's would have seemed an absurdity at
which to smile. She and Robert had been like
that she could not even to herself phrase it
otherwise. And it was possible that he could
forget, ignore, wipe it all out, and begin again
with some one else ; begin the same dear words,
the same intimacies, convey to this other
woman the same belief that it was she, she,
out of all the world, who mattered, who meant
the heart of life to him ?
Though the process of disillusion, of the
overshadowing of her happiness, had been a
gradual one, this fresh knowledge had the
effect of reviving with intolerable poignancy
the memory of the early sunshine, the early
sense of being blessed above all women. It
placed that memory in bitter contrast to her
outlook of to-day.
" Fool that I was ! " she whispered, draw-
ing in her breath with a spasm of physical
pain. " What a fool ! " Her partly realized
62 The Day's Journey
thoughts ran on, ran high, like tumultuous
waves. "It's a common experience. Why
should I escape ? Men are like that. I
knew it theoretically. Why should I have
thought that Robert " And then would
come the impotent rush of protest and despair.
It was just that ! He was Robert, and mad,
childish, futile as it was, it was just that which
made the truth impossible.
She looked round her. The sunshine on
the grass was hateful, the warm blue sky an
insult. All beauty was a lie, a meaningless,
soulless lie, like the love of men and women,
which held no faith, no steadfastness, no pity
even.
She thought of her five years of married
life. Five years of self-immolation in which
she had known no desires, no ambitions, no
joys except through the desires, the ambitions,
the joys of her husband. "All wasted, all
no good, no good," she wailed unconsciously
in her misery, saying the words half aloud.
She sprang to her feet, and began to pace
restlessly to and fro between the borders of
flowers she had planted and tended. The
sight of them reminded her of how they had
come into their existence. She remembered
how she had fought to still some of her first
The Day's Journey 63
heartaches with the planting of these lilies,
the pruning of that rose-bush. It had been
a relief to work hard, manually, while she
hoped that the old glamour would return
and once more descend upon their lives. Now
the roses mocked her with their glowing,
passionate faces.
"What shall I do? What shall I do?"
Over and over again the despairing question
welled up into her mind.
It was out of these long blue summer days,
which for her held nothing but chaotic memo-
ries, rebellious and hopeless thought, that self-
condemnation and a resolve grew slowly in
Cecily's mind. She had been wrong, wrong
so to sink her individuality. It had been one
of those mistakes for which one suffers more
than for one's sins. She had been lacking in
self-respect. It was time she found herself
again a miserable, shattered, helpless self,
it was true, but a self for all that. From the
outset she had dismissed the idea of telling
her husband of Rose's unconscious revelation.
With a sick prevision she had imagined the
whole scene, heard his " reasons " for not
having told her of a " perfectly harmless
friendship." . . . Women were so deplorably
jealous ; they could not take large views ; they
64 The Day's Journey
refused to believe in ennobling companion-
ships ; they deliberately stunted their spiritual
growth by attributing base motives. . . . There
was no need to sketch out further the inevitable
line of defence. She knew Robert's powers of
rhetoric, she knew now whence came the in-
fluence which had lately directed its nature,
and with a weary sigh she recognized the
futility of provoking a discussion. It would
be enough to take the step she intended, with-
out assigning any specific reason. " Diana is
coming to-morrow," she reflected. " It must
be settled between us before she comes."
She was in the garden that evening in her
usual seat, when she saw her husband coming
towards her across the grass. Her hands
grew suddenly cold, and a nervous trembling
seized her. More than anything she dreaded
the possibility of a scene with Robert ; exhor-
tations, counsels of perfection, all the dialectical
machinery he would bring to bear to prove the
unreasonableness of her attitude to put her
in the wrong.
" And the mere fact that it 's come to be
a matter of reason means that, from my point
of view, there 's nothing further to be said."
So she mentally opposed the forthcoming
The Day's Journey 65
argument while she watched his approach.
He came slowly, his hands in his pockets,
his eyes absent-mindedly fixed upon the grass.
A half smile was on his lips. Bitterness rose
and swelled like a flood in his wife's heart.
Her trembling ceased. How transparent he
was ! He was like a child. For a moment
contempt, a woman's contempt for unsuc-
cessful concealment, was her predominant
emotion.
"How much better I could do it!" was
her mocking comment.
He sank into a basket-chair near the tea-
table, and absently took the cup she offered
him.
" Have you had a tiring day ? " Cecily
asked, picking up some needlework.
For a moment he did not reply. Evidently
the sense of her question had not yet reached
his preoccupied brain.
" Tiring ? " he repeated at last, with a
start. " Oh, yes. But I 've nearly come to
the end of it, thank goodness. I sha'n't go
up after to-morrow."
" I 've taken Mrs. Taylor's rooms for
Philippa Burton," pursued Cecily after a
moment, working steadily.
" Oh ! Let me see, when does she come ? "
5
66 The Day's Journey
She could have smiled at the quick turn of his
head, and the carelessness of his voice. " De-
cent rooms ? " he went on, dropping lumps of
sugar into his tea.
" Very nice, I think. That sugar will begin
to show at the top if you don't stop." Robert
flushed, and dropped the sugar-tongs with a
clatter.
" I 've heard from Diana. She 's coming
to-morrow."
Robert leaned back in his chair, frowning,
and felt for his cigarette-case. " I can't think
why you asked Diana," he observed, irritably,
"with Mayne coming, and Miss Burton.
She '11 expect to be asked up to dinner and
things, I suppose. It '11 make a lot of work
for the servants."
"You are very considerate for the
servants."
He moved restlessly and glanced at her, as
he lighted his cigarette.
" Well, you know best, of course," he began.
" Robert," said Cecily, suddenly, " there 's
something I want to say. And I want to say
it before Diana comes, so that we we may
understand each other, and things may go
smoothly as I want them to go."
His start of apprehension was not lost upon
The Day's Journey 67
her. It had the effect of making her want
to scream with laughter, and she tightened
her grasp on the arm of her chair and went
on quickly.
" We 've been coming to this for a long
time. Let us speak frankly this once, and
afterwards let the matter alone. All that
you 've been saying lately, about the wider
scope and broader interests necessary for your
intellectual growth is just another way of
explaining that you 're bored with me."
"Now, my dear girl!" ejaculated Robert,
relief making his tone almost jocular.
" No, please, Robert, let me finish. I 'm
not complaining, you understand, or pleading,
or doing anything futile of that sort. I 'm
merely stating the fact and accepting it. I
want to do what I can, to to make things
more interesting for you. All this summer
we shall have visitors. In the autumn, when
we go to town, it should not be difficult to
see very little of one another. But we need n't
wait for that. Let us be free now. I mean,
let us give up pretending to be lovers. We
shall then, perhaps, be better friends."
For a moment before he began to speak he
looked at her uncertainly. Then he broke
into the torrent of speech she had dreaded.
68 The Day's Journey
Was n't it time to take a broader outlook ?
Why did she resent any attempt on his part
to widen the horizon of their married life ?
What had he done to be treated in this
fashion ? . . . But, of course, if she wished
this state of things, so let it be. He could
not coerce her. He respected her rights as an
individual. That was, in fact, his whole philos-
ophy of existence, individual freedom, in-
dividual liberty, the expression of oneself. . . .
" I regret it, of course, but if you wish it,
that is enough. It is your doing, remember
entirely yours. If you choose to put your
own interpretation upon views of life which, in
all sincerity, for our mutual benefit I have
tried to make you share, I have nothing to
say. Must a man necessarily be bored with
his wife because he wishes a wider outlook
for her, as well as for himself?" He paused
indignantly on the question.
Cecily took up her embroidery. " Not
necessarily, perhaps," she said, "though he
generally is. But need we say any more,
Robert ? The thing is settled, is n't it ? "
" By you, remember," returned Robert, " in
utter unreason, in "
" Never mind how, so long as it is settled,"
murmured Cecily.
The Day's Journey 69
He rose, and walked away, while mechanic-
ally with a sort of feverish haste, Cecily went
on working. His words rang in her ears, false
and insincere. His eyes had spoken truth,
and in them she had read relief. In the
beech tree, above her head, a thrush began to
sing. Cecily listened to the first low, passion-
ate notes, then letting her work fall into a
heap on the grass, she sprang to her feet and
hurried blindly towards the house, and the
shelter of her own room. There she crouched
against the bed, and drew the counterpane up
till it covered her ears.
CHAPTER VII
DIANA came next day, and with her,
brought the atmosphere of gay irrepress-
ibleness that belongs to extreme youth.
Diana was seventeen. She wore her hair tied,
as she expressed it, with a " cat-bow," and
something in the poise of her head, and the
shining in her greenish eyes, recalled an alert,
half-grown kitten.
She was no beauty, though she carried her
head well, and in her slim body, straight as a
reed, there was the promise of a figure that
would not disgrace the goddess whose name
she bore. She laughed a great deal, she
chattered more ; she was utterly irreverent,
and Cecily was glad to have her in the silent
house.
"How is Archie?" she inquired in a pause
of the conversation carried on during the
process of Diana's unpacking. " Do you hear
from him now? Where is he? "
The Day's Journey 71
"In Florida. Oh, yes, often; he's a faith-
ful hound, you know. Prides himself on it.
How do you like this blouse ? " She shook
it out before her sister. " I look perfectly
vile in it. But then, I 'm such a hideous
monkey. Have you noticed that I 'm exactly
like a monkey, Cis ? Look at my monkey
eyes ! " She sat on the floor and gave a
startling imitation of the animal in question.
" Yes, but Archie ? " questioned Cecily
again, when she had recovered her gravity.
" Does n't he consider himself engaged to
you ? "
" He may," returned Diana, calmly. " I
don't. Where are my silk stockings ? I
don't like faithful hounds. And I don't like
matrimony for women, you know. It's all
right for men. Fancy having to * manage '
them, and to pretend to think such an awful
lot of them. It 's degrading! I want to show
you my sunshade. Is n 't it a sweet color ? "
" Oh," observed Cecily, " is that where
you are ? Is it the higher education of man
you demand ? "
" No ! " returned Diana, airily. " I don't
care twopence about their education, or
whether they ever get any. I just don't
consider them at all."
72 The Day's Journey
" What a counsel of perfection ! " exclaimed
Cecily. " Go on, Diana. I 'm interested.
You 're a philosopher. What is the conclusion
of the whole matter ? "
" Oh, I don't know," returned Diana,
absently wreathing a nightdress round her
neck, while she tilted a hat over her eyes at
an absurd angle before the glass. " There 's
such a lot of things to do. You can play-
games, and read books, and go about and
see jolly things abroad, and watch people, and
see how funny they are. They are just madly
funny, are n't they ? There was a woman in
the train who sat and looked like this at her
husband because he 'd tipped a porter too
much." Her face twisted into a ludicrous
expression of contemptuous indignation, and
resumed its normal contours in the space of
a lightning flash. " Oh ! and Uncle Henry
gets funnier every day ; like an infuriated
blue-bottle. f 'Pon my soul, you women !
What you 'd do without a sensible man in the
house ! Pom/ pom! pom! ' you know." She
took two or three steps before the glass,
strutting with puffed-out cheeks, and Uncle
Henry rose before Cecily's mental vision.
" Well, there are always people, so it 's easy
to be amused. Only you must never care
The Day's Journey 73
too much about any one, because if you do,
you can't be amused at anything any more,
and that's silly."
The laughter died out of Cecily's eyes.
" Where did you get that, Diana ? " she
asked. " It is n't bad."
But Diana's versatile mind was off on a
fresh tack. " I 'm glad Dick 's coming," she
said. " He seems jolly, and Robert 's such a
grumpus. Why do you let him grump, Cis ?
Just fancy, I was only twelve when Dick
went away. What ages we 've known him,
have n't we ? How did we get to know him
first ? I forget."
" Frank brought him to Carmarthen Ter-
race, you know. He was an Oxford friend of
his. Yes, it was ages ago. I was only a little
older than you when he first came."
" Was he in love with you ? " asked Diana,
calmly. She had divested herself of the hat
and nightdress by this time, and was begin-
ning to brush her hair.
" Little girls should n't ask impertinent
questions," returned Cecily, looking out of
the window.
" Oh, then he was ! " pursued Diana, quite
unruffled. " How exciting for you ! Of
course you '11 put on your best frock this
74 The Day's Journey
evening, won't you ? People always do when
their lovers come back after many years."
" And what about Robert ? " inquired Cecily,
with a curious smile.
"Well, what's the good of putting on a
pretty frock for him ? " Diana retorted.
"He's grown exactly like a very old grand-
papa." She put on an imaginary pair of
spectacles, and peered about in a short-sighted
way. " t Frocks, my dear, what nonsense !
I 'm past all that sort of thing.' '
Cecily winced a little ; then she laughed.
" Robert will box your ears one of these
days."
" I wish he would. It would be a sign of
life. What a pity it is," she went on, tying
the " cat-bow " reflectively, " that we can't
have five or six husbands, is n't it, Cis ? Oh,
I don't mean all at once, but one after the
other, as the old ones get bored."
" Do you scatter these views broadcast,
may I ask ? " Cecily observed, looking up
from her chair near the dressing-table.
" They're not views exactly," returned Diana,
airily. " They 're facts. The old ones do
get bored, don't they? I've noticed that no
husband goes on being a turtle-dove very long.
Gets tired of the same dove, I suppose."
The Day's Journey 75
" Our marriage laws make no provision
for a change of doves, you see."
" Oh, I know," said Diana, cheerfully.
" Men made them, so they 're sure to be
silly. I wish you 'd think of another way of
doing my hair, Cis. I look like ( Cheerful
Caroline, or Good Temper Rewarded,' with
this imbecile bow. Are n't you awfully dull
all day, Cis, with Robert away at that stupid
old British Museum ? " The question, which
followed hard on her foregoing remarks, was
called forth involuntarily as she glanced at her
sister.
" He 's not going any more. He 's finished
all the research part for his novel, and now he 's
going to work at home."
" Perhaps it 's researching that 's made him
so deadly dull lately," observed Diana, with
her habitual candor.
"On the contrary, it has been very in-
teresting work," Cecily returned, with an
unmoved expression.
" Who 's the girl who 's coming to stay in
the village ? " Diana went on, as she fastened
her simple white china silk blouse. " What 's
her name? Philippa? Edward III, thirteen
something or other, married Philippa of some
place ; she sounds like a history-book."
76 The Day's Journey
" She is rather like a history-book, now
you mention it," returned Cecily, half smiling.
" Contemporary history. I used to go to
school with her. Robert met her the other
day in town."
" Oh, well, if she 's like a history-book she '11
get on with Robert. And then you and I
and Dick can play together and have a good
time. Do put on a nice frock, Cis, and make
yourself look pretty. Your frocks are n't
half so nice as they used to be, and I think
you ought to go away to the seaside or some-
where. It does one such a lot of good. /
looked awful till I went to Folkestone this
year. And now see how brown I am ! "
Cecily rose. Taking Diana's head between
her hands, she kissed her babyish forehead
with a laugh.
" I must go and change," she said. " They '11
be here in a minute. They were to meet at
Waterloo and come down together."
Before the glass in her own room Cecily
paused. " Make yourself look pretty," Diana
had said. She smiled a little bitterly at what
the remark implied, and then with a shrug of
the shoulders turned to her wardrobe. A
gown she had worn at a recent wedding, and
since put away, lay folded in its box on one
The Day's Journey 77
of the shelves. She took it out and laid it
on the bed. Dick had always liked her frocks.
" He won't think much of me in them nowa-
days," she reflected, with another glance at the
mirror. Nevertheless she dressed carefully,
and thanks to that very present help in the
concerns of women, Mayne's first thought, as
he met her in the hall, was that Lady Wilmot
had not increased in good-nature.
" Why, Dick," she laughed, unconsciously
echoing the lady who had occurred to his
mind, " you Ve grown ! "
She gave him her hand warmly. It was
surprising how glad she felt to see Dick again,
and quite surprising how the glance he be-
stowed upon her increased her pleasure in the
meeting. The old admiration was in his eyes,
and on a sudden some of her old self, the self
she had thought long dead, stirred faintly. It
was the first tribute of the sort she had received
of late, and she was amazed to find it sweet.
Dinner, thanks to Diana, was not lacking in
sprightliness, and, as far as Cecily was con-
cerned, in incident. As well as resentment for
her sister in a situation which she recognized
as unhappy, and for which she not unnatu-
rally attributed the blame to her brother-
in-law, Diana cherished against him a personal
78 The Day's Journey
grievance. In old childish days she had been
a great favorite with Robert, who had teased
and petted her in brotherly fashion. Now his
" grumpiness," growing, as Diana sharpened
the arrows of her tongue, had extended to
her, and her revenge was a perpetual system
of teasing which was not without malice.
" Been a busy little lad to-day, Robert, I
trust ? " she began, as they sat down to table.
" I 'm told that the British Museum is a
splendid schoolroom for little boys. I must
say / always found it stuffy."
" I don't believe you Ve ever been near it,"
he returned, with an attempt at lightness.
" How do we know you have, either ? " she
retorted. " All very well, is n't it, Cis, to go
up to town every day, with his good little
earnest face, and his little school-books tucked
under his arm ? c Good-bye, dear wife ! Only
the desire to improve myself forces me to
leave you,' " she mimicked, giving a rapid imi-
tation of Robert's manner, so apt, in spite of
the ludicrous words, that Mayne choked over
his soup. " I believe the moment he gets up
to town, he takes his marbles out of his
pockets, and his little toys and things, and
begins to play ! " She leaned towards him like
a kind and tender parent. " Come, tell mother
The Day's Journey 79
all about it," she coaxed, " and then she won't
be angry with her little boy."
Mayne and Cecily both laughed. Of the
two Cecily seemed the more amused.
"Oh, stop fooling, there's a good girl,"
exclaimed Robert, passing his hand over his
forehead. " Any one would think you were
seven instead of seventeen. And I Ve got a
headache."
" Nothing but naughty temper because
mother found you out ! " declared Diana, irre-
pressibly.
" You 've brought her up very badly," said
Mayne, turning to Cecily.
" I gave her up long ago," laughed Cecily.
She began to talk amusingly, quite in her old
fashion. A fantastic sense of the ludicrousness
of life, of all situations that seem tragic, excited
her to trembling laughter. Her sense of humor
had been roused, bitterly roused, but it animated
her as nothing else could have done, and for
the rest of the evening Cecily was her most bril-
liant self. That Robert was not listening to her
remarks was a circumstance which, at an early
stage of the evening, Mayne noticed with some
incomprehension and more resentment. As his
visit lengthened, the incomprehension vanished.
CHAPTER VIII
A WEEK later Kingslake was sitting in
his study, before a table littered with
papers, doing nothing. It was nearly twelve
o'clock. At half-past one Philippa Burton
was coming to lunch.
He had not seen her now for eight days, a
period which, he impatiently admitted to him-
self, had seemed more like eight weeks, and
the morning had appeared interminable.
She was to have gone to the rooms his wife
had taken for her in the village, the day after
Mayne's arrival, but she had written to Cecily
that a piece of work a commission must
keep her longer in town.
He thought of her incessantly and con-
fusedly. She was the most wonderful woman
he had ever met ; the cleverest, the most elu-
sive, the purest-minded. That was so touch-
ing, so adorable in Philippa, yet at unguarded
moments he wondered if it could be cured.
Philippa as a friend, an inspirer, a twin soul !
The Day's Journey 81
How exquisite she had been would be.
But Philippa as a mistress ? The thought
would obtrude. He took it from its depths,
and caressed it at furtive moments, thinking
with rapture of her eyes, her mysterious hair
then thrust it hastily back, piling lilies of
thought above its hiding-place. It would have
surprised him to know he was thinking at
second hand, but Robert seldom dug to the
depths. It was characteristic of him that he
never saw the roots of his own motives and
actions, it was merely their interlacing leaves
and flowers to which he directed his attention.
A voice outside in the garden broke in
upon his musing his wife's voice, followed
by a man's laugh. He got up, and glanced
under the sun-blind which shielded the window.
Cecily was picking the flowers for the lunch-
table, and Mayne, seated on a bench before a
rustic table, was tying flies for fishing. For a
moment Robert experienced a curious, uneasy
sensation. It was almost like shame, and he
dismissed it with a decided recognition of its
idiocy. Mayne had settled down very well.
It was a splendid thing for Cecily to have
some one fresh to talk to. It was pitiful to
think how selfish most men were to their wives
how jealous. ... It was only ten minutes
6
82 The Day's Journey
past twelve. The morning seemed endless,
and he was unable to do a stroke of work. It
was dreadful to have days like that. Some-
where in the distance he heard Diana calling.
" Coming," answered Cecily in response,
and presently he saw her moving towards the
house.
Mayne continued to occupy himself with
his fishing-tackle, as, during his restless pacing
to and fro in his study, Kingslake could see.
Presently he opened the French window and
stepped out onto the grass. Mayne looked
up from his work. The bench on which he
was sitting was flanked by a wall of yew, which
made part of a formal enclosure framed on
three sides by yew hedges, and open, on the
fourth, to the rest of the garden only by a
narrow archway cut out of the living green.
It was a charming, sheltered little spot, where
Cecily's white lilies flourished ; a sort of dedi-
cation, she said, to the larger garden outside.
" Holloa ! " observed Mayne, as Kingslake
came nearer. " Knocked off for the day ? Is
the muse coy ? "
"Yes," returned Robert, rather irritably.
" I 'm not getting on. Change of place, I
suppose. Anything like that affects me."
He took out his cigarette-case.
The Day's Journey 83
" Delicate machinery you writing people
must have. Something 's always going wrong
with the works, is n't it? "
" Oh, more or less," Robert returned, pass-
ing his hand through his hair with a gesture
habitual to him.
" You 've been working in town lately,
have n't you ? "
" Yes, getting up stuff for this book.
But that 's finished. Now there 's only the
writing."
" Good Lord ! " ejaculated Mayne, with a
groan. " Only the writing ! The mere
thought of it makes me gasp."
Robert smiled. "/ can't tie flies," he said,
jerking his head in the direction of Mayne's
litter of silk and tinsel.
" No, but you land your fish with the best
of us. ... That last book of yours caught
on, didn't it?"
" Oh, it brought me in something, I 'm glad
to say."
Mayne leaned back against the yew hedge,
stretching out his long legs contentedly. He
tilted up his face towards the serene blue sky,
then glanced round him, his look taking in the
flowers, the dancing butterflies above them,
the delicate shadows on the grass.
84 The Day's Journey
" What do you want money for in Arcadia?"
he asked.
" To get out of it," returned Robert, with
a sort of impatient bitterness.
Mayne glanced sharply at him as he half
turned away to light the cigarette he held.
" You are really going to town in the
autumn ? But I thought you were so keen on
this ? " He waved his hand comprehensively.
" Oh, my dear fellow ! " exclaimed Kings-
lake, irritably. " It 's all right, but one can't
live on lilies and roses, you know." He broke
off abruptly. " Listen ! Was that the bell ? "
" I don't think so," returned Dick, com-
posedly. " Why ? Expecting any one ? "
" Oh, no no ! " There was quite an
elaborate unconcern in his tone. " That is, a
friend of Cecily's a Miss Burton is coming
to lunch, I believe."
Mayne had resumed his work. For the
fraction of a second his deft fingers stopped in
their movement. Robert was walking back-
wards and forwards across the little strip of
turf in front of the seat. When he spoke
again, it was abruptly.
" You don't think Cecily 's looking well, do
you ? "
" Not at all well," returned Mayne, quietly.
The Day's Journey 85
" No no," said her husband, the second
negation indicating that he was giving the
matter his full attention. " I don't think she
is. She took the baby's death to heart." He
threw a quick glance at his companion. " She
she wants rousing. I think you '11 do
her a lot of good, Mayne. I 'm glad you 're
able to stay a little while ; it 's what she wants
an interest for her. An old friend, and
that sort of thing. You must come and look
us up when we're in town."
" Thanks," returned Mayne, laconically.
There was a pause. Robert took out his
handkerchief, and wiped his forehead.
" Does n't get any cooler, does it ? " he
remarked.
" I 'm glad on your wife's account that
you 're going to live in town," Mayne said
presently.
Robert looked, as he felt, genuinely sur-
prised. " For Cecily ? Why ? "
" Don't you think she 's rather thrown away
here ? " The quietness of his tone irritated
Robert. He reminded himself that he had
never really liked Mayne. He was rather an
unfriendly brute.
" Thrown away ? " he repeated ; " oh, I
don't know. Why ? A woman has her
86 The Day's Journey
house and the neighbors ; and she 's very
fond of the garden, and that sort of thing."
" That sort of thing used not to be very
much in her line."
" Oh, yes, I know ! " exclaimed Kingslake,
impatiently, as he balanced himself on the
arm of the bench. " All girls especially the
rather spoilt sort of girl that Cecily was
get ideas into their heads. But, my dear
fellow, a woman nearly always settles down
after she 's married."
" Some of your most striking novels are
founded on a contrary opinion," observed
Mayne, with a laugh. "You see you are read
even in the wilds."
" You flatter me," said Robert, dryly. He
moved again, and began his restless pacing.
" Cecily, I suppose, has been complaining
telling you that it was my wish to come into
the country, and so forth?" he broke out at
last with some resentment.
Mayne lifted his head. " She has never
mentioned the subject to me," he answered,
shortly. " I was only thinking of her as I
knew her, five or six years ago. She was
considered well rather brilliant, in those
days. Does she write now ? " The question
was put suddenly.
The Day's Journey 87
" Not that I know of," Kingslake answered,
absently. Mayne glanced at him with a curi-
ous expression. He wondered whether he
was aware of the illuminating quality of his
indifferent reply. Did he know what a mile-
stone he had pointed out in the matrimonial
road ?
" Women don't really care a snap of the
fingers about art," Robert went on, with con-
fidential fluency. " Matrimony is the goal of
their ambition ; that once attained, they sit
ever afterwards serenely on the shore, watching
the struggles of the rest of their sex towards
the same haven."
A magazine was lying on the bench one
of the Quarterlies. Mayne fluttered the leaves
with a smile.
" Mrs. Kingslake left this here," he said.
" I envy you your power of detachment when
you write articles, Kingslake. A Vindication of
Woman s Claim in Art> by Fergus Macdonald.
That 's your writing name, is n't it ? I seem
to be turning your own weapons against you
with horrid frequency. I 'm sorry," he laughed
again.
" You misunderstand me! " protested Robert.
" Did n't I say * the women who marry ' ? I
meant to. What I said does n't apply to the
88 The Day's Journey
women nowadays who don't marry have
no wish to marry. That such women may be
artists, actual or potential, I have no doubt.
When a woman is not preoccupied with the
affairs of sex "
" She 's generally wanting to be."
Kingslake stopped short in his harangue,
and looked at the other man doubtfully.
" You take a cynical view," he said.
" No. Merely a natural one."
" You don't believe that some women
deliberately put love out of their lives ? " asked
Robert, tentatively.
" My dear chap, love never gives some
women a chance to be so rude."
" I don't mean that. I mean the sort of
woman who has a chance."
" She 'd take it."
Kingslake regarded him with a curious ex-
pression for a moment ; there was a look of
dawning hope in his face, a half smile of pleased
expectancy. Then it faded, and he resumed
his former slightly sententious manner. " My
dear Mayne," he replied, " you 've been out
in the wilds for some years. You can't be
expected to know the spirit of the times. You
don't understand the modern woman."
" My dear Kingslake," returned Mayne,
The Day's Journey 89
with great deliberation, " if I 'd been out in
the wilds, as you say, for fifty instead of five
years, I should still disbelieve in her existence.
There 's no such thing as a modern woman.
She 's exactly as old as Eve. She does n't
shake her curls nowadays, nor have hysterics.
She writes for the Daily Mai!, and plays
hockey. But do you seriously think these
trifling differences affect the eternal feminine ?
Not a bit of it."
Robert looked at his watch. " I say, I 've
stopped, surely. It must be more than half-
past twelve. What do you make it ? "
Dick slowly drew out his watch. " Five-
and-twenty past." Kingslake threw away his
half-smoked cigarette, and began to light
another one. Mayne watched him.
" Do you know this lady who is coming to
lunch ? " he asked, carelessly.
The match burnt Kingslake's fingers as
he raised his head, and he uttered a hasty
observation.
" I met her the other day in town," he
added, as a pendant.
" Is she a modern woman ? " asked Mayne.
The casualness of his tone reassured Robert.
" Yes," he returned, emphatically. " At
least I should imagine so. She 's an artist.
90 The Day's Journey
Has a studio of her own, and so forth.
She 's had a hard time of it, poor girl. . . ."
He looked meditatively at the glowing end
of his cigarette. " There 's a woman now,"
he broke out, "who has an absolute, a per-
fectly disinterested love of art for its own
sake. She 's a case in point."
" Did she tell you so ? "
"Yes," returned Robert, unguardedly,
warming to his subject. " She does n't think
of love ; she does n't want it. She looks
upon it as unnecessary a hindrance a
barrier to her intellectual life."
" Rather a communicative young lady,
eh ? " was Mayne's comment.
Robert flushed. " Oh, in the course of
conversation . . ." he began, hurriedly. He
was cut short by Diana, who emerged from
the porch with a tray of cut flowers.
" I 'm going to do them out here," she
began. " It 's too boiling for anything in the
house. Robert ! " as her eyes fell upon him,
"why are you idling here? Out for five
minutes' play, I suppose. That 's right. Get
back to your work like a good little fellow,
and see what an industrious boy you can be.
It 's not nearly lunch-time yet."
Robert smiled indulgently. " Quite right.
The Day's Journey 91
I 'm frightfully slack to-day somehow," he
said, as he turned towards the study. " This
beastly heat, I suppose."
