DOWNWARD 
 
 MAUD CHURTON BRABY 
 
 EX
 
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 DOWNWARD: 
 
 A "SLICE OF LIFE" 
 
 
 
 By 
 
 MAUD CHURTON 
 BRABY 
 
 Author of " Modern Marriage and 
 How to Bear It" 
 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE MACAULAY COMPANY 
 1913 

 
 COPYRIGHT. 1912. BT 
 WILUAM RICKEY A COMPANY 
 
 THE SCHILLING PRESS. NEW YORK
 
 TO MY HUSBAITO 
 
 PERCY BBABY 
 
 "Brilliant, and brave, and kind." 
 
 (W. B. Henley.) 
 
 Never 
 
 For thee the lowered banner, the lost endeavour I* 
 
 (Fiona Macleod.)
 
 DOWNWARD: 
 
 A "Slice of Life " 
 
 PART I 
 I 
 
 THE setting sun flooded the bedroom in a little white 
 house in a Fulham side-street where Valerie Fitzgerald 
 lay dying. "The Actress at Number Five" the neigh- 
 bours called her. Nobody knew her to speak to though 
 she had lived there longer than any of the others. 
 
 Her arrivals and departures at the little white house, 
 always on Sundays, in a cab piled high with huge dress 
 baskets, accompanied by her young daughter, had been a 
 topic of unfailing interest to the inhabitants of the other 
 little white houses. "What a life!" had been the usual 
 comment of censorious housewives. Discontented daugh 
 ters gazing wistfully from parlour windows had defended 
 the life as "at least exciting." Tolerant fathers and 
 enthusiastic sons had watched the arrivals and departures 
 with unconcealed interest, from the vantage ground of 
 their front garden-plots. "There's a woman who knows 
 the world!" the fathers were wont to say, in a voice thai 
 was meant to express a vast similar knowledge on their 
 own part, whilst the sons involuntarily pulled down 
 waistcoats and fingered ties, as they leant elegantly, 
 they hoped over the diminutive wooden gates labelled 
 "Blenheim," "Clovelly," or " Ken il worth," as the case 
 might be. All the male inhabitants of the road admired 
 "the Actress," but they unanimously characterized her 
 daughter as "a minx." 
 
 1
 
 2 DOWNWARD 
 
 Dolly, at fifteen, with her trim waist, her jaunty car- 
 riage, flaunting golden hair and bold blue eyes, was 
 certainly a figure to cause anxious mothers of sons 
 uneasiness, and they were glad the little house was shut 
 up so often, and that none of them were acquainted with 
 the theatrical folk at Number Five. They would not own 
 to themselves that there would be no need to worry in 
 any case, since Dolly seemed oblivious even of the exist- 
 ence of their boys. Secretly they resented this fact and 
 were apt to murmur "Hussy !" when observing, from the 
 parlour windows as usual, that George or Albert's strik- 
 ing attitude at the front gate, and the sudden fit of 
 refined coughing that invariably seized these youths at 
 Dolly's approach, passed entirely unnoticed by the 
 actress's daughter. And "the street might belong to 
 her!" George and Albert would mutter, as they turned 
 disconsolately away, casting from them the flower they 
 had hoped for an opportunity to offer. 
 
 Poor little Dolly did not look much of a minx now as 
 she drew the blinds to let the sun's last rays fall on her 
 mother's face. Untidy and weary, her blue eyes pitifully 
 dimmed with weeping, her splendid hair tangled and 
 neglected even the censorious neighbours would have 
 pitied the child now, stricken by the weight of her first 
 real grief. 
 
 "That better, Mums?" she asked, fastening the blind, 
 and her voice was so full of misery that it struck on the 
 fading senses of the dying woman. 
 
 "Is my little girl very tired?" Valerie asked. "You 
 promised me you would go to bed last night." 
 
 "Well, I did sleep, darling, in the chair here; I 
 couldn't leave you." 
 
 ' ' But I have nurse, child, and you run about so much 
 for me during the day." 
 
 "Yes, but my room seemed so far away, and and if 
 anything .... Oh, Mums ! let me stay with you as long 
 as 1 can." She was kneeling by the bed now, and she 
 buried her face in the quilt to stifle the sobs that would 
 not be denied.
 
 DOWNWARD 8 
 
 The actress' trembling hand groped its way along 
 the bed and found the bowed head of her child. Her 
 thin fingers rested lovingly on the bright hair. 
 
 "Don't cry, my darling," she whispered; "I can't 
 bear your tears, child anything but that!" Dolly 
 jumped up, threw back her hair and dashed the tears 
 from her eyes with one of her quick, vital gestures. 
 
 "I'm not crying," she said, brightly. "It's time for 
 your medicine, and you haven't had any nourishment, as 
 nurse calls it, for quite three-quarters of an hour. What 
 would the doctor think ! He said every half-hour without 
 fail. I'll get you some milk." 
 
 "I'd better have champagne," said Valerie. "I want 
 to feel strong for a little while. I've a great deal to say 
 to you, Dolly, and " 
 
 "There isn't much time now/' she had meant to say. 
 It was so plainly true ; the shadow of death lay unmis- 
 takably on Valerie. As she lay raised on her pillows, her 
 face looked more wan still in contrast with the frame of 
 bright gold hair, her chief beauty, and the only point in 
 which her child resembled her. Dolly 's face, with its rich 
 tints and curves, full red lips and fair skin, was entirely 
 different from the pale, thin, spiritual countenance of her 
 mother. A beautiful passionate soul looked out of 
 Valerie 's sombre dark eyes. Their depths held a tragedy, 
 repeated in the thin curve of her embittered mouth. She 
 was lined beyond her thirty-seven years, for her skin was 
 of the kind that does not take cosmetics well, and years 
 of stage make-up had raddled her delicate face sadly ; but 
 her great personal charm was apparent even in her pres- 
 ent physical extremity. 
 
 Dolly had fetched the half-pint bottle of champagne 
 from the pile stacked on the landing, ready for sick-room 
 use. Deftly she opened it and helped her mother to 
 slowly sip the required quantity. She turned the pillow 
 tenderly, refilled the ice-bag for the invalid's head, and 
 at her request placed a large lump of ice wrapped in a 
 handkerchief in her mother's thin hand. 
 
 Then the girl climbed on the bed and with her eyes
 
 4 DOWNWARD 
 
 fixed devouringly on her mother's face waited for Valerie 
 to speak. 
 
 ' ' Was it six o 'clock that struck, Dolly ? Is it morning 
 or evening?" 
 
 "It's evening, the sun's just disappearing, you see. I 
 hear the bath filling; nurse must be getting up." 
 
 Hungry eyes turned towards their last earthly glimpse 
 of the sun. 
 
 "How I have loved the sun in my life! The dear, 
 wonderful, comforting sun!" Valerie said, wistfully. 
 Her voice was a little stronger. She turned to her daugh- 
 ter. "I want you alone, my girlie; nurse needn't hurry. 
 When when it's all over, Dolly, you must leave every- 
 thing to nurse. I don't want you to do that for me 
 you're too young." 
 
 Dolly shuddered. "Yes, mother," she said, with an 
 effort. 
 
 "And you're not to go to your room and cry. Promise 
 me, child." 
 
 "I'll try." 
 
 "I want you, at once, you understand, to go and 
 bathe your eyes, do your hair nicely, put on your blue 
 coat and skirt and the blue hat make yourself very 
 neat, mind then get a cab and go straight to Mr. Hamil- 
 ton." 
 
 "The lawyer, mother? But he's dead, you told me." 
 
 "Yes, yes, the old man whom you knew is dead, but his 
 son is head of the firm now Dacre Hamilton. You know 
 the address 5 Old Square, Lincoln's Inn Fields. Send 
 in your name, say it's urgent, and tell the clerk you 
 can't be kept waiting . . . then tell Mr. Hamilton what 
 has happened." 
 
 "Yes, mother." The young voice sounded a shade 
 brighter; these mysterious directions seemed to promise 
 excitement. 
 
 "You know the pale blue satin box which I keep 
 wrapped up in the ottoman ; you 've often asked for it. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I know ; I 've wanted it for a long time. ' ' 
 
 "It's not for you, child. I made it fifteen years ago,
 
 DOWNWARD 5 
 
 just before you were born. It is needed now at last. . . . 
 You must cut off my plaits, close to the head " 
 
 ' ' Oh, mother, your lovely hair ! ' ' 
 
 "I shan't want it any more, dear. Cut it off and put 
 it in the blue box; take it to Dacre Hamilton. . . . Don't 
 ask any questions and do exactly as he tells you. Exactly, 
 you understand, child?" 
 
 "Y yes, mother." 
 
 "Obey him in everything do as he tells you go 
 where he arranges." 
 
 "But where, mother? We've no relations surely I 
 may stay here? Isn't this house yours? You've always 
 told me so !" 
 
 "Yes, you were born in this house, as you know, and 
 ever since it has been mine but only for my lifetime. 
 You will not be allowed to stay here. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Oh, mother ! We 've always loved the dear little house 
 so different from the horrid lodgings on tour! Oh, 
 mother, is everything to be taken from me at once ? Then 
 where am I to go?" 
 
 "I don't know, my darling." Valerie's low voice was 
 full of unbearable pain. "I wish to God I did, but I 
 never thought to die so soon. Nothing has been settled ; I 
 thought I would live to see you married and independent. 
 You know how sudden my illness has been. I let Mr. 
 Hamilton know as soon as I heard it was hopeless, and he 
 has written and written " 
 
 ' ' Who to, mother ? Who 's he written to ? " 
 
 "To the trustees of ... your father." 
 
 "Father!" Dolly almost screamed in her excitement. 
 That forbidden name source of so many mysterious 
 imaginings! "And haven't they answered?" 
 
 "Mr. Hamilton says not." 
 
 "What brutes!" said the girl, impetuously. "Oh, 
 Mums, why didn't you write?" 
 
 "Because ... I may not," breathed Valerie almost 
 inaudibly. "You mustn't question me, child it's so 
 hard to speak at all, and I've so much to say still. Do 
 whatever Mr. Hamilton says ; you can trust him, though
 
 DOWNWARD 
 
 he's young he'll advise you well. His father has been a 
 good friend to me, and remember, Dolly never forget 
 this if you disobey the trustees, they will do nothing for 
 you; you will get no money, no protection." 
 
 "Can trustees do things like that?" 
 
 "Mine can," said Valerie, very bitterly, and her whole 
 life's tragedy seemed expressed in those words. 
 
 For a moment there was silence. 
 
 She lay quiet, ghastly with shut eyes. Dolly, momen- 
 tarily unmindful of her mother, was thinking miserably 
 resentful of what she had just heard. 
 
 "Mother," she burst out suddenly, "tell me about my 
 father ! Do, do tell me, mother. Who was he ? You are 
 the only one that knows. ... I want to know so fright- 
 fully badly, and no one will ever tell me if you don't. 
 Oh, mother, don't refuse now!" 
 
 Valerie opened her eyes, and they blazed on her child ; 
 her look was like the flash of swords. Seeing it, Dolly 
 shrank back to the bed-post ; she expected angry words to 
 rush from her mother's lips, but after a minute's silence 
 Valerie closed her eyes again, and her voice came quietly, 
 wearily. 
 
 "There is nothing to tell you, child. You know it all. 
 I worshipped your father ;-he left me, after three years of 
 wonderful happiness, before you were born, and he is 
 dead now. His will provided this house and enough for 
 us to live on in comfort, with what I can earn. That's 
 all." 
 
 Dolly's rush of questions was checked by the look of 
 utter exhaustion on her mother's face. She was afraid to 
 ask anything more. Presently Valerie spoke again, very 
 gently. 
 
 "Darling, don't torment me with those questions now. 
 You know how it vexes me. Don't talk or argue at all 
 only listen. I have so much to say to my poor little girl. 
 Mother will soon be gone. . . . Kneel quietly by me and 
 listen so that I need only whisper. . . . 
 
 "I hate to leave you, my baby. It's so hard if only I 
 could have livsd another five years and seen you a
 
 DOWNWARD 7 
 
 woman ! I 'm afraid for you the world is so cruel and 
 yours is just the nature that will stretch out both hands 
 for the beauty and colour of life. . . . 
 
 "You know about my girlhood how harsh and hard 
 my parents were, and how they seemed to think all joy 
 wrong, and taught me to hate religion, because of the 
 misery they made it mean for me. You know how I ran 
 away at seventeen and went on the stage. I never had a 
 chance, Dolly, and when you came to me I meant your 
 life to be very different. Perhaps I've indulged you too 
 much, but I was so anxious that you should have all the 
 gaiety and laughter I had missed. Sometimes I think 
 I've been mistaken." 
 
 Valerie gazed anxiously at her daughter's face. Young 
 as she was, it was even now the face of a Circe her lips 
 were siren's lips, and her eyes were plainly destined to 
 give men dreams. 
 
 "Sometimes I think a harsher rule might have been 
 better for you there is not much of me in you. You 
 haven't had the right environment, after all, my darl- 
 ing," the mother went on, sadly. "I know it now; 
 touring theatrical companies are no place for young girls. 
 You've learnt much you would have been better without, 
 poor child, though I've always tried to be particular 
 about my engagements for your sake. But you always 
 hated the schools we tried, and you were all I had all ! 
 I couldn't bear to be parted from you. We have loved 
 each other, haven't we, little daughter?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes, Mummy!" The stifled voice was full 
 of anguish. 
 
 "It grieves me now to think how little education you 
 have had," Valerie lamented. 
 
 Up went Dolly's head instantly. "Mother ! I've learnt 
 a lot of useful things why, you always say I'm a splen- 
 did cook and a good nurse, and what I don't know about 
 travelling wouldn 't go on a burnt match end ' ' she flung 
 out the pantomime catch-word proudly "and look how 
 well I can pack! and Gus Huntley always said I could
 
 8 DOWNWARD 
 
 make a better bargain with a landlady than any low-corn, 
 on the road." 
 
 Valerie winced, but there was a touch of her old whim- 
 sical humour in her reply. ' ' Oh, what would my father 
 have said to his granddaughter's notion of accomplish- 
 ments ! ' ' 
 
 "But then my dancing, too . . ." said Dolly, 
 proudly. 
 
 ' ' Yes, dear, you are a wonderful dancer ; they thought 
 a lot of your talent at the Berlin place. I've spent a 
 great deal of money on your training already, and I 
 promised you singing lessons when you were sixteen, 
 didn't I?" 
 
 "Yes, mother," said Dolly, eagerly. 
 
 Valerie's voice was getting fainter. "Mr. Hamilton 
 will do his best. It all depends on .... If they don't 
 let you go on the stage after all, you must be good and 
 bear it, or they will forsake you. Dolly, I can 't bear to 
 think of your having to face the world without money 
 as I did. A little money makes all the difference to a 
 girl alone. Promise me once more promise me faith- 
 fully, Dolly, that whatever happens you won 't go against 
 him." 
 
 "Against the trustee?" 
 
 ' ' Yes promise. ' ' 
 
 "I promise, mother." 
 
 "Whatever happens?" 
 
 "Whatever happens," said Dolly, solemnly. 
 
 Valerie gave a sigh of content. ' ' Thank you, darling ; 
 I want to sleep now, I'm so very tired." 
 