Diana gave a mischievous chuckle as he
disappeared.
" I do love to watch the celebrity at home,"
she said in a low voice, choked with laughter.
" Robert 's not done a stroke of work this
morning. He 's been looking out of the
window with a yearning gaze, like this."
She made one of her inimitable faces.
Mayne grinned. "As a sister-in-law,
Diana, you are a treasure."
"There's the bell!" exclaimed the girl.
" That means the History-Book, I expect.
I wonder whether Cecily 's ready. I hope
she 's putting on her blue muslin. I told her
to. Come along ! We must go and see her,
I suppose."
Within, Cecily was going forward to meet
her guest.
The women exchanged a swift glance of
mutual interest, while Philippa impulsively
put out both hands. Cecily took one of
them, and ignored the inclination of Philippa's
face towards hers.
" How do you do ? I hope you are not
very tired ? " she began.
92 The Day's Journey
" Cecily ! " cried Philippa, rapturously.
" After all these years ! "
" Yes, but they had to pass, did they not ? "
returned her hostess in a matter-of-fact tone.
" I 'm so sorry you 've been ill. But you are
better, surely ? If you hate looking ill as
much as I do, I 'm sure you '11 like to be told
that it doesn't show."
Philippa smiled, a little sadly. " Oh, it 's
nothing. I 'm not very robust, that's all,"
she returned, patiently. "Is this Diana
the baby Diana I used to hear about when
we were schoolgirls ? "
Diana, who had entered the hall with
Mayne, shook hands with the brusqueness
which characterizes the young girl when she
is at the same time shy and aggressive.
" Affected fool," was her brief mental verdict,
as she glared at Philippa's artless, unfashion-
able hat and brown sandals.
"Mr. Mayne Miss Burton," murmured
Cecily.
" We have met before at Lady Wilmot's,
have n't we ? " smiled Philippa, as they shook
hands.
The door opened at the moment to admit
Robert.
" Ah, I thought I heard voices ! " he
The Day's Journey 93
exclaimed, genially. " How do you do, Miss
Burton ? "
Diana giggled as she retired with Mayne
to the window-seat.
" Robert 's up and down like a dog in a
fair," she whispered, irreverently. " He '11
get on splendidly with the History-Book.
What an idiot she looks in that Twopenny
Tube dress, doesn't she? . . . and then you
and I and Cis can play about and amuse our-
selves, and have a lovely time. What are
you staring at, Dick ? Don't. She '11 think
you 're admiring her ; and she's just as con-
ceited as a peacock already."
CHAPTER IX
"TTTHAT a sweet garden you have!"
V T exclaimed Philippa, putting down her
coffee-cup. They had returned to the yew en-
closure after lunch. She had thrown aside
her hat with one of the free sweeping move-
ments which Lady Wilmot characterized a&
Whitmanesque, and the breeze stirred the
ripples of her thick, dark hair.
"This is only a tiny piece of it. Would
you like to see the rest ? " asked Cecily. " I
could take you round before I go to see my
dog. He's ill, and I must make sure that
they 're looking after him properly in the
village. Will you come with me, or would
you rather stay here and rest?"
" May I stay here ? " begged Philippa.
" You see I 'm silly enough not to be very
strong, and the walk here has tired me a
little."
" Certainly," returned Cecily, rising, " if
you don't mind being left for half an hour,
The Day's Journey 95
perhaps. He 's in one of the cottages in the
village, near the vet, and I 'm afraid it will
take me all that time to get there and back.
Robert will look after you. Will you come,
Dick ? " she added, turning to Mayne. " I 'd
like you to see how he is."
He had already risen. " Of course. I
meant to go," he returned.
" Diana is cycling over to Silverleafe for
me, if you want any letters taken to the post,
Robert," she turned to say, as she passed
through the archway in the yew hedge.
Mayne followed her. She did not speak
as they crossed the lawn. Her crisp blue
dress rustled softly over the grass. Glancing
down at her, he noticed her thin cheeks, the
compression of her lips. She looked ill
almost old. A tumult of thoughts and
emotions filled his mind, as he walked beside
this woman from whom he had parted five
years ago, feeling that with her he had lost
all that made life worth living ; its savour, its
keenness, its delight. Five years had shown
him that in a man's life, at least, risks, excite-
ments, hard work, and some hard fighting can
so soften a woman's image as to make it no
longer a thing of torture. On his first return
to England, two years after his departure, he
96 The Day's Journey-
had not seen Cecily. He could not trust
himself to meet her calmly, and he would not
meet her otherwise. Ten days ago, after a
further absence of three years, he had accepted,
with unfeigned pleasure, her husband's cordial
invitation. Though he could think of her now
with equanimity as another man's wife, noth-
ing could alter his affection for Cecily, and he
had looked forward to seeing her, undismayed
by the prospect of witnessing domestic bliss.
To-day, as he walked in silence at her side,
old emotions stirred. He was glad of the
safety-valve of anger. That Kingslake had
met more than once the woman they had
just left with him, he had been pretty well
assured, even before he saw them together.
" Emotional fool," indicated his summing-
up of Robert's attitude in her presence. Did
Cecily guess ? Had she left them together
in bitter acquiescence ? He glanced down at
her again, but her quiet face baffled him. One
other question insistently pursued him. Had
Kingslake's invitation to him been premedi-
tated? Was it possible that A dark
flush rose to his face. Then, suddenly, as
though recollecting herself, Cecily began to
talk. She talked recklessly, gayly, about any-
thing, about nothing. He did not listen ; he
The Day's Journey 97
was thinking of her as she had appeared ever
since he came to the house desperately
anxious to save appearances never once
naturally, quietly happy as he had imagined
her, as he had come to be glad to think he
would find her.
They went into the cottage and looked at
the dog. All the time he was feeling the
chest and the limbs of the sick spaniel, Mayne
was determining to break down the barrier of
convention which she had put up between
them. He would at least talk to her. She
looked like a woman drowning. He would
not allow her to drown without a word.
" Better ; he 's much better, poor little chap,"
he said, getting up from his knees.
Cecily fondled and patted the silken head,
which was eagerly stretched out of the basket
on her approach. The sound of her caress-
ing voice shook Mayne's composure. He
remembered the baby she had lost, and with
the memory came a flood of wild thoughts
and wilder regrets. He moved abruptly to
the door, where, on escaping from the garru-
lous old woman who owned the cottage, Cecily
presently joined him.
She relapsed into silence again on the home-
ward way, and it was Mayne who broke it.
7
98 The Day's Journey
" Let 's sit down here a minute, it 's so
jolly ! " he suggested, as they came to an easy
stile. " We need n't . gallop back for Miss
Burton's sake. She 's a host in herself."
Cecily laughed shortly. " Don't you admire
her ? She 's very handsome."
Mayne shrugged his shoulders, as he threw
himself down on the grass close to the low
step on which she was seated. Cecily smiled.
She felt childishly comforted by the con-
temptuous action.
The long meadow-grass was starred with
daisies, and jewelled with tall spikes of rose-
red sorrel. The field sloped to a full, slow
stream, which lazily stirred tufts of forget-me-
nots in its passing. On the farther bank, the
cattle swished indolent tails as they crowded
under the shade of the willows, or stood knee-
deep in the water.
" What a peaceful place ! " said Mayne,
suddenly. " It makes a funny sort of con-
trast to one or two scenes I remember. May
I smoke ? It 's pretty," he went on, beginning
to fill his pipe, " but somehow, as a setting, it
does n't suit you."
Cecily started a little. There was nothing
in the remark, but she knew that Mayne
meant to talk, in the sense of the word, and
The Day's Journey 99
she did not know whether she was glad or
sorry. It was, perhaps, a tribute to his person-
ality that the idea of preventing him did not
even occur to her. One did not try to stop
Mayne when he expressed the intention of
doing anything.
"That doesn't sound like a compliment,"
she returned, smiling. " Why does n't a
pretty place suit me ? "
" No room for your wings."
" My dear Dick, you 're not going to tell
me I 'm an angel ! " she exclaimed, still cling-
ing to the fringe of conventional repartee.
"Certainly not," he replied, lighting the
pipe, " the wings are not angelic."
" That 's right. Where would they carry
me if they had room to move?"
" Out into the wild places at the back of
beyond sometimes."
Cecily dropped her light tone. " That 's
true," she said, slowly. " And at others ? "
" No farther than town. You 'd fold them,
for a time at least, quite complacently in a
London drawing-room, provided the other
birds were of the right flock."
"That's also true or was true." The
amendment was dreary.
" Sometimes when / was at the back of
ioo The Day's Journey
beyond," continued Mayne, smoking stolidly,
" I used to picture you as a celebrity, holding
a salon like those French women, you know.
The charming ones not the blue stockings.
Madame Recamier Madame de Sevigne
that sort of thing."
" Instead of which I ride down to the village
on my bicycle, and order the groceries. It 's
Robert who 's the celebrity, you know." She
stooped to pick a long-stalked buttercup as
she spoke. Her voice was not bitter, it was
quite colorless.
" There was generally room for two in the
salons, was n't there ? " asked Mayne.
"Possibly. There isn't on the hearthrug."
There was rather a long pause. Mayne took
out his pipe, and knocked its bowl against the
stile.
" Do you know, I think you ought to have
made room," he said at last, decisively. Cecily
turned her face slowly towards him.
" You are right, Dick," she said. " I
ought."
" Why did n't you ? "
"Oh, why didn't I? Why didn't I?"
she f repeated, a little wildly. Her voice shook,
and she threw the buttercup aside with a nerv-
ous movement. "Why is one always a fool
The Day's Journey 101
till it 's too late to be wise ? Life 's such
a difficult thing to manage."
" I agree."
" Especially with love thrown in as a
handicap."
He glanced at her swiftly. " Is it a
handicap ? "
" For a woman yes." She was bitter
enough now.
" Why ? "
" Because the whole thing means so much
more to her than it does to a man."
" Not in every case."
She glanced at him hurriedly, and her voice
softened. " Generally," she said, " it means
so much to a woman that, like a fool, she
throws overboard all that reason, common-
sense, judgment, urge her to keep. And the
ship sails splendidly at first " She paused.
" And after a time ? " suggested Mayne.
" Oh, it still sails splendidly ! " she ex-
claimed, with a laugh. " But it sails on
without her. She's left struggling in the sea
or stranded on the first desert island."
" And," said Mayne in a business-like tone,
"with proper management you think there
need never have been an island ? "
" Not a desert island."
102 The Day's Journey
" But the desert island can be cultivated,
C*
is.
" Yes now," said Cecily, drearily. " There's
no barrier now except my lack of heart to
do it."
Mayne was glad of the personal pronoun.
They were coming to close quarters.
" Was there ever a barrier ? " he inquired.
"Yes," she said, with unexpected sudden-
ness. " Robert did n't like it."
Mayne slowly raised his head, and their
eyes met. He was silent.
" Oh, I know what you 'd like to say ! "
cried Cecily, hurriedly ; " but it 's no use argu-
ing about it. Most men regard their wives,
so long as they 're in love with them, in an
absolutely primitive way there 's no getting
out of it they do. For every other woman,
freedom, individuality, the c exercise of her own
gifts,' of course. For a man's wife, while he
loves her, rtt> life but his. She belongs to
him, body and soul. He is jealous of every
interest in which he is not concerned. And
because his love means so much to her, because
she cant realize that one day it may go, a
woman yields ; she lets all her interests go
down the wind ; she is what he wants her
to be."
The Day's Journey 103
She paused a moment in her rapid speech.
Mayne made no sign, and she went on in a
voice that shook a little.
" And perhaps, if it lasted so, she would be
content. But it doesn't last. And it's the
woman who 's shipwrecked. Beautiful new
countries, full of interest, for him. For her
nothing but the desert island."
Mayne was still silent. He was following,
with a stalk of grass, the distracted movements
of a ladybird.
Cecily laughed nervously. " My dear Dick,"
she cried, springing to her feet, " I beg your
pardon. What a dose of the woman question
I Ve given you ! It 's the first offence, kind
gentleman. It shall not occur again. Come
along."
Mayne had also risen, but he made no
sign of moving. " Cecily," he said, suddenly,
" we 're very good friends, are n't we ? "
She looked at him steadily. "Very good
friends, Dick."
" I want you to promise me something."
Yes ? "
" Take up your work again. Go on writ-
ing."
She hesitated. " Does it matter ? " she
asked, with a dreary smile.
104 The Day's Journey
" That does n't matter. I want a definite
promise."
She was silent a moment. " Very well, I '11
try," she answered at last, steadily.
He nodded satisfaction. " That 's good
enough for me. I 'm not afraid/' he returned,
and moved from the stile.
They began to wade through the sea of
grasses towards the garden, whose belt of trees
lay at no great distance.
" Look here, Cis ! " he began, so suddenly
that she started, and, glancing up, saw him
squaring his shoulders in the resolute way for
which as a girl she had often teased him.
" There 's something I want to say to you.
All of us all of us, at least, who matter get
a hard knock from life some time or other, and
if it 's hard enough most of us go to pieces for
a bit. / went to pieces once."
Cecily nervously pulled the rosy beads off a
head of sorrel as she passed it, but he went
straighten. "You have been going to pieces
for quite a considerable time. Oh, yes, I
know," as he saw her shrink a little. " But
this is a straight talk. Now what's the good
of going to pieces, Cis ? It does n't alter
anything except oneself, and one's chance of
getting something^ if not the thing we want,
The Day's Journey 105
out of existence. Life gives hard blows.
Very well, then, let us go out to meet it, in
armor. I want you to get a suit, Cis." He
paused abruptly.
" The people who wear armor are not, as a
rule, engaging," she said, with an attempt at a
smile.
"It depends on the kind they wear."
" It's the getting it on, Dick."
"Yes," he allowed, " it's a bit stiff at first;
but with perseverance "
" It 's a dull thing to fight in," she urged,
after a moment apparently given to consider-
ation.
" There are all sorts of suits, you know,"
he went on in a lighter tone. " A large
assortment always in stock. There 's a neat
little thing called hard work, which is not to
be despised, to begin with. Then there 's a
highly decorated one known in the trade as
ambition and so forth."
Cecily laughed. " I '11 try some of them on.
Do you think I shall ever look as well in
them as you do ? " she added in a gentle voice.
" Better. There are joints in mine."
There was a touch of grimness in his tone
which appealed to her.
" I 'm glad you Ve come home, Dick," she
io6 The Day's Journey
said, gratefully. " You 're a nice, strong
person."
"In spite of the joints?" he asked, with a
suspicion of irony.
" Because of them," she answered, gravely.
He was silent for a moment. When he
spoke, it was half banteringly, half in earnest.
" You 're going to be the most brilliant
woman in London, Cis ; do you know that ?
In your scintillating salon } statesmen shall
bow the knee, journalists shall grovel. It
shall be chock-full of fair ladies loving you
like poison "
" But I shall only admit one distinguished
traveller," said Cecily, gayly.
His face changed. "Really?" he asked,
softly, " that will be kind." All that he had
been studiously keeping out of his voice, out
of jiis face, came suddenly to both.
Cecily hesitated. "And he will be in
armor," she said. It was almost an appeal.
She had been so glad to find a friend ! His
words had braced her like strong wine. But
if she must think of him as a would-be lover,
if she could not think of him as a friend ?
The pitiful look which, in her unguarded
moments, had often unnerved Mayne, came
back, and now it strengthened him.
The Day's Journey 107
"All right, Cis," he said. "Don't you
bother. It 's a tight-fitting suit."
She smiled at him gratefully, as he held
open for her the little gate leading from the
fields into the lower garden.
CHAPTER X
THE moment had come for which Robert,
on that day at least, had scarcely dared
to hope. He was alone with Philippa ! He
changed his seat for one nearer to her, and
looked at her ardently. Philippa returned
his gaze with a smile of wistful tenderness.
Renunciation, a burning sense of duty,
tempered by potential passion, was expressed
partly by the smile, partly by the direct gaze
of her melancholy eyes.
Robert acknowledged the former emotion
with respectful admiration, and derived un-
acknowledged hope from the latter. Three
months ago he had met Philippa Burton in
the reading-room of the British Museum,
and had made her acquaintance with a
degree of unconventionality hereafter so
frequently alluded to by Philippa as " our
beautiful meeting," that he had come to
attribute to it something of mystic import
an indication of soul affinity.
The Day's Journey 109
Regarded prosaically, the acquaintance had
come about, much as very delightful and
profitable acquaintances are made in a class
of a considerably lower social grade than
that to which either of them belonged.
Robert had noticed and admired the dark-
eyed, mysterious-looking girl who read at
the table opposite to his own, had seized
the chance of helping her with some heavy
books which she was lifting from the refer-
ence shelves, and the further opportunity of
leaving the reading-room with her at the
moment she had chosen for lunch. With
that deliberate ignoring of foolish convention,
of which sandals and freely exposed necks
are the outward and visible sign, she had
expressed her thanks with an impressiveness
impossible to the silence of the reading-
room, and a quarter of an hour later, Robert
found himself lunching with her at a
vegetarian restaurant, suffering French beans
gladly. He had met her at a critical moment,
the moment when the last sparks of passion
for his wife had died a natural death, and he
had begun to crave for " a new interest in
life." It was, so he expressed to himself,
the prompting of a very ordinary instinct.
Philippa had accepted the paraphrase with
no The Day's Journey
melancholy fervor, and had set about minister-
ing to the requirements it indicated, after the
manner of a priestess.
She had promptly admitted Robert to her
temple, an austerely furnished studio in Ful-
ham, had given him tea out of cups with no
handles, and made the ceremony seem like a
sacrificial rite. She had listened to the reading
of his manuscripts, and called them blessed ;
she had discussed his wife, and called her a nice
little thing ; she had dealt in abstractions such
as honor, ennobling influences, the transmuta-
tion of passion into a religious flame to illu-
mine and make life holy ; and she had hitherto
resisted with grieved patience all Robert's man-
like relapses into a somewhat less rarefied
atmosphere. Robert was naturally very much
in love.
" I thought to-day would never come ! "
he murmured. " Are you better ? You Ve
been working far too hard. Ah, you should n't.
Another cushion ? "
Philippa accepted the cushion, but motioned
Robert back to his place with gentle persistence.
" Not work ? " she said. " But I must.
How else should I live ? Though certainly
sometimes I wonder why. It's then that I
hear the river flowing. How quiet it would
The Day's Journey in
be, would n't it ? What a sweet washing away
of life's troubles and wearinesses and mis-
takes'!" She fixed her swimming eyes upon
a leafy branch opposite, and spoke in an
infinitely sad, deep voice.
" Don't, Philippa ! " urged Robert, in dis-
tress. " I can't bear it. You know how
I want to shield you. You are not strong
enough to battle with life. You know how
I long to "
" Ah, my dear friend, don't ! " she cried,
smiling at him with trembling lips. " We Ve
discussed that and you know I can't allow
it. Don't make me regret having taken this
beautiful holiday at your hands. I never
thought you could persuade me even to that,
but you are wonderful when you plead,
Fergus."
He took her hand and kissed it. She
gently withdrew it.
"It sounds so strange to hear you called
'Robert,' " she said. "You are always 'Fergus'
to me. It 's a beautiful name, associated with
beautiful work." Her eyes dilated, and Robert
wondered whether she was thinking of the
scene between the lovers in The Magician, or
of the moonlit terrace scene upon which he
prided himself in The Starry Host, his last
n2 The Day's Journey
poetical drama, or perhaps of one of his little
prose poems ? Her expression called up agree-
able reminiscences of nearly all his writing.
" I 've been watching for you all the
morning," he told her.
" But that was very bad for your work."
She shook her head at him playfully.
" My work is always at a standstill without
you." '
She looked at him affectionately. " Do you
know, I can't help being glad of that ! It does
show, I think, that your work is a bond be-
tween us in the highest and best sense."
He assented absently. " Cecily read me
your letter," he added after a moment's pause.
She waited for him to comment upon it.
" Was it right ? " she asked at length, when
he was silent. " I kept strictly to the truth.
I hate anything that 's not absolutely sincere."
" Yes," he replied, dubiously. "It was
the truth, of course, but it gave her a wrong
impression. She thinks we only met at Lady
Wilmot's."
" Is n't that what you intended ? " There
was a momentary ring of sharpness in her
voice.
w Yes," he returned, uncertainly again. " Yes,
I suppose so." His face clouded for an
The Day's Journey 113
instant. When he again sought her eyes, she
was smiling indulgently.
" Fergus," she said, " don't you under-
stand ? If women were all fine and noble
enough there would be no occasion to with-
hold anything. We could be quite frank
about our friendships, knowing that they would
not be misconstrued. But as it is " She
paused.
" Well ? "
"As it is, while so many women are still
mentally undeveloped, morally childish, truth
must come as well, as a progressive revela-
tion."
Robert laughed a little. " I 'm afraid it
will always be a revelation," he said, a latent
sense of humor for a moment asserting itself,
" progressive or otherwise."
Philippa did not encourage humor. " I
have greater faith," she returned, with serious
eyes. " There are some great souls among
women, Fergus, after all."
He was scarcely listening. Surely no
woman ever had such wonderful hair as
Philippa's. His hands ached to touch it, to
feel it running through his fingers. He got
up abruptly, and began to pace the grass plot
as he had paced it that morning when he had
ii4 The Day's Journey
been thinking of her. Now she was before
him with her big, velvety eyes, her marvellous
hair, her long slender limbs. He realized
presently that she was still speaking.
" I suppose it is fatally easy," she was say-
ing meditatively, " for a married woman who
has led a sheltered life to grow a little petty
and narrow. After all, it is the worker, the
struggler, who purifies her nature. Don't you
think so ? But in time, I think, even the
married woman may learn."
" Learn what ? " he murmured, absently,
throwing himself once more into the cane chair
beside her.
" To love less selfishly," she returned, look-
ing down at him ; " to admit the value of
every ennobling friendship a friendship such
as ours, Fergus ! What can it mean but
good ? Good for both of us. Good for her,
too, if only she would take it so," she added,
softly.
Robert made a restless movement. The
spell of her presence was somehow broken.
He felt worried, exasperated, angry with him-
self almost angry with Philippa. She ex-
pected too much of human nature. Certainly
too much of his.
" But, as a matter of fact, you can't get a
The Day's Journey 115
woman to take it like that ! " he exclaimed,
in spite of himself. " Consider our case if
you like," he added, in an injured tone.
" What woman would believe in mere friend-
ship, if she knew we had met how often?
Nearly every day, as a matter of fact, for the
last three months. It is n't in human nature ! "
He spoke almost irritably, prompted by an
undefined notion that, having put such a strain
upon any woman's credulity, it was ridiculous
not to have justified her disbelief. For a
moment he wished Philippa had been a less
noble woman.
She sighed. " Then I suppose you were
quite right not to tell her," she said, descend-
ing abruptly upon the personal pronoun.
" Your idea is to let her grow used to our
friendship, here in the country, under her
eyes, so that she may gradually come to
believe in its purity ? "
Robert felt a little nonplussed. He had
thought this particular idea emanated from
Philippa herself, but as she spoke of it de-
cidedly as his, she must have no doubt that he
had suggested it. In any case, it was scarcely
chivalrous to undeceive her.
" Perhaps you are right," she murmured,
after a moment. Presently, as Robert watched
n6 The Day's Journey
her, she smiled, slowly, indulgently, as a
mother smiles at the waywardness of a little
child. " How charming Cecily is ! " she said.
" She always appealed to me, even as a school-
girl. I always wanted to protect her in some
way. She was so fragile so sweet. She had
very little character, as a child, I mean,
but then she was so graceful, so lovable, one
scarcely missed it."
Robert was silent. He felt vaguely uncom-
fortable.
" Oh, what a pity ! What a pity ! " she
exclaimed, softly, after a pause. There was
the tenderest commiseration and regret in her
emotional voice. Robert felt his heart stirred
painfully. He wanted to kiss her dress, but
refrained.
" What is a pity ? " he asked, in a low tone.
" That she does n't understand you, Fer-
gus!"
" She thinks she does."
" Ah, yes ! that is the tragedy."
" Oh, we all have them ! " said Robert,
lightly.
She leaned a little towards him. " At least
I do that, Fergus ? Understand you ? " Her
voice, still low, was tremulous.
He seized her hands. "As no one has
The Day's Journey 117
ever understood me ! " he cried. " Philippa !
No ! Don't move. Don't ! I must tell you
_I can't "
She struggled to loose her hands, and he
released them. When she was free she moved
a little away from him, to the other end of the
bench, and sat motionless, her eyes fixed on
the ground.
Robert was abashed. He had angered
her he did not know how deeply ! He
hesitated.
" Philippa," he whispered at last, " you are
angry ? "
" Not angry," she returned almost at once,
" but disappointed, Fergus. More than once
you have promised not to let that kind of
thing happen again."
"I know," he began, humbly, "but "
" What were we talking about ? " she asked,
in a studiously quiet tone.
"I don't know," admitted Robert, with
truth. His head was in a whirl.
" About you, I expect," she returned, with
no trace of sarcasm. " Yours is a very finely
strung temperament. It requires the sym-
pathy that comes of insight. Now if Cecily
would only " She paused, as though
hesitating to criticise.
n8 The Day's Journey
" Cecily surprised me a good deal the other
day," he said, suddenly. " I meant to tell
you."
" Oh ? " Her voice grew slightly cold.
" How ? I should n't have thought her a
woman of many surprises."
Robert broke off a twig from an over-
hanging hazel, snapped it, and threw it away
before he spoke.
" She accused me of being tired of her.
Said she had no wish to stand in my way.
No," in answer to her sudden inquiring
look, " she brought no accusation ; she has
heard nothing of our our friendship. It
was just a whim, I suppose. But I 've
taken her at her word."
Her eyes held his. " You mean ? "
" She wished that we should be friends,"
he returned, with a shrug of the shoulders.
" We shall be friends, henceforth."
Before he could analyze the expression
which leaped to her eyes, she had averted
her head.
" I am sorry," she whispered, softly.
There was a long pause.
" Is Mr. Mayne an old friend of hers ? "
Robert started. "Yes," he returned,
reluctantly. " She has known him since she
The Day's Journey 119
was a girl of seventeen or eighteen. I asked
him here," he added, with an effort.
Philippa turned an illumined face towards
him. "As a lesson in generosity? I see."
She regarded him as the angel who holds
the palm-branch might regard the soldier-
saint who had earned it. " That was splendid
of you, Fergus ! "
Involuntarily he put out a hand as though
to avert her words.
" I thought it was only fair she should
have some one to talk to," he said, trying to
speak carelessly, and annoyed that the words
sounded like a self-justification.
" Oh, I hope she '11 see it as you meant it,
and be worthy of it ! " cried Philippa, almost
as though it were a prayer. "But, Fergus,
you must n't be surprised if she does n't," she
added, with regret. " Cecily, you know, is
vain. I remember that of her as a striking
characteristic from our schooldays. She 's so
charming, so lovable, but she 's weak, Fergus.
. . . Poor Fergus ! " she murmured, " I wish
I had the right to comfort you ! " The breeze
fluttered her mysterious hair. In the soft
green gloom flung by the trees, her eyes
looked like forest pools for depth. She sighed,
and the roses on her breast rose and sank,
120 The Day's Journey
wafting an intoxicating perfume. Robert's
heart beat so quickly that he could scarcely
speak. He flung himself onto the grass, and
leaned against her knees.
" You have ! You must ! I don't want
comfort I want you!" he whispered, inco-
herently. " Philippa, it 's ended between me
and Cecily ! She does n't love me now. I
don't love her. I can only think of you.
Listen ! Listen, darling, I can't go on talking
about friendship any more. I love you ! "
He put both arms round her, and held her
held her while at first she resisted. But only
for a moment. She grew suddenly, rigidly,
still.
He threw back his head, still holding her,
to look into her face. She was pale, but she
gazed at him mysteriously, with a sort of
religious ardor.
" Speak to me, Philippa ! " he begged.
" Is it really, really so, Fergus ? " she
whispered. "The great love? the perfect
union ? "
"You know I love you," he said, beginning
to realize that this was surrender, but that
Philippa must do it in her own way.
"I think it would be right for us, Fergus.
I feel it would be right !" she added, with the
The Day's Journey 121
conviction of a mystic who has received a
sign from Heaven. "Conventions, laws
they are for little people. Great love is its
own justification."
The phrase struck Robert as familiar.
But what did phrases matter ? She was
yielding.
"You love me, then ? " he urged, trembling.
"Yes, Fergus," she said in her low, vibrat-
ing voice. " Yes, it is love and I did n't
know it. You have revealed me to myself."
He kissed her passionately. " Call me by
my own name," he said, rising, still with his
arm about her, and drawing her to her feet.
" Dear Robert ! " she murmured as he
rained kisses on her hair. He was standing
with his back to the narrow archway cut in
the hedge, and her face was hidden against
his shoulder.
It was at that moment that Cecily and
Mayne reached the entrance to the yew gar-
den. For one second Cecily stood motion-
less, then without a word she moved on past
the narrow archway, and continued walking
parallel to the hedge on the outward side.
Mayne followed her, embarrassment for the
moment so strong within him that there was
no room for any other emotion.
122 The Day's Journey
Cecily did not speak. She and Robert
had loved the yew enclosure better than
any other part of the garden. All the times
they had sat there together came before her
now. She saw them as a drowning person
is said to review the scenes in his past life.
She saw the sunshine on the grass on hot
summer 'afternoons. She smelled the roses.
She thought of moonlit nights. She remem-
bered one night, soon after their marriage,
moonless, but full of stars, when she had
sat with Robert on the bench under the
hazels. . . . All at once she turned to Mayne.