 "Yes, do sleep a little." 
 
 ' ' No, no, I mustn 't yet, I 've still so much to say, I don 't 
 seem to get on with it at all, ' ' she added, fretfully. . . . 
 "Listen, Dolly, kneel by me. Let me hold your dear face 
 in my hand; how smooth your cheek is, my beautiful 
 little girl! You'll remember I like you to dress quietly, 
 dear .... and don't look about you in the streets 
 I've often had to tell you that, you know . . . and never 
 let a man take you to a private room in a restaurant."
 
 DOWNWARD 9 
 
 "Of course not, mother, I know better than that!'* 
 
 "And never have anything to do with a man who 
 doesn't treat you respectfully. . . . Dolly, be careful of 
 men ; you are of coarser fibre than I. ... a girl like you 
 can't be too careful. Be careful of love, my daughter, 
 it's so cruel. Some day you are sure to meet men who 
 will talk to you about the necessity for obeying 'Nature's 
 law.' But remember, dear, it isn't safe to trust Nature's 
 laws when they conflict with man's laws. Even God's 
 law doesn't seem to count it is by man's laws we are 
 judged and by man's laws we are punished. ... So be 
 careful of love, Dolly. Be cautious, be mean even. Only 
 count the cost, count the cost! Don't be too ready to 
 give. . . . but oh ! you will, you will !" her voice was a 
 moan "I know you will; you are his child his child!" 
 
 "I won't, Mums, I really won't!" murmured the girl, 
 soothingly. 
 
 "Don't, don't, my Dolly! One gives all hardly 
 understanding and it is so terrible when one has lost 
 all." Her voice trailed away, her mind seemed wander- 
 ing. Dolly just caught the whisper, "My poor little 
 girl . . . my poor little girl left alone. . . . Beloved, how 
 cruel you have been to me ... how bitterly cruel ! Why 
 did you leave me? It has been so long so long !" 
 
 Dolly rushed to the door, her heart pounding. "Nurse, 
 nurse, quick! Mother . . . quick, the morphia!" 
 
 The nurse flew in, half-dressed, felt the patient's pulse, 
 and then with incredible swiftness seized the hypodermic 
 noedle from its ease, plunged it in the basin of disinfec- 
 tant and administered it. Dolly, scarcely daring to 
 breathe, saw her mother quicken to life again, and 
 resumed her place kneeling at the bedside. The nurse, 
 after watching anxiously for a few moments, sped out of 
 the room as quickly as she had come, to finish her toilet. 
 
 "Lift up your head, Dolly, look at me," whispered 
 Valerie, and she gazed tenderly at the young face, lovely 
 even in its grief. "When you're alone, child, you'll 
 remember the few quarrels we've had, all your little 
 naughtinesses and disobediences, all the sharp words
 
 10 DOWNWARD 
 
 You'll be miserable and torment yourself. People 
 always do that, but I want you to think only of the happy 
 times the laughter and the friendship and the love. 
 Remember all you were to me, my darling; you've been 
 my life ever since you were born never forget that 
 mother said so when she was dying. There is no one in 
 the world to a woman like the little girl-child who will 
 on* day understand, as no husband or son ever can. . . . 
 My own little daughter ... no wonder you're beautiful, 
 my Dolly such passion and pain and rapture have gone 
 to your fashioning . . . 
 
 "Don't cry, sweet . . . your eyes are so like his . . . 
 80 like ! Kiss me once more. You are so tired, baby ; lie 
 down by mother on the bed ... as so many times 
 before, and well rest together/' 
 
 Worn out, her heavy eyes half closing every minute, 
 Dolly gladly stretched herself by her mother's side. Their 
 hands were clasped, the two golden heads lay close to- 
 gether. 
 
 There was silence. 
 
 The nurse came and ministered to the sick woman once 
 more, anxiously feeling her pulse again. 
 
 Presently Valerie spoke again, and her voice was loud 
 and strong. "God in heaven, I have paid!" she cried. 
 "Deal tenderly with my little child. Be good to my little 
 child. I have paid." 
 
 "My dear, do let me send for a clergyman," urged the 
 nurse, evidently not for the first time. 
 
 "/ have paid!" said Valerie. 
 
 Those were the last words Dolly heard her mother 
 speak. Heavy sleep overcame her almost at once. The 
 nurse watched while Valerie too slept the night through. 
 She did not speak again, except just before she died at 
 eight o 'clock in the morning, the single word : 
 
 "You!"
 
 AT nine o'clock, Dolly ready for her expedition re- 
 entered her mother's room. The last offices had been 
 performed by the nurse, who was now busy tidying. 
 Without a word she complied with the girl's request to be 
 left alone. 
 
 When the door shut Dolly went first to the windows 
 and drew up all the blinds to their uttermost. The bright 
 morning sunshine streamed upon the dead. 
 
 ' ' She loved the sun, ' ' said the girl aloud. 
 
 It did not take her long to find the box, which she had 
 so often begged for her doll's clothes, and later for her 
 collection of theatrical programmes. Then solemnly she 
 approached the bed, marvelling at the miracle of death 
 which had already smoothed out all the lines, all the grief 
 and bitterness, from her mother's face. Valerie's hair 
 was divided into two great plaits, which came over her 
 shoulders and lay along the straight figure, nearly touch- 
 ing the knees, it would have been almost impossible to 
 cut the mass in a single plait, except with a knife, and it 
 was only with difficulty that Dolly slowly severed the two 
 ropes of hair. 
 
 "It does seem a dreadful thing to do," she whispered 
 to herself, and her tears streamed down onto the bright 
 hair, as she replaited it into one huge twist, tying it at 
 either end. 
 
 At the bottom of the box lay an envelope of the thin, 
 bluish paper her mother always used. It bore no inscrip- 
 tion and contained apparently a single sheet of paper. 
 At the back it was sealed in two places with Valerie's seal. 
 
 Dolly resisted the fierce temptation to open this en- 
 velope and went on reverently with her task. 
 11
 
 12 DOWNWARD 
 
 For whom could this parcel be destined ? the girl asked 
 herself; she knew of no likely recipient. It might have 
 been for her father, but he was dead. . . . Was he dead, 
 she wondered? Her mother had always said so. It was 
 very mysterious ! The somewhat theatrical aspect of this 
 strange business did not strike her she was accustomed 
 to live in a more or less dramatic atmosphere. . . . But 
 she did wonder where the packet would be sent. 
 
 "You're not going out, surely!" exclaimed the nurse, 
 on the landing. 
 
 "Mother told me to; I'm going on her business." 
 As Dolly sped down the garden path she heard, 
 through the open windows of the front room, the nurse's 
 horrified exclamation at the drawn blinds, followed by a 
 shriek as her eyes fell on the despoiled head of the dead 
 woman.
 
 Ill 
 
 DACRE HAMILTON had been blessed by nature with a 
 countenance that matched most excellently with the pro- 
 fession of his choice. His clever, refined face, shrewd 
 hazel eyes and determined chin were calculated to inspire 
 confidence in the most suspicious client, whilst his fine 
 chiselled profile and well-cut lips caused him to find 
 favour with even the least impressionable of the women 
 who consulted him. His face was habitually stern, but 
 sometimes a wonderful glow would soften those piercing 
 eyes. "With women he had a charmingly kind and gentle 
 mariner that would have surprised those who knew his 
 fame as a pitiless cross-examiner of luckless bankrupts. 
 His staff trembled at and adored him. At thirty he was 
 the head of the firm started by his father, but which owed 
 most of its success to himself. Austere of countenance, 
 sparing of speech, his passion for work was his strongest 
 characteristic. 
 
 It was his professional habit to keep every one waiting 
 at least half an hour, to see no new client without an 
 introduction, and not the most important of clients with- 
 out an appointment. Nevertheless, Dolly was imme- 
 diately ushered into his private room on that Saturday 
 morning, although his own arrival had preceded hers by 
 but a few moments. 
 
 As she entered he came quickly forward, holding out 
 his hand. 
 
 "You're Dolly? I can guess what has happened," he 
 said, before she could speak. ' ' Sit down. Poor child, I 
 am very, very sorry. ' ' 
 
 The effect of this greeting was to cause Dolly to burst 
 iuddenly into hysterical tears. Kind words are often 
 13
 
 14 DOWNWARD 
 
 more upsetting than harsh ones. She leaned her head on 
 the large desk and sobbed wildly. 
 
 In no way disconcerted, the lawyer walked up and 
 down the room for a few minutes, leaving the girl to have 
 her cry out. Then, drawing up his large swing-chair, he 
 sat down close beside her and took her hand firmly in his 
 own. 
 
 "I'm your friend, remember," he said, and Dolly 
 feeling that strong, kindly clasp experienced a strange 
 lifting of heart. She raised her head and began to wipe 
 her burning eyes. 
 
 "How much does she know?" he was wondering. 
 "When was itf " he asked aloud. 
 
 "Nurse woke me at eight, and said mother was dead. 
 I was asleep on her bed." 
 
 "What made you come so soon?" he asked, gently. 
 
 "Mother told me to last night. She said I was to go 
 directly after, and to bring you this. ' ' 
 
 The lawyer took the parcel from her without any com- 
 ment and put it on one side. 
 
 "Ha, that's strange!" he said, smoothing his clean- 
 shaven chin perplexedly, "because, you see, I can do 
 nothing until I have heard from . . . er, your mother's 
 executors. But perhaps ah! yes, that's it, of course 
 she meant it purposely to give you something to occupy 
 yourself with the journey here and all that." 
 
 ' ' That would be just like mother ; she thought of every- 
 thing." Tears struggled in Dolly's voice, but were 
 mastered ; it was nice to have a sympathetic, interested 
 listener, after these sad, horrible weeks. She found her- 
 self talking in her old, easy, rushing way. 
 
 "Mother told me once that when she heard of her 
 favourite uncle's death she rushed into the little village 
 shop and bought two penny novelettes and a basket of 
 raspberries, and then sat in a field near and read the 
 novelette* and ate the raspberries as quick as she could, 
 crying all the time. She ate all the animals in the rasp- 
 berries for once, but it served to take her thoughts a 
 little off her loss."
 
 DOWNWARD 15 
 
 Dacre smiled his rare kindly smile, and Dolly found 
 she could still smile too, albeit wanly. 
 
 "And now I must write to your mother's executors 
 before I can make any arrangements for you," he said. 
 
 "Executors? Mother told me they were trustees." 
 
 "It's all the same. ... I have to get my instructions 
 from them." 
 
 The girl's eyes narrowed. Should she question this 
 kind, clever man, as she had so often questioned her 
 mother, eliciting nothing. She decided to leave it for the 
 present. 
 
 "Has mother made a will, Mr. Hamilton?" 
 
 "Er . . . no, she has not. All her personal possessions 
 clothes, jewellery and furniture go to you, as a matter 
 of course." 
 
 ' ' Furniture ! " A vague feeling of her own importance 
 stirred in Dolly's feminine heart. "But I have to leave 
 the dear little house; mother said so." 
 
 "Oh, she told you that? Yes, I fear so. But, as 
 regards money, all depends on the trustees. ' ' The lawyer 
 was relieved that this vague, legal-sounding word seemed 
 to satisfy Dolly and that she did not press with the 
 obvious question. 
 
 " So it would have been useless for your mother to make 
 a will. As soon as 1 have my instructions, you must come 
 and see me again. Or, wait a bit, you live in Fulham, 
 don't you? I motor every evening along the Fulham 
 Road, on my way home I live in the country, you see. 
 Shall I call on you one evening about half -past six ? It '11 
 save time, as you're anxious." 
 
 Dolly had awakened the lawyer's kindliest expression 
 during the interview, but when she had gone his face 
 was unusually stern, as he stood by his desk . . . 
 thinking. 
 
 "What a lovely girl ! What a heU she will find it 
 
 I'm glad I haven't got that crime on my soul." 
 
 He rang the bell for his telephone clerk, and bade him 
 first send for a district messenger boy and then "get 
 through" to a certain Paddington number. Next he pro-
 
 16 DOWNWARD 
 
 ceeded to write an address label and to fasten it on the 
 parcel Dolly had left. 
 
 If Dolly could but have seen that label and heard that 
 telephone number I
 
 IV 
 
 DOLLY'S parcel had lain on the hall table of a large 
 house in a West End street since it was delivered by hand 
 about eleven o'clock on Saturday morning. It was Mon- 
 day night before the owner of the house returned from 
 a week-end out of town and took the packet, with the 
 accumulated pile of correspondence, into bis study. He 
 opened a telegram or two, and then the handwriting on 
 the label arrested his attention. "What can Hamilton 
 be sending me?" he thought, carelessly cutting the string. 
 
 The box that Valerie had made before Dolly's birth 
 was revealed to view. Uneasily the man raised the lid. 
 Below, in its azure bed of shining satin, lay the mag- 
 nificent gold plait of Valerie's hair. 
 
 "Good God!" he exclaimed, and for a moment sat as 
 one stunned. Then, with a gesture of rage, he flung box 
 and all into the empty fender. 
 
 The plait so like a living thing rolled out, and the 
 envelope was revealed. 
 
 He tore it open, his fingers trembling as he noted the 
 familiar seal. 
 
 Inside, in Valerie's dashing handwriting, was written : 
 
 "Beloved, 
 
 "You used to love my hair so. You once said you 
 wanted to be buried with it. By the time you read this, 
 I shall have no more use for it. Our daughter is sending 
 it you in case you have not forgotten. Her hair is the 
 same, but she has your blue eyes. I charge you not to let 
 harm befall her. 
 
 "VALERIE." 
 
 17
 
 18 DOWNWARD 
 
 The plait of hair lying in the fireplace drew him irre- 
 sistibly. He picked it up and buried his face in it with a 
 moan. The subtle perfume, so well remembered, stung 
 him more even than the sight of the hair. Sixteen, seven- 
 teen, eighteen years rolled away, and the burning mem- 
 ories of his youth's wild passion crowded thick on him. 
 Valerie the one woman! . . . Dead! . . . Dead! 
 Remorse passed, rage seized him again. 
 
 "Damn her!" he muttered, "and damn the child a 
 thousand times damn that child ! ' ' He flung the beauti- 
 ful hair on the fire, where it seemed to twist and writhe 
 in the flames like a living thing. Savagely he seized the 
 poker and stirred the coals until all the bright gold had 
 vanished. 
 
 The acrid smell of burning hair still hung faintly 
 about the room the next morning and assailed the house- 
 maid, who came to do the study grate. She peered 
 suspiciously about, but could find nothing to solve the 
 mystery. A torn envelope with two unbroken seals told 
 her nothing. Then her eyes fell on the blue satin box 
 lying uninjured in the fender, among the brown paper 
 and string that had enveloped it. 
 
 "Master doesn't want this, that's plain," said the 
 maid, delightedly, "and it's the very thing to keep 
 Bertie's letters and pressed flowers inl"
 
 THE large motor snorting outside Number Five was 
 attracting almost as much attention in the road as had 
 the simple funeral procession that morning. 
 
 "It's early days to be receiving visitors and gentle- 
 men, too!" the acrimonious spinster Jiving at "Mal- 
 plaquet" had remarked to the slightly less intolerant 
 matron resident at "Blenheim." "One might have 
 thought that, minx would show some decent feeling, now 
 of all times ! ' ' 
 
 All had been agreed on the meanness of the funeral 
 "turn-out," but a few dissentient voices were now raised 
 as to the indecorum of receiving visitors. After all, the 
 minx must be feeling pretty miserable, and perhaps it 
 was a relative, to be sure. One kindly critic, with un- 
 wonted acumen, suggested that it might be a lawyer. 
 This correct guess, however, was instantly vetoed, it 
 being held generally that lawyers "couldn't run to 
 motors on their six-and-eightpences. ' ' 
 
 Inside the house, Dolly sat with a face of stone, as 
 Dacre Hamilton propounded his directions to her, feeling 
 more uneasy than he remembered being since his exam. 
 
 "School for three years!" she cried indignantly, "and 
 a convent school of all others, and then to train as a 
 nurse a nurse of all things. Me! And never to go on 
 the stage never to be able to use my beautiful dancing. 
 Oh, it's cruel, it's devilish! 1 won't! I can't!" 
 
 The lawyer remained silent, his brows knit. 
 
 "Why can't I go on the stage? I'd put up with the 
 school, because I know I'm ignorant, if only I could begin 
 my stage career after. I'll gladly work for my living, 
 like mother did, but why must it be in a hospital ? ' ' 
 19
 
 20 DOWNWARD 
 
 Hamilton wished himself away. 
 
 "Well, the stage is considered to be a dangerous life 
 for a young and friendless orphan, and the security and 
 discipline of the hospital makes it a safe and desirable 
 career. Er it's rather a brutal world, you know, for a 
 young girl to get left in." 
 
 "Mother was left mother had to struggle." 
 
 "Exactly! Your trustees want you to have a better 
 chance than your mother had they want to make you 
 safe." 
 
 "Safe!" echoed Dolly, blue lightnings darting from 
 her eyes. "Mother was always talking about my being 
 safe, too. Mr. Hamilton, I've gone about a bit, and I I 
 know things you know." He suppressed a smile, think- 
 ing how glorious her blush was. "I've seen something 
 of the world," she continued. "Theatrical companies 
 aren't like Sunday schools. I'm sure I could take care 
 of myself. I 'd be so good, so careful. ' ' 
 
 "My dear child, it's no use appealing to me; I'm 
 simply a lay figure bound to carry out instructions." 
 
 "Whose instructions? Who is it has the power to alter 
 my life to force ine into a profession against my will?" 
 
 "It's the power of gold," said the lawyer sadly, "not a 
 person. No living soul has the right to control you, my 
 poor child. No one is legally responsible for you you 
 stand alone. Your mother made no will, appointed no 
 guardian; she knew it would be a farce in the circum- 
 stances, and that I would always do what I could for you, 
 without any formal deed. But I have no right to compel 
 your obedience, nor has any one else. It's all a matter of 
 money. The trustees who paid your mother her private 
 income during her lifetime are willing to do something 
 for you, on certain conditions. Itefuse these conditions 
 if you choose, but then you'll be left very badly off 
 indeed. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Will you tell me exactly what I would have ? ' ' 
 
 "Well, you would have the contents of this house, but 
 modem furniture doesn't fetch much, you know, second 
 hand. Say under a hundred pounds; then your mother's
 
 DOWNWARD 21 
 
 theatrical wardrobe would fetch perhaps a ten-pound 
 note, perhaps more. Her jewellery, if you cared to sell 
 
 Dolly shook her head. "Mother had scarcely any. 
 You see, she always preferred to spend money on me, 
 and the things that were sent round to the stage door 
 lovely things sometimes she always returned." 
 
 "She would," said Hamilton. "Well, that's about a 
 hundred odd, and I hold another hundred invested on 
 mortgage that your mother saved for you." 
 
 "A hundred! That's a lot of money! Poor, sweet 
 mother, how she must have denied herself for me ! " 
 
 "Yes, it's a great deal for her to have saved sur- 
 rounded by theatrical folk as she always was. But it 
 isn't much for you to face the world with, Dolly. Your 
 two hundred pounds won't go very far. Better stick to 
 your trustee and keep your money at the same time. 
 You'll get three years' education, you see, and that will 
 cost something." 
 
 A sudden gleam lit Dolly's sombre face. "Suppose I 
 have the education and then go my own way when I'm 
 eighteen?" 
 
 The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. ' ' Then you '11 lose 
 your allowance, and what's more important, you'll lose 
 having somebody behind you. A young girl earning her 
 living is hopelessly handicapped if she has no one to fall 
 back upon." 
 
 Again Dolly seemed to hear the faint, tender voice : " A 
 little money makes all the difference to a girl alone. . . . 
 Promise me faithfully that whatever happens you won't 
 go against the trustees." 
 
 "1 promise, mother." 
 
 ''Whatever happens?" 
 
 "Whatever happens." 
 
 "I suppose I must," she said sullenly. "Anyway, I'll 
 go to school." 
 
 Instantly the lawyer began to resume his motor-coat. 
 
 "That's a good girl," he said. "I'll fix it up as 
 quickly as I can the sooner the better; it isn't good for
 
 22 DOWNWARD 
 
 you to be here alone. You've got a trustworthy servant, 
 haven't you?" He pressed her hand kindly. "You 
 won't find school so bad. I must motor down and see 
 you sometimes on Sundays. Good-bye, look on me as a 
 friend." 
 
 Left alone, Dolly remembered she had found out noth- 
 ing, nor even tried to. She sat down wretchedly in the 
 little drawing-room which her mother's taste had made 
 so charming. . . . How terrible it was to be alone ! The 
 house was so still, not a sound came even from the little 
 kitchen where the old servant was resting. 
 
 "Oh, mother!" sobbed Dolly, burying her face in the 
 cushions of Valerie's chair; "why did you leave me 
 alone? Come back, come back! Oh, mother, mother, 
 mother!"
 
 VI 
 
 ST. KATHARINE'S CONVENT in Hertfordshire was the 
 home of an Anglican-Catholic Sisterhood. Dolly's first 
 impression of her new school was a very favourable one. 
 The dignified grey-stone buildings were partially covered 
 with flowering creepers and surrounded by beautiful 
 lawns and beds full of gay summer blooms. The grounds 
 were well laid out and perfectly kept; masses of roses, 
 great bushes of syringa and late rhododendrons, long 
 herbaceous borders full of sweet smelling, old-fashioned 
 flowers, with a ring of tall treea in th background all 
 helped to make up a delightful picture when Dolly aw 
 it first, bathed in the June sunlight. 
 
 The charming appearance of the place came as a pleas- 
 ant surprise to the girl, who had vaguely supposed that 
 a convent school must consist of grim corridors and cells. 
 Inside, the airy, spacious rooms, the old mullioned win- 
 dows set in stone, and the polished parquet floors con- 
 tinued the good impression made by the exterior. The 
 severity of the furniture and of the blue-washed walls, 
 devoid of pictures or any attempt at decoration, seemed 
 in keeping with the whole. 
 
 But when Dolly saw the dormitories, in which xwenty 
 girls slept, their privacy secured only by curtainc drawn, 
 round the tiny space occupied by the narrow bed and 
 cupboard allotted to each, her heart sank, and black 
 depression descended on her. 
 
 At the end of a fortnight she wrote two characteristic 
 letters, one to Dacre Hamilton, the other to an actress 
 friend of her mother's. The lawyer's ran as follows; 
 23
 
 24 DOWNWARD 
 
 "St. Katharine's Convent. 
 
 MB. HAMILTON, 
 "Please will you try and arrange for me to be 
 moved to another school. I know you would never have 
 chosen this one for me, and I'm sure even those hateful, 
 tyrannous trustees would not wish me to stay here if they 
 knew. I came here resolved to be brave and bear every- 
 thing, as my mother would have wished. But there is a 
 limit to what one can put up with. Only fancy, in the 
 whole of the large buildings looking so lovely from the 
 outside, with all the flowers and trees and things there 
 isn't a single bathroom! There are two hundred or so 
 nuns in residence, and sixty of us girls, and I think 
 about a hundred children in the Orphanage (poor chil- 
 dren they are), and a lot of maids called Industrials and 
 always some visitors, yet not a bathroom among the lot 
 what do you think of that? 
 
 "We have to use horrid little hip-baths, only half full 
 of tepid water, and that only once a week, if you can 
 believe it 1 One of the lay sisters attends to it, and when 
 I complained and asked for more hot water, she was so 
 rough and rude to me. And we only can have our heads 
 washed once a month, and then mayn't do it ourselves. 
 And, worst of all, we sleep twenty in a dormitory a 
 large room, of course but, though there are a lot of very 
 pretty windows, only four of the casements will open, 
 and actually all are shut up at night. At home we 
 always had all our windows open night and day, and I 
 simply can't breathe in this dreadful stuffy dormitory. 
 There are curtains drawn right round every bed, which 
 makes it stuffier than ever. My mother was so very par- 
 ticular about all these things, she would have been simply 
 horrified. 
 
 ' I was prepared for the uniform, but it is very horrid 
 to have to wear a dress that some other girl has worn. It 
 is a blue serge sailor dress, with a white flannel front, 
 which we have to wear half the term before we get a 
 clean one. You would not like to wear a shirt and collar
 
 DOWNWARD 25 
 
 seven weeks, would you? The sisters take jolly good 
 care to have their own caps and collars immaculate. 
 
 "I haven't mentioned the food, which I can't eat, nor 
 the dreadful early rising, nor the crossness of the sisters, 
 nor anything else, because I am resolved not to grumble, 
 but dirtiness is another matter, and I'm sure you will 
 agree that it's unbearable. 
 
 "Please don't think me ungrateful for all your kind- 
 ness ; I know it isn 't your fault, but please get the trus- 
 tees to move me somewhere else. I should so like a school 
 at the seaside. When we've been on South-coast A Com- 
 pany Tours, I've often thought, when we met the schools 
 walking on the parade or going to bathe, how jolly they 
 looked. Yours sincerely, 
 
 "VALERIE ANTOINETTE DOROTHEA FITZGERALD. 
 
 "P.S. If the sisters don't mind being dirty, it's their 
 own affair, and perhaps it's part of their vow of poverty 
 to be thoroughly uncomfortable, but why should we, who 
 haven't taken vows, have to suffer too? 
 
 "P.P.S. I've just remembered that mother always 
 said business men, especially lawyers, didn't like long 
 letters. Please forgive me ; if only you '11 get me moved 
 from here I won't worry you again for ages. V.A.D.F." 
 
 The second letter was less restrained. 
 
 "DAELING Miss VAVASOUR" (it ran), 
 
 "I am having what you would call simply a hell 
 of a time. This place is the deadliest hole. The sisters 
 would be amusing if they weren 't so nasty. They aren 't 
 a bit like the nuns I've read about in novels always 
 happy about nothing, with shining faces and an atmos- 
 phere of loving everybody. But they do say awfully 
 funny things. When I told Sister Augustine, the second 
 in charge, that my mother was an actress and I'd spent 
 most of my life on tour with her, her eyebrows disap- 
 peared right under her cap, and probably over the back 
 of her head as well, and she said with a kind of gasp, 
 ' But what kind of people did you consort with f Surely
 
 26 DOWNWARD 
 
 not ladies and gentlemen!' I wish I could hear the Co. 
 laugh when you read this bit to them ! 
 
 "Sister Francesca, our Head, is simply a fiend. Do 
 you remember that lovely brown coat and skirt darling 
 Mums got me at Redf erns, and you scolded her for being 
 extravagant over me ? It had everything else to match 
 the cunningest hat, gloves, stockings and suede shoes all 
 in the same shade, and I wore the kit to come here, with 
 a clinking lace blouse and one of the stocks mother used 
 to get from Paris. I could see at the station that it hit 
 the girls in the eye, but when I arrived Sister Francesca 
 said almost in the same breath as she greeted me, 'I 
 understood that you had lost your mother six weeks 
 ago ? ' Wasn 't it cruel and hateful ? I nearly broke down 
 at once, and then it dawned on me that she had expected 
 me to be swathed in black ! I said, rather chokily, ' So I 
 have lost her and everything else that I care for, but 
 that's no reason why I should make the world hideous 
 with crape, and mother disapproved of outward mourn- 
 ing.' I didn't mean to be rude it just rapped out 
 somehow. You see, just before Mums was taken ill, we 
 had gone to a play of Bernard Shaw's (you know how we 
 both adored his plays), in which he says that about black, 
 and Mums said how sensible it was, and that she'd never 
 worn mourning in her life and hoped I never would. 
 
 "But Sister Francesca 's eyes were like cold spikes and 
 she pressed her lips together until her mouth reminded 
 me of a darning-needle and said in a voice like a frozen 
 well : ' In-deed ? Let me tell you a disrespectful tongue 
 is not suffered at St. Katherine's. Learn to curb it 
 forthwith. You may go.' A nice, kind, cheering wel- 
 come, wasn't it? But they're not all such beasts. As I 
 went upstairs with all 'my courage gone and feeling as if 
 my heart was bursting and my eyes going to drop out, I 
 met Sister Augustine, who took me in her arms without 
 a word and gave me quite a motherly hug they don't 
 approve of kissing ! And she helped me off with my 
 things and said, 'What a pretty frock!' But presently 
 she said, 'My dear, your shoes are a very foolish shape,
 
 DOWNWARD 27 
 
 and I don't think Reverend Mother would like you to go 
 to chapel in those peculiar stockings !' Wasn't it scream- 
 ingly funny she disapproved of the open-work! Can 
 you believe it? And she said silk stockings were very 
 unsuitable for school-girls ! 
 
 ''I'm in one of the lower classes, among quite little 
 girls, and they all know more than me. Isn 't it horrid ? 
 But it's my own fault, I know, and I mean to work like 
 mad and learn all they can teach me here, though I don't 
 believe it will be much use to me. The sisters never seem 
 to think of our future. Sister Charlotte, who takes my 
 form, constantly says, 'You needn't learn such and such 
 a thing, you won't be asked that in the examination.' 
 Their one idea is to get us creditably through the exams 
 and get a good report for the school from the examiner. 
 As if that two-penny-ha'penny little standard will help 
 us in the future. They don't seem to realize that we 
 ought to be educated for life and not just for some rotten 
 exam. 
 
 "As yet I haven't had a chance of making friends with 
 the girls of my own age, but I don't suppose I shall be 
 here long, as I have written to my lawyer" (Dolly 
 wrote this phrase with a great feeling of importance) 
 "asking him to move me to another school where there 
 are decent bathrooms. It's simply sickening how one 
 has to do here. 
 
 ' ' 1 must tell you about Sister Charlotte ; she is a weird 
 creature, and so thin, she almost sways in the wind. The 
 girls call her 'Spray' because of it. The other day she 
 found ray desk untidy and said, with a pained expres- 
 sion, 'What would Christ say if He were to come sud- 
 denly and see your desk in this state?' I said, 'No doubt 
 He's observed it already, but yet you see I'm not struck 
 dead. I suppose He's got something more important to 
 think about.' The girls all tittered, but poor Spray 
 looked as if she were going to have a fit. She said I was 
 shockingly irreverent and insolent, and threatened me 
 with Reverend Mother, and then as a punishment I was 
 put in the corner, like a baby, Wasn't it futile! To be
 
 28 DOWNWARD 
 
 sent up to Reverend Mother is considered the most ter- 
 rific punishment, reserved for the most awful offences, 
 but I shouldn't mind it a bit, as the Mother is quite jolly- 
 looking, with a cheerful red face and almost a twinkle 
 in her eye; I'm sure she would understand me and we 
 would get quite pals, but so far I haven't spoken to her 
 at all. 
 