" I shall find my armor useful," she said,
in a clear, steady voice. " Thank you so much
for recommending it. We can get into the
house at the other door."
CHAPTER XI
THE Kingslakes had been in town nearly
eight months. They had taken a flat in
Westminster, and Cecily had been thankful
for the work entailed by the move. She
was thankful to leave the Priory ; thankful
even to part from her beloved garden. The
whole place seemed to her desecrated, be-
smirched. That for the heights, as for the
depths, of human happiness and human woe
the same scene should be set, may be sport
for the gods. For the actors in the drama it
is agony, and it was with relief unspeakable
that Cecily set her face towards London and
a different existence.
It was only when the flat was in order,
and life began to run smoothly, that she
realized how much easier, as far as outward
circumstances were concerned, existence had
become. It was, as she had suggested to
Robert, very simple to see little of one another.
When her husband was indoors he was always
124 The Day's Journey
in his study. But Robert was very little at
home in those days.
Cecily asked no questions. He went his
way ; she hers. London seized them both,
and whirled them, for the most part, in oppo-
site directions. When they met, it was with
friendliness, tempered on Robert's side with an
implied, perfunctory reproach. " Remember
this is your doing. This state of things is
the outcome of your wish," was what his
manner expressed, while with visible relief
he accepted his freedom. Cecily sometimes
smiled when, directly after one of their in-
frequent lunches together, she heard the front
door bang, and listened to her husband's im-
patient summons for the lift. The smile was
still bitter, but, as time went on, it hurt less.
In those early days in town, Cecily saw her
husband very mercilessly. The scales had
so completely dropped from her eyes that
her clearness of vision startled even herself.
There were times when, heightened by fierce
jealousy, her old passion for him revived so
strongly that she could scarcely restrain herself
from the madness of throwing herself into his
arms, appealing to him, begging him to come
back to her to love her. At such moments
she always had the sensation of being held tight
The Day's Journey 125
by some one who laughed, some one who said
coldly, " You fool ! When he 's hurrying to
another woman, to whom, if you are lucky,
he will speak of you 'quite nicely/' And
when she had raged, and fought, and struggled
till she had exhausted herself, she was always
thankful for the iron arms that had held her,
and the icy voice that had checked her passion.
It was after the subsidence of such an out-
break of emotion, that she generally saw Robert
dispassionately, as an outsider might have seen
him, or rather with an amount of penetration
which no outsider, however dispassionate, could
have attained. She acquired an almost pre-
ternatural insight, a sort of projection of her
mind into his, so that she actually witnessed
his self-deception, saw the clouds which he
purposely, yet almost without his own volition,
raised between his own consciousness and naked
truth. She realized, with something that was
almost scornful amusement, how the idea of
inviting Mayne, with all that such an invitation
might imply, had first struck him. How he
had thrust the thought from him as a poison-
ous snake, and invited Mayne. She saw
how, by this time, he had allowed himself to
acquire merit by encouraging Mayne's visit.
His wife was unreasonable (because she didn't
i26 The Day's Journey
know anything) this, in his mind also, ap-
peared in parenthesis, and was so lightly
skimmed in thought that it scarcely counted.
Besides, when she had expressed her wish
for their practical separation, there had been
nothing, and that made all the difference,
and brought him on happily to the con-
templation of his own generosity in welcoming
a friend of hers, at a time when she was not
even aware that there was also a friend of
his for whom the same cordiality might be
expected.
It was with a shock sometimes that she
found herself making a minute analysis of her
husband's mental condition with a degree of
calmness, of interest even, at which she could
only wonder. In the meantime, as far as out-
ward interests and preoccupations were con-
cerned, she made haste to fill her life. In her
determination to do this she had never wavered
since her talk with Mayne. The hours must
be filled. So far as occupation went, she
could and would " pull herself together." She
began to look up her old friends, and found
them more than willing to receive her. Cecily
had always been popular, and her husband was
beginning to be well known, and probably,
also, beginning to grow rich. Whether she
The Day's Journey 127
owed her immediate acceptance to the memory
of her own former charm, or to the more
tangible advantages she now offered as the
wife of a popular novelist, Cecily wisely did
not inquire. She wanted acquaintances. She
could have them for the asking. And she was
grateful for one friend.
Mayne was living at his club while he con-
sidered at his leisure a fresh campaign of ex-
ploration. He and Cecily saw one another
frequently. But it was not till she took his
incessantly urged advice and began to write,
that she felt that any of her methods of filling
the hours were more than husks which she ate
for lack of good bread. Often on looking
back to the day when she first took up her
work again, she thought with wonder of the
occasion. It was the day Robert had expressed
his desire to employ the services of Philippa
Burton as secretary. Rather to Cecily's sur-
prise he had been in to lunch. It was nearly
a month, she reflected, since such a thing had
happened, and her surprise deepened when,
instead of going directly the meal was at an
end, he asked for coffee, and lighted a cigarette.
For a time he talked disjointedly on indifferent
topics, bringing the conversation round at last
to his work and its many vexations.
128 The Day's Journey
" I 've got more than I can do," he declared,
with a worried frown. " Brough is bothering
for those short stories, and there's my new
novel, and the play, and half my time 's taken
up with business letters and all the machinery
of the thing." He paused as if in thought.
" I really think a secretary would pay me," he
exclaimed presently.
" Why not have one, then ? " asked Cecily,
taking a cigarette from the box between them.
" I don't know how to What about
Miss Burton ? " he suggested, concluding the
hesitating sentence sharply, as though the
idea had just occurred to him. " She does
shorthand, and she 's very hard up, poor
girl. She was at Lady Wilmot's yesterday
when I called."
Cecily lighted her cigarette, and walked with
it to the window-seat, where she sat down with
her back to the light.
" And you suggested it to her ? " she asked.
" No. I had no opportunity of speaking
to her."
A hysterical desire to laugh seized her.
She controlled it, grasping with her left hand
the corner of the cushion on which she sat,
and was silent.
" I should only want her and indeed she
The Day's Journey 129
could only come for an hour or two in the
morning," Robert went on, quite fluently now.
"She has her own work enamelling, isn't
it ? And of course she would n't want to give
that up entirely. But she can't make a living
at it ; and I thought, as she 's a friend of
yours, if I could do her a good turn "
Cecily rose. " By all means do her a good
turn," she said. " But what has that to do
with it ? The question is, will she make a
good secretary ? If you think she will, I
should engage her. I must go and get ready.
I promised to meet Mrs. Carrington at three
o'clock."
As she closed the door after her, Robert
shrugged his shoulders. He was honestly re-
flecting that it was the unreasoning prejudice of
women that made marriage slavery. Dispas-
sionately he reviewed his own case. Granted
that if she knew of his relations with Philippa,
it would be impossible to make his wife view
them from any but the vulgar standpoint ;
granted this, the point at issue was that she did
not know. From her point of view, therefore,
he was the conventionally faithful husband, and,
this notwithstanding, it was she who had an-
nulled their married life. So far as her knowl-
edge went, Philippa was a mere acquaintance
9
130 The Day's Journey
of his, a woman with whom, during her
stay at Sheepcote, he had been moderately
friendly ; a woman to whom, because she was
poor and comparatively friendless, he wished
to extend a helping hand. Immediately, her
attitude, if not hostile, had been at least un-
cordial. He began to rage at its obvious in-
justice. Regarded from Cecily's standpoint
it was monstrous. On no stronger ground
than that of a frivolous accusation of lack of
affection on his part, to insist on a practical
separation, and then to be jealous of his
women friends!
He rose from the table with an exclamation
of impatience. It was amazing that no later
than yesterday he should have dreaded mak-
ing this proposition to Cecily, that he should
have shrunk from it as something in bad taste,
something forced upon him only by the press-
ing necessity of helping a proud woman, who
would be helped in no other way. His scru-
ples had been needless, and even ridiculous.
By her own action Cecily had set him free to
do what he would with his life. He took his
hat, and later a hansom, and drove to Fulham.
Cecily sat in her bedroom on the edge
of her bed, her hands folded in her lap.
The Day's Journey 131
Mechanically she had taken her hat and veil
from the wardrobe, and as mechanically laid
them aside, forgetting she was going out. Pres-
ently she wandered into the drawing-room, and
began to walk up and down. Misery, jealousy,
loneliness, had shrunk away before a sort of
cold anger and contempt ; a longing to be free,
to shake off forever a yoke that had become
hateful ; to have the power to become herself
once more. Should she tell Robert she knew ?
Should she demand her freedom, and go?
Part of her nature leaped at the thought It
would so simplify- the struggle. She could go
away, immerse herself in work, force herself to
forget. Thus she would so easily spare her-
self humiliation, the sight of the woman she
hated in her own house, at her husband's side.
" And why should I stay ? Why should I ? "
she clamored to one of the other women with-
in her. " He does n't love me. He does n't
want me. . . . Not now." " But some day
he will want you," another voice unexpectedly
returned. " What then ? Am I to wait
meekly till he 's tired of her ? Am I to be
at hand to console him in the intervals of
his love affairs ? "
She heard herself break into a short, scorn-
ful laugh, and almost before it ceased the other
132 The Day's Journey
self had spoken. " Think of him wanting you
and suppose you were not there? You
know how he would look. Picture it. Could
you bear it ? Can you go ? " All at once the
room swam before her in a mist of tears, and
she knew she could not.
She went to the window and pushed it
wider open. Before her, springing like a long-
stemmed flower towards the blue of the sky,
was the campanile of Westminster Cathedral.
Behind its rose-pink summit white clouds
drifted, and round it circled white pigeons. It
was a tower that Cecily had learned to love, its
very incongruity in the midst of London roofs
appealing to her imagination. It was an exotic
flower, blossoming radiantly above the gray
heart of London. She looked at it to-day
with a fresh sense of its beauty. It affected
her like the glamour of an Eastern story.
With a keen sense of gratitude she realized
that beauty once more had power to thrill her.
She remembered how at the Priory last year
the blue sky had been hateful, the sunshine
vain. " I 'm getting better," she half whis-
pered. " When it does n't matter at all, any
more, I shall be well. Perhaps some day I
shall be well." The thought brought a great
wave of consolation. She went quickly into
The Day's Journey 133
her bedroom, put on her hat and gloves, and
without waiting for the lift, walked down-stairs.
As she turned the corner of the street, the
facade of the cathedral came into sight. Cecily
let her eyes wander over its galleries, its re-
cesses, its stone carvings, its mysterious little
staircases, its strange domes, and pillared log-
gias. She loved it all, curious and fantastic as
it was. She had not meant to go in, but as
she passed, she saw that the unfinished doors
of the great entrance were open, and far away
in the recesses of what looked like a shadowy
cave, the candles burned like a row of stars.
Cecily paused. A palm-branch laid between
two chairs served as a barricade to the scarcely
completed entrance, and she went in at the
side door, and sat down just within. She
knew the interior of the cathedral well, but to-
day its likeness to some gigantic work of
nature a great branching sea-cave perhaps
struck her more forcibly than ever. The un-
covered brickwork in its ruggedness and
simplicity heightened this effect. It was
wonderful now with a mosaic of sunshine
which, filtering through the small panes of the
west windows, covered the brickwork between
the mighty arches with a design in gold. Far
beneath, the choir itself was in shadow. In
134 The Day's Journey
shadow also was the great red cross, with the
pallid Christ, suspended, as it seemed, in
mid-air.
A service was going on, and from behind
curtains, at the back of the altar, came the
sound of singing. The sweet boys' voices
filled the vaulted spaces above the altar as
though clouds of incense had melted into
song. An unfinished chapel on the right,
near the door, was almost concealed by scaf-
folding, over which hung cloths of sacking,
but between the folds of this screen Cecily
caught a glimpse of one of the mosaic workers
a girl, evidently mounted upon an impro-
vised platform, for Cecily saw only her dark
head high up against an already completed back-
ground of mosaic. The chapel was flooded
with dusty golden sunlight, in the brightness
of which her young face looked vague and in-
distinct. Her right hand moved swiftly as she
worked at the halo round the head of a saint.
Through a veil of golden haze, Cecily had a
vision of burnished silver and gold, of peacock
color and rose, lining the walls of the chapel,
and her thoughts were carried back to the
mediaeval artisans in cathedrals now hoary with
age ; to the workers of long ago whose busy
hands are dust. She thought of possible years
The Day's Journey 135
to come, when the golden halo of that saint
should be dim with age, and, like the myriads
of artisans before her, the girl-worker should
have passed into oblivion.
The service had ceased, but Cecily still sat
on, in a sort of dream. She saw in the distance
a procession of dim purple-robed figures with
white cassocks come down from the choir-loft
and disappear. The space before the altar was
empty. Silence had fallen, but she did not
move.
The cathedral had laid its spell upon her.
She felt it like a quiet hand upon her heart.
By its actual religious significance, in a narrow
sense at least, she was not affected. But in so
far as it stood for something detached from the
fever and the fret of human existence, it began
to assume a great meaning. For the first time
in her life she longed for a serenity which
should lift her above the storms of passion ;
for interests independent of the love of man.
It was characteristic of Cecily, that, desiring a
thing strongly, she should definitely try to
gain it.
What was the first step for her, individually,
towards spiritual freedom ? Surely to create.
It was the craving of her whole nature. She
longed for freedom ; so only could she be
136 The Day's Journey
free. Then and there she began to think out
and plan in detail an idea which long ago she
had been too happy, and lately too wretched,
to translate into writing. The mosaic of sun-
shine faded from the walls, the great church
grew dim while she sat, still thinking. When
at last she rose, and, a little dazed, stepped
from the twilight of the nave into the street,
the sun had sunk below the opposite houses,
and the saffron-colored sky told of evening.
Cecily put back her head, and with her eyes
followed the soaring campanile till they rested
on the cross which at its summit pierced the
quiet sky.
With no sense of incongruity, but with a
curious feeling of gratitude, she reflected upon
the nature of her meditation within the building
to which that tower belonged. A few moments
later she reached her own doorstep, and that
same evening she began to write.
CHAPTER XII
" IV yf" Y dear ! " said Lady Wilmot, as her
IV J. motor-car stopped in Dover Street
before her club. " Who 'd have thought of
seeing you ? " The man opened the door,
and she descended with a rustle of silks to
shake hands with Rose Summers, who was
passing. " What are you doing away from
your country cottage? I thought you never
left off holding your children's hands for a
minute. Come in and have some tea," she
exclaimed in one breath.
Rose hesitated. tf I succumb to tea," she
said, after a second's pause, " though I 've
enough shopping to do to last a week."
They entered the club, and Lady Wilmot
bore down upon the tea-room like a ship in
full sail, Rose following in her wake with an
expression of anticipated amusement. It was
to the prospect of gossip she had succumbed,
rather than to the offer of tea, with the pre-
science that to one who had fallen a little
behind the times, half an hour with Lady
138 The Day's Journey
Wilmot would be a godsend. " I shall learn
more than I could pick up in three months,
otherwise," was her smiling reflection as she
settled herself opposite her hostess at one of
the tables of colored marble, in the embrasure
of a window.
" We 're early, or we should n't get a table,"
pursued Lady Wilmot. " Always a hideous
crush here. Well, my dear, I hope the babies
are better ? What an untold nuisance children
must be ! Measles is part of them, I suppose ?
How do you like your cottage? And when
is Jack coming home ? Tea and cake and
muffins " this to the waiter, in parenthesis.
" Do you see that woman coming in ? The
one with the painted gauze scarf not the
only paint about her, by the way. Well,
remind me to tell you something in connection
with her, presently. Quite amusing. And
how long are you going to be in town, my
dear ? And where are you staying ? "
Rose selected the last two questions to
answer.
" I 'm only up for the day," she said. " I 'm
afraid to leave the children longer. They
develop a fresh infectious disease the moment
my eye is not upon them." She laughed,
drawing off her gloves. It was the laugh of
The Day's Journey 139
a woman contented with life, as for her it had
resolved itself into the normal fate of mother-
hood, with its anxieties, its pleasures, its
anticipations.
Seated in the angle of the window, the
light falling on her sunburnt face, her erect
figure well suited by a successfully cut cloth
gown, she was not only pleasant to look at,
but she struck a curiously different note
from the majority of the other women
who now began to crowd the tea-room
women whose distinctive feature was their
aimlessness.
" You 've improved a great deal, my dear ! "
remarked Lady Wilmot, after a critical stare.
" I always said you were the type that
improved with age. You '11 be a good-
looking woman at forty, when all this sort
of thing" she included the room with a
sweep of her hand " is done for."
Mrs. Summers laughed again. " How en-
couraging of you ! "
" You 've seen the Kingslakes, I suppose ? "
was Lady Wilmot's next query.
" No, scarcely once since they got into
their flat last November. Just as they came
to town, I moved out, and the children have
kept me bound hand and foot ever since.
140 The Day's Journey
I 'm going to rush in between five and six on
my way to Victoria."
" My dear, you won't know Cecily ! "
"Why not?" asked Rose, almost sharply.
" So pretty. So well dressed. Curious
what a man can do, is n't it ? No wonder
they 're vain." Lady Wilmot smiled broadly
as she raised a superfluously buttered muffin
to her lips.
" What man ? " asked Rose, brusquely.
" Mayne, my dear ; Dick Mayne, The
Uncommercial Traveller, or Patience Re-
warded. It would make a nice little modern
tract. But the result is admirable as far as
Cecily is concerned. I saw her about eighteen
months ago. She came up to a lunch-party
with Robert. She was positively dowdy,
and like the lady who was it ? who had no
more spirit in her. Never saw such a collapse
in my life, and every one agreed with me. But
now! As pretty as ever prettier. There's
something different about her, too. I don't
know what it is. Perhaps it's a touch of
dignity about my lady. No, it's more than
that. It's something a little sphinx-like.
Anyhow, it 's a most effective pose. Every
one 's talking, of course ; but, as I tell them,
when the result is so admirable why inquire
The Day's Journey 141
too closely about the means ? " She chuckled
a little. Rose looked at her calmly.
" Every one 's talking ? " she said. " That
means what you so aptly describe as * this
sort of thing.' ' She let her eyes wander
round the room, which was now filled with
chattering women. " Does it matter ?
Cecily's friends know as well as you do that
what you insinuate is a is not true."
Lady Wilmot's expression wavered. She
had crossed swords with Rose Summers
before, and always found the exercise a
little exhausting. Reluctantly she deter-
mined to be amicable, so with a laugh she
shrugged her shoulders. " Of course, my
dear. What a literal mind you have ! You
know Robert 's got a secretary ? " she added,
with apparent innocence.
" So I hear. Philippa Burton," returned
Rose, with composure.
Lady Wilmot's eyes lit up. " Do you
know her? "
" I met her long ago in Germany. She
was a school-fellow of Cecily's. I dare say
you know that."
There was a pause. Lady Wilmot deter-
mined on a new move.
" Cecily 's a fool," she said, gravely, " that
The Day's Journey
is, if she wants to keep her husband." She
glanced sharply at Rose, who was sipping
her tea with exasperating indifference. " She
had driven Robert to try reprisals, I suppose."
There was a slight pause, during which Rose
took some more tea-cake. " That 's what
every one imagines, anyhow," continued
Lady Wilmot, with a distinct access of sharp-
ness. " It 's a dangerous game." She shook
her head as a virtuous matron might have
done, and Rose struggled with a smile. " I 've
no patience with wives who allow attractive
women to enter their homes under the
pretext of work which they ought to be doing
themselves," she concluded, in an exasperated
tone, as she glanced at her neighbor's blank
face. " Why on earth does n't Cecily act as
secretary to her own husband ? "
" Because she 's writing a novel of her own,
and has n't time," said Rose, speaking at last,
to give, from Lady Wilmot's point of view,
an utterly valueless piece of information.
" Ridiculous ! " she ejaculated. " I should
have thought there was enough scribbling in
the family. Why does n't she look after her
husband, and be a companion and helpmeet
to him, instead of allowing another woman
to come in and give the sympathy which
The Day's Journey 143
only a wife and all that kind of thing?" she
concluded, hastily, becoming suddenly con-
scious of her companion's amused eyes. It
was a triumph for Rose. She had actually
driven Lady Wilmot, of all people, into the
ridiculous position of defending the domestic
hearth, and she had the satisfaction of knowing
that no one felt her position more keenly.
She rose from the table, extending her hand
with great cordiality.
"Thank you so much for your delicious
tea," she said. "And I 'm sure you '11 forgive
me for rushing off in this unceremonious way.
My train goes at half-past seven, and I must
get Cecily in, as well as socks and shoes and
sashes and things. No, dorit move. There 's
such a crush to get through, and I can find
my way out truly. Good-bye." She was
gone, threading her way between the tea-tables,
and smiling back at Lady Wilmot, who in-
stantly summoned a bewildered waiter, upon
whom she made a vague attack for indefinite
shortcomings.
Rose stepped into a hansom with a smile
which already contained more bitterness than
amusement. She was reviewing facts as
interpreted by Lady Wilmot and company.
CHAPTER XIII
PHILIPPA'S "studio" was a somewhat
uncomfortable apartment with a north
light. Its walls were covered with brown
paper, upon which were pinned hasty little
sketches by the latest geniuses. One recognized
the latest genius by the newness of the drawing-
pins ; the genius before last had generally lost
one or even two of these aids to stability, and
hung at a neglected angle. Above the mantel-
piece there was a framed photograph of Ros-
setti's Proserpine, whom Philippa was often
thought to resemble. The floor of the room
was stained, and over it at intervals were laid
pieces of striped material of pseudo-Eastern
manufacture, fringed and flimsy. The furni-
ture was scanty, but high-principled in tone.
It was that sort of uncomfortable furniture
which has " exquisite simplicity of line," and is
affected by people who are more used to sitting
on boards than sofas. There was an easel in
a prominent position, and a cupboard with a
The Day's Journey 145
glass front in a corner of the room, revealing
various cups and bowls of coarse earthenware
and foreign peasant manufacture. These were
the cooking and eating utensils considered
proper to the Simple Life.
It was the expense of the Simple Life which
Philippa was at the moment considering, as
she sat curled up on the hearth-rug before the
fire, a heap of bills and other annoying docu-
ments in her lap. It was half-past three in the
afternoon, but she wore a dressing-gown of
rather doubtful cleanliness, and her hair was
bunched up as she had twisted and pinned it
when she got out of bed.
Philippa belonged to the eternal art student
class ; that class which subsists on very little
talent and no income ; the class which includes
girls who would be better employed in domes-
tic service, as well as those whom a genuine
" feeling " for art has rendered unfit for any
other occupation than that of painfully striving
to express themselves generally in vain.
Though a member of this great sisterhood, by
the possession of various rather exceptional
gifts, Philippa had managed to deviate from
its normal routine of monotony. She had
beauty, and a mind wide enough to hold vague
aspirations, as well as a useful shrewdness.
146 The Day's Journey
Long ago she had made two discoveries.
First, that seventy pounds a year is a totally
inadequate income. Secondly, that infrequent
work is not the best means of supplementing
it. There are other ways, and Philippa had
tried most of them.
There had been romantic friendships with
women of property. Philippa had always
been drawn to these ladies by soul-affinity
it was here that the vagueness of her mind
stood her in good stead but that fact did
not lessen their balance at the bank, nor the
tangible advantage which it bestowed on
Philippa. With one lady, she had travelled
in Italy and Greece. Another had paid for
her course of instruction in enamelling, and
considered herself blest in being allowed the
privilege. A third had, till lately, paid the
rent of her studio. Philippa accepted these
benefits with a beautiful simplicity. No one
better than she could gracefully bear an
obligation. She had the rare art not only
of making the benefactor feel privileged but
of herself believing it to be the case. With
such a mixture of approbation and transient
tenderness for the giver, might an angel regard
the devotee who has shielded him from " beat-
ing in the void his luminous wings in vain."
The Day's Journey 147
But feminine friendships are proverbially
evanescent, and though the proverb may
contain as much truth as other conventional
maxims, Philippa had certainly found them
" disappointing." She had frequently to
lament the jealousy of one, the pettiness of
another, the terrible coarseness of fibre of a
third. And though women are numerous,
their incomes are usually small, and to be
disappointed in one dear friend with money
is a calamity. She is not easily replaced.
Philippa was not only deeply disappointed in
Miss Wetherby, the lady who for two years
previous had ensured the rent of her studio ;
she was also considerably worried. Their
quarrel had been upon a very delicate matter
a matter of money ; and Miss Wetherby
had taken a low but decided view upon a
transaction which Philippa was accustomed to
slur over in thought. An episode followed
upon which, again, she refused to dwell, ex-
cept at intervals when she received a little
note which she hastened to put into the fire.
She had that very morning burned one of these
letters, but, however unwillingly, she was now
obliged to consider its contents.
Bohemia is a wide country, and some of its
inhabitants are unsavory. Eighteen months
148 The Day's Journey
previous, at a moment when a cheque was
imperatively necessary, Philippa had allowed
one of them to come to her assistance. She
had not subsequently treated him very well,
and his letters began to threaten her peace of
mind. They hinted at danger. It was then
that she first met Robert. Hitherto, in spite
of her beauty, her relations with men, with
one very dubious exception, had not from any
material point of view been satisfactory. She
had met few of the right sort. There had
been the men at the art schools, of course,
mostly penniless, who had raved about her.
Philippa had not encouraged them, further
than Artemis might have encouraged the
worshippers at her shrine. They were prac-
tically useless, except as rather shabby burners
of incense. Poverty and dependence upon
feminine caprice is not the best milieu for
making the acquaintance of rich men, added
to which there was the undoubted fact that
the average man of the world had a tendency
to regard Philippa as Mayne had regarded
her. He did not care for " that kind of
thing." Accustomed to " smartness " in
women, Philippa's robes made him feel as
vaguely uncomfortable as her intense style of
conversation abashed and disconcerted him.
The Day's Journey 149
Certainly it required a man who at least
dabbled in art, who at least had some sym-
pathy with the Quartier Latin, to appreciate
Philippa.
For some time before she and Robert had
become friends she had known him by sight.
He had been pointed out to her once at the
Museum as Fergus Macdonald, the novelist
who was becoming well known, and bade fair
presently to coin money. Before very long it
was obvious that he admired her, and with no
definite idea as to the result, yet with a sure
instinct that it was the wise course to adopt,
Philippa had extended her period of reading.
The outcome had been satisfactory, though
it was a blow to learn that he was married,
and a blow that was not softened by the dis-
covery that she knew his wife. In the early
days of their acquaintance, Philippa read
much literature which dealt with the possi-
bility of friendship between man and woman.
At a later date, when Robert was getting a
little out of hand, and her own thoughts began
to stray towards putting their sacred friend-
ship upon a different plane, she discovered
many treatises upon the doctrine of free love.
She began to study the subject, and found it
quite engrossing. It seemed to her a very
150 The Day's Journey
beautiful and noble attitude towards a great
aspect of human life. Robert and she often
discussed it together earnestly. In the mean-
time, the Simple Life, which, at the recom-
mendation of Tolstoi, Miles, and others, she
had adopted since the defection of Miss
Wetherby, had not proved so economical as she
had hoped. Besides, she was getting tired of it.
Robert frequently took her out to lunch,
and the frailty of the natural man prevailing
over the submission of the lover, he had,
at an early date, abandoned the vegetarian
restaurant for Prince's or the Carlton. Re-
signing her principles, as a tender conces-
sion to Robert's weakness, Philippa had
become reconciled to six-course meals, and
began to hate plasmon and suspect the
efficacy of vegetables as an incentive to
exalted thought.
She began to yearn, like the rich man, to
fare sumptuously every day. Yet what was
the use of such a desire as that when not
only was she hard pressed to live at all, but
also more deeply in debt than she cared to
own even to herself? In old days, living in
the sunshine of the smiles and the blank
cheques of her dearest friends, Philippa had
run up bills with alarming celerity. The
The Day's Journey 151
" simple " dress was not cheap. Neither
were the ornaments for which she had an
unfortunate weakness ; clasps and pendants
of enamel and uncut gems of chaste and
simple workmanship but quite expensive.
The bills began to come in with alarming
frequency, and a growing tendency to un-
pleasant remark. She grew depressed.
Robert, who raged over the injustice of a
callous world which imposed poverty on
beauty, constantly implored to be allowed to
lighten the load. Philippa, smiling through
her tears, as constantly refused.
It was she who had at last suggested the
secretaryship. Robert had at first demurred,
and seeing this she had pressed the point,
had made it a test of his love for her. In no
other way would she take from him so much
as a farthing. He yielded, and under cover
of her value to him as secretary Robert paid
her an absurdly generous salary.
But even with Robert to the rescue matters
were bad enough. Philippa fingered disgustedly
the last bill she had received, and finally threw
it into the fire. She sat gazing at the flame
it made, the furrow between her eyes deepen-
ing as she thought. And in the background
there was something worse. Characteristically
152 The Day's Journey
she did not face it. She thought of it
hazily, indeed, but it was inexorably there.
She had put a weapon into the hands of a
man who, if he used it at all, would not use
it like a gentleman.
A neighboring church clock struck, and
she started up. Quarter to four ! and she
was not dressed.
She hastened into her bedroom, which
opened out of the studio, and began to make
a hasty toilet. The room was untidy and not
very clean, and if to the garments revealed
when the dressing-gown was thrown aside
the same remark applied, it must in justice
be remembered that even perfect cleanliness
is dependent upon the amount of living wage.
By the time the down-stairs bell rang at a few
minutes past four, Philippa looked like the
Blessed Damosel, and Mr. Nevern, as he
followed her up the studio stairs, felt what
it was to be on the right side of the gold
bar of heaven.