 "I forgot to tell you at first they called me Dora be- 
 cause there is already a Dorothea, a horrid, spotty girl 
 who breathes loud and cleans her nails during lessons. 
 They disapprove of diminutives, so I mustn't be called 
 Dolly, and Antoinette is banned because of its associa- 
 tions (isn't that a joke?) and I couldn't bear to be 
 called Valerie now. But I refused to answer to Dora, 
 and now they call me 'Dorothea F.' But I make the 
 girls say Dolly. 
 
 "We may only seal up our letters to parents, but by a 
 special concession I am allowed to shut mine to Mr. 
 Hamilton, as he is a sort of guardian to me, so I 'm going 
 to enclose this in his. If I left it open for Sister Pran- 
 cesca to read, her hair would stand on end and never lie 
 flat again, I'm sure, and, of course, it would never be 
 passed ! 
 
 "I must end now, darling Miss Vavasour. Give all 
 whom I know in the Co. my love, and with tons and 
 stacks to yourself, darling, 
 
 ' ' Your loving friend, 
 
 "DOLLY Frrz."
 
 VII 
 
 DOLLY'S dream of being moved to a seaside school was 
 not destined to be realized for some time. Hamilton 
 wrote that the trustees refused to hear of it, and Dolly, 
 spoilt child as she was, had sufficient good sense to make 
 the best of the inevitable. Fortunately it was the sum- 
 mer term, when many of the conventional rigors were 
 modified. The early rising was scarcely a hardship when 
 one awoke to bright sunshine. Instead of going for 
 walks, too, the girls remained in their really charming 
 playground, sitting beneath the trees and playing tennis. 
 Evening preparation also was suspended in favour of 
 more outdoor play. For the first time in her life, Dolly 
 found herself in constant companionship with young 
 girls of her own age, and the change was pleasant 
 enough. 
 
 The ignorance of the world, and the narrow- 
 mindedness of even the elder girls, came as a great sur- 
 prise to the actress' daughter. It seemed to her that 
 they knew nothing, understood nothing and had been 
 nowhere. Instinctively she realized that it would be well 
 to keep her greater knowledge to herself. To her school- 
 fellows in turn Dolly was a fascinating mystery. Her 
 vivacity, high spirits and brilliant looks attracted them 
 powerfully. They liked to brush her wonderful hair, 
 which the school rule compelled her to keep tightly 
 plaited during the week, but which foamed over her 
 shoulders in a golden cascade on Sundays. They listened 
 delightedly to her reminiscences of theatrical life. A 
 girl who knew Lewis Waller to speak to and had once 
 been kissed by Sir Charles Wyndham when a child 
 29
 
 80 DOWNWARD 
 
 what a heroine ! A girl who could tell them such excit- 
 ing stories of life behind the footlights, quaint mishaps 
 on tour, amusing remarks from the gallery well, it was 
 better fun than having to read "The Fairchild Fam- 
 ily" or "Little Women" for the twentieth time. On 
 Sunday afternoons these innocuous classics lay neglected 
 on their shelves, with others of their kind, while the 
 elder girls gathered round Dolly in the Fifth Form 
 Class-room. According to the strict tradition of the 
 school there was socially an impassable gulf between the 
 three lower and the two upper forms, but in Dolly's case 
 an exception was tacitly made, and although only a 
 Third-Form girl, she was welcomed in the sacred pre- 
 cincts of the Fifth Form Room, and thus obtained a 
 kudos which no amount of prowess in class would have 
 gained for her. 
 
 But though her school-fellows were kind and friendly 
 and made much of her, there was no real intimacy. They 
 recognized intuitively that the actress' daughter was not 
 of their kind. The rigid conventions of the narrow- 
 minded clerico-provincial class to which they mostly be- 
 longed caused them to look down secretly on her, though 
 they did not acknowledge this even to themselves, and 
 Dolly was certainly not sensitive enough to detect it. But 
 one day it was put suddenly into blunt words by Lettice 
 Barclay, the eldest daughter of a hard-working country 
 vicar, who had generously provided the State with eleven 
 children, and lived in direst poverty in consequence. 
 
 There had been a trifling tiff because some opinion of 
 Dolly's had been pronounced "unladylike," and Dolly 
 overheard a whisper from Lettice Barclay "What can 
 you expect. . . . actress' daughter. ... 1" In an in- 
 stant a fierce passion flamed up in her . . . she flung 
 control to the winds. 
 
 "How dare y6u speak like that of my mother? . . . 
 my mother! Who the devil are you, anyway the daugh- 
 ter of a miserable parsun, a sky-pilot a Bible-jumper 
 a devil-dodger!" 
 
 "My father's a priest of God how dare you ... 1"
 
 DOWNWARD 81 
 
 "I know the sort," interrupted Dolly, savagely, "my 
 grandfather was another, and my mother ran away from 
 him. She preferred the stage to a horrid rectory, full of 
 canting hypocrites 1" 
 
 ' ' I daresay your grandfather was a canting hypocrite, 
 but my Dad isn't! He's a good, good man, and the 
 Bishop thinks no end of him!" 
 
 The two girls faced each other Dolly with murderous 
 eyes and scarlet cheeks, her tall and already womanly 
 developed figure giving her the advantage over her older 
 opponent a thin, dark girl, who was trembling on the 
 edge of tears. 
 
 "That's no reason why you should insult my mother, 
 who's dead. My mother's as good as any of your clergy- 
 women, who spend their lives at bun-struggles, patroniz- 
 ing the poor and doing more harm than good." 
 
 "She doesn't 1" screamed Lettice, evidently taking this 
 for an attack on her own mother, and now almost beside 
 herself. 
 
 But Dolly would not allow her to speak. "My mother 
 was good and beautiful," she exclaimed, "and while 
 your clergywomen sort are setting the whole parish by 
 the ears, she was giving joy to thousands, and so making 
 the world better. My mother 's Juliet was considered the 
 best ever seen in the provinces, and she has played before 
 the King, and Sir Henry Irving once kissed her hand 
 and said ..." 
 
 "Here, that will do." The head girl, a cold, dignified 
 creature of eighteen now interposed. "We've heard 
 enough of both your mothers. Lettice, I'm surprised at 
 you." The vicar's daughter sat down at her own desk 
 and began to cry convulsively. "As for you," the head 
 girl turned to Dolly still standing flushed and defiant 
 "you're new" (the infinite scorn she threw into this last 
 word would have amused an older observer) "and we 
 make allowances accordingly. But most of us have 
 priests in our families 'sky-pilots' and 'devil-dodgers' 
 as you call them and none of us will allow the Church 
 to be abused. Also, I'll thank you not to use such ex-
 
 82 DOWNWARD 
 
 pressions in our class-room. "We don't mind slang, but 
 we '11 not have our fathers and brothers called names, and 
 we draw the line at swearing. ' ' 
 
 "Swearing!" cried Dolly, indignantly. "I never 
 swore!" 
 
 "You said 'What the devil' I" 
 
 "Pouf d'you call that swearing?" 
 
 "Yes, we do; and you, a mere Third Form girl, have 
 no right to come into our class-room and upset one of 
 us." She indicated the cowering Lettice, whose sobs 
 threatened to become hysterical 
 
 "Have you done?" asked Dolly, scornfully. "Let me 
 remind you that it was your precious Fifth Form girl 
 who began, and by sneering at the dead. I congratulate 
 you on your high standard. It's a good thing the Third 
 Form can't come in here to be corrupted by it. I'll never 
 enter your room again I" 
 
 At the door she turned, and tossing back her head with 
 a superb gesture of defiance, announced: "And I'm 
 proud of my actress mother and ashamed of my bible- 
 jumping grandfather! So there!" 
 
 Fortunately this incident took place but two weeks 
 before the end of the term, but during that time Dolly 
 found that being sent to Coventry by the older girls was 
 not a pleasant experience. On the last Saturday in the 
 term, Lettice came to Dolly and begged her forgiveness. 
 
 "I'm so sorry I spoke like that. I didn't really mean 
 anything nasty about your mother. I've been to confes- 
 sion to-day, and Father Morten says I mayn't communi- 
 cate to-morrow until I've asked your forgiveness. I 
 haven't missed my fortnightly communion since I was 
 confirmed three years ago." 
 
 "Is that the only reason you want to make up?" said 
 Dolly, coldly. 
 
 "No no I'm really sorry. I've been miserable about 
 it. You've lost your mother, and it must be dreadful for 
 you." 
 
 Dolly kissed her suddenly in her impulsive way. "It's 
 all right," she said, shyly, "and I'm sorry I was such a
 
 DOWNWARD 83 
 
 beast about your father. I can never like the clergy as a 
 class, you know, because of grandfather being a beast to 
 mother but some of them aren't bad. Father Morten's 
 awfully decent, and I daresay your father's very good 
 and nice too." 
 
 "Oh, if you knew what a good man he was," said the 
 vicar's daughter, sadly, "how he works how mother 
 works what hard lives they lead never thinking of 
 themselves and never getting any gratitude you'd think 
 them saints, Dolly." 
 
 "All right, I will," said Dolly, easily. 
 
 The incident was then buried, and at the beginning of 
 the next term Dolly found herself warmly welcomed by 
 the older girls, and again made free of the Fifth Form 
 Room,
 
 VIII 
 
 WHEN the cold weather set in Dolly began to feel the 
 full rigour of the convent routine. The early rising at 
 six o'clock in pitch darkness, washing in ice-cold water, 
 dressing hastily in the cold but stuffy dormitory it was 
 all very hard for the spoilt and petted girl to bear. 
 
 Arrived downstairs one waited in a well-warmed pas- 
 sage, and then when the procession was formed, marched 
 to chapel along icy-cold cloisters, through the open arches 
 of which the rain and snow could sweep. 
 
 The office of Prime was not attended by the Chaplain, 
 who was then preparing for the celebration at 7.20. As 
 she listened sleepily to the sisters gabbling the Psalms, 
 Dolly used to think daily how absolutely uninspiring was 
 the service, how unprayerful it made her feel, and how 
 futile to compel sleepy, hungry, chilled school-girls to 
 attend it. 
 
 Prime concluded, the girls returned to their school- 
 rooms for three-quarters of an hour's study before they 
 broke their fast at eight o'clock. Two hours, it will be 
 seen, elapsed between rising and breakfast, which was 
 eaten in strict silence. The refectory was reached by 
 another walk through the cold cloisters. As by now 
 every one was famishing, there were no complaints about 
 the meal, though it consisted only of bread and butter 
 and tea ; even the homely and inexpensive porridge being 
 an extra! Girls who had shirked Prime were compelled 
 LO eat their meal standing, which those whose extras took 
 the form of boiled eggs found a trial indeed. 
 
 "Exercises" followed the girls standing one behind 
 the other along the dark corridor, waving their arms 
 about in a perfunctory and entirely useless manner. No 
 34
 
 DOWNWARD 85 
 
 other part of the body was exercised the arm-waving 
 was tiring, and Sister Augustine who supervised it knew 
 no more about the rudiments of physical culture than did 
 the youngest girl present. 
 
 After that the beds were made, and any one fairly 
 quick at this might count on a whole fifteen minutes to 
 herself before morning school. By the time the real 
 work of the day began, at 9.15, a delicate girl was already 
 feeling languid and devitalized. 
 
 At 12.30, half an hour was allowed for a plain and ill- 
 cooked dinner, which invariably consisted of over-done 
 meat, tasteless potatoes, and a plain pudding never fish 
 or poultry, and the only second vegetable ever seen on 
 the table was a mess of what is best described by the 
 generic term of ' ' greens. ' ' 
 
 Two hours' walk followed, and after that two more 
 hours of school left the girls ravenous for their bread and 
 butter and tea at half-past five. 
 
 From the refectory they repaired to chapel for Ves- 
 pers. The girls liked this office, which was read by the 
 Chaplain, and had all the charm that pervades a service 
 at even. The beautiful stained-glass windows were lit 
 up by well-arranged lights, and as they stood singing the 
 Psalms, contemplating the marble reredos for which St. 
 Katharine's was justly famed, a feeling of peace and 
 serenity was wont to steal over the harassed school-girls. 
 
 At 7.30, after an hour's "preparation," they were al- 
 lowed the first and only hour of the day to themselves. 
 Only the lower forms, however, could take advantage of 
 it. From their class-rooms sounds of games and laughter 
 proceeded, but a glimpse into the silent Fourth and 
 Fifth rooms would have shown the girls still studying 
 hard at their desks. They had too much work to do to 
 waste time in recreation, and some of them took their 
 books to bed (at 8.30), to con during their dressing and 
 undressing. They were to be seen studying their Shake- 
 spearean plays at meals, and the portion of the Old Tes- 
 tament set for the examinations during the walks. Al- 
 most every girl leaving school from the Fifth Form had
 
 36 DOWNWARD 
 
 learnt to detest Shakespeare, and within a year had 
 forgotten all the "speeches" so painfully learnt by heart. 
 
 At 8.15, a can of water, a dozen or so mugs, and two 
 or three plates of bread and butter (barely enough to 
 allow a piece all round) were placed on the oil-cloth 
 covered table in the First Form room. Fortunately the 
 girls were always too hungry to be sensitive ; they shared 
 the mugs between them, and all but scrambled for the 
 bread and butter. Dolly had at first viewed these pro- 
 ceedings with disgust, but hunger, the great leveller, 
 soon took the edge off her refined disdain, and in a very 
 few weeks she was scrambling with the rest. 
 
 About the middle of the term Dolly wrote to her 
 mother's friend, Miss Vavasour, as follows: 
 
 "St. Katharine's Convent. 
 
 "MY OWN DEAREST MlSS VAVASOUR, 
 
 "After all your goodness to me in the summer holi- 
 days and letting me have that glorious time with you at 
 the seaside, it was angelic of you to send me that lovely 
 hamper, and I can't tell you how thankful I was to get 
 it as here one simply dreams of nice things to eat. The 
 meals are so horrible, often I can't eat the meat at all; 
 it's cooked to extinction and doesn't taste of any animal. 
 It cornea up in slices, so as we never see a joint on the 
 table we can't tell what it is meant to be. Twice a week 
 we have what the girls call 'mush'; it's a horrid kind of 
 stew which I'm sure is made of cats or horses; it tastes 
 so peculiar and is thickly covered with horrible black 
 pepper, to keep down the cat-taste the girls say. It 
 makes me sick, and on mush days I can only eat the pud- 
 dings, and not always them. The only really bearable 
 pudding we have is open jam -tart, and as often as not 
 it's marmalade instead of jam, which I can't eat, as it's 
 such dreadful, coarse, rank stuff, made by the sisters 
 themselves out of goodness knows what. Gertie Payne 
 (who sits next to me) and I are always excited about the 
 pudding. On the days when the tart is brought in, we 
 can hardly breathe for fear it's going to be marmalade,
 
 DOWNWARD 87 
 
 but when it's put down on the table, we squeeze hands 
 with joy if it's jam. Isn't it disgusting that big girls of 
 our age should be so preoccupied about food, but when 
 you're hungry you get quite different ideas about 
 greediness, you know. 
 