" Can't I help ? " he begged, as she began
to make preparations for tea. It seemed a
profanation that she should stoop to put the
kettle on the fire. Yet how wonderfully it
became her to bend her long, graceful body,
and how she seemed to dignify and make
The Day's Journey 153
mysterious the simplest actions ! By the
time he received a cup from her hands, Mr.
Nevern was in a state bordering on spiritual
exaltation.
" I have had a holiday to-day," she told
him, leaning back in the one comfortable chair
the room contained. " Mr. Kingslake is out
of town on business till to-morrow."
Her companion's face darkened with envy
of the man with whom she spent half of
every day.
" How long have you had this work ? "
he inquired, trying to speak naturally.
" I 've only just begun. It 's interesting,
of course. But I can't say I 'm not glad of
a long day to myself sometimes. It 's good
in this hurried age to have time to possess
one's soul, is n't it ? "
"It was very good of you to let me come
this afternoon, to let me disturb you,"
murmured Nevern.
" On the contrary, I wanted to make my
holiday complete," she returned, with a smile
which set the young man's heart beating.
"How is the book going?" she pursued,
placing her left hand tenderly on a slim
volume of verse which lay on the table
beside her.
154 The Day's Journey
Nevern, following the motion of her hand,
glowed with joy.
" Not well," was all he could find to say,
however, and that gloomily.
" Are you surprised ? " asked Philippa, with
tender raillery. " Does delicate, beautiful work
like this appeal to the multitude ? "
Nevern smiled deprecatingly, but his heart
bounded.
"You mustn't say such charming things,"
he stammered. "You make me " He
checked himself and hurriedly drank his tea.
" I don't know which is my favorite," she
went on, thoughtfully, turning the leaves of
the book. " This, perhaps, with its beautiful
refrain." She read the lines softly, while
Nevern trembled with happiness. " Or this.
But they are all exquisite." She continued
to turn the leaves with her long, delicate
fingers, with a touch like a caress, while she
talked. The sound of her voice was music
in the young man's ears, the flattery of her
words an intoxication. He was sometimes
conscious that he spoke at random, while his
eyes were on her face, and then he flushed and
pulled himself together, but she did not seem
to notice his temporary lapses ; her eyes met
his, limpid, full of sympathy, deeper than the
The Day's Journey 155
depths of waters stilled at even. He found
himself repeating the lines to himself while she
was giving him a second cup of tea. His hand
touched hers as she passed it, and his own
shook so that some of the tea was spilled. A
drop or two splashed onto Philippa's velve-
teen gown. With an exclamation of impa-
tience for his clumsiness, Nevern fell on his
knees and, snatching out his handkerchief,
wiped away the stain.
"Your beautiful dress!" he murmured.
Suddenly he stooped lower and kissed it.
She did not move, and, emboldened, he
touched her hand with his lips, tremblingly
at first, and then passionately.
When he raised his head she was looking
at him with an adorable expression of com-
passion and tenderness.
" Philippa ! " he stammered ; " I love you.
Will you will you marry me? Oh, you
don't know how I "
For a moment she continued to look at him
with an expression he found hard to read, then
she rose abruptly, and moving to the mantel-
piece, stood leaning against it with averted face.
Nevern also rose. For a moment he hesi-
tated, then drawing himself up he followed her.
" Philippa," he said again very simply, " I
156 The Day's Journey
know I 'm not worthy of you. But no one
will ever love you better than I love you.
Will you marry me ? " His boyishness
dropped from him as he spoke. Of his
customary rather foolish affectation of voice
and manner, there was not a trace. A real
emotion had given him dignity.
Philippa turned. She glanced hurriedly at
his face, and paused a moment before she said
pleadingly, " Dear Nigel, don't disturb our
friendship yet. It has been such happiness.
I don't want things altered at any rate yet
awhile."
Nevern hesitated, disappointment strug-
gling with hope. " But later ? " he begged at
last. " May I some time later "
She smiled. " We shall see. Let us leave
things as they are indefinitely well, for the
present at all events. And now, dear friend, I
think you must go." She put out her hand,
smiling her rare, elusive smile.
Nevern seized it and covered it with kisses
before she gently withdrew it.
" I may come again ? Soon ? " he whispered,
hoarsely.
" Yes ; but not till I write." She watched
him, still smiling, as he went to the door, and
turned for a last look at her.
The Day's Journey 157
"When the hall door slammed, she drew
herself up with a long, weary sigh. How
badly everything was arranged ! Why could
she not have met Nigel Nevern a year ago
instead of
She went slowly into her bedroom, and
returned with a photograph at which she gazed
long and earnestly, and finally put down with
a sigh.
Robert was very attractive. And she was
in love with him, of course. She was almost
angry to remember that Nigel Nevern had two
thousand a year.
CHAPTER XIV
BY the time November came round again,
Cecily's life had settled down to a more
or less steady routine. She gave the mornings
to her work, and her book was growing.
Her afternoons, and many evenings, were
taken up by social duties and occasional
pleasures. With the persistence of a patient
going through a prescribed cure, she con-
trived that no hour of her time should be
unoccupied. She cultivated her natural gifts
as a clever hostess, and began to entertain.
Her little parties were popular, for like her
father, who in his time had been a famous
host, she possessed an instinct for the right
people, and it began to be assumed that at
Mrs. Kingslake's one would at least escape a
dull evening. Sometimes her husband was
present ; more often he was away ; but he
encouraged the parties, and gradually Cecily
grew accustomed to knowing as little of his
engagements as if he were a stranger.
The Day's Journey 159
Philippa had not taken up her duties as
secretary until their return to town in the
autumn after a holiday which Cecily had spent
with Diana by the sea, and Robert abroad,
whence he had written occasional letters, vague
in tone as well as address.
The two women scarcely ever met. At
ten o'clock, when Philippa went to Robert's
study, Cecily was at work in her own room,
whence she did not emerge till after the sec-
retary's hour for departure. With all her
strength she strove to forget her presence in
the house, and the effort, at first apparently
impossible, became at last no effort at all.
Gradually her work absorbed her; gradually
she began to live in another world of her
own creating, often so completely that she
woke with a start to the consciousness of
her outward existence, in so far as it was
connected at all with her husband.
It was of the strangeness of this she
had been thinking one afternoon as she
walked through St. James's Park on her way
home.
It was the hour of twilight, that hour
which, in the autumn and in London, has a
magic past the power of words. The dusky
red of sunset lingered, and burned solemnly
160 The Day's Journey
through that swimming purple haze which
London draws like a veil spftly over its parks,
its squares, its ugliest streets, turning to
velvet softness the outlines of church, palace,
or factory.
On her left, rendered more gigantic by
the effect of the haze, the huge block of
Queen Anne's Mansions loomed like a
mediaeval fortress on the farther side of a
mist-filled valley, from which slender poplars
sprang. Everywhere points of flame ringed
the gathering darkness flames of trembling
amber, specks of crimson and emerald where
the hansoms were moving and before her,
at the end of the broad avenue, silver globes
burned before the great vague pile of masonry
which was Buckingham Palace.
Cecily walked slowly, aware of the myste-
rious beauty of that brief moment when night
touches departing day. There was a wisp of
silver moon in the deep blue overhead, and
near it one star trembled.
Involuntarily she smiled, and started to
realize that it was for happiness. What had
become of the torment, the unrest, of even
a year ago ? It was gone. She had peace.
She was out of bondage. She felt the beauty
of the world almost as an intoxication ; with
The Day's Journey 161
the keenness, the freshness of perception that
seems granted to human faculties after pain.
The thought of her nearly completed book
thrilled her with pleasurable excitement. She
remembered that Mayne was coming to dinner,
and that she had promised to read him the
last completed chapter. They would have
a nice little time together by the fire, before
the theatre to which he was going to take her.
Robert was to be out. She did not know
where, though she guessed and it did n't
matter. She drew herself up with a thrill of
thankfulness that it did not matter. It was
wonderful to be out of pain. The realization
that she had refused to be crushed by circum-
stances, that she had mastered her life and
turned it at her will, filled her with a sense
of triumph, of exultation.
Involuntarily she quickened her pace, as
though to make her steps keep time to her
eager thoughts. As she crossed Victoria Street,
the great campanile of the Cathedral drew her
eyes upwards towards the stars, and her heart
towards it in gratitude. At this hour it was
more wonderful than ever, its outline, faint and
purple, melting like a dream into the purple
sky. With it she always associated her liberty,
her present peace, her recovered energy, all
i6i The Day's Journey
that had brought her out of hell into the light
of day.
When she entered the flat and opened the
drawing-room door, it was to think how pretty,
how cosy it looked in the firelight. Tea
was ready on a low table near the hearth.
The firelight danced over the dainty flowered
cups, and darting about the room fell now
upon a bowl of roses, now on the emerald silk
of a cushion, bringing its color out in strong
relief against the pale-tinted walls. A maid
came in with a tea-pot and a plate of hot
cakes, and long after she had put down her
cup Cecily sat dreaming over the fire. She
roused presently, with a glance at the clock,
to find it was time to change her dress. All
the while she moved about in her bedroom,
taking off her walking-gown, doing her hair,
fastening the bodice of her evening dress,
her mind was pleasantly preoccupied. She
was thinking of the people in her book,
people who were flesh and blood to her.
They would be discussed to-night, and Dick
was no lenient critic. She wondered what
he would think of her last chapter.
All at once, with a curious sense of having
failed to realize something, she began to
wonder what she should do without Dick.
The Day's Journey 163
Suppose he were to start now on another
expedition next week, perhaps ? She was
fastening a chain round her neck when the
possibility occurred to her, and all at once her
hands dropped down into her lap and she
stared blankly into the glass. The thought
startled her. It was a little like having the
solid ground upon which she walked, and
which she accepted without consideration as
part of the recognized order of things, cut
from under her feet. So confused and
absorbed was she at first, that not for some
time did she become conscious of her own
reflection in the mirror. When her mind was
awake to it, that too came as a surprise.
She was almost pretty again. There was
clear color in her cheeks ; her eyes were
bright.
" I suppose this frock is becoming," she
told herself as she turned away.
Dick was waiting for her when she re-
entered the drawing-room. He was standing
near the fire, holding one hand to the blaze,
and as he turned, she thought how big he
looked, how reliable, and she smiled. It
was surprising how glad she always was to
see Dick. He never bored her.
" You 're looking very pleased with things
164 The Day's Journey
in general," he observed as he took her hand.
" Is it because you 've got on a new dress ? I
agree with you. It 's charming."
Cecily laughed. "Shall I turn round slowly,
to give you the full effect? Observe the lin-
ing of its sleeves and its dear little crystal
clasps!"
" I have observed them," he said, " and their
effect on you. It 's all that could be wished."
He spoke lightly, but his tone did not tend to
diminish her light-hearted mood.
" Now come ! " she exclaimed. " Sit there !
Did you think you were here to enjoy your-
self? You've got to listen to this chapter
before dinner, and listen hard, and think how
you can put severe criticism into a palatable
form for me. I insist on the criticism, but I
won't take it neat ! "
She went to her writing-table, and returned
with the written chapter, while Dick obediently
settled himself into a comfortable chair.
"Go ahead!" he remarked. "May I
smoke? "
The fire clicked a pleasant accompaniment
to Cecily's voice. The lamplight streamed
down upon her soft, thick hair. One of her
hands hung over the arm of the chair, white
and slender against the folds of her dress.
The Day's Journey 165
It was her left hand, and the firelight fell on
the gold of her wedding-ring. Mayne looked
at it once, and averted his gaze with a half
frown. At first it was altogether of her he
was thinking, his pulses still beating rather
quickly, as they always beat when he first saw
her, at every one of their meetings. At the
beginning of their intimacy he had been ter-
ribly afraid of betraying himself, of making
their friendship impossible, but he had long
ago learned to trust his own power of self-
control, and his manner to Cecily had been
the perfection of that affectionate friendliness
whose justification is long acquaintance.
Gradually his attention began to be held by
what she was reading. It seemed to him to
be very good. This impression increased as
she went on, till he grew absorbed, almost
breathless. When finally she put down the
last sheet and looked up at him, rather nerv-
ously, he was silent.
" Well ? " she demanded, her voice shaken
in a tremulous laugh.
Mayne got up and put his back against the
mantelpiece. " Braro ! " he said, deliberately.
" It 's good, Cis jolly good."
There was a moment's pause, during which
the color rushed into her face, and her hands
i66 The Day's Journey
began to tremble. The particular scene she
had read had meant a great deal to her, how
much she had not realized till she heard his
evidently deeply felt words of praise.
"You think so? " she forced herself to say.
" I know it," he returned, in the decisive
voice which had often comforted her. He
looked down at her, smiling. " Did n't I al-
ways say you could do it ? I don't care what
the public verdict is and it 's quite likely to
be slighting. You 've done a splendid piece
of work, and, by Jove ! if you 're half as proud
of it as I am " He paused, and they
both laughed.
" Dick," she said gently after a moment, " I
should n't have done it at all if it had n't been
for you."
The door opened at the moment, and the
parlor-maid came in to announce dinner.
Cecily sprang up. " Come along ! " she said,
gayly. " We must gallop through the courses
there are scarcely any, by the way or else
we shall be late, and I hate being late."
Mayne followed her into the dining-room,
glad and sorry for the interruption ; and
through dinner, and afterwards in the cab on
their way to the Haymarket, they talked on
indifferent topics.
The Day's Journey 167
" It 's going to rain," said Cecily, as they
drew up before the door, and, indeed, when
they came out after the play, the streets were
all wet and shining.
" Is n't it beautiful and wonderful ! " she
exclaimed, as they drove home. " It 's Alad-
din's palace ! " The streets were like long riv-
ers of silver, in which were reflected trembling
shafts of gold and ruby and amber. Over-
head the moon sailed clear of clouds in an
enormous gulf of star-sown sky. "How can
any one say that London is n't wonderful ? "
she went on. "To me it 's a magic city.
Look at those great swinging globes. They 're
shooting out starry spikes of enchantment all
the time. And see those trees against the
sky!"
They had turned into the Mall by this time,
and Dick glanced at her. Her eyes were
shining, her lips a little parted with eagerness.
Suddenly he thought of the woman with whom
he had walked across the meadows at Sheep-
cote. He recalled her drawn face and faded
eyes, and something that was almost like an
instinct of cruelty prompted his next words.
" How does Miss Burton do as secretary ? "
he asked. He had never before alluded to
her daily presence in the house.
i68 The Day's Journey
She glanced at him a moment, in her turn.
" Oh, I believe very well," she returned,
quietly, with no trace of confusion. " Robert
hopes to get his new book out in the spring."
" And yours ? "
" It 's got to be accepted first," she returned,
with a laugh. " But I shall finish it in a week,
I think." She sighed. " How I shall miss
it!"
" Begin something else at once," he advised.
"You have ideas?"
" Thousands ! " she said, gayly.
They were near home by this time, and
Mayne put out his hand. " I congratulate
you."
Cecily looked at him. " On the book, you
mean ? "
" On everything," he returned, gravely.
There was a moment's silence.
" Good-night," said Cecily as he took her
latch-key and opened the hall door for her.
" Thank you so much."
CHAPTER XV
ONE day early in April, Kingslake, who
was walking towards the district station
at Victoria, was stopped by a man he knew
slightly and would like to have known better ;
a man justly celebrated in the world of science
and letters.
" How are you, Kingslake ? " he said.
" Where are you going ? I 'm just on my way
to you."
Robert shook hands cordially, but looked
mystified.
" On your way to me ? " he began.
" Calling on your wife. Bless the man, he
does n't know his wife's at-home day, I be-
lieve ! " Powis laughed good-temperedly as
he spoke. " I expect you hate that kind of
thing. Well, so do I, as a rule. It takes as
charming a woman as Mrs. Kingslake to get
an old fellow like me out calling nowadays,
I can tell you."
Robert smiled. He had no idea that Cecily
knew Powis at all.
iy The Day's Journey
" I see her book 's coming out on Monday,"
the elder man went on. " Great excitement
for you both, eh ? Well, I hope it '11 be a
great success. She deserves it. Clever girl !
I always thought, even when she was a little
thing at home, she 'd astonish us all some day.
You kept her in the country too long, Kings-
lake. We 're all glad to see her back."
Robert murmured a fairly appropriate reply.
He felt rather dazed and confused.
" When are we to have your new novel ? "
was the next question. " Must n't lag behind
your wife, you know. Why don't you col-
laborate ? But I expect you do. Well, we 're
impeding the traffic here. Sorry I sha'n't see
you at the flat this afternoon. Good-bye."
He hurried off, leaving Robert to ponder his
voluble words.
Cecily's book out on Monday ? He did n't
even know she was writing a book. He
walked on to the station, and mechanically
took a ticket for South Kensington. " Great
excitement for you both." The genial words
fell again on his ear with ironical effect, while
he was at the same moment conscious of one
more stab to his vanity an important per-
sonal equipment, which, of late, had been
wounded more than a little. His own new
The Day's Journey 171
book had been out quite six weeks, and it had
fallen absolutely flat. This fact, a not un-
common check to the rising novelist, had de-
pressed him considerably. Cecily had been
very sympathetic about it. He remembered
this still, with gratitude. Cecily, he reflected,
was one of the few people who could be sorry
for one without wounding.
So she had been writing a book ! It seemed
strange to think of it. He remembered how,
in the early years of their marriage, he had
sometimes found her "scribbling." He re-
membered how he had at first laughed and
teased her, and afterwards, when she had shown
symptoms of " taking it seriously," how he
had shown his disapproval. He thought of
this now, and it seemed to him rather a con-
temptible attitude to have adopted. He felt
vaguely ashamed. But he had been jealous,
really jealous ; he recalled the sensation now
with a curious stirring of a forgotten emotion
with regard to his wife jealous that she
should be absorbed in anything that did not
concern him. How long ago it all seemed !
And now she had written a novel, and he did
not even know who was her publisher. He
supposed she had placed it the more easily be-
cause of his name, which was also hers. There
172 The Day's Journey
was comfort in that reflection. He was glad
to have been of use to her. He hoped she
would get some encouragement; he hoped
And then he shook himself impatiently,
conscious that he was not really thinking any
of these things. All that was vividly present
in his mind was a touch of resentment, a
curious sense of bitterness that he knew so
little about her ; that he did not even know
the men who went to the house. Except
Mayne. He frowned involuntarily. Mayne
was there a good deal. Well, he himself had
often impressively invited him. With some
haste he dismissed this reflection. At the mo-
ment it was one he did not feel disposed to
investigate. It was unfortunate that he could
not feel cordial towards Mayne. But after
all, one's likes and dislikes were not within
one's control, and Mayne was Cecily's friend,
and so He banished the subject with an
impatient shrug.
On emerging from the station at South
Kensington, he heard his name uttered some-
what piercingly, and in response to a peremp-
tory order, a motor-car drew up smoothly
beside the curb.
"How are you, Robin?" Lady Wilmot
exclaimed, extending a hand. " And why are
The Day's Journey 173
you in this direction on your wife's at-home
day ? I 'm on my way to her. How is she ?
As pretty as ever? I met her at the Du-
quesne's last week, and thought her looking
charming. The country and your exclusive
society, my dear, evidently disagreed with her."
" You are always kind," returned Robert.
" And what is this I hear about a book of
hers ? " she pursued.
" It 's coming out on Monday," said Robert,
thankful to be able to supply the informa-
tion.
" You '11 have a rival near home ! " chuckled
his companion. "That last book of yours
is n't doing much, is it ? Knights and castles
and things are off for the moment, I think.
Why don't you write a society novel ? They
always take, if you make the women spiteful
enough ; but I admit the difficulty of that.
Well, I must be off. Your wife 's a good
hostess. I never miss her parties. Good-bye,
my dear. When will you come and dine ? "
The last question was put in a shrill voice
over her shoulder, as the car glided off.
Robert walked on. The little interview had
not raised his spirits, and as he turned into the
quiet, rather shabby little road which contained
Philippa's studio, it was with a shock the
174 The Day's Journey
reverse of pleasant that he saw Nevern coming
down the steps of her house. He knew the
young man slightly, and nodded to him as he
passed. Before the door opened, he noticed
that Nevern turned and watched his admit-
tance with what his imagination, at least, con-
strued into an angry frown.
Philippa opened the door she kept no
servant and he followed her upstairs with-
out speaking.
When the studio door closed she turned
round and looked at him, inquiry in her eyes.
" Well ? " she said, tenderly, in her deepest
voice as she held out both hands.
Robert ignored them, and walked moodily
towards the fire.
" Robert ! " murmured Philippa.
He was silent.
Philippa hesitated a moment, then, as though
taking a sudden determination, she followed
him to the fire, and resting one elbow on the
mantelpiece, looked at him haughtily.
" Will you explain ? " she demanded.
" What was Nevern doing here ? " asked
Robert, abruptly.
Philippa raised her eyebrows.
" He was calling on me."
" Does he often call ? Do you often have
The Day's Journey 175
men here to see you?" He spoke in a
voice of suppressed anger.
" Quite often," returned Philippa, firmly ;
"why not?"
Robert was silent. Presently he turned
sharply towards the window, and stood look-
ing out upon the roof-tops opposite.
Philippa remained standing by the mantel-
piece. There was impatience in her face, and
a certain indecision. Once she opened her
lips to speak, and refrained. Finally, with a
shrug of the shoulders, she went to him and
laid her hand gently on his arm.
"Surely this is not jealousy, Robert?" she
said, plaintively. "After all our talks ? After
our mutual agreement upon that subject? "
"It's all very well!" exclaimed Robert;
"but if, under our circumstances, a woman
does n't know what is due to the man she pro-
fesses to love, would you have him say
nothing? "
" I would have him so trust the woman he
professes to love that he should feel jealousy an
insult to her," she returned, with lowered eyelids.
Robert did not answer for a moment ; when
he spoke his voice was husky.
" You don't understand," he began, " how
a man feels when "
176 The Day's Journey
" When a woman spends half an hour in
giving good advice to a boy?" smiled Philippa.
" Oh, Robert, don't let us profane our love.
Do let us keep vulgar jealousy out of it. I
want so much to make it a real inspiration,
an ennobling influence in our lives. Come,
Robert ! Be good."
The last words were uttered pleadingly,
and he turned. She looked very beautiful,
with her face upraised to his, and moved by
a sudden gust of passion, Robert flung his
arms round her and kissed her white throat.
An hour later, however, in spite of their
reconciliation, Robert was again moody and
depressed. He pushed his tea-cup away from
him, and began to wander restlessly about the
room, a sure sign with him of mental pertur-
bation. Philippa lay back in her low chair,
and watched him furtively. There was a cer-
tain exasperation in her face which, if he had
not been too preoccupied, Robert would have
found easily discernible.
" I don't know what 's the matter with my
work," he was saying, irritably. " The book 's
not going a bit."
" Not a bit," agreed Philippa, with some-
what exasperating calm.
The Day's Journey 177
" What 's the reason ? " demanded Robert,
coming to an abrupt pause before her chair.
She shrugged her shoulders. " Your dear
public 's tired of that particular mild blend,
I suppose. You must mix something else.
Give it them stronger."
Robert glanced at her. It struck him that
her tone was not quite sympathetic. Philippa
had an occasional odd trick of dropping the
mystic for the pronouncedly colloquial turn
of speech. "You speak as though I were a
tea merchant or a tobacconist," he exclaimed.
" Don't you wish you were ? " she asked,
stretching out her hand for a cigarette.
" No," returned Robert, shortly.
At times, also, Philippa was quite discon-
certingly materialistic. He never quite knew
what to make of her at such moments. It
was such a curious lapse from her usual lofty
standpoint. She saw his bewilderment, and
after a moment put out her hand to him.
" Dear, I know how it frets you as an
artist, but, after all, even artists must live.
And to do that they must condescend to the
stupid multitude. Why not write a society
novel, Robert?" She sat upright in her chair.
" With lots of titles, you know "
" And the women spiteful enough," put in
iy8 The Day's Journey
Robert, with a short laugh. " I 've had that
advice once to-day from Lady Wilmot. I
scarcely expected it from you, Philippa."
She rose, and began to put the tea-things
together.
"You are unreasonable," she began, coldly,
after a slight pause. " First you grumble be-
cause your book does n't suit the public, and
then when I suggest something that probably
will, you turn upon me."
He did not immediately reply, and when
he spoke, Philippa recognized with a flash of
anger that he had not been attending to her
words.
" Do you know that Cecily 's been writing
a book ? " he asked, suddenly. " It 's to be
out to-morrow."
" Oh ? " she returned, coldly. " What a lot
of scribblers there are in the world, to be sure."
Robert felt annoyed. He parted coldly
from Philippa, and taking a hansom in the
Brompton road, drove to his club. On the
stairs he met Travers, a friend of his. Travers
looked perturbed and angry.
" Women are the very deuce ! " he ex-
claimed, in reply to an interrogation.
" I agree," said Robert, with fervor.
CHAPTER XVI
T ATE in the afternoon of the following
I > Tuesday, Robert sat over the fire in
his study, reading his wife's book.
He had found it on his writing-table, when
he returned to the flat soon after three o'clock,
after lunching with Travers at his club.
The sight of the green-covered volume with
Cecily's name in gilt letters upon it affected
him with an odd, unclassified, but very strong
emotion. It was a moment before he could
touch it. Then he turned to the title-page.
It was empty of any dedication, but his initials
and Cecily's, in her handwriting, stood in the
right-hand corner. He took up the book hur-
riedly, possessed with a sudden burning curi-
osity, and throwing himself into a chair, began
to read. He read straight on, and now he
had almost reached the last page. A few
moments later he closed the book, and sat
looking down at the cover, with unseeing
eyes. It had been a curious experience. To
a stranger the book would probably seem
i8o The Day's Journey
impersonal, if anything; rather unusually im-
personal for a woman, perhaps. To Robert it
was full of Cecily ; full of her personality ;
full of the self which, in the first months of
their marriage, she had revealed to him, and,
as he divined, to him alone. It was like
something lost and remembered in a dream ;
something so beautiful and intimate that only
in a dream could its memory be recaptured.
Very gently, as though fearing to break the
spell, he laid the closed book upon the table.
In the background of consciousness his critical
faculty was awake, slightly amazed, and more
than slightly approving.
The book was immature, but it had power,
it had distinction, it was moving. The artist
in him rejoiced; the man was troubled by
conflicting emotions. There was latent pride,
there was more than a twinge of jealousy, to
name only two of them.
He rose abruptly and stood leaning against
the mantelpiece. It was odd that for the last
three hours he had completely lost sight of
Philippa. She had had no existence beside
that fleeting vision of his wife. He thought
of her now with a sort of shock, as though
she were a stranger. Only yesterday he had
been torturing himself about the state of her
The Day's Journey 181
feelings towards him. Did she care for him
as much as ever? Now, for the moment, at
least, it seemed not to matter.
He wanted to go and speak to Cecily, and
remembered with an inexplicable pang how
long it was since they had exchanged more
than a few conventional words. Sometimes
he wondered whether she suspected his rela-
tions with Philippa ; but long ago he had
persuaded himself that, even if she did, it
was no matter, since she had ceased to care
about him. She was in the drawing-room,
but, as he expressed it to himself, in the com-
pany of " a whole crowd of people." This he
gathered from the faint murmur of talk which
reached his study. He wondered whether
Mayne was there. He wondered whether
But this was a speculation which had been
more or less present to his mind in a scarcely
acknowledged form for more than a year,
though never till to-day had it made his face
change as it changed now. He began to
pace the room.
Would those chattering fools never go ?
Cecily was always surrounded by them ! And
he wanted to tell her that he liked her book.
He had worked himself into a fever of im-
patience before the hall door closed for the
1 82 The Day's Journey
last time. Then, at last, hearing no sound
from the next room, he went in.
The door was # little ajar and Cecily, who
was sitting in a low chair by the fire, did not
notice his entrance. It had grown dusk, but
the lamps were not yet brought in, and the
firelight fell full upon her face as she leaned back
in her chair. Robert remembered Lady Wil-
mot's remark " She 's looking quite pretty
again." It was long since he had noticed Cecily's
looks, and it was with a sense of surprise that
he admitted the justice of his godmother's
remark. He had thought Cecily had grown
faded. She did not look faded now ; and
she was charmingly dressed. Standing in the
shadow of the door, Robert watched her a
moment. Her eyes were fixed on the fire,
and a little smile played about her lips. He
wondered what she was thinking about, and
an unexpected stab of jealousy smote him, to
realize that he did n't know, that he might
not ask.
He moved forward and Cecily, rather star-
tled, raised her head. She rose with a kind
of embarrassment at the sight of him and
stood waiting by the mantelpiece as he came
near.
" I Ve read your book," he began.
The Day's Journey 183
She flushed nervously.
"Already? " she asked, with a laugh.
" Yes. I read it at a sitting." He paused.
" I wanted to tell you that I like it. I like it
more than I can " Again he stopped, and
Cecily looked at him, surprised and touched.
Robert, who was always so fluent ! That
Robert should stammer and hesitate meant
much.
Impulsively she put out her hand. " Really ?
I 'm so glad," she began, softly.
" Mr. Mayne," said the maid's voice sud-
denly, and Robert dropped the hand he had
the previous moment eagerly taken.
" That you, Mayne ? You '11 excuse me I
must get to work," he said, making towards
the door at which Mayne had just entered.
He had seen his wife's eyes go past him and
brighten as they fell upon her visitor, and he
closed his study door with a bang.
CHAPTER XVII
THE weeks that followed were difficult
weeks for Robert. Cecily's book was a
success in so far that from the artist's stand-
point it attracted just the right sort of atten-
tion. It was praised by just the half-dozen
critics whose opinion Robert held to be valu-
able ; the critics whose good opinion he had
secretly never ceased to covet, even while he
consciously strayed into the broad path which
leads to popular success and literary de-
struction.
But in her own immediate circle, comprising
as it did many people whose chief interests
were connected with the world of books,
Cecily's success was immediate and strikingly
apparent. Already popular as a charming as
well as a pretty woman, it needed only the
added distinction of having written a novel that
was discussed at length in the Quarterlies to
make her openly courted. Robert never saw
her nowadays. It had come to be tacitly
understood that "the Kingslakes went their
The Day's Journey 185
separate ways," and invitations in which he was
not included were showered upon his wife.
The first party for several weeks to which they
went together was one given in June by Lady
Wilmot.
At half-past nine, Robert stood waiting in
the hall for his wife. In a few minutes her
bedroom door opened and she came out, fol-
lowed by a maid who held her evening cloak
ready .
Robert regarded her critically. She wore a
white gown, which he, a connoisseur of women's
dress, thoroughly approved. Moreover, as he
could not fail to see, it was extraordinarily be-
coming. Her dark hair looked very soft and
cloudy, the color in her cheeks was faint and
delicate as a wild rose. He looked at her,
and saw she was a beautiful woman.
" Do I look nice ? " she asked, smiling.
Oddly enough Robert felt depressed that the
smile was so cordial.
"Very," he returned, and did not speak
again till they were in the hansom that the hall
porter had called. Even then it was she who
broke the silence.
" You look rather tired," she said, glancing
at him. "Are you? "
"Not tired. Beastly depressed." He
i86 The Day's Journey
spoke in the tone of a child who needs com-
fort, a tone which Cecily knew well. It never
failed to move her.
" Things are n't going very well just now ? "
she asked, gently. "It 's frightfully worrying
while it lasts, is n't it ? But it won't last.
Nothing lasts. Why, next year, I shall be
down there," she indicated infinite depth,
" and you, towering on pinnacles above me ! "
"Oh, no!" returned Robert, bitterly.
X{ You 've come to stay."
Cecily shrank back a little into the corner
of the cab. When she replied, her voice
trembled.
" You speak almost as though you were
sorry," she said. " And that makes me miser-
able. There 's no comparison between your
best work and mine, Robert but there 's also
.no accounting for what will succeed."
Robert felt a violent increase of the irrita-
tion that possessed him an irritation which
had its source in many complex, undefined
emotions.
" Oh, as to that," he began, with a con-
temptuous laugh, "that 's quite immaterial.
Surely, my dear Cecily, you can't imagine that
I 'm jealous of this little boom of yours ? I
don't take that seriously."
The Day's Journey 187
She was stung by his tone. " Am I to un-
derstand that there 's something you do? "
" Yes," returned Robert, suddenly. " I
object to your intimacy with Mayne." The
words broke from him, apparently without
his own volition. He was startled at their
sound.
For a long moment there was silence.
" On what grounds ? " inquired Cecily at
last, in the same icy tone.
" On the grounds that people are talking
and that you are my wife."
She looked full at him and he felt, rather
than saw, the scorn in her face. " Do you
remember," she said at last, " my surprise
when, without consulting me, you asked Dick
Mayne to the house ? "
" When I trusted my wife," he began, feel-
ing that the confidence was fading out of his
voice. " I thought she would have sufficient
regard for my "
His words were cut short by her bitter
laugh.
" Oh, Robert ! Are you really going to
talk about your honor ? That will be very
funny."
A fury, fanned to white heat by the mock-
ery of her tone, seized Robert. While he was
i88 The Day's Journey
struggling for words the hansom drew up be-
fore Lady Wilmot's door, and without his aid
Cecily alighted and moved before him up the
steps and into the house.
Lady Wilmot's big drawing-room was filled
to overflowing when the Kingslakes entered.
Their hostess pounced at once upon Cecily,
and extended a casual hand to her husband.
" Here you are, my dear ! I thought you
were never coming ! There are a hundred
people languishing for a sight of you. Here 's
Mr. Fairholt-Graeme. I introduce him first,
because his is a bad case, but he must n't
monopolize you long."
Cecily smiled as a tall, grave-looking man
took her hand with an air of homage, and in
a few moments she was surrounded by a little
knot of men and women, all eager for a word
with her.
Robert glanced round the room in search
of Philippa. He caught a glimpse of her at
last, on the broad landing outside the drawing-
room. Some man was bending over her. Im-
patiently Robert struggled towards the door to
see who it was, and presently discovered, as he
suspected, Nevern.
He clenched his hands. How he hated
The Day's Journey 189
this kind of thing; hated the glaring lights,
the parrot chatter, the crush, the heat, the
sight of familiar faces. Some of them were
smiling invitations, and he had to go and
exchange badinage ; to listen to repeated con-
gratulations on Cecily's success ; to invent fresh
sentences to express his rapture. Above the
heads of the crowd, presently, he saw Mayne,
and with the recognition of his face, came an
intolerable stab of anger, of jealousy. He
watched; saw him steadily draw near to
Cecily, saw him wait quietly, without im-
patience, till he could speak to her; saw
him move aside with her to an open win-
dow, where they stood together talking.
In the meantime, unnoticed by him, Philippa
was casting uneasy glances in his direction.
From her seat on the landing, she could watch
his face as he leaned in the doorway of the
drawing-room, carrying on a desultory con-
versation with a pretty, fluffy-haired woman,
who looked more than a little bored.
Robert's moods, as indicated by his expres-
sion, were too well known to Philippa to
prevent her from misreading danger signals.
She knew that she must get rid of Nevern.
" I think you ought to go, Nigel," she
murmured, caressingly. " Yes, dear, please,
190 The Day's Journey
I wish it. You have been talking to me
too long."
Nevern was restive. " Why ? " he whis-
pered. " Why should n't every one know ?
I 'm so tired of all this "
" I do so want to keep our exquisite se-
cret a little longer," she interrupted, hurriedly.
" It 's always a profanation when it is shared
by the vulgar world. Besides, you promised,
Nigel ! "
He drew himself up with a sigh. " Yes,
I know. But how long is it to go on like
this ? "
She smiled at him. " Be patient a little
longer. Now let 's go into the room, then
I '11 stop and speak to some one I know, and
you can leave me."
" When may I come ? " urged Nevern in
the same low tone as she rose.
" I don't know. I '11 write," she told him,
hurriedly, with Robert's eyes upon her.
They took the few steps towards the
drawing-room together, and taking care to
make her dismissal of Nevern as casual as
possible, as well as to be in full view of
Robert when it was achieved, she gave both
hands to Mrs. Stanley Garth, the distin-
guished theosophist. Philippa's attitude, as
The Day's Journey 191
well as her rapid glance in passing, suggested
that his moment had come. Robert allowed
it to pass. Five minutes later she saw him
shake hands with their hostess, and overheard
the beginning of his excuses for leavetaking.
" But you cant go ! " exclaimed Lady Wil-
mot. " All nonsense about a sick friend. I
don't believe in him. Besides, you 're not
going to desert your wife ? "
" Lady Luton has very kindly offered to
drive her home," said Robert. " She lives
almost next door, you know."
"I believe it's nothing but temper!" de-
clared his hostess, jovially. " You 're rather out
of it nowadays, are n't you ? When a man has
a brilliant wife he must look to his laurels, eh ?
'Pon my word, Robert, she 's quite cut you
out. Every one 's talking about her book.
Look at them now," she jerked her head back
towards the room "all swinging incense.
Why, you wicked creature, you never even
told me she wrote. I believe you were
jealous ! "
She was walking with him towards the head
of the stairs while she chattered. She was hit-
ting a little at random, but it amused ^ier to
discover when the blows were felt. To do
Lady Wilmot justice, her malice was not
192 The Day's Journey
exclusively directed against her own sex. To
exasperate a man afforded her on the whole
more entertainment than she would have de-
rived had her victim been feminine. " A
man's colossal vanity is so tempting," she
frequently observed. " I long to overthrow
it. But then, I always had a taste for the
impossible."
Despite his utmost endeavors Robert could
not make his rejoinders sound other than a
trifle constrained.
" I admit I never took Cecily's work very
seriously," he said. " That was my mistake.
She never talked about it much herself, and
well, somehow one never thinks of one's
wife as a literary woman. But, my dear lady !
jealous of her ? What an idea ! "
" Rather a good idea, eh ? I did n't know
her well before she married, and you managed
to give me quite a wrong impression of her,
anyhow. I always pictured her a demure
little country mouse, with scarcely a squeak in
her. Look at her now ! "
She put up her lorgnette. The rooms had
thinned a little, and through the archway of
the door they could both see Cecily, who, in
the midst of a group of people, was talking
animatedly.
The Day's Journey 193
" That 's La Roche leaning over the sofa,"
said Lady Wilmot. " You know La Roche ?
He's the latest dramatic critic in Paris. Sup-
posed to be very brilliant, I hear. Graeme
introduced him, I imagine. Graeme's a tre-
mendous admirer. You see he does n't leave
the field to La Roche, in spite of the introduc-
tion. And there's Mayne, of course."
" Why c of course ' ? " inquired Robert,
quickly. Lady Wilmot assumed an innocent
expression.
" Why not ? Is n't he your great friend, as
well as Cecily's? "
"Certainly," was Robert's immediate reply.
" He seems to be exploring London drawing-
rooms instead of jungles, nowadays," she
continued. " Well, it 's a fine field, and the
animals are even more dangerous ! "
" Good-bye, I must really go," said Robert
again, putting out his hand.
" Must you ? Nonsense," she returned,
ignoring it. " I 'm so enjoying this little chat.
I scarcely ever see you now. How does
Philippa Burton answer as a secretary ? "
There was a gleam of interested amusement
in her eyes as she put the question.
" Excellently, thank you."
Lady Wilmot put her head on one side and
13
194 The Day's Journey
levelled her lorgnette at Philippa. " Does n't
look much like a secretary, does she? Her
hair always reminds me of a crimped hearth-
rug. And how on earth does she manage
never to forget that stricken-deer expression
about the eyes? It's very effective, though.
I don't wonder that when she thinks of her
son poor old Mrs. " She checked her-
self abruptly. " Oh, I forgot. I promised
not to say a word about that."
" About what ? " asked Robert, trying to
conceal his anxiety.
"Never mind, my dear. Sometimes I
think I talk too much. But Philippa 's a
precious little humbug, you know. Only you
men are such gabies." Her bright eyes sought
his face inquisitively. " Did you see her doing
the high and noble with Sam Nevern to-night ?
I did n't know how to contain myself! "
" I thought his name was Nigel ? "
" Samuel, my dear. Nigel for poetic pur-
poses. I 've known his family for years.
Most respectable. Old Nevern made a lot
of money in soap or candles, I forget which
both, perhaps. Sammy will come in for a
nice little fortune, so he can afford to write
bad poetry. Not really going? How tire-
some of you."
The Day's Journey 195
Robert escaped into the sweet night air with
a sense of unutterable relief. The Park gates
were still open, and he turned into the broad
walk, and, lighting a cigarette, walked on be-
tween the trees which hung motionless above
his head. His brain was whirling, but by an
effort of will he retraced the events of the
evening, beginning with his drive to Lancaster
Gate with Cecily. His pride shrank from ad-
mitting that he had been wrong, while his
sense of justice accused him. Cecily's words
came back to him.
" Do you remember my surprise when you
asked Dick Mayne to the house ? "
It was true, that, and more than that.
He winced as he thought of all that had been
at least tacitly included in his invitation to
the man whose presence he now resented.
He looked back upon it as one recalls a fit
of half-remembered delirium.
How madly, in those days, he had loved
Philippa ! How she had filled for him heaven
and earth, so that he would have risked any-
thing, stooped to any baseness, to make her
as fully his as he longed to make her ! And
now? He scarcely knew whether he loved
her at all. He had been enraged at the sight
of Nevern, certainly, but was it because he
196 The Day's Journey
loved her ? Was n't it rather blind resent-
ment against the suspicion of betrayal, by
Philippa at least, since Cecily no longer
cared ; a mad determination not to be aban-
doned, cast off by both women ? He felt like
a gambler who always loses, while his fellow-
gamblers have all the luck. Lady Wilmot's
chatter beat through his brain incessantly.
" Mayne, of course." So people were really
talking ! He raged to know with how much
truth. Then came the remembrance of her
incessant harping upon his wife's success, and
its effect upon his vanity. Shame at his own
lack of generosity struggled in vain with the
knowledge that Lady Wilmot was right. With
whatever injustice, with whatever lack of gen-
erosity, he did resent it, even though the re-
sentment was touched with admiration and an
odd sort of pride. Robert had never achieved
self-analysis quite so free from self-deception,
as during that short walk under the dreaming
trees.
The keeper on the other side of the Park
was waiting to shut the gate as he reached
Hyde Park Corner, and a glance at the clock
showed him that it wanted a minute to twelve.
Mechanically, seeing nothing, he walked down
Grosvenor Road, and on into Victoria Street,
The Day's Journey 197
where, though the omnibuses had ceased to
run, cabs still wandered, or passed one another
at full speed, while an occasional motor-car shot
amongst them. As he turned out of the street
into the stillness of Carlisle Place, his eyes fell
upon the Cathedral tower, majestic against the
night sky sown with stars. Like Cecily, he
felt its quietude, but only as something which
accentuated the restless, uneasy tumult of his
thoughts. Upstairs, when he reached the
flat, the light was burning in the hall. Cecily
had not returned. He felt vaguely relieved
as he went straight to his room and shut the
door.
CHAPTER XVIII
BY the next morning Robert had deter-
mined to leave town for a week or two,
and take a holiday. He felt ill and nervous ;
his work was suffering ; he would take advan-
tage of a standing invitation from some friends
at Maidenhead. A fortnight's idling on the
river would do him no harm, and relieve him
from the necessity of meeting either his wife
or Philippa. Quite early, he despatched two
telegrams, and leaving a note for Cecily, he
was on his way to Paddington before eleven
o'clock. Cecily received the curt intimation
of his departure with a sense of great relief.
She was bitterly angry. Through a sleepless
night she had followed again and again, with
growing contempt, all the links in the chain
of events which had preceded Robert's out-
burst of the previous evening. Her anger
burned the more fiercely with the memory of
the impulse of tenderness which her husband's
words had quenched. She had thought her-
self so indifferent, she had so trained herself to
The Day's Journey 199
forget, to ignore him, that it was with a sort
of wonder she had felt her heart stirred lately
by the sight of his obvious depression. Often
she had longed to try to comfort him, and
had found herself scornfully wondering what
Philippa was about, to be unable to render this
first aid to the wounded. She had been by no
means displeased to find that Philippa did not
understand him.
Now all her pity for him was forgotten in
indignation. All night she had been anticipat-
ing their meeting and the inevitable renewal
of their broken conversation. What would be
its result? And now, for the present at least,
she might leave that consideration. Rose
Summers was coming for a fortnight's visit.
There was comfort in the thought that she
should have her to herself.
" Well, lioness ! " was her friend's greeting
when she arrived at the well-chosen tea-hour.
She kissed Cecily and held her at arm's
length, nodding approval. "A very well-
favored animal," she remarked. " I con-
gratulate you, my dear."
Cecily laughed. " I Ve taken great pains
with the grooming," she said. " Do you
groom lionesses, by the way ? "
200 The Day's Journey
" For drawing-room use, certainly. In your
case with admirable result. Now, for heaven's
sake, give me some tea and tell me things."
Cecily complied with both requests, though
to the latter she did not respond as thoroughly
as her cousin wished. Except for an occasional
half-hour now and then, they had not met for
a year, and Rose was amazed at the change in
Cecily. She struck her as looking prettier
than she had been even in her early girlhood,
but so different from that girlish Cecily that it
was difficult to think of the two individuals as
in any way related. Cecily was one of those
women who develop late, in intellect, in all
that makes personality, even, under favorable
circumstances, in beauty. At twenty-five she
had been still immature. Now, at thirty-two,
she gave the impression of a woman self-
possessed, if gracious and charming in manner;
a woman who had looked close at life, and was
under no illusions with regard to it.
As Rose listened to her, she gained the
impression of a full and varied existence, full
of interest, at least, if not of happiness. Of
Mayne, Cecily spoke quite frankly. She saw
much of him. She owed him much " almost
everything, in fact." Of her husband, though
Rose waited, she spoke not at all, beyond a
201
mention of the fact that he had gone into the
country for a week or two.
" I did n't ask any one to dinner," Cecily
said. " I thought we 'd be alone the first
evening and not go out anywhere."
"It's a change for you to be quiet, I see,"
remarked Rose.
Cecily laughed. " Yes," she admitted.
" There 's always some one here or else I 'm
out."
"A great change from Sheepcote? "
" Thank God ! yes in every way."
The immediate reply was fervent, and Rose
wondered, though at the time she said nothing.
It was only after dinner, when they sat by the
open window in the drawing-room, that she
deliberately introduced the subject of her
speculations.
" Do you remember the last time we sat by
the window and talked?" she said.
Cecily was smoking. She broke off the ash
of her cigarette against the window-sill before
she replied.
" Yes," she said. " I was in hell then."
" And now ? "
" Now I 'm out of it."
Rose paused a moment. There was no
mistaking the quiet thankfulness of the tone.
202 The Day's Journey
" And Robert ? " she ventured.
"I know nothing about Robert or rather,
to be strictly truthful, I did n't till last night."
She laughed a little. " And then I made a
discovery."
"Yes?"
" I find that Robert is, or pretends to be,
jealous of Dick Mayne."
Almost imperceptibly, Rose started.
" Does that mean that ? "
Cecily shrugged her shoulders.
" Is she still his secretary ? "
" Oh, yes."
"But ?"
" I don't know," returned Cecily. " I don't
think it matters."
Mrs. Summers waited a few moments.
" Cecily," she said at last, " are you sincere ?
Are you as indifferent as that ? "
"If you mean with regard to that, or any
other woman yes."
" You don't care for him ? not any more at
all ? "
Cecily hesitated, then sighed rather wearily.
"Oh, I don't know. I thought not but
I don't know. He 's made me despise him ;
he 's robbed me of every illusion about him ; I
see him, and have long seen him just as he
The Day's Journey 203
is. Now he has insulted me in a way that 's so
ludicrously unjust that I " She laughed
again. " That 's all one can do laugh. And
yet " She stopped.
" Yes ? " said Rose again.
" Yet I feel bound to him," declared Cecily,
slowly. " Not in any sort of legal way, of
course, but just so that I can't help myself.
When he looks tired, or worried, or disap-
pointed and he so often looks all of them
my heart aches. I want to comfort him.
It's just as though he were my child, you
know, my silly, naughty little boy." She
smiled to herself, quietly.
" Cis ! " exclaimed Rose, involuntarily. "How
you have grown up ! "
" Grown up ? I have grown old. Hun-
dreds of years old." The last words were
uttered as though to herself. For some time
neither of them spoke.
" What are you going to do about Dick ? "
asked Rose at last.
Cecily turned her head in surprise. " Do
about him ? "
" People are talking, you know. I heard it
last year when I was in town, and, indirectly,
once or twice since."
" Are you thinking of Robert ? " There
204 The Day's Journey
was a note of contemptuous amusement in
her voice.
" Not at all. Of you."
" Then don't trouble, dear. People will
continue to talk. But as long as I don't
fizzle out, they '11 also continue to ask me to
their parties."
" And is there no danger of anything
else ? " persisted Rose.
" Of my falling in love with Dick, you
mean? Not the slightest."
" Then you would n't mind if he went oflF
exploring again ? "
Cecily started. " Yes, I should," she
returned, quickly. "I couldn't bear it."
"Why?"
"Why?" She looked at her friend in
bewilderment. " Because of everything. Be-
cause of Why, he 's made everything
possible. My book all the people I 've
got to know. I was all to pieces when Dick
came home. He put me together again, and
stood me on my two feet, and "
"And yet you are in no danger."
Cecily looked at her a full moment without
speaking, and it was Rose who again broke
the silence.
" My dear, when a woman relies on a man
The Day's Journey 205
like that, when she can't picture life without
him, there is always danger."
" If you only knew," began Cecily, leaning
forward and speaking impressively, " if you
only knew how thankful I am to be out of
love. To have peace, to have freedom, to
have found myself again. It 's just what I
said. It's just as though I had stepped out
of hell, to find the blue sky over my head,
and the grass underfoot, and the flowers every-
where, all the dear, beautiful, natural things
that never hurt one."
" I know," said Rose. " But that 's just a
phase, Cis a reaction. Don't think you're
done with love because you dread it. You 're
young. You have tremendous vitality. Look
at yourself now in the glass, and think what
you were two years ago. You 're not the
sort of woman for whom things are very
easily over."
" And even so," interrupted Cecily, passion-
ately, "granted that what you say is true,
would you have me give up Dick's friend-
ship ? a friendship which was forced upon
me by my husband, for a reason which he has
since made sufficiently obvious ? "
" I would have you completely realize the
situation, that's all," returned Rose, calmly.
206 The Day's Journey
" After that, I 'm quite content to leave it
with you. What I can't stand, is the silly
way in which people deceive themselves, and
then stand in amazement, or rend heaven
with their cries, when their celestial palaces,
whose foundation a fool might have seen to
be rotten, come tumbling about their ears.
Do what you choose as long as you know
you're doing it, is what I would say to any
but the congenital idiot."
There was a moment's silence. Then
Cecily laughed.
" I like you when you turn on the vinegar
and vitriol," she said. " Have another
cigarette ? "
CHAPTER XIX
FOR some considerable time past, the plas-
tic heart of Philippa had been undergoing
its periodical regeneration. It now yearned
in all sincerity for the domestic life. Nigel's
devotion was so beautiful ; his attitude of
reverential adoration was so supremely right
and touching. It was the forever profoundly
necessary and inevitable attitude of the eternal
man towards the eternal woman. At this time
she thought and talked much about the sacred
name of " wife." So intense was her conviction
that the true meaning of life lay in the sacra-
mental view of marriage, that Robert and his
claims sank into the background of her con-
sciousness. In her heart, which she pictured
as a sort of solemn temple of purity, Nigel
was radiantly enthroned. Robert and his
salary were but the steps to the altar, neces-
sary steps, for her eager feet were still shack-
led by the weight of debts ; by still more
embarrassing encumbrances belonging to the
old life, when she still sat in darkness, and
208 The Day's Journey
knew not the light. For this reason, though
Philippa strove to look upon her obligation
as a penitential discipline, it was still necessary
to be " nice to Robert." As yet she could
not afford to break to him, however sorrow-
fully, that their paths must in future diverge ;
hers towards the stars, and his well, in fact,
wherever he pleased. She was no longer par-
ticularly interested in Robert's path. It had
ceased to concern her. It was, however, of
him she was thinking as she walked towards
Westminster one morning, on her way to her
secretarial duties.
Poor Robert ! But he had been very dis-
appointing. In him she had not found the
satisfaction of those higher intellectual and
spiritual needs for which chiefly, of course,
she had joined her life for a certain time
with his. In brooding over this regrettable
fact, Philippa honestly lost sight, for the mo-
ment, of any tangible advantage which her
friendship with him continued to involve.
Her impulse was to sever the connection at
once. Then the memory of pressing money
difficulties brought her back with a shock to
actualities, and the realization that with how-
ever generous a sum coming in every quarter,
it would take many months of plain living and
The Day's Journey 209
rigorous saving to free herself for Nigel.
There was nothing for it, then. She must
stifle aspirations, quiet the beating of her
wings, and continue to draw her salary. She
sighed. Robert was becoming very trying.
His fortnight's holiday had been a great relief
to her. It had enabled her, for one thing,
to see a great deal of Nigel, and thus to
strengthen and confirm her new attitude
towards " life at its worthiest," as she now
expressed her emotions concerning her future
union with the poet.
This was the first morning after Robert's
return ; it was in obedience to a note received
from him the preceding evening that she was
now on her way to Westminster to resume
duties and to assume emotions which had be-
come alike distasteful. She wondered why she
had ever thought Robert charming. He bored
her terribly now. She did not know which
bored her most, his fits of gloomy depression
about his work, or his increasingly rare fits
of devotion to herself. That she welcomed
even while she dreaded, the knowledge that
Robert's passion for her was decreasing, was
a significant measure of her boredom. His
infatuation was passing; and she rejoiced, for
this would make the break with him easier.
The Day's Journey
But it must not go too soon not till, well
not till she was free for Nigel.
A church clock struck half-past ten, and
she quickened her pace. She was late, and it
would not do to put Robert into a bad temper.
His note had been more affectionate than usual,
the effect of absence, she supposed, and she re-
signed herself to the thought of a love scene.
She wondered whether he would talk about
Cecily. Lately he had begun to talk about his
wife, whose name had at first never been men-
tioned between them. From his irritable re-
marks Philippa had for some time gathered
that, as with unaccustomed bluntness she put
it to herself, he was beginning to be jealous,
and she wondered a little idly if, " when things
were over," he and Cecily would be re-
united. The matter did not interest her
greatly. Women were not very interesting
to Philippa, and her thoughts soon diverged
to the consideration that she had a trying
morning before her, and that it was above
all things necessary to keep her temper. Nat-
urally, Philippa' s temper was not very good,
but in proud humility she had often controlled
it lately "for Nigel's sake." The thought
was a great stay and consolation. She was
glad to discover what might be endured with
The Day's Journey 211
the sustaining inspiration of a really noble
love.
Robert was pacing the study when she
entered, and she went towards him with out-
stretched hands. He glanced at the clock.
" You were in no great hurry," he said, coldly.
" Robert ! " There was hurt, but tender
reproach in her voice. " Your clock is fast.
I did n't like to come before the time. I
thought it might seem " She hesitated,
as though confused.
" You Ve been quite on the safe side."
"Robert, dear!" she put her hands on
his shoulders, and looked into his eyes
"aren't you going to kiss me?"
He put his lips to hers, and Philippa re-
flected that she might have been married five
or six years. She felt at the same time re-
lieved and impatient.
" Did you have a nice holiday ? " she asked,
taking off her hat. " It does n't seem to have
done you much good." The last words were
tinged with a shade of acrimony as she glanced
at him.
There were ugly lines about his face, and
Philippa recalled with satisfaction Nevern's
handsome profile. Robert was growing very
unattractive.
212 The Day's Journey
" I Ve been sleeping so badly," he com-
plained.
"Well, what shall I do first?" was Phil-
ippa's comment as she seated herself at her
own writing-table in the window.
Robert moved to his desk, and stood fidget-
ing with a paper-knife before he answered.
" So you don't want to know anything about
it ? " he burst out at last. " What I Ve been
doing ? Who was there ? Anything, in fact."
She shrugged her shoulders. " My dear
Robert, any one would think you 'd been
round the world, instead of a fortnight on the
river."
" You 'd have been anxious enough a year
ago," he returned, bitterly.
She made an impatient exclamation. " How
unreasonable you are ! I come in, longing to
see you, and hear all about it, and you 're as
cross as two sticks. And now "
In moments of irritation Philippa evinced a
growing tendency to drop into the colloquial,
but the obvious justice of her remark appealed
to Robert.
"You're quite right," he said, penitently.
" I 'm unbearable." He leaned over the back
of her chair, and drawing her head to him
kissed her on the forehead.
The Day's Journey 213
Philippa pulled herself together mentally
and smiled.
" Give me the letters to write first," she
said, " and then you can dictate."
Robert went back to his desk and the
morning's work began. For some time the
click of the typewriter went on without in-
terruption. Then Philippa turned.
c < What am I to say about this letter of Mr.
Nevern's ? " she asked in a casual tone.
Robert frowned at the name.
"What's it about? I forget."
" He encloses a poem, and asks your
opinion upon it."
" He 'd be sorry if I gave it," returned
Robert, with a laugh.
Philippa waited in silence.
" Is that what I 'm to say ? " she inquired
at last in a voice that expressed nothing.
" Don 't be silly. Just write the usual note,
of course. I 'm much struck by the grace and
charm of his verses, and so forth. And don't
mention the Literary Review, which is, of
course, what he wants mentioned. That's the
worst of having influence. One 's badgered
incessantly by a lot of incompetent fools."
Philippa's machine was at once set in motion.
In a few minutes she had written two notes.
214 The Day's Journey-
Two or three minutes later the postman's
knock was heard, and Robert went out into
the hall to get the letters. He returned with
two or three, and stood opening them by the
chimney-piece.
Presently he gave a short, angry laugh.
" What 's that ? " asked Philippa, without
turning.
" Oh, nothing. Only a letter from Barker.
He 's returning that last story." He crumpled
up the envelope and threw it savagely into the
fire.
" tfhe Survivor ? " asked Philippa, without
much enthusiasm.
"Yes." Robert was still glancing through
the letter with worried, angry eyes ; presently
he began to read snatches from it. " f Too
thin ! . . . interest not maintained . . . scarcely
up to the standard ' - - Rot ! " He dashed the
letter down onto his desk. " What do they
want ? "
" I Ve finished the letter," remarked Philippa,
after a silence.
For a moment Robert regarded the back
of her head without speaking.
" You should try not to be so effu-
sively sympathetic, Philippa," he said at
last, sarcastically.
The Day's Journey 215
She turned her head and looked at him
with a calmly provoking gaze.
" My dear Robert, if I were effusive over
every one of your returned manuscripts, I
should be a wreck by this time. I thought
you did n't care for popular success ? "
" It is n't that," he ejaculated, too worried
and depressed to heed her tone. " I 'm doing
bad work. It 's no use to pretend I 'm not."
He threw himself moodily into a chair as he
spoke.
" Then how do you account for the returned
manuscripts ? "
" Not the right sort of badness, I suppose,"
he answered, with an attempt at a laugh.
" Can't you ask your wife for the recipe ? "
she inquired, letting herself go now, with a sort
of savage pleasure in her own foolishness.