 "On holidays we're allowed to send a list to the con- 
 fectioner and grocer, but may only send one shilling alto- 
 gether, and we can settle to nothing until the things 
 arrive, we're so dying for them. It's not right, is it? 
 The other day I found myself being civiler than neces- 
 sary to a girl who had a tin of biscuits left wasn't it 
 horrible of me, but I simply couldn't help it I did so 
 want her to offer me a biscuit ! 
 
 "So you see what a godsend your hamper will be to 
 me. Last term it was so hot, one didn 't want to eat, but 
 this cold makes one ravenous. The bread and butter is 
 decent, fortunately, but it's not supposed to be etiquette 
 to go on eating at meals after the others, so we all eat as 
 fast as we can for about Ifteen minutes and then all 
 stop at once. The absurdity of it would make me laugh, 
 only I nearly always have a tight pain in my chest after- 
 wards ; I expect the others do too, from eating too fast, 
 only they would think it rude to talk about it. 
 
 "We daren't complain, because the sisters' one idea of 
 treating ailments of every kind is to dose with a tumbler 
 full of Gregory Powder! I don't suppose you know 
 what that is, but mother used to tell me it was given 
 when she was a child, before people had learned how 
 cruel and unnecessary these awful mixtures are. The 
 sisters are years and years behind the times in all their 
 ideas; isn't it odd to keep a school and know so little 
 about everything ? When Sister Augustine tried to make 
 me take the filthy stuff, I told her mother disapproved 
 of drugs and said fruit was the proper medicine for chil- 
 dren. She was awfully angry, and said she 'd report me 
 to Sister Francesca for irreverence ! I can 't think why 
 one should have to be reverent about medicines ! But 
 they're always jawing about my irreverence. One night 
 while one of the girls was having her bath, I put the
 
 88 DOWNWARD 
 
 large statue of the Virgin Mary, which stands at the top 
 of the dormitory, into her bed for a lark. She screamed 
 when she saw it, and Augustine came rushing in. Well, 
 the fuss they made about that you'd never believe. I 
 was reported to Sister Francesca, who talked of 'the out- 
 rage to our Blessed Lady' until I had to remind myself 
 it was only a statue after all! 
 
 "But to go back to their ideas about illness. Poor 
 Gertie Payne had a fearful earache the other night and 
 couldn't sleep. When I heard her crying, I got up and 
 fetched Augustine. It was a wonder she didn't suggest 
 Gregory Powder, but all she could think of was to put 
 cotton- wool in Gertie's ear! I remembered how mother 
 sat up all one night when I had earache, and kept boil- 
 ing potatoes to put on my ear, wrapped in flannel. I 
 told Augustine that if she could get the potatoes, I'd 
 light the bathroom fire and do all the rest of it. She 
 flourished her sleeves in that funny way she has and 
 said, 'Unheard of! Potatoes at this hour of the night! 
 The kitchens are locked, and Sister Agnes has the key 
 in her cubicle.' I asked why Sister Agnes couldn't be 
 wakened, but she seemed to think that was an irrever- 
 ence, and said the conventual rule could not be disor- 
 ganized just to ease a little suffering! 
 
 "Wasn't it abominable? when one knows what agony 
 earache is. The next day Gertie was so bad it turned 
 out to be an abscess that they took her to see a doctor. 
 She had to walk all the way there and back in the pierc- 
 ing cold, though her mother would gladly have paid for 
 a cab, she said, or why couldn't the doctor come to her? 
 Of course the cold made her worse, and now she has 
 irysiplis (I don't know how to spell it) in the head and 
 is in the infirmary, very bad indeed, and her mother and 
 father are frantic. Thank goodness, I'm too strong to 
 get ill here, though I've lost all my colour. Most of the 
 girls are as pasty as can be by the middle of the term, 
 though they come back looking blooming. . , ."
 
 IX 
 
 DOLLY'S career at St. Katharine's was cut short sud- 
 denly at the end of a year. In her second summer, a 
 house was taken at Bognor, and about a dozen girls who 
 had either no home to go to, or whose people were in 
 India, were sent there for the holidays, in charge of 
 Sister Augustine and Sister Eva, head of the school nur- 
 sery. Recently a little girl of three had been received 
 into the nursery, and it was generally understood that 
 she had been adopted by the sisters. 
 
 One morning, when the little group of girls were 
 seated on the beach, waiting their turns at the bathing 
 machines, the conversation turned upon this child, whom 
 Sister Eva was forcibly dipping in a pool of water lower 
 down on the shore, regardless of the baby's yells. 
 
 It was a bleak, stormy day and the near proximity of 
 the high, dashing waves evidently frightened the tiny 
 girl. Sister Eva took not the smallest heed of her terror, 
 but went on with the task, rather roughly and in grim 
 silence. The older girls were muttering condemnations. 
 
 "Sister Eva isn't fit to have the care of a baby like 
 that," said Dolly, indignantly. "Why, she isn't even 
 trying to soothe her ! ' ' 
 
 "I do pity the poor mite," remarked Winnie Dur- 
 ham. "I'm glad I've not got to spend all my life at the 
 convent. It's quite bad enough to have to spend one's 
 holidays here once in a way because they've got measles 
 at home." 
 
 ' ' How would you like to spend nearly all your holidays 
 here like I do?" returned Dolly. "I wonder what will 
 happen to poor Baby Nora when she's grown up. Will 
 they make her a sister?" 
 
 39
 
 40 DOWNWARD 
 
 "Oh, no, they never make any one a sister. She may 
 have to teach in the school, or help in the workroom, or 
 perhaps she'll have to work in their foreign mission at 
 Shanghai." 
 
 "That wouldn't be so bad. You'd have some fun on 
 the voyage, at any rate, and it would be more life-like 
 than St. Katharine's," said Dolly. 
 
 "But think how awful never to get away from the 
 sisters," continued the other girl, "to owe everything to 
 them, and to have one 's whole life settled by them. ' ' 
 
 "Winifred! that's a very naughty way to speak!" 
 ejaculated Sister Augustine from her camp stool a few 
 yards off. She was knitting and at the same time mum- 
 bling through the office of Tierce from an open breviary. 
 According to the school custom, she addressed the 
 seventeen-year-old girl as one might a small child. 
 
 "I never thought she'd hear," whispered the rebuked 
 one to Dolly. 
 
 "You shouldn't shout so besides, she hears every- 
 thing," returned Dolly. Her thoughts were busy with 
 the adopted baby-girl. Again she recalled her mother's 
 words about the importance of having a little money, 
 and an impulse of thankfulness for the existence of the 
 "hateful, tyrannous trustees" rose in her heart. At 
 least she was better off than little Nora. 
 
 "I suppose the poor child is illegitimate," she said, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "Illegitimate what's that?" questioned Winnie, in 
 her loud voice. 
 
 "It's oh er " She looked at the older girl 
 
 curiously. "Don't you really know?" 
 
 "No, tell rae." 
 
 Dolly glanced at Sister Augustine. That she had 
 again overheard was obvious. The good sister's jaw had 
 fallen her mouth was wide open; she was gazing at 
 Dolly, horror-stricken; her breviary fell to the ground 
 and lay unheeded. 
 
 "Go on what is it?" urged Winnie. 
 
 "Shut up," whispered Dolly, fiercely. Sister Augus-
 
 DOWNWARD 41 
 
 tine made an effort to recover her composure. "Bun 
 down to the sea, children," she called, clapping, her 
 hands to attract her flock's attention. "The machines 
 are empty now. Sister Eva, see they all have ropes; it's 
 very rough. Off with you all. Not you, Dorothea; I 
 want you here." 
 
 Dolly had risen with unusual promptness to obey, but 
 now resumed her sitting posture and commenced ner- 
 vously to bore holes in the sand. When all the girls were 
 out of earshot, Sister Augustine left her camp-stool and 
 sat on the ground close to the girl. 
 
 She cleared her throat several times. Dolly's eyes 
 were cast down. "Now for it," she thought. 
 
 "Dorothea," the nun said at last in a very solemn 
 voice, "don't you know it's very wrong to talk of such 
 things. Is it possible that you know the meaning of that 
 dreadful word?" 
 
 "Yes, Sister Augustine." 
 
 "How monstrous that a child like you !" 
 
 "I'm not a child, Sister; I'm seventeen at Christmas, 
 and Winnie's nearly eighteen. We're almost women." 
 
 The nun who had renounced life and the girl who 
 thirsted to live looked each other in the eyes. Fire 
 flashed from the vivid blue ones of the budding woman 
 perplexity and dismay from the dull eyes of the older 
 one, who had starved her womanhood for the sake of her 
 soul. 
 
 "Well, but how long have you had this terrible knowl- 
 edge, and who told you ? ' ' 
 
 "I've known . . ." the girl hesitated; "I've known 
 all that for a long time, and I was told by the proper 
 person my mother." 
 
 "Your mother!" Sister Augustine almost shrieked 
 the words. She had been prepared for revelations of 
 unlocked bookcases, imprudent, tattling servants 
 knowledge obtained through some accidental and unlaw- 
 ful means. But that a mother should so pollute and 
 defile the innocent child-mind it was infamous, incred- 
 ible ! Nevertheless, she checked the exclamations of hor-
 
 42 DOWNWARD 
 
 ror which were rushing to her lips. Dolly's champion- 
 ship of that very peculiar mother of hers was well 
 known. 
 
 A year ago, even the shocked note in the sister's voice 
 would have elicited a torrent of uncontrolled, tempestu- 
 ous words from the girl, who had been wont to lose her 
 temper and use insolent language at criticism of any 
 kind. But Dolly had learnt much from the school dis- 
 cipline. Ignorant, narrow and prejudiced as she be- 
 lieved the sisters to be they had taught her valuable 
 lesson nevertheless. Her demeanour now was quiet and 
 respectful. She set herself patiently to try and explain. 
 
 ''Yes, Sister Augustine, I know it seems strange to 
 you, but people think so differently in the outside world 
 now from what they used. Anyhow, mother always 
 thought out all the problems for herself ; she said every 
 one ought to do that, and not follow other people like 
 sheep. She thought it wicked to let girls grow up with 
 wrong ideas, gathered from the wrong sources, which 
 they are bound to do, if they are not taught the right 
 ones by the right person." 
 
 "But but," interrupted the harassed sister, "girls 
 ought to have no ideas on such subjects I" 
 
 Dolly smiled. "Perhaps they oughtn't," she said, 
 quietly, "but all the same they do have them, and it's 
 facts you've got to reckon with, not theories." 
 
 "Well?" asked the older woman, helplessly. She had 
 set out so confidently to rebuke, to teach, but already she 
 had been swirled out of her depths into the maze of a 
 deep and difficult problem. 
 
 The actress's daughter continued to expound calmly. 
 
 "Mother said it was most important that little girls 
 should learn the right ideas from the beginning, so sin 
 explained everything to me, as scon as I begau to ;is 
 questions." 
 
 " \Vhal did she tell pojlf" asked tin- nun 
 
 l>oll\ vr) In ki ' - A i isi< n '
 
 DOWNWARD 48 
 
 found, and of course it was told gradually, bit by bit, 
 just as I was ready for the knowledge it's difficult to 
 convey it to some one else. She used to say that sex was 
 the centre of everything, the pivot on which the world 
 went round, and it was a beautiful, mysterious thing 
 which should never be thought about as ugly or repul- 
 sive. She said only ignorant or vulgar minds regarded 
 it like that. She said it was best for a little girl to accept 
 it as a wonderful mystery, just like the sun's shining, or 
 the earth making things grow, which is really far more 
 wonderful, and not to dwell on the thought of it or 
 puzzle about it, as the time for pondering on the problem 
 of sex would come later. She said sex was common to all 
 nature, and she used to show me in the garden how inter- 
 esting it was the way the bulbs propagated themselves ; 
 when we dug the tulips up to make way for the summer 
 geraniums we used to find the baby bulblets all attached 
 to the mother bulb. The power in the earth had done it, 
 mother said. And then the rabbits had babies, and the 
 canaries too, and mother used to explain how quite natu- 
 ral it all was. And she showed me how even the flowers 
 were propagated, and when we planted a certain kind of 
 laurel I forget the name we had to put the male bush 
 near the female bush, or else it wouldn't have any red 
 berries in the autumn." 
 
 At this frank exposition of the mechanism of sex, 
 albeit merely in bushes, Sister Augustine stirred un- 
 easily. The words "male" and "female" always dis- 
 turbed her, even in the Bible. She strove to collect her 
 bewildered faculties. 
 
 "All that is harmless enough," she said, "but we are 
 getting away from our starting-point. You used er 
 er a very dreadful word, and said you understood its 
 meaning. Surely your mother did not explain that to 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes, she did; she thought it best that I should get 
 accustomed to it, as the idea might come as a shock 
 later on."
 
 44 DOWNWARD 
 
 "But why should a child a young girl, have to get 
 accustomed to this terrible thing?" 
 
 Dolly looked cautiously around ; no one was in earshot. 
 Then boldly she answered . 
 
 "Because I'm the terrible thing myself. I'm illegiti- 
 mate." 
 
 A gasp was the only sound heard from Sister Augus- 
 tine. Her mouth had again fallen open; she was pale 
 beneath her sunburn. Involuntarily her hand clutched 
 the crucifix that hung on her brown serge breast, and 
 hastily she made the sign of the cross, as before some 
 spirit of evil. 
 
 "My child!" she ejaculated in a scared whisper. 
 "You cannot mean " 
 
 "Yes, I do mean it," said Dolly, rather sharply, al- 
 ready regretting her confidence. "I'm not ashamed of 
 it, though I don't talk about it because mother said it 
 wouldn't be wise. It's my secret, and you mustn't 
 repeat it." 
 
 "God forbid 1" 
 
 "But I'm not ashamed of it, mind; it wasn't darling 
 mother's fault. She would have asked nothing better 
 than to marry the man she loved, naturally. It was his 
 fault. He spoilt her life. I hate him!" The young 
 voice had suddenly grown cruelly hard, and the blue 
 eyes steeled and narrowed. 
 
 "But, Dorothea, have you no shame? Don't you 
 realize that you're a child of sin?" 
 
 "Sin!" echoed Dolly, fiercely her patience definitely 
 at an end. "Who made you a judge of sin? What do 
 you know of my mother 's temptation ? of her life ? of 
 any life ? If my mother sinned, then she has suffered for 
 it most bitterly. She was only twenty-three when I was 
 born, and because she looked upon herself as my father's 
 wife, she lived lonely and celibate all the rest of her life. ' ' 
 
 ' ' That is no hardship ! ' ' rapped out Augustine, almost 
 involuntarily, then flushing at her own speech. 
 
 "Not to you, perhaps," said Dolly, scornfully, "but 
 my mother was a glorious woman destined for joy and
 
 DOWNWARD 45 
 
 love" the nun hid her face in her hands with a little 
 cry "she could have married any one; men went mad 
 over her!" 
 
 "Child, child, I cannot listen to this godless talk!" 
 
 "No, and it's no use trying to make you understand," 
 said Dolly, wearily; "you're like a being from another 
 race to mother." 
 