Robert threw up his head sharply. " I
thought we 'd agreed to leave my wife's name
out of our discussions." And then, as though
the words were wrung from him, " What you
say has n't even the merit of being true," he
added. " Her work is good."
Philippa's eyes grew even colder.
" What a pity I 'm deficient in the literary
sense," she remarked.
" I begin to think it 's not the only sense
216 The Day's Journey
in which you are deficient, Philippa," he re-
turned, with growing anger.
She shrugged her shoulders. " Really ? Is
politeness one of them, by any chance ? If so,
we ought to exercise mutual forbearance."
" I was not thinking of politeness. De-
cency was what I meant."
She looked at him stonily. " Please explain
yourself."
" You seem to take a great pleasure in this
man Nevern's society. At Lady Wilmot's
party, the evening before I went away "
" Is that why you went away ? " she asked.
There was a moment's pause. " No," said
Robert, and knew he spoke the truth.
She glanced at him inquiringly, but the mo-
ment's check to the conversation sobered her.
Counsels of prudence began to prevail.
"Oh, Robert!" she sighed. "You don't
know how it hurts and surprises me to find
this in you. When you talk so, you put your-
self on a level with vulgar, chattering women
like Lady Wilmot and Mrs. Carruthers,
who are always discussing your matrimonial
affairs."
Despite her effort at conciliation, the last
remark was forced from Philippa almost de-
spite herself. She flung the missile, scarcely
The Day's Journey 217
knowing whether It would prove explosive,
and with some curiosity awaited results.
" What do they say ? " demanded Robert,
breathlessly.
For a moment she hesitated. " Mr. Mayne's
name is always mentioned, of course," she said
at last, with a swift glance. " But what does it
matter, Robert ? "
"Damned lot of gossips!" he exclaimed,
below his breath.
Instantly Philippa became a prey to con-
flicting emotions. " My dear Robert ! You
are surely not jealous of both of us ? Or are
you, perhaps ? "
" Who spoke of being jealous ? " demanded
Robert.
" You did," she retorted.
" Merely because I object to your making
these very pronounced friendships ? "
" Are n't you confusing me with your
wife ? " observed Philippa, with icy incisive-
ness. " Your tone is quite marital."
There was a moment's electric silence.
Then, with a sudden movement, Philippa
rose from the writing-table and came im-
pulsively towards him.
" Robert, dear," she begged, in her tender-
est voice, " this is absurd. Let us continue
2i8 The Day's Journey
to trust each other, and not be vulgar about
our love." She lifted her face pleadingly to
his. It was an attitude which she was con-
scious became her wonderfully. The long
curve of her throat never showed to better
advantage than when her head was thrown
back to look into her lover's eyes.
Insensibly Robert's face softened. He
kissed her, this time warmly. Half an hour
later, as she was putting on her hat to go,
he said, in a tone purposely gentle and
conciliatory :
" You 'd better show me that note to
Nevern. It won't do to offend him. He's
a good fellow, though he does write rot.
Perhaps I could get Field to look at some
of his stuff or Ridgway, possibly."
Philippa turned over the pile of letters she
had written, and found what she was seeking.
" I want some long envelopes," she re-
marked, handing the note to him as she
passed. " No, don't trouble, dear, I '11 get
them. They're in the cupboard in the hall."
She went out, and Robert carelessly opened
the letter she had left. He glanced at the
first word, and dropped the paper as though
it burned him. A dark flush began to spread
slowly over his face as he stood looking at it
The Day's Journey 219
a moment, before he again snatched it up.
He had the letter in his hand when Philippa
entered, standing with his back to the door,
and an elbow on the mantelpiece.
She put the envelopes in the table drawer,
gathered up the pile of notes, then turned
and stood waiting.
" Will it do, dear ? " she asked.
" Admirably," said Robert, without moving.
She started.
" I have to apologize for opening the
wrong letter," he went on, almost in the
same breath. " Your official communication
to Nevern is probably among the letters in
your hand."
His cold, clear voice reached her senses
like a voice in a dream.
Mechanically she glanced down at the
envelopes she held, then back at Robert's
immovable face. She grew slowly white to
the lips. They were stiff when she tried to
move them. At last the words came.
" Robert,*' she began in a whisper, "don't
think too badly of me. Let me explain."
She paused, watching in a fascinated way his
slow smile, as he continued to look at her.
Presently she could bear it no longer, and
dropped her eyes.
220 The Day's Journey
" Mr. Nevern has asked me to be his wife,"
she said, desperately.
" Poor devil ! " was Robert's comment on
the information.
There was another silence.
" Robert ! " she implored, still in a whisper,,
dragging herself closer to him. " Won't you
let me explain ? "
He retreated a step.
" My dear Philippa," he returned, with a.
laugh, " why explain the obvious ? It is
all quite simple. I am a fool, and you are
a woman." He glanced at the clock.
"It's one o'clock. Don't let me keep you.
Good-bye." The quiet finality of his tone
overwhelmed her. She turned at once to go.
" One moment," he said. " Your letter."
He folded it with precision, replaced it in its
envelope, and handed it to her politely.
Philippa took it silently, opened the door y
and went out without a backward glance.
CHAPTER XX
and Mrs. Summers had arrived
at the coffee stage of lunch. They were
alone, Robert having left a message that he
was going out.
Cecily had received the intimation with
secret resentment. It struck her as discourte-
ous to their guest, that her husband, who had
only just returned, should not have arranged
on that first day, which was also the last of
Rose's visit, to spend some of his hours at
home. As the result of long reflection, she
had met him cheerfully the previous evening,
and had been relieved to find that he showed
no inclination to allude again to the interrupted
subject of their difference. She determined to
ignore the matter ; to behave as though the
discussion had never arisen.
Rose glanced at her once or twice as she
sat absently stirring her coffee.
" What are you thinking about? " she asked
at length, breaking the silence abruptly.
222 The Day's Journey
The depth of Cecily's reflection was indi-
cated by her start.
" Robert," she answered, laconically.
" What about him ? "
" Lots of things. But chiefly how ill he
looks."
" He can't have heard anything, can he ? "
suggested Rose after a moment.
Cecily made a little movement expressing
ignorance. " She was here this morning as
usual," she said.
" Yes," Rose agreed. " It can't be that.
And," she added, suddenly, " I don't believe
he cares any more about her."
" Some one else ? " suggested Cecily, with a
little laugh.
"Yes you."
Cecily raised her head, and looked full at
her friend. There was in her face a curious
mixture of expression ; a sort of pitying con-
sternation and a faint gleam of amusement.
It was the glance with which a mother might
have heard of some unreasonable and rather
troublesome caprice on the part of her son.
Rueful annoyance was coupled with a slight
admixture of tenderness.
" It would be so like Robert," was all she
said in reply to Rose.
The Day's Journey 223
"And if it's true," pursued Rose after a
moment, " would you ? " She paused.
" Oh, Rose ! " said Cecily. " Rose ? "
She drew her breath in suddenly. " If you
hit a live thing on the head often enough,
you make it insensible. What 's the good
of caressing it then ? "
Mrs. Summers was silent.
" Robert ought to go away," Cecily con-
tinued, rising from the table. " He '11 be ill if
he does n't. I 'd like him to go yachting with
the Daintons," she went on, meditatively.
"They are always asking him. I wonder if it
could be managed ? "
"No doubt," Rose assured her.
" If only he could get away before he hears
anything and stay away till that young
woman is safely married ! "
Despite herself, Rose laughed. " That
young woman " as designated by Cecily was
irresistible.
" You '11 never be a saint, my dear ! "
" A saint ? " she repeated, absently, her
mind evidently still preoccupied. "Why
should I be ? I 'm only worried about
Robert." She continued to discuss in detail
plans for persuading her husband to take a
long holiday, and only roused from her
224 The Day's Journey
musings upon the subject to glance hurriedly
at the clock.
" Dick will be here in a minute ! " she
exclaimed. "You're sure you don't mind my
leaving you ? You know I would n't under
ordinary circumstances, but business is business,
and I must see Coombs to-day." She hurried
away, and five minutes later looked in, putting
on her gloves as she spoke.
" You 're all ready except your hat, are n't
you, Rose ? You need n't start before a
quarter to three. It 's at the Court theatre,
you know quite close. Good-bye ; I dare
say I sha'n't be very much later than you. I 'd
like to get a little rest before dinner to-night."
She went out with a smiling nod, and left
Rose meditating upon her prettiness, till a
ring at the bell startled her, and Mayne was
announced.
"You know Cecily's not coming?" was
her greeting as they shook hands.
" So she told me. Has to see her agent, or
something."
"Yes, a business matter. Sit down and
have a cigarette ; we Ve got half an hour before
the matinee."
Mayne complied. As he settled himself
in the easy-chair opposite to her, Rose was
The Day's Journey 225
conscious of very mixed emotions. She liked
Mayne. She had always liked him, even in
his hobbledehoy stage, when she had first
discerned his boyish admiration for Cecily.
She looked at him now, and sighed at the
perversity of fate. This man, with his unob-
trusive air of determination and quiet strength,
was the man Cecily should have married.
Why could she not have cared for him ?
Her heart misgave her, and the half-
formed determination in her mind for a
moment melted. It was after all possibly a
dangerous, certainly a thankless, task to in-
terfere. She found herself wishing, wishing
with all her strength, that she did not know
Cecily so well ; that she might at least have
the excuse that it was not for an outsider to
forecast the future. And in the midst of
chaotic reflections, she found herself speaking.
" Do you know," she said, suddenly, " that
Philippa Burton is going to marry that young
Nevern?"
Mayne started. It was the first time that
Philippa 's name had been mentioned between
them with significance.
" No," he said. " Who told you ? "
" That queen of gossips, Lady Wilmot, of
course."
'5
226 The Day's Journey
" Is she sure ? "
" Yes. They 're keeping the engagement
secret, but Nevern's mother discovered it,
and went to Lady Wilmot in tears."
Mayne inquiringly raised his head.
" Oh, merely because he 's the only son,
and she 's jealous at the thought of any
daughter-in-law, I believe," returned Mrs.
Summers in reply to his look. " Of course,"
she added, with a shrug, " it would be in-
teresting to know what hints Lady Wilmot
dropped during the interview. She knows
nothing actually, but she 's very curious about
the situation here."
Mayne did not speak for a moment. " And
Kingslake ? " he asked, presently.
" Does n't know yet."
Dick lifted his eyebrows. " Cecily ? " he
said, with some difficulty.
" Yes. Lady Wilmot called yesterday, and
told both of us in strict confidence."
Mayne's rather set face relaxed into a quiz-
zical smile. Rose answered it calmly.
" Oh, yes ! " she said. " But quite apart
from the fact that by this time she 's told
half London, I meant you in any case to
know."
Mayne looked at her. " Why ? " he asked.
The Day's Journey 227
" I leave that to your intelligence," said
Rose, meeting his eyes steadily.
There was a long pause.
" How well Cecily looks ! " she remarked
presently in an ordinary tone. " She 's wildly
busy, but it seems to suit her."
" It suits most of us, I imagine," returned
Mayne, slowly.
" Are you carrying out the doctrine ? "
No."
" No ? What are you doing, then ? "
Idling."
" That 's unusual, is n't it ? "
Mayne threw his cigarette end out of the
window.
" You think I ought to be moving on ? "
" Yes," said Rose, abruptly, as though
moved by a sudden determination. " Why
don't you ? "
He again met her eyes, this time doggedly.
Why should I ? "
Rose took her courage in both hands. There
was something in the man's face which showed
her she had need of it.
" Dick," she said, quietly, " it has n't taken
me long to discover that people are talking."
He smiled grimly. " But that is peren-
nial."
228 The Day's Journey
" And," continued Rose, undaunted, " her
husband is jealous."
This time he laughed unpleasantly. " Of
what ? Her success ? "
" Partly. But not only that. Of her of
you." It was out now, and she took breath a
little uneasily.
He rose, and stood leaning against the
window-frame.
" In the face of that ? " he jerked his head
in the direction of Robert's study, and laughed
again. There was something in his tone, a sav-
age irony, mingled with a kind of appeal, that
made it very difficult for Rose to keep her head.
Yet she managed to answer coolly.
" Oh, yes quite. But, as I Ve often
found, it takes one man to expect logic
from another."
" There 's something more important than
logic that the average man surely may ex-
pect," returned Mayne. He had thrown off
all attempt at lightness of tone by now.
"What's that?"
" Common decency."
They looked at one another. " My dear
Dick," said Rose, slowly, " when one comes
down to the primitive emotions, one must n't
expect even that. Put love, jealousy, or hatred
The Day's Journey 229
in one scale and civilization will be a feather
in the other."
He continued to look down at her. When
he spoke it was under his breath.
" I agree. Hatred, you say ? By God "
He checked himself, and turned abruptly to-
wards the window.
Rose watched him a moment. " Dick," she
said, " you have only one person to consider
Cecily."
He wheeled round. " And I have con-
sidered her. Kingslake overreached himself
there. He knew I cared for her. What he
didrit know, was how much I cared."
Rose hesitated before she made her appeal.
" Listen to me, Dick," she began, very gently.
" I see what you 've done for Cecily. You 've
restored her confidence in herself for one thing.
You Ve given her back her youth even her
beauty ; all she was losing, in short. She her-
self says so. She would never have had the
courage to take up life again if it had n't been
for you." She paused, and then said suddenly,
" Now there 's only one more thing you can do
for her go-"
She saw she had struck the right note, but
she saw, too, the struggle in his face before he
broke out into speech.
23 The Day's Journey
" But why ? " he urged. " Why, in heaven's
name ? It is n't as though there had ever been
a word Cecily only wants my friendship. I
know that well enough, worse luck," he added,
with a hopeless want of logic which Rose found
pathetic. " I 've never troubled her with any-
thing else. Gossip, you say ? Very well. I '11
see less of her. But to go away "
" It is n't only that," interrupted Rose,
stemming his torrent of words.
" What, then ? "
She lay back in her chair, and her eyes
travelled to the blue sky, and to the tall shaft
of the campanile. " All sorts of things," she
answered, slowly. " What an abominably pen-
etrating book the Bible is, when one does n't
read it too often," she added, after a moment,
with apparent irrelevance. " c The heart is
deceitful above all things ' Robert has dis-
covered that, if I mistake not."
Mayne was silent.
" I believe he used to think himself rather
a noble fellow at one time," she went on,
" with his higher love and so forth whatever
that may mean."
Mayne uttered a contemptuous exclamation.
" Well ? " he demanded, " but how does that
illustrate my case ? "
The Day's Journey 231
" You talk about Cecily's friendship," she
returned, " but are n't you, unconsciously, per-
haps, relying a little, just a very little, on that
patience from which you hoped so much before
she married ? "
Mayne said nothing. He had seated him-
self once more in the arm-chair, and Rose was
aware of the rigidity of his attitude. It was as
though his body had become suddenly frozen.
She went on, not quite steadily. " You hate
me for saying it, of course. So should I, if I
were you. But, Dick you and I are not by
nature self-deceivers. We think straight. And
when one person loves, even though the other
does not, is it quite safe ? There comes a weak
moment a sense of the dreariness of life
gratitude on one side; on the other a strong
emotion. Oh, Dick, you know as well as I do."
Mayne raised himself slowly, and bent
towards her. When he began to speak it
was slowly, also, as though he were feeling
for the words.
" So now," he said, " when I 've helped her
to be self-reliant ; when she 's found a life of
her own, apart from his ; now, when he 's
thrown over by the woman who has fooled
him, now I 'm to disappear in order that he
may enslave her again ! " He rose swiftly, with
23 s The Day's Journey
a bitter laugh, and stood before her. "Oh, you
good women ! you good women ! "
Rose watched him as he walked blindly
towards the mantelpiece and stood leaning
his elbow upon it.
" You misunderstand me," she said, at last ;
" I am not arguing from the standpoint of the
conventional ' good woman ' at all. I well,
I have no rigid views on the subject. I look
upon each case as something to be considered
on its own merits, or demerits."
" And on which side would you put mine ? "
He asked the question with mockery.
" Viewed from the outside," returned Rose,
judicially, " I should say it has merits. Cecily
has been badly treated. You are a decent man,
and there are no children to be considered.
But there are two drawbacks. One is that she
does n't love you yet, at least. The other
and it is the most important is Cecily's own
nature."
Mayne turned round. "Yes?" he said.
" What about that ? "
"You spoke of her husband enslaving her
again," she answered. "He will never do
so. All that made that possible is over. But
Cecily happens to be a very faithful woman.
I 've sometimes thought," observed Mrs.
The Day's Journey 235
Summers, reflectively, " that to bestow this
characteristic upon a woman is the last refine-
ment of cruelty on the part of the gods."
She paused a moment, and shrugged her
shoulders. " I may be wrong. In any case
Cecily has the faithful temperament. She has
loved her husband. She will never really love
again. But that is not saying there 's no dan-
ger if you stay. Let us imagine that you stay.
Cecily is a woman therefore all things are
possible. But, Dick, can you look me in the
face and tell me that you don't know the dis-
aster of of such a possibility ? Even now,
though she does n't love him, she 's worrying
about Robert because he looks ill, because
he 's unhappy, heaven knows what. Just the
maternal instinct, you know. She will never
cease to worry about him. Suppose you gained
your point ; would you keep her friendship ?
Would you get anything worth having in its
place ? Dick, you know you would n't ! "
He was silent, and after a moment she went
on in a low tone.
"It's because the really good things in life
are so few, that I want you not to run the
risk of losing "
Mayne faced her. "The best I've had?"
he suggested, finishing the sentence slowly.
The Day's Journey
Mrs. Summers nodded, and was annoyed
to find her eyes filled with tears.
The room was quite still for what seemed
a long time, and when a clock struck they
both started.
" Good heavens ! " exclaimed Mayne, with a
glance at it. " We 've missed that show."
" It does n't matter," she said, mechani-
cally.
He drew himself up as though with a
sudden resolve. " Do you mind if I go ?
I I feel rather as though I 'd like to walk
a thousand miles or so," he added, with a
forced laugh.
She put out her hand. "Yes, go," she
said, very kindly. " You don't forget you 're
dining here to-night ? Cecily told me to
remind you that dinner is at half-past eight."
He nodded. "All right." He was still
holding her hand, and suddenly he raised
it to his lips, dropped it hurriedly, and went
out without a word.
Mrs. Summers stood looking at the back
of her hand. "If I 'd been in his place, I
should have cut you off instead," she said,
savagely under her breath "with a blunt
knife, too!"
CHAPTER XXI
WHEN Cecily returned, it was about
six o'clock. She was tired, and after
asking for Rose, and hearing that she was in
her room, she decided to dress at once, and
afterwards rest on the sofa in the drawing-
room, till the arrival of her guests.
As she walked into the room some time
later, the surface of her mind was full of
little preoccupations and interests. She had
invited pleasant people for Rose's farewell
dinner, and she hoped the evening was going
to be a success.
She had already been into the dining-room
to see and approve the table decoration, and
she now looked critically about the drawing-
room, altering the position now of a bowl of
roses, now of one of the lights. It all looked
very charming, she thought, as she arranged
a cushion behind her head on the pale-
colored empire sofa, and lay back watching
the fire with wide, preoccupied eyes.
Beneath the trivialities were stirring graver
236 The Day's Journey
thoughts, deeper speculations. They were
insistent, if scarcely defined, and when she
heard behind her the sound of an opening
door, and her husband entered, the sight of
him brought them into sudden definite form.
As she looked up, she was shocked by the
strained, nervous expression of his face. He
came forward with a sort of groping move-
ment, regarding first the lighted room, and
then his wife's evening gown, with irritable
surprise.
" Is any one coming ? " he began.
" We have a dinner to-night, you know,"
she answered, surprised, for earlier in the day
he had discussed the subject.
He uttered an impatient exclamation.
" The house is always full of people," he
declared. "It's sickening! Can't you have
a quiet evening now and then ? Who 's
coming ? "
Cecily glanced at him, and controlling her-
self with an effort, spoke gently.
" We talked about all of them only this
morning," she said. " The Eversleighs, Lady
Ashford, Colonel Ferguson, Miss Devereux,
Dick Mayne -"
" Oh naturally ! " he interrupted, with a
sneer.
The Day's Journey 237
The color rushed to her cheeks. There
was a little pause.
" Why do you say that ? " she asked, look-
ing at him steadily.
" My reasons must be fairly obvious."
" They escape me," returned Cecily.
" Surely, Robert," she added, after a breathless
pause, " we need not continue the conversation
you began the other evening ? "
"There is every need," he declared. "The
last time we discussed this subject, you thought
my attitude towards it { very funny,' I remem-
ber. I 'm sorry I have n't your sense of
humor. Funny as you may consider it, I in-
tend to talk about what you find so ridi-
culous my honor. It 's time, I think, since
you seem to have forgotten yours."
Cecily got up slowly from the sofa, and
leaning against the mantelpiece, faced him with
dangerously bright eyes.
" That is not true," she said, deliberately.
" But that it does n't happen to be true is no
thanks to you."
Kingslake, his nerves strained to the utter-
most, had lost all self-control, and was letting
himself go, but he recoiled a step before his
wife's gaze.
" What do you mean by that ? " he asked.
238 The Day's Journey
"You really want me to tell you?" Her
voice came to him icily. "Very well, then, I
will. Two years ago, I was a wretched, un-
happy woman because you had ceased to care
for me, and I had therefore ceased to care for
anything. But I never suspected there
was a reason I thought it had just happened
so I thought I had somehow failed to keep
your love. Then, quite by chance, I heard of
Philippa Burton."
Robert 's face changed. " But till that day
at the Priory " he began.
Cecily's eyes suddenly fell. She turned her
head aside, with a sort of unbearable shame-
"Robert!" she urged in alow voice, "don't
try to deceive me any more. Before that day
at the Priory you had seen her constantly
every day, in fact, for months."
He looked at her uncertainly. "And you
knew this all the time? "
" Not all the time. Not till a few days
before you took rooms for her in the village,,
and then only by the strangest chance."
There was a silence. Robert broke it in a
curious, shamed voice.
" Cecily, I swear to you that Miss Burton
and I were only friends."
She stood tracing figures on the shelf of the
The Day's Journey 239
mantelpiece with her forefinger. When she
spoke it was very quietly.
" You should be careful where you make
love to your friends, Robert. The garden is
a more or less public place."
He started, then began to pace the room.
" Cecily ! " he urged. " Listen "
She interrupted him with a sound that was
half a sob.
" Ah, Robert ! please don't. What does
it matter now ? It hurts me so to hear you
and you see I know. . . . What does it matter
when it first " Her voice sank almost to
a whisper, but she recovered herself. " Under
the circumstances," she added, " what was I
to think of your invitation to Dick ? "
There was another silence.
" Cecily," he began again at last, clear-
ing his throat, " do you do you really
imagine ? "
She turned once more and looked him full
in the face, and again his eyes fell before hers.
"What I try to imagine, is that you didnt
think," she said, slowly. "You were so en-
grossed that you had forgotten much. But
sometimes, Robert to be truthful I find
it hard to accept even that explanation."
He continued to walk restlessly about the
240 The Day's Journey
room. "So you you impute to me vile
motives like that ?" he asked, uneasily.
" You do think them vile ? I'm glad of
that," she answered, slowly. " In any case you
did n't know Dick. He loves me as you have
never loved me."
He turned sharply and gazed at her. " You
dare to tell me that ! "
"Yes," said Cecily, quietly, "I dare. I
owe it to Dick that I 'm no longer the miser-
able, helpless woman I was when he came
home. Then, I was dependent for all that
makes life upon the love of one man who
had failed me. Now, I have a life of my own,
friends of my own, work of my own. And
it was Dick who showed me how to trust
myself, and shake myself free ! "
He stood looking at her. In the midst of
the whirl of emotions within him, jealousy,
resentment, humiliation, and a childish long-
ing for comfort, he thought how beautiful she
was. He realized every detail of her gleaming
dress ; he saw the whiteness of her breast, the
curve of her lips, the droop of her cloudy
hair.
"In the intervals of love-making, no
doubt ? " he suggested.
Her eyes grew hard. "Is it necessary to
The Day's Journey 241
be insulting ? Dick has never made love
to me since I have been your wife."
For a long moment he looked at her. He
believed what she said. Cecily had never lied
to him. If she said so, he told himself, it was
true, and with the assurance came an almost
terrible sense of relief. He was still thinking
chaotically ; the wound inflicted by Philippa
to his pride still rankled with an intolerable
smart. Cecily's attitude towards him was a
further humiliation but the last evil had not
descended. His wife was still his.
He paused in his restless pacing and stood
before her.
" Cecily," he exclaimed, suddenly, " won't
you be friends? I have behaved badly. I
admit it." He felt a sort of pleasure in this
self-abasement, but Cecily did not move. " I
give you my word it 's all over," he went on,
desperately. " Miss Burton will never come
here again. I shall never see her again. I
love you. Really, I love you. I can't see
you drifting away from me "
She did not speak, and with her silence
waves of growing resentment, of unreasonable
anger, began to gather. " But you must give
up this intimacy with Mayne," he added, with
a change of voice. He waited. "After all,
16
242 The Day's Journey
you are my wife. I have a right to demand
that." He took an impatient step towards
her and put out his hand to draw her to him.
Suddenly she recoiled from him and began
to speak in a low, rapid voice, vehemently,
passionately.
" Did you love me when I was wretched
longing for you eating my heart out with
misery ? No ! You never even noticed that
I was miserable. But now now, when I 've
got back my looks, when I 'm rather admired,
rather sought after now, when your love
affair is over because the woman has deceived
you now you come to me and profess love !
To me such love is an insult, whether it 's
offered by a" woman's husband or any other
man ! " She paused and with a great effort
added, with quiet deliberation, " I refuse to
give up my friendship with Dick. It 's no
more, it will never be anything more than a
friendship, but " she paused " it 's the
best thing I 've had in my life."
For a second's space they looked at each
other silently.
" Mr. Mayne," said the maid at the door.
Mayne entered. There was a moment's
embarrassing silence while his look travelled,
scarcely perceptibly, from one to the other.
The Day's Journey 243
Then he spoke coolly, without haste, as
usual.
" I 'm at least half an hour too early. I
don't deserve my hostess to be ready."
Robert glanced at his watch. " You are
very early," he said, significantly, " but I will
go and dress."
His face was white with anger as he passed
Mayne on the way to the door.
When it closed upon him, Mayne went up
to the mantelpiece and stood opposite Cecily.
" What 's wrong ? " he asked, gravely.
She tried to keep her voice steady, and
smiled. " Nothing nothing that matters.
A silly little argument, that 's all."
" Your husband is suspicious of our
friendship ? "
Cecily glanced at him appealingly, then
suddenly dropped her head on her clasped
hands.
"Oh, don't, Dick! - Don't!" she whis-
pered. " I can't go through it all again."
Mayne stood looking at her down-bent
head. All at once he leaned over her.
" I wish to God you loved me," he said, in
a low, passionate voice.
She raised her face and looked at him
steadily.
244 The Day's Journey
" I wish to God I did," she answered, very
slowly.
He made a sudden movement towards her
and checked himself.
"Could you ? ... No! That is n't
what I 've got to say." He passed his hand
over his face and went on, doggedly, " Cis,
I 'm going away."
Cecily started.
" That 's why I came early," he went on,
in the same unemotional tone. " I hoped to
find you alone. ... I must go, Cis. For a
long time I 've known it, but I 've kept it
at the back of my mind and would n't look.
And now, at last, Mrs. Summers has made
me drag it out, and so " He finished
the sentence with a gesture.
" Rose ? " repeated Cecily, vaguely.
tc She 's quite right," he said. " It 's not
fair to you " She made a protesting
movement, but he intercepted it and drew
himself up. " It 's not fair to me to stay,"
he added, firmly.
Her hand dropped at her side. " Not fair
to you ? " she echoed, as if a new light had
broken. " No ; it is n't it is n't." She
moved to the sofa and let herself drop against
the cushions as though exhausted. " I 've
The Day's Journey 245
been selfish, Dick," she went on, still in the
same dazed voice. " I 've been so thankful
for your help. So glad of you you can't
think how glad. And all the time I never
realized what it must have meant to you."
She put up her hand to her head with a
touchingly childish gesture. " I Ve been hor-
ribly selfish."
He stood looking at her looking as though
by his intense gaze he would print her face upon
his memory forever. Only vaguely he heard
what she was saying. His senses were too
full of her to heed. The faint fragrance of
her dress, the sweet blue of her troubled
eyes, the quivering of her lips, were making
his heart beat to suffocation.
" No, dear," he murmured, absently, " no."
"Yes," she insisted. "Oh, Dick! it has
been hateful of me, but do you know what
helped me to pull myself together ? It was
knowing you you loved me . . . and ad-
mired me. It was such a long time since I
had known that any man felt that. ... It
was mean of me, contemptible but some-
how it helped me awfully. It gave me back
my self-esteem. It flattered my vanity. . . .
Dick, don't you hate me ? "
He laughed gently. " Did you think I
246 The Day's Journey-
did n't know it ? " he said. " Did you think
I wasn't glad?"
With a sudden movement she rose, and, fac-
ing him, spoke urgently, almost imperatively.
" Dick," she said, " I 'm going to say to
you what you said to me two years ago.
Don't waste your life over one human be-
ing. The world is wide, and it 's before
you. And you're a strong man. Go, and
forget me."
" I shall go," said Mayne, briefly.
" When ? " She faltered a little over the
word.
" To-morrow."
She was silent, looking at him ; trying to
realize life without him.
" The sooner the better," he said, at last,
drawing a long breath. " I 'm used to setting
out for nowhere at a moment's notice, you
see. So this will be our farewell feast, Cis.
You '11 drink to my to my ^success ? "
" To your happiness, Dick," she whispered,
in a shaking voice.
Mayne looked at her again with such a
long gaze that her eyes sank.
" Cecily," he said at last, huskily, " we Ve
known each other for a long time. Do you
know the years I 've loved you ? . . . And
The Day's Journey 247
perhaps I shall not come back. . . . May I
kiss you once just to remember all my
life ? "
She looked at him gravely. " Yes, Dick,"
she answered.
With a half cry, Mayne drew her into his
arms, and put his lips to hers. It was the
kiss he had dreamed of for years ; a kiss
that in a rapture of mingled torture and de-
light expressed all that for years he had felt
for the woman he held for one brief moment
like a lover. A colored mist swam before
him as he raised his head. He felt Cecily
gently disengage herself, and it was the si-
lence in the room that cleared his brain, and
then his sight.
Kingslake was standing just inside the door.
For a moment the stillness seemed to press
upon the air like a visible, tangible weight be-
fore it was broken by Robert's savage laugh.
" What liars you women are," he said,
slowly, under his breath, his eyes upon his
wife. " Are n't you ? All of you ! All
alike ! "
Mayne made a menacing step towards him.
" Be careful what you say ! " he began, in as
low a voice. " We 'd better be alone. Cecily,"
he turned to her " will you go ? "
248 The Day's Journey
" No," she said, quietly. " I prefer to stay.'*
She looked past Mayne at her husband.
" All I said to you just now is true "
He laughed again.
" You take a low view of my intelligence,
my dear child."
" If it were only your intelligence ! " broke
in Mayne in a tone low still, but vibrating with
passion scarcely controlled, " that would n't
matter." Suddenly he went towards him,
standing close, and speaking in a rapid tone,
almost in his ear. " Listen ! " he said. " This
once, at least, you shall see yourself as I see
you as any fairly decent man sees you. You
knew all about me. You knew how for years
ever since I was a boy at Oxford I loved
her and hoped to make her love me till you
came on the scene. Then I saw it was all up.
Well, I took it pretty decently, did n't I ? I
went away. I stayed away. I did n't come
home till I felt myself cured of all but af-
fection for your wife. Then I met you, and
you pressed me begged me to come to your
house. And I came to you in all good faith,
God knows as your friend, as well as your
wife's. Before I 'd been in the house an hour
I saw you were neglecting her. Then you
brought that woman down, and I wondered.
The Day's Journey 249
It was only by degrees that I saw what you
wanted, you " He checked himself be-
fore the word was out. " How does it strike
you ? " he went on, falling back a step. " Tell
me ! You knew I had loved her. In the old
days you were jealous enough of our friend-
ship. What do you think of a husband who
neglects his wife, insults her by bringing his
mistress to her house, and then calls an old
lover upon the scene ? That I cared for
her too much to insult her that she is the
woman you know her to be, is no thanks to
you. If "
Robert's face was white, but he broke in
upon the other man 's torrent of words with a
voice of ice.
" And you really expect me to believe this
this eloquent what shall I call it ? It is
certainly no explanation."
Cecily, who had been standing motionless
at the head of the sofa, now came swiftly to
her husband.
" Please listen to me," she said, breathlessly.
" You have lived seven years with me. You
know whether I speak the truth. Do you or
do you not believe me when I tell you that
Dick has never kissed me before? He is
going away at once to-morrow, and "
250 The Day's Journey
She hesitated a moment. Before she could
recover, Robert spoke.
" Very ingenious," he said. " Do I believe
you ? With my experience of your sex, my
dear Cecily certainly not."
There was a silence. Then, as though
coming to a decision, Mayne turned deliber-
ately towards Cecily.
" I shall not go to-morrow," he said. " You
know you can rely upon me."
" Yes," returned Cecily, slowly, " I will
remember it."
He took her hand a moment, then released
it, and went to the door. When it closed
after him, Cecily found herself wondering
whether she had or had not heard the hall
door-bell a few moments before. She glanced
at Robert, who was moving with slow, blind
steps towards the window.
It was then that a sudden vision of the
rose-garden at the Priory flashed upon her
mental sight. Once more she saw Philippa
in her husband 's arms. History, she reflected,
with an impulse to break into dreadful laugh-
ter history had repeated itself, with a slight
difference. How ludicrous, how futile, how
awful, life was with its senseless blending of
the grotesque and tragic ; materials for a
The Day's Journey 251
heartrending farce, to be played before what
monstrous spectators !
She stood in the middle of the room, her
hands clenched and clasped tightly to her
breast, in an agonized struggle with her laugh-
ter and her tears.
Had she really heard the hall bell or not?
The question, a vital one, as for some
reason it seemed to her, was answered a
moment later, when the door opened, and the
maid announced, " Lady Ashford and Miss
Devereux."
They came in smiling, suave, unconscious,
with outstretched hands. Cecily, smiling also,
went forward with composure to receive her
guests.
CHAPTER XXII
AFTER wandering for two or three months
abroad, Cecily and Diana discovered that
all roads lead to Rome. In Rome, therefore,
they had been established for a week, when
Cecily strolled one day alone, towards the
garden of the Villa Medici.
It was Rose Summers, with whom, after
the night of the dinner-party, Cecily had spent
some weeks, who had urged upon Cecily this
plan of travel. For some time previous to the
break between Cecily and her husband, Diana
had not been strong ; she was made the excuse
for the closing of the Westminster flat in the
following autumn. Rose arranged the expla-
nation. For the sake of her sister's health,
Cecily must at once take her abroad, while her
husband, who, for business reasons connected
with his work, could not go so far afield, had
decided to divide the period of her absence
between the country and a stay in Paris.
It was thus that Mrs. Summers strove to
The Day's Journey 253
put a screen between an inquisitive public and
the ruins of one more domestic hearth.
" They '11 talk, of course," she observed,
" and try to look through the chinks in
the boarding ; but as long as they don't
see too plainly, their talk does n't matter
much."
Cecily had acquiesced indifferently. " Just
as you please," she said. "All I want is
to get away and I shall not come back.
But I quite agree that there 's no need to
provide entertainment for literary tea-parties
by saying so."
"All I ask," returned Rose, "is that you
shall give yourself time ; that you shall take
no irrevocable step." To which Cecily had
responded by a smile and a shrug of the
shoulders.
She had Mayne's letter. He had seen
Mrs. Summers. He intended to be osten-
sibly busied in getting together funds and
volunteers for a new exploring expedition,
the progress of which was to be extensively
paragraphed. In the meantime, he told her,
he simply waited. He was in her hands.
At any moment a summons would bring him
to her. It was a characteristic letter terse,
restrained, almost laconic in tone. The letter
254 The Day's Journey
of a man who would not plead, because, under
the circumstances, pleading seemed unfair;
yet, after reading it, Cecily had never so
fully realized the strength and abidingness of
his love for her. She took the letter with
her on her journeyings, and carried it about
with her. It was never absent from her
thoughts. It was in the background of her
consciousness on the quay at Genoa, while
she watched the teams of white horses in
their scarlet coats pulling lumbering wagons.
In thought she considered it, while with
Diana she admired the picturesqueness of
the shuttered houses, festooned with flutter-
ing washing, or stooped to look inside the
cave-like, fourteenth-century shops, or climbed
the many steep flights of steps to the upper
town, whence they looked upon an enchant-
ing sea of roofs ; roofs the color of faded
carnations, of orange lichen, of mushroom
brown, each with its tiny pergola of vines, its
tub of oleander, or its orange tree. It was
with her in Florence, when she stood before
the great pictures in gallery or palace, when,
at the sunset hour, the cathedral and the
exquisite campanile were suddenly turned to
mother-of-pearl and roses against the violet
sky. It was with her here in Rome. To
The Day's Journey 255
think of it, to ponder over all that it implied,
to force herself to come to some decision,
she had wandered to-day into the garden of
the villa, glad to be alone.
Diana, who had made friends with a lively
party of American girls at the hotel, had
joined one of their excursions to Tivoli, and
would not be back till the evening. Cecily
crossed the Piazza di Spagna, and paused to
look at the banks of flowers which, piled up
at the foot of the stately sweep of steps,
make an exquisite foreground to one of the
most charming pictures in Rome. Like
bees, the flower-sellers instantly surrounded
her, offering seashell-tinted and scarlet anem-
ones, branches of deep orange-colored roses,
sprays of feathery mimosa, violets, and quaint,
flat little bouquets of pink rosebuds. She
bought a bunch of the latter, and freeing
herself from the buzzing crowd, began to
mount the shallow, moss-grown steps, shaking
her head smilingly at the little contadini
models, with their elaborately picturesque rags,
and their proffered nosegays. At the top, she
paused as usual to glance over the beautiful
ribbed roofs of the city, roofs which always made
her think of brown shells cast up by the sea
of time; shells that had suffered a sea-change.
i$6 The Day's Journey
Overhead in its blueness, was spread wide
the " unattainable flower of the sky," that
Roman sky which blossoms like a flower of
Paradise ; and away to the right, as though
floating in a blue ocean, stone pines lifted
their islands of green, soft as velvet, into the
clear air.
Cecily was aware of all the beauty; she
missed none of the thousand appeals to the
senses; the warmth, the fragrance of grow-
ing flowers, the color, the richness. But
her response was on the surface only. Be-
neath it, her whole mind was a prey to
doubt and indecision ; that state of conscious-
ness which, out of the hundreds that can
make of life a hell for damned souls, is
as capable as any of inflicting torture. As
Cecily passed through the iron gate leading
into the garden of the villa, and mounted the
upward sloping path between the ilexes, she
would gladly have exchanged their mys-
terious darkness, the blue of the sky, the
pathetic beauty of the moss-grown statue at
the end of the path, the delicious sound of
falling water, the flecks of sunshine on the
gravelled walk, for a back street in Clapham
and peace of mind.
At the top of the sharply zigzag path she
The Day's Journey 257
paused by the barricade of monthly roses on
the brow of the hill to take breath and gaze
once more over the city at her feet.
It was all inexpressibly beautiful, but she
turned away, blinded with tears. She crossed
the sunny square of garden in front of the
villa and sat down on a marble seat, behind
which a rose tree clambered. There were very
few people about. One or two appeared from
time to time behind the parapet of the terrace
leading to the upper garden, and she could
hear the voices of children in the ilex thickets
below. But practically she was alone in the
sunshine, and her thoughts were, as ever, busy
with Mayne's letter.
What should she do ? For the thousandth
weary time she asked herself the same question.
Did she, or did she not, love him ? Passion
for him she had none. Not for the first time
she found herself wishing ardently that she
had. At least it would simplify things ; it
would bring her to a decision. Then, she
told herself, she would not hesitate. She re-
viewed the possible outcome of the situation.
A legal separation and Dick banished to
Africa? She had seen enough of the life
of a young woman living apart from her
husband to make her view this consummation
258 The Day's Journey
with disfavor. And in her case there was
the added disadvantage of being to some
extent a celebrity. She knew the sort of man
she would constantly be obliged to repel, and
the necessity for such a task sickened her.
And life without Dick ? Without his ad-
vice? Without the comforting sense of his
protection and care ? An empty life, child-
less, loveless, with none but intellectual needs
to work for and gratify ?
Her whole nature shrank from this. She
had come to realize intensely how to a woman
the needs of the heart must ever stand first ;
how success, fame, intellectual achievements are
mere stop-gaps, anaesthetics from which she is
ever in danger of waking to a horrible, dreary
reality a sense that she is indispensable to
no one, that no human being views her exist-
ence as the one supremely important fact in
life.
" Oh, we 're handicapped ! how we 're
handicapped ! " she cried to herself, as she
sat motionless in the sunshine. " Physically,
through our emotions every way. . . .
Would n't it be better, saner, to spend the
rest of my life with Dick, even though I
dont feel for him anything of what I felt
for Robert ? At least he feels it for me.
The Day's Journey 259
That 's something. At least I could make
one creature happy." Some one had come
along the gravelled walk in front of the seat.
She had not noticed his approach till she be-
came conscious of a shadow between her and
the sun, and saw with a vague astonishment
its cause. A man was standing quite close
in front of her, looking down upon her.
Raising her eyes, she met Mayne's.
She struggled to her feet, feeling curiously
as though lead weights were dragging her
back.
He held out his hand. " I did n't know
you were in Rome," he said, briefly.
" But you ? I thought you were in
town ? " . . .
" Yes. My old godfather is here. He 's
dying, poor old chap, and he thought I was
going to Africa. He begged me to come
and say good-bye. He practically brought
me up, you know, so I couldn't " He
did not finish the sentence ; his eyes were
straying hungrily over her face. " Come !
Let 's go up there," he said, abruptly, nod-
ding towards the upper terrace.
Mechanically Cecily turned and walked at
his side. They passed through the gate and
up the steps, to that terrace which gives upon
s6o The Day's Journey
the beautiful avenue of ilexes leading to a
further flight of moss-grown steps.
The avenue was deserted. The rays of
sunshine that pierced its roof fell in tiny
flecks upon the path. But for these specks
of brightness, the alley was a tunnel of cool
green gloom. They entered it in silence.
" Mrs. Summers said you were in Florence,"
began Mayne, at last.
"Yes, we Ve only been here a week. I
have n't written to Rose since we left."
He looked down at her. She was in white,
as he liked best to see her. All the long
months she had been away, he remembered,
he had always pictured her in white. Her
arm brushed his sleeve as they walked, and
he trembled from head to foot.
" Cecily," he said, suddenly, and his voice
trembled also, " what are you going to do ? "
She was silent, and he saw the color go from
her face. They had reached the foot of the
crumbling steps by this time. Cecily noticed
minutely the ferns hart's-tongue and maiden-
hair that sprang in chink and crevice, and, as
she passed it, looked curiously at the pattern
of spotted white lichen with which each broken
step was adorned. Now they had emerged
from the gloom of the roof of trees, into the
The Day's Journey 261
blinding sunshine in which the little sham-
classic temple at the top was bathed. There
was no one in the walled-in enclosure. Cecily
moved to the side overlooking the Borghese
Gardens, and sat down on the rough, sun-
warmed wall.
Mayne stood behind her. " Cecily," he
urged once more, "you mustn't keep me in
suspense much longer." There was a danger-
ous note in his voice.
She turned to him. " Oh, Dick ! " she said
in a voice that was almost a cry ; " I am so
worried. If only I knew what to do ! "
He stooped swiftly, and gathering her up
in his arms, held her close, while he kissed
first her lips, then her throat, with an inten-
sity of passion which thrilled and communi-
cated itself to her. When at last he let her
go, she too was trembling. After all, it was
sweet to be loved like this. She felt awaken-
ing in her the woman's pride and triumph
in her power to rouse strong emotion in a
man. And Dick loved her in all the other
ways, too. She could rely on him. He would
never fail her.
Her lips moved. She meant to yield at
once to give him his answer now, irrev-
ocably.
262 The Day's Journey
Instead, she said, faintly, "I'll write to-
night. Where are you staying ? "
He looked at her entreatingly a moment;
then, feeling in his pocket for a note-book,
he scribbled an address on a leaf torn from it.
" Cecily ! " he whispered as he gave it to
her. " Cecily ! "
Mechanically, as though urged by some
force outside herself, Cecily got up, and began
to descend the steps. He followed her.
They walked back through the gloomy avenue
in silence. Just before they reached the
terrace, he took her ungloved hand and put
it to his lips.
" Will you let me go back alone ? " she
asked, under her breath.
" You wish it ? "
"Yes, dear."
He stepped back to let her pass, and as
she did so, she looked up at him with appeal-
ing eyes.
" I will write to-night, Dick," she said, very
gently.
She left him standing on the terrace, and
found her way back through the lower garden,
down the Scala di Spagna, across the Piazza
to the hotel. Everything stood bathed in
The Day's Journey 263
sunshine as in a dream. She had a sense that
all the people she passed were dream-figures.
Everything had become all at once unsub-
stantial, unreal, shadows of something else.
When she reached the hotel the hall porter
put a packet of letters into her hand. Most
of them had been forwarded from Florence, as
she noticed in turning them over on her way
up to her room. One of them was from Rose.
Her bedroom, which looked south, was
flooded with sunshine when she entered. She
lifted a basket-chair into the balcony, and sink-
ing into it, sat for some time with the letters in
her lap. She felt no inclination to open them.
She did not want to break the sensation of
dreaming which lulled her senses, and banished
all the care and worry of the past months. It
would be pleasant to sit like this in the sun-
shine all the rest of her life ; never to think,
just to know that she was being cared for, that
her presence made the joy of another's life.
And why not? Why not an easy, dreamy life
in sunny lands, with Dick ?
Opposite to her, the old walls and roof of a
monastery cut with its irregular lines the
brilliant sky. The gay, striped awning above
a vine-wreathed terrace at a lower level flapped
gently in the breeze. Beneath, the little
264 The Day's Journey
courtyard garden was a tangle of oleanders in
tubs, of orange and lemon trees. And over all
lay the sunshine. Cecily, stretching her body
lazily in the long wicker chair, instinctively
raised her arms towards the sky, as though to
clasp its warmth, its deliciousness. It was a
long time before she thought of her letters,
and then she began to open the envelopes with
indifference. None of them were of any im-
portance. She had left Rose's till the last.
It began with news of the children, of her-
self, and went on to information about various
acquaintances. Then all at once, and quite
abruptly, it spoke of Robert. Cecily started
when she read his name. She had agreed with
Rose that it should not be mentioned in their
correspondence. " Robert is back," the letter
ran. "He wrote to me a day or two ago from
the flat, and asked if he might come down for
the day. He came, and he looked shockingly
ill and hopelessly miserable. He came for
news of you. I did n't mention your name at
first, till I could n't stand it any longer. He
followed me about with his eyes like a dog,
begging. Then at last we spoke of you. I
don't know what you said before you went,
but evidently he has no hope. He looked like
my Jim when he 's been naughty and thinks
The Day's Journey 265
I 'm not going to say good-night to him. He
was back at the flat, but I persuaded him to go
away again for a few days at least. He says
he hates the sight of London. I hope you
still like Florence. How does Diana enjoy
everything ? . . ." Cecily dropped the letter,
leaving the latter pages unread.
Mechanically she turned her eyes towards
the garden. All the dream-feeling was gone.
She was Robert's wife. She knew the look
that Rose meant ; she could see his face before
her. Everything but that was blotted out.
Bending her head down upon her knees, she
broke into a passion of tears.
For hours she sat in her room, forgetting
the time, forgetting everything but the urgent
need of getting home, home to comfort some
one who had need of her.
Presently she rose, and, fetching her writ-
ing case, wrote two letters. It was strange
to feel no uncertainty, to be no longer racked
with doubt, to have no more vacillations.
Her course now was plain; she felt no more
hesitation than a mother feels when she hears
her child is ill.
Hours afterwards, when Diana came in,
eager to recount the affairs of the day, Cecily
was still in her room.
266 The Day's Journey
The girl started as she opened the door, and
her sister rose to meet her.
" Diana," Cecily began, " I 'm going home
to-morrow. If you like to stay I think the
Armstrongs would look after you "
Diana sprang towards her as she staggered a
little against the table. " I suppose you 've
had nothing to eat ! " she exclaimed practi-
cally. She pushed her sister back into the
chair, and rang the bell violently.
" We '11 have dinner up here," she an-
nounced, taking the lead with characteristic
determination, " and then you can tell me all
about it. If you go to-morrow, I shall go
too. Auntie says that wretched Brown girl is
making a dead set at Archie she began
directly he came home. I shall go and stop
it."
CHAPTER XXIII
ROSE was a little startled, but, on the
whole, scarcely surprised by Cecily's tele-
gram. It was like her to act impulsively, and
Rose had never been in doubt as to the right
note to strike, if she should ever wish to
strike it. That she did wish it, was only
made clear to her by the sight of Robert's
unmistakable misery. " If he really wants
her it will be all right, or at least right
enough," she had argued, and she had been
justified. Cecily was coming back. She had
meant to be at the flat to receive her, but a
feverish attack developed by the baby kept
her at home till after her cousin had been a
day in town.
When, early in the afternoon of the next
day, she reached the flat, Diana came flying
out to meet her. " Cis is shopping. She '11
be back in a minute," she assured her, vigor-
ously embracing her meanwhile.
Rose looked at the girl with laughing
approval. Diana would never be a beauty,
268 The Day's Journey
but she had learned how to dress ; her figure
was excellent, and her alert, humorous face
very attractive.
" Is Robert home ? " Mrs. Summers in-
quired, rather anxiously.
Diana made a little grimace. " No," she
said. " He does n't know we 're here. Does n't
deserve to, either," she added. Diana was
whole-hearted in her dislikes.
Rose laughed. " And Cis ? " she asked.
"How is Cecily?"
Diana's face clouded a little. " Oh ! she 's
well. But " She paused abruptly.
" Yes ? " asked Rose, divining something
of what was stirring in the girl's mind.
Oh nothing," returned Diana, hastily.
I 've seen Archie," she added, with an abrupt
change of subject.
Mrs. Summers, who knew the faithful
admirer, and Diana's casual attitude, looked
amused.
" You need n't laugh ! " Diana exclaimed,
with solemnity. " It 's awfully serious he
is, I mean."
" And you ? " inquired Rose, stifling her
mirth.
" I don't know," sighed Diana, sitting in
an easy attitude on the arm of a chair.
cc
cc
The Day's Journey 269
" He 's much better looking," she added, con-
fidentially ; " not a boy any more, you see.
So somehow you can't laugh."
" Did you want to ? "
"N no that was the annoying part."
Mrs. Summers again repressed a smile.
" He did n't lose much time in coming to
see you," she remarked.
" No did he ? " replied Diana, briskly.
" So the beastly Brown girl did n't make much
impression, anyway."
" Well ? What are you going to do about
it ? " Rose inquired.
Diana sighed again. " I don't know ! "
she exclaimed, impatiently. " I do hate to be
grown up it 's such a bother." Despite the
childishness of the words, Rose was struck by
the ring of real dismay in the girl's voice.
"Why, dear?" she said.
For a moment Diana did not answer, then
she said, suddenly, " Because I see what life is
like. It 's just like one of those days that are
so brilliant at first, and then ddoud over and
get all gray. Not stormy or anything, you
know, just gray."
There was a tremble in her voice which
touched the elder woman. She recalled the
chilling breath from real life which had first
270 The Day's Journey
crept into the paradise of her own youthful
imagination. She remembered how, before it,
the flowers drooped, and the sunshine faded.
It was a searching, unpleasant wind.
" Never glad, confident morning again ? "
she said, softly, after a moment. " But, my
dear, the sun comes out again sometimes, even
on a gray day."
"Yes," Diana reluctantly agreed ; "but then
it's afternoon perhaps evening."
" Wait till you get a little more grown
up," returned Rose, smiling. " You '11 think
better of afternoon. In the meantime, cheer
up; there's still all the morning for you."
Diana shook her head. " I think I Ve had
my morning," she answered, slowly. " It was
when I could rit understand why people let
love and things count."
" And now you begin to see ? "
She nodded. " Well, at least I see that
perhaps they can't help it." She looked wist-
fully at Mrs. Summers, her face, still babyish
and immature, full of a painful foreboding.
" But I dread it," she added, almost in a whis-
per. " Look at Cecily. Think how much
in love she was. Do you remember Robert,
too ? . . . And what has come of it all ? What
has been the good of it ? "
The Day's Journey 271
" Perhaps more than you think," Rose
answered, quickly. " Love is not a thing
which demands payment by result. And
besides, my dear, in any case, what has that
to do with you ? Each of us must travel our
own road, take our own risks, meet our own
fate. No one else's experience is any guide."
Diana looked at her with big eyes, increas-
ingly hopeful, but said nothing.
" You are sad to lose your childhood ? "
Rose went on after a moment, patting the
girl's arm affectionately. " I know. So was
I. But it's all in the day's journey, Diana.
Dawn is a lovely thing but suppose one
never saw the sunrise ? "
" Oh ! " exclaimed Diana, and two suns
rose simultaneously in her eyes and set them
dancing. " That would be awful, would n't
it?"
Rose laughed. " When is Mr. Archie
Carew coming again ? "
" Whenever I like," said Diana, a little self-
consciously. " Ah ! " at the sound of a ring,
" there 's Cis ! She '11 be so glad you 're here."
" Rose has come," she announced before
rushing into her bedroom, where she first
looked into the glass with some anxiety, then
rearranged the curls on her forehead, and
272 The Day's Journey
subsequently, for no better reason than that
she felt excited and not altogether unhappy,
burst into tears.
Diana was not given to emotional display,
so, after a moment's indulgence in a weakness
she despised, she bathed her eyes with scorn-
ful roughness, powdered them severely, and
sat down to ask Mr. Carew to lunch the fol-
lowing day.
In the meantime Rose and Cecily had met.
Cecily's first question was for Robert. It
was asked with anxious eyes, and Rose felt
enormously relieved. She had not after all
done wrong in assuming responsibility.
" I have n't seen him since the day he came
down to the Cottage," she returned, " when,
as I tell you, he was looking ill enough
even to please me. I sent him to play golf
at Aldeburgh, but he may be back any day.
And you, Cis ? " She inspected her friend
critically. Cecily looked very pretty, very
dainty, but frailer than when she went away.
"Oh," she said, "I'm all right. It seems
odd to be" she hesitated a moment, and
then went on quietly "home again." She
looked round the room with a half-humorous
smile. " How angry I was the last time I
The Day's Journey 273
stood here," she said. " And now that does n't
matter either."
Rose looked troubled. " Cecily," she said,
doubtfully, " you don't regret this ? I have n't
done wrong ? "
" Regret ? " repeated Cecily, slowly. " No.
It was inevitable. I could n't help myself."
She paused a moment. " There are certain
things I can't tell even you. But when your
letter came, I thought I had decided to take
a great step to alter my whole life. Then
your letter came, and I knew I had been
absurd. There was no question about it
if Robert wanted me. He does want me,
Rose?"
" I wish you had seen him."
" Then, don't you see, that settles it ?
There are some things one can't argue about.
I think," she added, slowly, "one doesn't
argue about any of the important things in
life. It's strange, but when you've lived
with some one some one you have once loved
above everything," her voice trembled
a little, " you grow bound to them with
thousands and thousands of little chains
which seem as light as air and are really
strong as steel. So you see you don't argue.
It 's foolish, when you 're bound and know
18
274 The Day's Journey
you can't get away without tearing up your
whole nature by its roots." There was a
sile-nce.
" I knew you would come to that," said
Rose at last in a quiet voice. " I was waiting
for it. But you're not unhappy, Cis ? " she
added, wistfully.
"Unhappy?" she echoed. "No. When
one has learned at last that life is a constant
scraping of the gilt, and being thankful for
the gingerbread, one is not unhappy. I
have my friends." She touched Rose's hand.
" I have my work. There are beautiful
things in the world and I have time for
them now. f Sun, moon, and stars, brother,' '
she quoted, smiling " c all sweet things.'
No, I 'm not unhappy, except "
She broke off abruptly. Rose did not
speak, but she looked an interrogation.
" Dick is coming this afternoon to say
good-bye. He 's going away."
Mrs. Summers raised her head.
" Really away ? "
"To Central Africa if that's far enough,"
returned her friend, with a curious inflection
in her voice. She got up, and replaced some
Roman hyacinths which had fallen from a
glass on a table near the window. " I 'm
The Day's Journey 275
I'm sorry he's coming," she added, speaking
with her back to Rose.
"Why? You think ?"
" We 've said good-bye. I met him in
Rome."
She felt rather than saw Rose's start of
reproachful amazement.
" Don't say anything. Don't ask," she
exclaimed, hurriedly. " It was by accident."
She put back the last flower, and returned to
the sofa, where her friend was sitting. Rose
saw that her hands were trembling.
" If I might have one prayer granted now,"
she said in a low voice, " it would be that he
might forget me utterly. Forget he'd ever
seen me. I've got to get through life with-
out him, but that 's nothing compared to what
he "
She did not finish the sentence, but Rose
understood.
CHAPTER XXIV
and take off your things," sug-
gested Cecily. Her tone indicated that
conversation henceforward was to be of a surface
nature, and again Rose understood.
While she took toilet things from her
travelling-bag, and straightened her hair, they
talked of Cecily's journeyings, of travelling
adventures, of the places she had visited
and later of Diana and her love affairs.
" It will be all right, I think," Cecily said,
laughing a little. " Is n't she quaint about it,
though ? But he 's a nice boy."
When they returned to the drawing-room,
and Cecily had settled herself into her favor-
ite chair, she said, comfortably :
" There 's one good thing, we sha'n't be
disturbed this afternoon. No one knows I 'm
home yet."
" I 'm sorry to have to break it to you, but
every one knows ! " exclaimed Rose, laughing.
"The day I had your telegram I happened
The Day's Journey 277
to be in town in the afternoon, and I met Lady
Wilmot." She paused dramatically.
Cecily groaned. " You told her, of course ? "
"Yes. She came sailing across the road,
panting for gossip, and immediately asked after
you, hoping for the worst in every feature.
I couldn't resist disappointing her. Then
she put on her face of mystery you know
it, and began, { My dear, we must have a
talk ' Of course I found I had to catch a
train, and rushed off in the middle of a sentence,
leaving her palpitating like her own motor-car.
She does n't know the exact moment of your
arrival, but you may be very sure she '11 be
round before long."
" To see whether the situation lends itself to
elaborate or simple embroidery ? She 's a real
artist. Have people been talking much ? " she
added, after a moment. " But of course they
have."