 "I thank God that is so!" ejaculated the nun, unde- 
 terred by the flashing of battle into Dolly's angry face. 
 "We must not discuss it further; I have done very 
 wrong to allow it to share in it ; I have broken our rule 
 in so doing. You make me sorrowful and afraid, Doro- 
 thea; you say such terrible things, and seem so deter- 
 mined to be on the side of evil. You a newly confirmed 
 girl ; it is shocking shocking ! We all have our tempta- 
 tions. The devil encompasses us round about, but you 
 seem positively to plead his cause! You are a danger 
 to the other children. It is all most dreadful. I must 
 tell Sister Francesca she will consult the Priest." 
 Tears were running down her face ; she was genuinely 
 distressed. "I cannot understand you at all," she 
 almost moaned; "a child of sin should 
 
 "But I'm not a child of sin! Children of sin are the 
 children of loveless marriages. Mother said a loveless 
 marriage was a sacrilege. Mother considered my father 
 truly her husband; she had no other. I'm not a child of 
 sin; I'm the child of a splendid love and that's why 
 I'm so strong and healthy, and that's whv I'm well made 
 and tall and fine " 
 
 "Stop! stop!" cried Sister Augustine, now almost 
 hysterical "I cannot, will not listen!" She buried her 
 face in her wide sleeves and bowed herself to the ground, 
 almost bent double, shaking with sobs. The echo of ele- 
 mental fury and passion she had awakened had utterly 
 overcome the celibate woman. 
 
 Dolly left her there and ran down to the bathing- 
 machines. In a few minutes she had plunged into the 
 Burf and was swimming with sure and vigorous strokes 
 out towards the boat from which they dived. She did
 
 46 DOWNWARD 
 
 not feel unhappy. The aspersions of such as Sister 
 Augustine on her mother mattered nothing. A strange 
 exultation sang in her blood. The sea always exhilarated 
 her; to-day its sting in her face was like some glorious 
 wine, some strange, maddening drug. She put all her 
 force into her strokes, and aloud above the din of the 
 waves she called : 
 
 "Your girl is happy, mother! Mother, I mean to live! 
 I mean to live!"
 
 THAT night, when the girls were all in bed, Sister 
 Augustine, instead of occupying herself as usual with 
 Baying those offices which she had not managed to recite 
 during the day, sat down to write to her superior. 
 
 "DEAR FRANCESCA, SISTER IN CHRIST/' she wrote, 
 
 "I am in very great perplexity about Dorothea 
 Fitzgerald. As you know, I have always liked the child 
 and found much good in her. To-day, however, I have 
 had a very painful and sad experience with her. This 
 morning on the beach, and before the other children, I 
 heard her state quite openly that our little Nora must be 
 illegitimate, and she was actually proceeding to explain 
 the word to Winifred Durham, who naturally as a prop- 
 erly brought up child was ignorant of its meaning. I 
 stopped her, of course, and having dismissed the other 
 children, I tried to show her how grievous such knowl- 
 edge was in a young girl, but she said the most terrible 
 things, inexpressibly painful to listen to from one of our 
 children, and then she actually informed me that she 
 herself was illegitimate and not ashamed of it ! I know 
 our dear and reverend mother in her charity has from 
 time to time received these sad victims of sin into our 
 school, but they have never been aware of their shame, 
 and Dorothea seems to positively glory in hers. 
 
 "She has never spoken of it before, and is not likely 
 to tell the others. Moreover, I have always found her a 
 good and modest girl, and I do not think she would ever 
 try and corrupt our other children, but the fact that she 
 holds these terribly unorthodox views and can put them 
 into such shockingly forcible language makes her to iny 
 mind an undesirable inmate of our school. Her point of 
 47
 
 48 DOWNWARD 
 
 view is worldly and irreligious in the extreme, I might 
 almost say carnal, though I hesitate to apply such a term 
 to any one. 
 
 "I thought it best to report the whole matter to you. 
 In your superior knowledge, with the help and counsels 
 of the Priest and of Reverend Mother available, you will 
 know best how to act. I shall pray for your guidance, 
 and that your decision may be blessed for the child's 
 good. Your affectionate Sister in Christ, 
 
 "AUGUSTINE MARY." 
 
 To the austere soul of Sister Francesca the affair thus 
 related was still more shocking than it had been to her 
 kindlier subordinate. 
 
 For a long time she sat in conclave with Reverend 
 Mother; later she paced the cloisters by the side of 
 Father Morten, and experienced some irritation (in- 
 stantly suppressed and subsequently expiated by prayer) 
 at his warm championship of the child of sin. She had 
 always disliked Dolly, who however had endeared herself 
 to both the chaplain and the Superior by reason of her 
 glowing vitality, her bright face and ready smiles. The 
 Reverend Mother, who was a large, corpulent, much- 
 loved lady, felt she would miss Dolly from chapel. At 
 the Sunday High Celebration, the girl's bright mass of 
 golden hair had often taken the good mother's thoughts 
 from her prayers. She wished Francesca was not so bent 
 on having the child removed, but certainly it might be a 
 danger to keep her if she talked so indiscreetly. What 
 a pity it was that the thoroughly satisfactory girls were 
 often so dull and plain and their appearance so seldom 
 a credit to the school! 
 
 It was the Superior's wise rule to leave the manage- 
 ment of the various branches of the convent entirely to 
 their different heads. Francesca, she said, must settle it 
 for herself, and having decided this, she repaired with 
 the slow waddle that was her customary gait to the huge 
 kitchen, there to be soothed by her special friend, Sister 
 Agnes, who queened it in the culinary department.
 
 DOWNWARD 49 
 
 The next day one of Sister Franceses 's primly worded, 
 stiffly written letters was dispatched to Dacre Hamilton, 
 and Dolly to her great joy found herself installed at the 
 beginning of the winter term at a school in Eastbourne, 
 where she was allowed a bath every day, and speedily 
 forgot the feeling of hunger which gave one "quite 
 different ideas about greediness." 
 
 Fortunately for Dolly, the head-mistress of this school 
 was a wise, well-read, earnest woman of the most modern 
 type, and whose educational ideal was to prepare hex 
 pupils for life, and not merely for some examinations. 
 The motherless girl could not have fallen into better 
 
 KND OF PAST L
 
 PAET H 
 
 IN the basement of Meredith House, Wimpole Street 
 "the best nursing home in London" there was a small, 
 shabby room looking on to the front area where eight of 
 the nurses were having their tea one fine afternoon in 
 May. 
 
 "When a man's in love with you," announced Dolly 
 Fitzgerald from the aged arm-chair in the corner, "he 
 looks at your lips; when he's merely attracted he looks 
 into your eyes; when he's indifferent he looks at your 
 feet or your figure, if he sees you at all!" 
 
 When Dolly spoke of men and love the other nurses 
 listened respectfully, as to a specialist some sneeringly, 
 some humbly, but all with interest. 
 
 "Hence the extreme importance of having neat feet," 
 she continued, critically regarding the very pretty pair 
 which were elevated on a cane chair in front of her. 
 "The interest leads upwards. Therefore all blessings on 
 my kind patient who has just presented me with six 
 pairs of silk stockings, knowing my weakness. There are 
 still some noble souls left in this damnable world," she 
 concluded, cheerfully. 
 
 "It's a damnable world indeed when the Gold-Stick- 
 in- Waiting only puts two teaspoonfuls of tea in the pot 
 for eight overstrung, overworked, full-grown women," 
 exclaimed Nurse Clifford indignantly from the head of 
 the tea-table. "This is the third time I've had to water 
 the pot ; the tea 's not fit to drink, and I 'm simply dying 
 for a good, strong cup after the awful time I've had 
 to-day with one of my patients delirious. They must 
 51
 
 52 DOWNWARD 
 
 make it stronger than this even in the workhouse, and 
 certainly it would be a better quality there. I really 
 shall complain about it to Sister Meredith to-morrow!" 
 
 "I don't think I ever sat down to a meal with you, 
 Cliff, when you didn't 'really mean to complain* to 
 Sister about one or other item on the menu," said Nurse 
 Diekenson. 
 
 "And she's never done it yet, has she, Dicky?" re- 
 joined Dolly, settling herself comfortably in the old arm- 
 chair, on the arm of which her cup of tea was balanced. 
 "As if the tea or the meat or anything to do with one's 
 stupid, uninteresting inside mattered two tabloids as if 
 we didn't hear enough about insides from the patients 
 upstairs. You should leave your inside outside when 
 you come down to meals, Cliffy, dear, and not disturb the 
 only peaceful time we get in the day." 
 
 "I don't know which is worse," said Nurse Dickenson, 
 pointedly, "people who talk about their insides or their 
 outs." 
 
 "Ins, by a long way," rejoined Nurse Brooks, who 
 shared with Dolly the good looks of the establishment. 
 1 ' One 's outside is at least interesting to oneself if to no 
 one else, and one can tub it and groom it and dress it up 
 nicely, but an inside is a necessary evil which ought to 
 be endured and not talked about." 
 
 Nurse Clifford stirred the tea-pot yet again and smiled. 
 Her strong, sensible face, with its shrewd, kindly eyes 
 and honest mouth, was the only serene countenance in 
 the room. Adela Diekenson 's sharp face was lined with 
 discontent; Molly Morley's little pink and white one 
 was merely vacant. The hunger of the mother-woman 
 denied both mate and child looked from Gertrude Jes- 
 sop's wistful eyes, and a wild unrest from Dolly Fitz- 
 gerald's brilliant blue ones. Judith Brooks' beautiful, 
 rather wicked face was marred by its hard sullenness. 
 
 "Insides don't matter a bit, except when they hurt," 
 Dolly was saying, "but outsides always matter tremen- 
 dously. It's half the battle of life to have the right out- 
 side, and having got it, to give it lie proper clothes and
 
 DOWNWARD 53 
 
 poise it at the right angle. Angles are awfully impor- 
 tant, too. The woman who stands and walks and lounges 
 at the right angle, keeps her eyelashes at the right angle, 
 especially when flirting, and arranges her hat and hair at 
 the right angle is well, a woman bound to succeed. 
 Colin Lester, for instance, would never give me theatre 
 tickets if I hadn't mastered that little matter of angles, 
 and he wouldn't be the most popular actor-manager in 
 London to-day if he hadn't too. Though angles don't so 
 much matter for a man." 
 
 "It must be nice to have an actor-manager in love with 
 one," said Nurse Brooks, musingly. "You really are a 
 clever woman, Fitz." 
 
 "Of course," rejoined Dolly, laughing, "but not for 
 that reason. Lester's not in love with me; his leading 
 lady won't let him look at any other woman. How can 
 I compete with the beautiful Marguerite St. John? I 
 wish to goodness he were in love with me, and then 
 perhaps I could get on to the stage and out of all this." 
 
 "What, and lose your allowance!" ejaculated Nurse 
 Clifford; "that would be a foolish thing to do." 
 
 "Not if I can make more on the stage. I've let those 
 brutes of trustees order my life for ten years, for the 
 sake of having some one behind me, as it were, but now 
 I'm a woman, twenty-five and getting on, it's time I were 
 independent. I'm not going to lose all chance of really 
 living for the sake of a miserable 40 a year. Why, I 
 could easily earn that on the stage as well as the value 
 of my post here, and have a glorious time into the 
 bargain!" 
 
 There was an undercurrent of bitterness in her words, 
 and Nurse Clifford looked quickly up. "When I was 
 twenty-five," she said, "I thought as much as you do, 
 Fitz, about having a good time by which I suppose you 
 mean having a lot of ridiculous, grand clothes, and a lot 
 of idle men to take you out in them to places where more 
 idle men and more ridiculously dressed women do con- 
 gregate and waste their lives! But now I'm on the 
 wronfi side of forty. I have a very different ideal If
 
 54 DOWNWARD 
 
 you're still a hard-working nurse in ten years' time, 
 my child" ("Heaven forbid!" from Dolly) "your 
 night's rest and your afternoon cup of tea will be more 
 to you than all the chiffons in Bond Street and all the 
 spoiled fools of actors in London. Take my word for it!" 
 
 Silent Nurse Jessop now spoke for the first time. 
 "Any one would think you were a hardened materialist, 
 Cliff, to hear you talk about the importance of rest and 
 cups of tea, but we all know what your ideal is, and that 
 your patients' welfare is all you care about." 
 
 Dolly had been pondering over her senior colleague's 
 words. 
 
 ' ' But I don 't mean to be a hard-working nurse all my 
 life not I!" she said, suddenly. Then abruptly she 
 jumped up and stared at herself in the dingy mirror 
 above the hearth, her arms resting on the mantelpiece. 
 
 The rather pert bearing, the school-girl expression 
 shallow and bold that had previously somewhat marred 
 her beauty had now disappeared. Her eyes were deep, 
 mystical, full of infinite allure, beneath straight dark 
 brows, and the soft shadow of her wreathed hair. Her 
 hair was still as gloriously golden as in childhood, and 
 her lips, sweet and sensuous, were more than ever siren's 
 lips. She had not Valerie's air of distinction, and lacked 
 also the exquisite spirituality that had made her mother's 
 face so noticeable. But she drew all eyes by reason of 
 her radiant vitality, her brilliant colouring and the irre- 
 sistible air of triumphant gladness that a realization of 
 her womanhood's power had brought her. She radiated 
 personal magnetism, and her mere presence often cheered 
 and strengthened the sick people she attended. Doctors 
 sometimes attain celebrity by a similar gift. Her lithe, 
 beautiful figure showed to the greatest advantage in the 
 sober nursing uniform ; the blue cotton gown fitted well, 
 and was put on as carefully as a ball-dress might have 
 been. Her collar, cuffs and apron were always spotless ; 
 beneath her firm, defiant little chin her cap-strings were 
 tied in a coquettish bow. 
 
 "Twenty-five!" she murmured to herself, but appar-
 
 DOWNWARD 55 
 
 ently the result of her scrutiny was satisfactory. "Not 
 I!" she repeated, facing the others with her hands 
 clasped behind her head. "Meredith House won 't see 
 me ten years hence, nor yet five, nor yet one, I hope ! ' ' 
 
 "Might be somewhere worse!" said Adela Dickenson, 
 with a world of meaning in her tone. Perhaps the same 
 thought was in the more charitable mind of Nurse 
 Clifford, for she looked rather wistfully at the young 
 woman standing in that defiant attitude on the hearth- 
 rug. She was old enough to have out-lived all her illu- 
 sions, and she had earned her own living for thirty 
 years! 
 
 "My dear Fitz," she said, kindly, "you might cer- 
 tainly do worse. Meredith House isn't a Paradise, as 
 none know better than I after all these years of it, but 
 it's a safe, well-ordered establishment, and a life of hard 
 work and regular routine is the best one for a high- 
 spirited young woman without home or parents." 
 
 Dolly langhd and flung herself back into the old 
 arm-chair with a careless "Good old Cliff!" 
 
 "I'm sure one gets very tired of nursing," said little 
 Nurse Morley thoughtfully, munching her bread and 
 butter; "sometimes the patients are so inconsiderate," 
 
 "And, oh, so dull!" sighed Dolly. 
 
 "My new one, Mrs. Knowles, isn't dull," said Nurse 
 Brooks. "I get an immense amount of entertainment 
 out of her. This morning she actually had a man in to 
 wave and dress her hair before her operation. Then she 
 made herself up most beautifully. She had the sense, 
 though, not to stick on any colour. Then she told me to 
 put on her pink silk stockings and satin shoes to match, 
 and I had to sew pink ribbons on her very best night- 
 gown they 're all poems but this one is simply a lyric ; 
 it must have cost pounds and pounds. ' ' 
 
 "Sinful waste, when so many are starving and in 
 rags, ' ' murmured Nurse Clifford. ' * She might have been 
 going to her death, for all she knew. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, she didn't think much about death," continued 
 the other, "though it really was touch and go with her.
 
 56 DOWNWARD 
 
 'Do I look nice, Nurse?' was the last thing she asked me 
 before the doctors came in. Of course she looked ridicu- 
 lous. And when she was coming to, she talked all the 
 time of 'Julian-darling,' though her husband's name is 
 Tom." 
 
 ''Such a nice husband, too," put in Dolly, "a great 
 big, blue-eyed, stupid-looking sportsman. I saw him in 
 the hall talking to Mr. Billy; he's much too good for 
 her." 
 
 "Sister told me he was quite beside himself with anx- 
 iety about his wife," said Nurse Brooks. "And Julian- 
 darling is a long, lank ape, all legs and black hair; he 
 looks like a weird, up-to-date poster. When he called 
 yesterday afternoon, she made me put on her best 
 neglige, and then said sweetly that she'd ring when she 
 wanted me. He stayed nearly two hours. Oh, she's a 
 most interesting patient." 
 
 "Captain Clive isn't dull," said Gertrude Jessop, with 
 a sigh "he's too nice for anything, so manly and so 
 gentle. I shall miss him terribly when he goes." 
 
 "Oh, he isn't well yet, my dear. You've got all the 
 nice convalescing part in front of you, taking him out 
 for drives, and so on," said Nurse Diekenson, rather 
 spitefully. 
 
 "Ah, why didn't they give Captain Clive to me?" 
 asked Dolly. "I could have done with him nicely by 
 way of a change from all these elderly crocks. Lady 
 Walter is very sweet, but one does get so tired of one's 
 own sex. I wonder if Sister will ever let me have a man 
 patient again." 
 
 "It was rather bad luck your being caught flirting 
 that time by Sister," rejoined Nurse Brooks, sympa- 
 thetically; "she has such a cat-like tread." 
 
 "I wasn't flirting; I was only trying to amuse my 
 patient. Sister came creeping in you know her way 
 and found me sitting on his bed, while he was tying my 
 cap-strings in a so-called bow. It was all so silly, and 
 dull, and harmless, that's what annoyed me so. If he 
 had been kissing me, then perhaps she might have made
 
 DOWNWARD 
 
 a row, on principle though I don't suppose I should 
 have been the first nurse to be kissed by a patient. That 
 was nearly a year ago, and I've never been allowed to 
 nurse a man since, all because of my foolish excess of 
 good nature!" 
 
 "What did Sister say when she found you?" asked 
 little Nurse Morley, cautiously the story was new to 
 her. 
 
 "Ah, my dear, you want to know too much be thank- 
 ful that the course of your life runs along a straight and 
 simple path, and don't seek the pernicious fruit of the 
 Tree of Knowledge," returned Dolly. "Be thankful you 
 were born different; endless woes are spared those for- 
 tunate women who can't flirt and wouldn't if they 
 could." 
 
 The younger girl sighed and blushed. When she had 
 first come to Meredith House, much that she had heard 
 had shocked her deeply, but although she disapproved 
 of them, Nurse Fitzgerald and Nurse Brooks possessed 
 for her the fascination of the dangerous unknown. 
 
 "Never mind, little thing," said Nurse Jessop, kindly 
 noting her discomfiture; "you're far happier as you are. 
 Well, it's time I went back to my patient. Aren't you 
 going for your walk now ? ' ' 
 
 They left the room together. "She's a good sort, poor 
 old J.," said Dolly as the door shut. 
 
 "H'm, rather hypocritical," remarked Nurse Dick- 
 enson. 
 
 "Too slack in her work," said Nurse Clifford, who 
 judged every one by their professional capacity only. 
 Her profession was a mania with her. 
 
 "Such a fool about men," sneered Nurse Brooks. "I 
 expect she worries the life out of that poor fellow army 
 men loathe nurses as a rule. Well, I suppose Sister will 
 be swearing at me if I don't go back to Mrs. Knowlea 
 and relieve her; I do hope she's asleep by now." 
 
 "What a sharp tongue that girl's got," said Nurse 
 Dickenson, directly the door had shut again.
 
 58 DOWNWARD 
 
 "Yes, her cynicism and her thin lips spoil her," agreed 
 Dolly, "otherwise she'd be quite beautiful." 
 
 "Oh, no; her eyes are too narrow for beauty, and her 
 tongue too sharp for charm," remarked Nurse Clifford. 
 "Dear me, what an uncharitable lot we are!" 
 
 "That's what I always tell you!" said a sweet, low 
 voice from the doorway. Another nurse stood there, 
 dressed in outdoor uniform a tall woman with a plain, 
 charming, patrician face, which was illumined by a de- 
 lightful smile at the shout of welcome that greeted her. 
 
 Helen Tregonin was evidently popular amongst her 
 colleagues. Dolly pushed the new-comer into the solitary 
 arm-chair and sat down on the hearth-rug at her feet. 
 Adela Dickenson began to cut bread and butter in deli- 
 cate slices, and Nurse Clifford peered anxiously into tile 
 now thoroughly exhausted teapot. 
 
 "My dear ladies, I can hear you half-way down the 
 passage. I hope you haven't been discussing Sister or 
 the Gold-Stick as well?" 
 
 "No, we haven't only each other as usual," said 
 Dolly. "Now take your cloak off and be comfy. Cliff 
 will squeeze some liquid out of the teapot for you, I dare- 
 sayI can't call it tea, but at least it will be wet and 
 warm." 
 
 "That's all it will be," said Nurse Clifford. "This is 
 one of the Gold-Stick's extra economical days, and she's 
 been phenomenally mean since you went away, Helen." 
 
 "Now, do tell us how you like being at Anthony's," 
 urged Nurse Dickenson, presenting the plate of dainty 
 bread and butter. 
 
 "Thank you, Dicky, dear," said Helen. 
 
 "Yes, do tell us all about the adorable Anthony," 
 cried Dolly. " 'Anthony as paterfamilias a sidelight 
 on tfce Nurse's idol.' What is he like, chez luif Does his 
 gorgeous manner take off indoors ? Go on 1 " 
 
 Thus flippantly they spoke of Dr. Anthony Eaven, the 
 distinguished brain specialist. Most of his patients had 
 their unnecessary rest-cures at Meredith House, and Dr. 
 Haven was an object of much interest on the part of the
 
 DOWNWARD 59 
 
 nursing staff. When his sister, who kept house for him, 
 fell ill, an exception to the general rule of the nursing 
 home had been made, and instead of Miss Eaven coming 
 to Meredith House to be nursed, Helen Tregonin, the 
 most popular nurse on the staff, had been sent to attend 
 her in Harley Street. 
 
 "But I want to hear all the Meredithian news first," 
 said Helen; "it's a whole week since I went away." 
 
 "So it is, and I think you might have come round 
 sooner to see us; you're only a few yards off," grumbled 
 Nurse Clifford. 
 
 "There isn't a scrap of Meredithian news, everything's 
 just the same as when you left, even to Cliff's squeezing 
 the teapot as usual, ' ' said Dolly. ' ' There 's a new man in 
 No. 10 ; Jessop has got him. She says he's awfully nice 
 in the army, a Captain Clive." 
 
 "We don't see much of Jessop down here, of course," 
 put in Nurse Dickenson, drily, "except when Captain 
 Clive 's own friends are with him." 
 
 "He has heaps of visitors," interrupted Dolly, "such 
 smart women in lovely clothes. Oh, and I suppose you 
 know your aunt and mother-in-law-elect is here, and I 'm 
 nursing her!" 
 
 "Yes, Theo told me his mother was here. It was all 
 arranged very suddenly. I'm glad you're nursing her, 
 as I can't myself. She suffers so terribly, poor darling." 
 
 "Yes, she's very ill," said Dolly, thoughtfully. "Your 
 young man has been to see her every day. He seems to 
 resent my being in charge and not you, and gives me the 
 most sullen glances. I suppose I ought to be going back 
 to her now, or I shall have Sister ragging me. ' ' 
 
 "No, don't you. I want to see her, so I'll relieve 
 Sister." 
 
 A chorus of remonstrance greeted Helen's uprising. 
 
 "Oh, Tregonin, don't go; you've not told us yet about 
 Anthony." 
 
 "There's really nothing to tell. Anthony at home is 
 exactly like Anthony at Meredith House. His bedside 
 manner doesn't come off. I've scarcely seen him, as he
 
 60 DOWNWARD 
 
 doesn't seem to take the slightest interest in his poor old 
 sister, although he has no other relatives. I wonder he 
 hasn't married again." 
 
 "Well, he's killed off two wives I should think he 'a 
 had enough of it." 
 
 ' ' Still, it 's a horrid house to live in, in spite of all the 
 luxury. I don't wonder Miss Raven is so frail and 
 melancholy; there's such a cold, restrained, unhomelike 
 atmosphere. There 's no love in the house. ' ' 
 
 "Anthony does his loving outside," said Dolly, cyni- 
 cally. Nurse Dickenson laughed her thin, little laugh, 
 but Helen threw the speaker a glance of reproof, and 
 Nurse Clifford uttered a remonstrating "Now, Fitz!" 
 
 "I must go and see my aunt now," said Helen. "No. 
 2, isn 't it ? Is there anything I can do ? " 
 
 "No, thanks. I'll come up when her medicine is due, 
 so don't you bother." 
 
 "Half -past five," said Nurse Clifford, looking at her 
 watch. "I must go and give my old gentleman another 
 poultice ; poor, dear old thing, he does hate them so ! 
 Wait for me, Helen." 
 
 A few minutes after they had left the room the page 
 came in to find Dolly. 
 
 "Mr. Theodore Walter to see Lady Walter, nurse. I 
 told him Nurse Tregonin was here." 
 
 "All right, Willy," she answered, carelessly. "Leave 
 him in the parlor; I'll come in a minute." 
 
 She rose from the hearth-rug, carefully inspected her 
 face in the glass, smoothed out her apron and pulled the 
 aureole of hair further out from her face. 
 
 "I'll just run up and tell Tregonin," she said aloud, 
 and left the room slowly, humming a tune. 
 
 "I wonder why Fitzgerald prinks so carefully just to 
 run up and tell Tregonin?" Nurse Dickenson asked 
 herself with some amusement.
 
 II 
 
 DOLLY ran lightly up the basement stairs into the hall. 
 For a second or two she stood looking up at the first-floor 
 landing, then crossed the narrow hall and paused before 
 the waiting-room door. 
 
 "I wonder if he will still scowl at me," she thought as 
 she turned the handle. 
 
 Theodore Walter was standing with his back to the fire. 
 A slightly built young man of medium height and boyish 
 appearance, few would have supposed him to be twenty- 
 six. His head was finely shaped; a good profile and a 
 broad, white forehead gave him an appearance of dis- 
 tinction. At present his sensitive face was darkened by 
 a lowering frown. In spite of his habitually sulky ex- 
 pression, women would call his face "charming" and 
 ''sweet," and it was both when he smiled and his strange 
 green eyes lit up. Deeply set, keen and passionate, his 
 eyes were curiously attractive and they rather gained in 
 their appeal by his trick of half -closing them. His dark 
 hair was brushed straight back without a parting, but 
 he looked better when it was in disorder and fell across 
 his forehead. He was plainly a man to be made or 
 marred by women a man whom women could love much. 
 
 The cloud on his brow deepened as Dolly entered the 
 room. 
 
 "Zero!" was her mental verdict. She took her cue 
 from his aspect instantly and returned his constrained 
 greeting with equal coldness. 
 
 "Lady "Walter is a little better to-day and has been 
 asking for you," she said. "Miss Tregoniu is with her, 
 but she can only stay a short time. Will you corne 
 upstairs?" 
 
 61
 
 62 DOWNWARD 
 
 "Thanks," returned the young man, evidently ill at 
 ease in the tete-cl-tete. Dolly turned and led the way 
 upstairs without another word. 
 
 ' ' One moment, ' ' she said at the door, going swiftly in, 
 
 Theo heard a sweet and very different voice ask gently, 
 "May your son come in, Lady Walter? Yes, he's here.' 
 Then in the same cold tone to him as she reappeared, 
 "Will you come in, please?" 
 
 But passing him in the doorway, she raised her eyes 
 and threw him a swift, indescribable glance which 
 troubled him all the rest of the day, as she had meant 
 it to.
 
 Ill 
 
 A CURIOUS, complex little world was contained in the 
 narrow, five-storied house in Wimpole Street. Outside 
 it presented an immaculate appearance : the brass fittings 
 on the smart green door shone resplendently, the gay 
 window-boxes were renewed at the first sign of wilting, 
 and the steps had such a virginal aspect that one scarcely 
 dared to affront them with defiling London mud. Inside 
 there were the patients, the doctors, the nurses all rep- 
 resenting different social grades. The patients were of 
 necessity wealthy people, and most of them belonged to 
 that glittering circle of Society which requires a capital 
 letter to express it. Through their luxurious belongings, 
 their visitors, their conversation and occasional confi- 
 dences, the nurses caught glimpses of the dazzling condi- 
 tions of lif at the top glimpses they treasured and 
 shared with each other in innumerable talks, for all these 
 middle-class young women were intensely interested in 
 the life at the top. 
 
 No less were they interested in the doctors, who, by 
 reason of their success, were also at the top, and might 
 therefore be laid to have risen above the middle classes 
 from which they originally sprang. They were all men 
 of distinction of the genus consultant, and were hardly 
 aware of the nurses' existence. It would have surprised 
 them to know what keen, pitiless critics were concealed 
 in these demure, uniformed young women who seemed to 
 have no eyes but for their work, and who stood meekly 
 aside on the staircase to let the great men pass, answer- 
 ing, "Yes, sir," and "No, sir," as required, with such 
 quiet, indifferent faces. 
 
 The famous surgeon, Hereford Williams, known by the 
 63
 
 64 DOWNWARD 
 
 nurses as Mr. Billy, would have been amazed and not 
 very pleased could he have known how much of his career 
 was familiar to these young women whose names even he 
 barely remembered. Dr. Walter Gordon familiarly 
 called by the staff "Wally, the Guinea-Grabber," because 
 he did so little and charged so much might have 
 laughed at Nurse Brooks' clever imitation of his "Two- 
 guinea Lightning Interviews," as she called them. To 
 him Nurse Brooks was merely "the red-headed one, devil- 
 ish quick and smart." Dr. Anthony Raven would have 
 been incredulous had some one told him that the young 
 women at Meredith House knew all about his liaison with 
 the Austrian countess. Yet such was the case. 
 