" Privately, no doubt. That does n't mat-
ter. But, as far as I can discover, there 's been
quite a successful conspiracy of mutual accep-
tance of Diana's illness. The paragraphs about
Dick have been useful, too."
" What sort of paragraphs ? " asked Cecily,
slowly.
" Oh, things like, ' We learn that Mr.
278 The Day's Journey
Richard Mayne, the distinguished traveller and
explorer, is engaged in active preparations for
another expedition into the interior of Central
Africa,' and so on."
" Is Philippa married ? " asked Cecily,
suddenly.
" No apparently not, though why she
should hesitate to make a good fellow unhappy,
I don't "
Her words were cut short by the maid's an-
nouncement of Lady Wilmot. Rose and
Cecily had barely time to exchange glances
before she was upon them, in emerald green
brocade and feather trimming.
Like a Meredithian heroine she " swam "
towards Cecily, whom she voluminously
embraced.
"Welcome home, my dear," she cried, and
added in a gloomy whisper, " but why did n't
you come before ? And where is Diana ?
And how, I should ask, is Diana ? "
This, while she shook hands with Rose, was
delivered with the air of one who, while allow-
ing herself for philanthropic purposes to have
the appearance of being deceived, wishes to re-
mind the deceiver that she possesses intelligence.
" Diana has just gone out. She is splen-
didly well now, I 'm thankful to say," answered
The Day's Journey 279
Cecily, smiling. "That's why I was able to
come home. And I was so glad it was possible,
when I heard from Rose last week that it was
poor Robert's turn to look ill."
Lady Wilmot looked at her fixedly before
she dropped, with an undeniable thud, into a
neighboring chair.
Her expression demanded imperatively
whether ignorance or duplicity accounted for
the remarks of her hostess.
Cecily was faintly amused. She found her-
self a little curious as to the meaning of her
guest's portentous behavior, though her won-
der was only slightly stirred, after all. Her
mind was full of other matters.
She put her hand on the bell.
" We '11 have tea at once," she said.
Lady Wilmot stopped her with a command-
ing gesture.
" Where is Robert ? " she demanded.
"At Aldeburgh," returned Cecily. "He
may be back to-day, though. He does n't ex-
pect me quite so soon. I 'm to be a surprise
for him." Her smile this time was tinged with
impatience. Lady Wilmot's stare annoyed
her.
" Are you sure he 's at Aldeburgh ? " she
now inquired in a deep voice.
280 The Day's Journey
" Certainly," said Cecily, rather stiffly.
Lady Wilmot settled her back more com-
fortably into the sofa cushions, and metaphori-
cally untied her bonnet-strings.
" My dear Cecily," she began, " I know I
may speak before Rose, and you must n't be
upset by anything I am going to say. Now
Robert has been in town lately, I hear."
Cecily had risen, and was standing leaning
against the mantelpiece, looking down at her
guest with a grave face, touched with involun-
tary displeasure.
" Robert was here a week ago, I believe,"
she said, coldly. " He came to see to the
opening of the flat, when the servants came
back."
" Precisely," nodded Lady Wilmot. " Now,
my dear Cecily, if you will allow me to say so,
you have made several grave mistakes in your
dealings with Robert. Oh, yes ! I was pre-
pared for a dignified expression, and all that sort
of thing. It's just what a woman honestly en-
deavoring to do her duty must of necessity
expect." At this point in the monologue Rose
somewhat hurriedly changed her seat to a posi-
tion from which her face was not visible to
Lady Wilmot. " In the first place," pursued
that lady, " what, in the name of foolishness,
The Day's Journey 281
induced you, as a married woman of some
years' standing, to allow Philippa Burton to
act as your husband's secretary ? In the second,
how could you have the stupidity to leave a man
like Robert or for that matter, any man
for three months ? Men will be men, and we
can't stop them. We can only be drags on the
wheel. You should have stopped at home, my
dear, and been a drag. In the third "
Cecily made an impatient movement. " I
shall feel much obliged, Lady Wilmot, if you
will at once tell me why you have called this
afternoon," she said, very coldly.
Lady Wilmot bridled.
" With pleasure," she returned, quite truth-
fully. " This day week I was driving past
these flats on my way home from a bridge
party. It was twelve o'clock at night.
Twelve o'clock, I know, because " For
a moment or two Cecily lost the thread of Lady
Wilmot's recital. Her attention was fixed upon
something else. From her position by the
fireplace she commanded the room. Both the
other women had their backs turned towards
the door; it was, therefore, only she who saw
it quietly open, and Philippa Burton appear
on the threshold. As she entered, Lady Wil-
mot was speaking her name. . . .
282 The Day's Journey
" Twelve o'clock, when the hall door
opened and Philippa Burton came out. I
watched her down the road from my carriage
window. And now," she continued, half
rising, " having done my duty by you, for
which I shall get, as I expected, little thanks,
I shall go straight to the Neverns. Gaby
and fool as God knows Sammy Nevern to
be, I have a respect for his parents, and
therefore "
Again Cecily lost the thread of Lady Wil-
mot's remarks, continued during the occupa-
tion of hunting for a feather boa. Above the
heads of the two unconscious women in the
room, the eyes of the other two met. In
Philippa's there was agonized supplication.
Cecily never knew what prompted her next
words. They rose to her lips fluently, and ap-
parently without volition. She was even star-
tled as she heard herself give them utterance.
" I have let you go on, Lady Wilmot,"
she said in a voice drained of all expression,
" though you did not see that Miss Burton
was in the room."
Lady Wilmot turned as though a fog-
signal had gone off under her chair. Rose
sprang to her feet, and moved nearer to
Cecily.
The Day's Journey 283
" When I tell you that Miss Burton was
here the other night at my request," Cecily
went on in the same tone, " you will under-
stand that you have made a grave mistake."
The faintest flicker of eyelashes was the
only sign of surprise which Rose allowed her-
self. She stood and waited, with an impas-
sive countenance, while Lady Wilmot gasped.
" At your request ? " she stammered.
"Yes. Why not?" returned Cecily, her
mind still working, as it seemed, independ-
ently of her. " Miss Burton, as you know,
was my husband's secretary up to the time
we closed the flat. A few days ago he wrote
to me from Aldeburgh about a manuscript
which he thought I had taken abroad with
me. I happened to know it was here.
Naturally, as Miss Burton knew all about
his papers, I wrote to her to come and find
it. I don't know why she should have chosen
the late hour you mention, certainly. That
is her own affair. Probably she was busy
earlier. In any case, my husband was not
in the flat at the time. As I tell you, he
wrote to me from Aldeburgh."
Lady Wilmot finished patting her boa, and
readjusted her veil, with an assumption of
calmness which Rose secretly admired.
284 The Day's Journey
" I 'm sure I 'm very sorry. Philippa, my
dear, I must apologize." She held out her
hand to Cecily. " And I 'm quite sure neither
of you young people will bear me any malice,"
she added, looking from one to another.
" You, my dear Cecily, will certainly ap-
preciate the motive."
" Perfectly," said Cecily, gravely. " Rose,
do you mind going to the door with Lady
Wiimot?"
CHAPTER XXV
WHEN the door closed, Cecily, without a
glance at Philippa, who stood motionless
just within the room, crossed blindly to the
window, and stood looking out. Half con-
sciously she noticed the cathedral tower against
the sky. The sight of it reminded her of her
struggles for peace and freedom, their slow
attainment, her hardly won serenity. Dis-
gust filled her mind. It was for this, then,
that she had abandoned Dick, and hurried
back hundreds of miles to a man who was
ready to subject her once more to insult. She
smiled to herself disdainfully at the thought
of Rose's credulity, of her own emotional ten-
derness. The door bell rang suddenly. A
moment, and she heard a man's footstep,
and a man's voice. It was Dick ! Rose was
asking him into the dining-room, where she
herself was sitting.
Involuntarily Cecily turned her one instinct
to go to him. Through her mind darted
possibilities. She had taken no irrevocable
286 The Day's Journey
step nothing was yet too late. As she
turned, her eyes fell upon Philippa, whose
presence she had forgotten. She was still
standing, waiting till Cecily should move, and,
as for the second time her eyes met Cecily's,
she was struck afresh by their desperate ap-
peal. Well as she knew, and contemptuous
as she was, of all Philippa's posing, this new
look of hers was genuine. It served to stay
her steps.
Philippa made a hesitating movement
towards her.
" Oh, it was noble of you," she whispered.
The familiar word jarred upon Cecily. She
frowned impatiently.
" Shall we leave nobility out of our con-
versation ?"' she asked. " I 'm rather tired
of it. Will you sit down ? "
Philippa complied, and after a moment
Cecily too sat down at some little distance.
For an interval there was silence.
" I suppose you will admit that I managed
to save you just now from a scandal," she
said at last.
" Yes, indeed," murmured the other woman.
" Then will you look upon this as a busi-
ness transaction, and pay me by speaking the
truth ? "
The Day's Journey 287
"Yes," said Philippa again, her mournful
eyes fixed upon Cecily's.
" Did you see my husband the other
night ? "
" No he was n't here."
" But you came to see him ? "
"Yes."
Cecily drew in her breath a little.
"At his request, of course?" she asked
lightly, with a smile.
" No he did n't know I was coming."
Again they looked at one another in
silence.
" Please listen," said Cecily after a time,
slowly. " Though I did not leave my husband
on your account, I should n't have returned
to his house if I had known that his his
friendship with you was not over."
"It w over."
" Then will you be kind enough to explain
to me why you were here last week ? "
Philippa's eyes wavered. She began to trace
patterns on the floor with her foot.
"I I came to borrow money," she answered
under her breath.
Cecily leaned back in her chair. With
Philippa's words came a swift realization of
the sordidness of a " love affair." She was
288 . The Day's Journey
startled a moment later by a sudden torrent of
words from the woman opposite to her.
" You '11 have to know all about it, I sup-
pose ! " she broke out in a hoarse, unnatural
voice. "I'm desperate hunted. Do you
know what that feels like ? Of course you
don't. There's a man who threatens oh,
I can't tell you ! I can't tell you ! " She
broke into sudden hysterical crying.
" Hush ! " said Cecily, more gently. " Tell
me. You must tell me everything now. It
is only fair to yourself, and to me. You
wanted money, you say ? But why did n't
you write, instead of "
" I did write," she explained, between her
sobs, " ever so many times. He always
returned my letters unopened. He he had
discovered that I was going to marry Nigel.
And then I used to come down here and
wait for him to come out. But I never saw
him. One evening, when I was waiting, I saw
both the servants leave the flat, and I thought
he would be alone. I did n't know he was n't
in town. I had the latch-key. He gave it to
me once, when I when I used to work here.
I knew he wrote late. I thought if I could
once get to his study and see him, I might "
She paused. Cecily was still silent.
The Day's Journey 289
" It was very mad," she went on, " but it
seemed an opportunity. The hall door down-
stairs was open. I suppose there was a party
going on in one of the flats, and I trusted to
luck. . . . But he was n't here. I did n't
know he 'd gone away. . . ." Again her voice
failed.
" And to-day ? " asked Cecily. " You came
back to-day to see him ? "
"Yes. Of course I had no idea you were
here. ... I thought I might he might. . . ."
She laid the latch-key with which she had
entered on the table between them.
The room was quite still. Cecily scarcely
knew how to define her sensations, but relief
was one of them the greatest. She was
glad, inexpressibly glad to find her new suspi-
cions of Robert groundless. She started when
Philippa sprang with sudden passion to her feet.
"Oh!" she cried, "how you despise me,
don't you ? But if you 'd had my exist-
ence Do you know what life means
for a woman who has no money ? " she
demanded, fiercely. " Do you know what it
means to be turned out into the world when
your parents die, without influence, without
proper training for any work, just to sink or
swim as you can? I tell you, you clutch at
19
290 The Day's Journey
anything, at anybody. ... I shall have to tell
you. ... I lived with a woman once and
there was some money I " she moistened
her dry lips " I had the handling of her
money, and I I meant to return it, of course.
But she found out before I had time. She
was hard as hard as nails. She gave me a
certain time to pay it back, and if I didn't she
threatened to make it public. Well I bor-
rowed it I had to from a man." Again
she suddenly lowered her eyes and Cecily
understood. "It's he who threatens," she
went on in a choking voice. " It 's not paid
back yet and he's poor Oh, you've
never met such a man in your world, of course !
You don't know the sort of man who would
It's the money he wants. And I can't marry
Nigel, because he this man will go to him,
and "
She threw herself on the sofa and hid her
face.
Cecily drew nearer. Human misery is terri-
ble to witness. She was moved inexpressibly.
Philippa's affectations, her poses, her exasper-
ating mannerisms, had dropped from her,
leaving her just a naked, shivering human
soul, desperately afraid.
" Philippa ! " she whispered, bending over
The Day's Journey 291
her, " if only you had ever, even once before,
been sincere with me ! " She spoke in a voice
trembling with pity, and Philippa looked up.
" Go on," she said. " Don't be afraid to
tell me everything."
Philippa raised her head, pushing her hair
away from her haggard eyes. She looked old
and beaten and hunted as she sat there.
"There's nothing much to tell," she said,
doggedly. " That 's what I did and I 've
paid for it. It 's awful to get into a net. I saw
your husband was interested in me at the
beginning, I mean. I could n't afford to let
him go."
The slow color rose to Cecily's cheek.
Chaotic emotions surged within her ; among
them shame, and a curious despairing pity that
after all her husband had never been loved
merely tricked, deceived. " Poor Robin ! "
she found herself repeating silently, with a sort
of passion of protection, as she returned in
thought to the "little" name of their happy
days.
Philippa was still talking, wildly, incoher-
ently, as though with relief.
"And then when I met Nigel, and he
wanted to marry me, I was thankful. I was so
tired of struggling and having to pretend. I
292 The Day's Journey
wanted to feel safe and and sheltered. I
wanted it so much. And now I shall lose him
too. And it will all begin over again all
over again " She stopped, drawing a
long, exhausted breath.
Cecily rose and went to the window, which
she threw wider open. She felt that she wanted
fresh air. Then she turned. " Listen ! " she
said. " Don't say any more. Go home now,
and write to me. Tell me just what you want
to put things straight, and I '11 manage it
somehow."
For a minute Philippa sat motionless, staring,
her mouth a little open, her untidy hair hang-
ing round her face.
"You mean ? " she began.
" I should like to put things quite straight
for you," Cecily answered, simply.
Philippa rose rather unsteadily to her feet.
She began to realize that she was safe. With
the knowledge, her old self, the self made out
of incessant posing, constant mental attitudiniz-
ing, began to gather like a shell over the
elemental human being for whom Cecily had
been experiencing a very passion of pity.
She pushed her crushed hat at the right
angle, her head drooped to its accustomed
position, a little on one side, her body reassumed
The Day's Journey 293
its yearning lines. She held out both hands to
Cecily.
" How we have misjudged each other, you
and I ! " she exclaimed, employing the deep
tones in her voice. " I thought you unsympa-
thetic, unimaginative. And you no doubt
thought me " She hesitated. It became
difficult with Cecily's eyes upon her to suggest
the possible mental attitude she might formerly
have adopted towards her husband's secretary.
"You have a fine nature," she murmured.
"You "
Cecily checked her sharply. The impulsive
wave of pity had passed.
" Please don't," she said, coldly. " I 'm not
noble, nor generous, nor a fine character, nor
any of the things you are fond of talking
about." Her heart began to beat quickly.
" You altered the world for me ! " she cried,
with a sudden passion for which she could not
account. "Some one would have done it any-
how, no doubt; I have realized that. But it
happened to be you. If I were jealous now, I
could n't lift a finger to help you. But the
worst of it is, I 'm not jealous any more, and
because you 're a woman, too, and that
in itself is hard enough, I '11 help you
now. You have taught me to put it out of any
294 The Day's Journey
man's power to hurt me much again. But
listen to me ! " Her voice rang imperatively.
Philippa raised unwilling eyes, and the women
looked at each other. " For what I 've had
to kill to make it possible not to be hurt, I will
never forgive you to the end of my life." The
words were uttered with an intense deliberation.
Philippa paled, and turned away without offer-
ing her hand.
Before she reached the door, she heard
Cecily's voice again. This time it was quite
under control. She spoke as though they had
been conducting an ordinary business interview.
" Good-bye. Please tell me exactly how
matters stand, and everything shall be
arranged."
Philippa closed the door. She was saved,
but it had been at a price.
CHAPTER XXVI
IN the adjoining room, meantime, Rose
Summers was passing through her mauvais
quart d'heure. She was bewildered, indignant,
uncertain. The whole aspect of the situation
appeared to have changed yet dare she say
anything to one of the chief actors in the
drama ? an actor who sat opposite to her
with a stolid demeanor and tragic eyes. She
decided that she did not dare. Cecily was,
therefore, unavoidably detained for a few
minutes, but would not be long. In the
meanwhile Rose looked at Mayne, and very
ridiculously wanted to cry.
" So you Ve got your own way, as usual,"
he began, quizzically, after a few perfunctory
questions from Rose about his forthcoming
expedition.
Rose winced. It is astonishing how much
a smile can hurt. " Was n't it the best way ?
at least the only way ? " she answered, ap-
pealingly.
He shrugged his shoulders. " So he does n't
know she 's here? "
296 The Day's Journey
" Does n't even know she 's coming," Rose
answered, meekly.
" And he will be overwhelmed with joy ? "
Mayne inquired, with another smile, difficult
to meet.
Rose decided to show fight. " Yes, I think
he will," she replied.
There was a pause, while he looked out of
the window. When he spoke, it was with his
back to her.
"And Cecily? Does she want this this
reconciliation ? "
Mrs. Summers smothered the thought of
the possible result of the interview in progress.
"Yes. On the whole yes. She was
touched at what I wrote of his looking so
ill."
" Was n't that hitting below the belt ? "
Mayne asked, with more than a touch of
mockery. " And he 's still away ? " he added,
when she did not reply.
" Yes but he may be home any day."
" So you did n't agree with the step Cecily
took ? " he asked presently, continuing his mer-
ciless questioning, "leaving him, I mean."
" On the contrary, I quite agreed. But one
need not take unnecessarily long steps."
" Merely steps of the conventional length,
The Day's Journey 297
you would say ? Just long enough to keep a
woman at the side of a man who is unworthy
of her."
She answered his bitterness very gently.
"There's so much more in it than that
to a woman like Cecily. She has loved him
and now he needs her. I understand it."
He gave a short laugh. " Will he under-
stand it ? I picture him complacent."
"No, Dick," said Rose, gravely. "He's
been too far into the depths. If he had n't, I
should never have written to Cecily."
She hesitated, glanced at him, and made up
her mind to go on.
" You see, Dick, it is not as though she
had ever " She paused. She could not
bear to look at him.
" Loved me ? " He finished the sentence
for her slowly, all his affectation of hardness
dropping like a mask. " No, you are right.
That always settled it. I know I 'm a fool,"
he went on in a perfectly quiet voice. " Don't
think I don't know it. I 'm like a child cry-
ing because a star never came down from the
sky to to be treasured by him."
Rose put out her hand to him, the room
swimming before her eyes.
" Dear old Dick ! "
298 The Day's Journey
He drew himself up.
" I 'm off," he said, abruptly. " Good-bye,
Mrs. Summers." He took both her hands
in one of his.
"You won't stay to see " began Rose
in irresolute consternation.
" No," he returned, firmly. " After all,
I 've said good-bye."
She looked at him, and did not argue.
" God bless you, Dick," she whispered.
" Give my love to Cecily," he said, turning
at the door.
That was all. Rose heard his footsteps
down the hall heard the hall door close.
She was still standing in the middle of the
room, where he had left her; she did not
know how long she had been standing there,
when Cecily came in.
" He 's gone," cried Rose. " He would n't
stay. Shall I call him back ? " she asked,
desperately. " He told me you had said
good-bye."
Cecily was very pale. She turned a little
paler before she spoke.
" No," she said, slowly. " He is right.
Don't call him. We have said good-bye."
" Cis ? ' whispered Rose. " Is it all
right?"
The Day's Journey 299
"Oh, yes! I suppose it's all right," she
answered in a dazed voice.
Then she went into her bedroom and shut
the door.
Rose did not follow her.
CHAPTER XXVII
IT was after dusk the following evening when
Robert drove across town from Liverpool
Street.
He had telegraphed to one of the servants,
who had lived with them since their marriage,
that he should return that evening, and as
he neared the desolate home he pictured, he
was thinking drearily that some settlement
of the situation was inevitable. He had no
hope of Cecily. Rose had said so little that
he had returned from his visit to her more de-
spondent than ever. She must be in Cecily's
confidence. She knew Cecily's attitude and
she had said nothing ; given him no comfort.
The outlook was inexpressibly dreary. He
longed for Cecily. She was never out of
his thoughts. She haunted his dreams his
terrible, mocking dreams. In these nightly
visions, he saw her over and over again ; in
the garden at the Priory, walking bareheaded
under the trees, smiling as she ran towards
him. Or he turned, to find her at the door,
her eyes full of laughter, her arms outstretched
The Day's Journey 301
to him. Always the radiant, happy Cecily of
their early married life. And then the wak-
ing the heart-breaking return to reality ; his
shame, his bitter, useless self-reproach.
Fool fool that he had been ! He writhed
to recall his infatuation, and all that it implied.
He thought of it incessantly. He did no
work. He scarcely slept. He suffered as a
highly-strung nature always suffers, keenly,
extravagantly to the serious danger of health
and sanity. When she saw him at her country
home, Rose had felt that poetic justice was
satisfied. Robert, in her opinion, and she was
no lenient judge, had borne enough.
He opened the door of the flat with his
latch-key, and Smithers, the parlor-maid, came
running down the hall.
There was suppressed excitement in her
demeanor, but he scarcely noticed it, as he
bade her good-evening, and put his wraps
down on the table. There were flowers in
the hall. He noticed them, and thought of
Cecily. She always suggested flowers. She
had a way of filling every pot and pan in the
house with them. He was passing the door of
her bedroom. It was ajar, and there was a light
within flickering firelight. He wondered
why wondered with a pang at his heart.
302 The Day's Journey
It was cruel to light a fire in there, it made it
seem so much as though Cecily
" Robin ! "
He started violently, and felt the color
die out of his face. His name was repeated,
the " little " name that Cecily had not used
for years. He pushed open the door.
His wife sat by the fire, looking back over
her shoulder. She was in a tea-gown of soft
silk, which fell away from her arms. As he
stood on the threshold, she rose, smiling, as
he had often dreamt he saw her, and held
her hands out towards him.
Somehow he stumbled to her, and fell on
his knees at her feet.
She bent down to him, and stroked his hair.
" Robin, dear," she said, gently, as a mother
speaks to her child. " Oh, Robin, what a
thin little boy!"
He began to sob convulsively, like a child,
and she put her arms round him, and held
him in silence. . . .
Presently he began to speak, pouring out
his love and longing for her in the old vol-
uble, vehement fashion, accusing himself
praying for forgiveness.
She sighed a little as she soothed him.
" But it is all right, darling, is n't it ? " he
The Day's Journey 303
said anxiously at last. " Really all right, I
mean ? "
" Yes, Robin, we 're going to understand
each other in future."
" And you do forgive me, Cis for every-
thing?"
" Yes, dear hush ! Don't let us talk
about it."
" And you love me ? " he urged, with the
persistence of a child.
She hesitated, almost imperceptibly, before
she assented.
" As you used to ? " he asked, breathlessly.
"In the old way? Just the same?"
She looked at him with troubled eyes.
" Robin, shall we begin by not asking each
other too many questions ? "
The arms he had clasped round her dropped
slowly. " Then you don't ! " There was
inexpressible disappointment in his tone.
" We can't set the clock back," said Cecily, at
last, slowly. " I am a different person now."
He put his head on to her knee. " I want
the old Cecily ! " he cried.
Cecily's eyes filled with tears. When he
raised his head he saw them.
"You mean, I might have kept her? Do
you mean that, Cis ? "
304 The Day's Journey
She made a movement of distress. " Oh,
Robert, don't. Let us leave it. We can't
wake the past. It is dead. Let us think of
the future."
"But it's the past that makes the future,"
said Robert, drearily.
" Yes," she admitted in sad agreement.
There was a silence. Cecily looked at the
fire with eyes that he watched hungrily.
" Cis ! " he implored, presently, " say what
you 're thinking ! Don't keep me outside
your thoughts. Why must things always be
different?"
She looked at him wonderingly. " Why ? "
Was it impossible for him to realize all that
the years had done? She thought of the
girl who had married him, and contrasted her
with the woman who sat here now, by the
fire, gently stroking the head against her knee.
She could either have laughed or cried aloud.
" Because I 'm different," was all she said.
" I 've learned things, and one can't do away
with knowledge."
" What have you learned ? "
" For one thing, what most men mean by
love."
"You don't doubt that I love you, Cis!"
he begged, despairingly.
The Day's Journey 305
She hesitated. " It 's so difficult to say
anything that won't make you think I 'm
really bitter and resentful in my heart," she
began. " And you see, Robin, I 'm not. If
I were, you would have a better chance of
of what you want me to feel. I did n't want
to discuss this, but you make me."
" It 's better," he returned, in a dull voice.
" I would rather. Let us at least be honest
with each other."
She began to speak after a moment, hesi-
tating a little, and feeling for the words.
"You see, Robin, when I was lonely and
sad, and you saw me every day, I bored you.
For nearly two years now you have seen
very little of me. I they say I Ve got
pretty again, and people men like me, and
pay me attention, and all that. And now you
are c in love ' with me again. Oh, yes," as he
made a hurt, protesting sound, " I 'm very will-
ing to believe it 's more than just that. But
it's difficult to forget the other, isn't it? "
He bowed his head.
" I suppose I ought to have managed
better," she went on, musingly. " But in
the old days, when we married, I never
looked upon you as a man to be ( managed '
like the rest. It would have seemed to me
20
306 The Day's Journey
like insulting you an insult to the love I
thought you had for me."
" Yes," said Robert, humbly, " I know.
I 've laid myself open to that reproach."
She patted his hand softly.
" Marriage is a very difficult game to play,
is n't it ? " she went on. " And do you know,
Robin, I Ve come to the conclusion that to
play it successfully the woman at least ought
not to be in love. Then she can f manage.'
Then she can play skilfully, and find her
success amusing. But suggest her methods
to a girl in love, and she thinks them
degrading." She smiled sadly. " Love is a
horrid little god to woman, Robin. He first
robs her of her best weapon, her sense of
humor, and then, as the only method of re-
storing it to her flies out of the window."
" Oh, Cis ! " he sighed, " I 've given you
reason enough. But I don't offer it as an
excuse, but do you know, I wonder, how
difficult it is for a man "
" To be what is called faithful ? " she asked.
"Yes, I think I do. And, if that were all,
Robin It isn't that exactly which shakes
a woman's trust to the depths, and changes
the world for her. It's what goes with
it. The loss of all the other things at the
The Day's Journey 307
same time. Her husband's consideration,
his tenderness, his friendship. That these
should go too, when he 's out of love,' is
what most women find so hard to bear so
incomprehensible. . . . You see, since I 've
been able to think dispassionately, I 've tried
to make it my case. Men say ' women are
so different.' It's a convenient phrase, but
it is n't true. You 'd be surprised to find how
many women are remarkably like men in
every way. I 'm one of them." She paused.
All at once she lived over again a moment
in the fierce Roman sunshine. " I can im-
agine myself tempted as you were tempted,"
she added, quietly.
" Tell me what would you have done ? "
asked Robert, in a low voice.
" I think," she said, rather huskily, " I
should have remembered the great love we
had when we were married and all the dear
little everyday things afterwards. I should
have remembered that, at the bottom of my
heart, you were more to me, just because of
those little home things, than any other human
being. I should" her voice sank lower
" I should have remembered our child. Ah ! "
she drew in her breath sharply " but
that 's different for me I was her mother ! "
308 The Day's Journey
Robert laid his cheek against her hand.
" Anyhow," she went on presently, more
calmly, " I would have fought with myself.
I should have been so afraid the new love
would pass, and that then, when it was gone,
I might find I 'd lost my first real treasure.
But men never seem to think of that. Per-
haps they are greater gamblers than women.
I don't know." She shook her head quietly,
her eyes looking far away.
" Cecily ! " he implored. " Don't say I Ve
lost it. Oh, Cecily, love me again ! "
Her eyes, full of tears, met his. " You
ask for something that 's gone," she said, mis-
erably. " Dead roses are always dead roses.
Not all our tears will make them fresh again."
There was a long silence. Presently he
rose and began to walk up and down the room.
" Why did you come back ? " he asked at
last, sharp pain in his voice.
She got up and went to him.
" I thought you wanted me."
" Not if you no longer care." His lips
trembled.
She put both hands on his arm, and drew
him to her.
" Robin, dear," she whispered, " listen !
There are different sorts of love. It 's true
The Day's Journey 309
I can't deny it that I don't feel in the
old way, in the way I did when when we
first married. But all the same you are more
to me than any man in the world. Your
troubles are my troubles. I hate you to be
unhappy. When Rose told me how ill you
looked, I wanted to fly all the way home, to
look after you." She thought suddenly of the
letter she had read in the hotel bedroom, and
was thankful to feel that she was speaking
truth. " All that part of my love has never
failed. Do you know, Robin, when one has
loved very much, I believe one spins a sort of
web, made up of a thousand, thousand threads,
binding one to the loved person ? They are
very slight, but very strong. We can't break
them. I can't break the threads I spun round
you. I have tried, but I can't. Oh, Robin,
don't say I ought n't to have come back ! "
He laid his head on her breast with a
touchingly helpless gesture.
" If you had n't come back I should have
died," he said. " I don't deserve anything,
Cecily. But, oh, my dear, give me as much
as you can."
THE END
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