 When the nurses were not gossiping about the patients 
 or discussing the doctors, they were criticizing each other. 
 There was nothing else to talk about; they had neither 
 the time nor the energy for intellectual pursuits. Their 
 lives were hard, exhausting and almost entirely devoid of 
 colour. Before all of them loomed the terror of "getting 
 on in life, " as is the case with most women who work for 
 their bread. Their ambition was centred, according to 
 temperament, on either finding a husband who would 
 work for them or securing a well-paid post which carried 
 a pension. Their horizons were bounded by the patients 
 and the doctors; the walls of Meredith House shut in 
 their existence. Small wonder they were petty and cen- 
 sorious, and that they occasionally jangled and bickered 
 so many women shut up almost all day long with 
 themselves and their sick people. Small wonder the doc- 
 tors, being men, assumed such large proportions in their 
 sphere of interest, and that the affairs of the patients 
 were the object of so much speculation those fortunate 
 people who had plenty of money and no need to work. 
 
 One outside interest they had in common, an intense 
 love of the theatre. An old lady patient had once ex- 
 pressed to Nurse Clifford her disapproval of so much 
 pltygoing for nurses, and wondered why they indulged 
 in it so often. 
 
 Nurse Clifford had answered briskly: "Well, you see,
 
 DOWNWARD 65 
 
 our lives are spent among suffering people ; we see noth- 
 ing but illness, hear nothing but the complaints and 
 details of ailments. When our free evening comes round 
 only once a week we feel we want to get right away 
 from it all. At the theatre we're plunged at once into 
 another world, and we take care to choose a play which 
 presents a gay, bright world, full of laughter and amus- 
 ing people. No problem plays for us ! Our daily round 
 makes us feel that the problems of life don't bear think- 
 ing of. Where else can we go? Our friends don't live 
 in the West End, and, unless one makes an appointment, 
 it's a risk to take a longish journey in trains and tubes, 
 only to find them out. We know the shop windows for 
 miles around by heart. We get quite enough of them in 
 our daily walks, and looking in shop windows isn't par- 
 ticularly exciting, unless you 've heaps of money to spend. 
 Can you wonder the theatre is a perfect godsend to us, 
 and, after a visit to it, we can go back to our work 
 cheered and stimulated with something to describe to the 
 others something to make us laugh when we remem- 
 ber it?" 
 
 The old lady made no reply, but shortly after she left 
 Nurse Clifford received by post a pass for the largest box 
 at the Drury Lane Pantomime, and the seven smiling 
 nurses in uniform who packed into that box when the 
 night came were ample testimony that the theatre is 
 indeed a blessing to thousands of hard-working people. 
 
 Among themselves Helen Tregonin was perhaps the 
 most fiercely criticized of the nurses. As a woman of 
 birth who had been "presented at Court," whe "knew 
 people in Society," and once had a place within the 
 chanced circle herself, they all in their hearts stood 
 slightly in awe of her. They envied her her superior 
 social standing, though they would rather have died than 
 acknowledge it; they envied her her distinguished rela- 
 tives and the beautifully dressed friends who sometimes 
 drove up in motors and carriages to pay her a brief visit, 
 and who invited her to their houses when she cared to go. 
 She was the only engaged woman among them too, and
 
 66 DOWNWARD 
 
 all but Nurse Clifford deeply envied ker her handsome 
 lover. 
 
 Above all, they were jealous of that indefinable some- 
 thing stamped on her face and expressed indelibly in her 
 every word and tone, that incomparable cachet the seal 
 of an intense and unassailable purity. Helen was a good 
 woman, not merely innocent or erdinariry nice-minded 
 and virtuous such as afl respectable women set up to be, 
 but one chaste through every thought and every heart- 
 beat, such as few women are. Her fellow nurses knew it 
 well, and for this perhaps they envied her most of all. 
 
 And yet in spite of the enormous odds against her by 
 reason of her superiority, they could not help Hiring, 
 almost loving her, with the single exception of Nurse 
 Brooks, whose second-rate Kttte soui was antagonized by 
 Helen's innate goodness. She was so humble, and so 
 friendly, and so entirely free from the arrogance which 
 the other nurses had been prepared to indignantly resent 
 and pitilessly punish. If she had been handsome as well 
 in addition to her other attractions, perhaps this combi- 
 nation would have proved too much, but her plainness 
 according to all the accepted canons of beauty was her 
 redeeming point in the eyes of her fellow nurses. 
 
 Yet nobody ever thought of Helen as plain. Of nonde- 
 script colouring and features, there was something in her 
 fine face that stamped her at once as a woman of char- 
 acter. Sorrow had traced a few lines there, and she 
 looked much older than her boyish fiance, although in 
 reality but three years his senior. Her gentle soul shone 
 through serene grey eyes such helpful, comforting 
 mother-eyes but her greatest charna was undoubtedly 
 the possession of one of those deep, tender, golden voices 
 of that rare, refined timbre confined to few, a voice whose 
 simplest utterance thrills and enslaves its hearers. 
 
 She was the daughter of a Cornish landowner of an- 
 cient family, Alfred Tregonin of Tregonin. From her 
 early childhood her heart had been divided between two 
 passions an absorbing love for her cousin Theodore 
 Walter, only child of her dead mother's only sister and
 
 DOWNWARD 67 
 
 an intense pity for the pain of the world, which made 
 her resolve to dedicate herself to the nursing profession. 
 After her presentation and two London seasons reluc- 
 tantly submitted to by Helen, under the chaperonage of 
 various relatives the death of her father had made her 
 desire not only possible but necessary. Alfred Trego- 
 nin's affairs were found to be so involved that to the 
 infinite grief of his sons and daughter it was found nec- 
 essary to sell most of the land that had been in their 
 family for centuries. Helen rejected her soldier-brother's 
 offer of an allowance scraped from their own meagre 
 incomes and gladly settled down to her chosen work. 
 
 When one day her cousin Theo had suddenly come to 
 her and abruptly asked her to be his wife, telling her 
 almost roughly that only she could save him from him- 
 self and make a decent man of him Helen's cup of joy 
 was full She wept for very wonder that Kfe could hold 
 anything BO exquisite as tkat moment of glad surprise 
 and joyous surrender. 
 
 The boy so long beloved in secret had taken her in his 
 arms and kissed her lips for the first time. His young 
 face was haggard, his mien solemn. There were tears in 
 his eyes as he thanked and blessed her with broken words. 
 It was a strange betrothal, but Helen had never been 
 wooed before sfee did not miss the rapture in Theo. To 
 her he was a perfect lever and she the most blessed 
 among women.
 
 IV 
 
 DOLLY 's bedroom at Meredith House was a tiny attic 
 under the roof, which she was lucky in having to herself ; 
 all the other nurses had to share their rooms. The floor 
 was bare and the furniture of the most meagre descrip- 
 tion, although it comprised everything really necessary. 
 
 The diminutive mantelpiece was crowded with signed 
 portraits of men, many of them representing Colin Lester 
 in a variety of costumes and attitudes. The walls "were 
 covered with pictures of the actor cut from the illustrated 
 papers and roughly pinned up with tacks. On the wall 
 by Dolly's bed, where her eyes could rest on it, was a 
 large photograph of her mother as Juliet, her beautiful 
 hair hanging loose. 
 
 Dolly was looking at it now as she lay full length on 
 the bed, listening to a gentle sermon from Helen Trego- 
 nin, who sat opposite on a somewhat rickety wicker chair, 
 termed "easy" by courtesy. 
 
 Dolly had discarded her collar, cap and apron, but still 
 wore her uniform gown of blue cotton ; it was unbuttoned 
 at the neck and showed her fine white throat. Her hair 
 was loose and falling in confusion over the pillow. Helen 
 looked at her with wistful admiration. 
 
 "So you won't promise not to go?" Helen asked, 
 regretfully. 
 
 "No, I can't. Sorry, but I really can't. Not only 
 have I made the appointment weeks ago, but I've no- 
 where else to go, and I must have some sort of a change 
 on my free evening. It comes seldom enough, goodness 
 knows; and, besides, I can't see what possible objection 
 there can be to my dining out with Colin in public. A 
 dnner at Kettner's, at half -past six o'clock, in afternoon 
 68
 
 DOWNWARD 69 
 
 costume surely even the Gold-Stick-in-Waiting, or 
 Sister Meredith herself, could find nothing wrong in 
 that!" 
 
 "And what afterwards?" 
 
 * * Haven 't I told you ? Lester will drive to the theatre ; 
 he must be there a little earlier than usual, as he has 
 some people to see. He'll drop me at Charing Cross Hos- 
 pital, where I shall pick up my friend Ada Stuart, and 
 we shall come on later, in time for the show. Colin 's 
 given me a pass ; it has to be back of the circle, as I shan't 
 be dressed for stalls," 
 
 ' ' What sort of woman is Nurse Stuart ? ' ' 
 
 "Oh, the Nonconformist conscience in the flesh. She's 
 the colour of flour hair, eyes and skin and her figure 
 is like a sack of flour, too. She was with me at Bart's, 
 and has always adored me. I chose her for a friend, 
 partly because it's so comfortable to be with another 
 woman who's really devoted to one and partly because 
 she's so intensely respectable. Who could be otherwise 
 with that colouring ? The next best thing to being pretty 
 is to be so plain that you can be useful to your friends. 
 There 's logic for you, Helen ! ' ' 
 
 But Helen did not laugh. "Cant you spend the 
 evening with her if you must go somewhere ? ' ' she asked. 
 
 "No, I should think not! I've been shut up with 
 women all the week. I must have a little masculine so- 
 ciety. My dear, you don't know what a time I've had 
 this week or you wouldn't suggest such a thing. Lady 
 Walter's case requires most careful attention, as you 
 know, and old Mrs. Mosenstein is a perfect fiend to nurse. 
 She's led me an awful life since her operation." 
 
 "You'll say, as usual, that I'm narrow-minded, behind 
 the times aud always a wet blanket," Helen began, reso- 
 lutely, meeting Dolly's aspersions in advance, to the lat- 
 ter 's great amusement, "but, all the same, I don't think 
 it right for a young and very attractive woman to dine 
 alone with an actor of Lester's reputation, living apart 
 from his wife and whose liaison with his leading lady is 
 an open secret. If it weren't for this last, I shouldn't
 
 70 DOWNWARD 
 
 think so much of it. There's not the slightest harm in 
 having a man friend, and, as you say, it isn't good for a 
 woman to associate only with her own sex ; but, dear, you 
 know quite well that there can be no question of real 
 friendship in this case. A man like Colin Lester can't 
 mean well by any young, pretty woman. Moreover, 
 you're a nurse, and as such you should be extra careful, 
 for fear of bringing our profession into discredit." 
 
 ' ' Oh, blow our profession ! ' ' returned Dolly, vigorous- 
 ly. "My dear Helen, I became a nurse because I needed 
 bread and butter, and my guardians chose this way of 
 earning it for me not because I desired to combine busi- 
 ness with altruism! You chose it because you loved it, 
 and Cliffy, too. It's a tremendous source of satisfaction 
 to her to know that every day of her life she can alleviate 
 Bufferings and make the world better. But my motives 
 were purely mercenary and compulsory, not an atom of 
 sentiment about them. I don't care two straws for my 
 sacred calling, as Sister Meredith always calls it. 
 
 "It always annoys me so to hear the current cant 
 about the nursing profession. Nobody applies it to doc- 
 tors. Their calling is acknowledged a noble one, but 
 their private lives are never called in question. As a 
 rule, they're far too hard- worked to be anything but 
 moral, but there are exceptions. Take the Guinea- 
 Grabber, for instance. The way he looks at one sometimes 
 out of those black eyes of his is simply an insult. Who 
 cares? People simply flock to consult him! Take An- 
 thony one of the fastest men in London, everybody 
 knows, and yet one of the most successful and sought- 
 after doctors. No stricter standard ought to apply to a 
 nurse than to any other working woman of the middle 
 class. As long as she's decently behaved and does her 
 work well, what the devil don't fling up your eyebrows 
 so at the useful little word devil! I repeat, what the 
 devil can it matter how she amuses herself in her spare 
 time ? But, no, the poor wretch must be something holy, 
 a kind of combination of nun, angel and the medical dic- 
 tionary, and yet have pleasing manners and be bright
 
 DOWNWARD 71 
 
 withal. Bright, if you please! Good Lord, I wonder 
 what on earth we've got to make us bright? We spend 
 our lives in hard work which requires our whole mental 
 and physical strength in return for a pittance and a few 
 spare hours a week. We are endlessly in the company of 
 sick people, who are bound to us by no tie of love or 
 kinship, and whose groans and complaints are very, very 
 wearying. Our bodies are mere machines. We must 
 never feel any pain or weakness, we must never get tired 
 or cross or bored or depressed! Our souls we're not 
 allowed to call our own, on account of the great impor- 
 tance of not bringing discredit on our sacred calling. 
 Every atom of high spirits is knocked out of us, and yet 
 the very first thing people require when engaging a nurse 
 for private work is that she shall be bright and 
 cheerful!" 
 
 Dolly sat up again and thumped the pillow indig- 
 nantly. "I'd just like to give them a taste of it, when 
 they talk about being bright oh, wouldn't I!" she re- 
 peated, excitedly. "Why can't people learn c : ce for 
 all that we are human beings first and nurses afterwards, 
 that we're not nuns or angels, but want a little fun some- 
 times just like any other woman, to keep us from going 
 melancholy mad?" 
 
 "But, Dolly dear, surely you are happy enough?" 
 cried Helen, quite taken aback by this passionate 
 outburst. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I have my blue days, but on the whole I'm 
 happy enough, because I have my own friends and 
 amusements for my spare time, and that keeps me going, 
 but you seem to think I should forego them, and it's just 
 that injustice I'm complaining about. And, of course, 
 you're happy, you're going to marry the man you love, 
 and that's enough for any woman. And Cliff, she's 
 happy, too, because she really loves her work, and would 
 sooner be a nurse than anything else. Besides, Cliff's 
 made a unique position for herself by being such a tre- 
 mendously good sort. Even the doctors notice her, and 
 Wally actually asks her to his parties. The patients fall
 
 72 DOWNWARD 
 
 in love with her and invite her to their houses, and, as 
 you know, she gets more invitations than she can do with, 
 and has lots of men friends, too. Although she's plain 
 and middle-aged, Cliff's such a perfect dear that men 
 delight to pay her attention the hest sort of men, too, 
 not like the brutes who make up to me," she added, 
 ruefully. 
 
 "Well," said Helen, "go on." 
 
 "Well, so much for Clifford. Morley likes the work 
 too, but she's one of those little milk-and-water nonenti- 
 ties who have no minds to make up on any subject, so are 
 always content. Brooky takes her pleasures as I do, and 
 agrees with me that she couldn't stand the strain of the 
 life otherwise. But Jessop and Dickenson, who don't get 
 noticed poor souls, how I pity them! No wonder 
 Dicky's so soured and suspicious. Who could be other- 
 wise in such a dull, hard, loveless, joyless life as she has 
 to lead? There's nothing before her except endless years 
 and years of work she takes neither pride nor interest 
 in, and then a lonely old age with no means except what 
 she can save now. She's already too old to get a billet 
 which carries a pension. And Jessop, poor girl, her lot 
 is a little better because she likes her work, but I think 
 it's most pathetic to see the fool she makes of herself 
 whenever she happens to get a man patient simply 
 glues herself to his bedside in her delight in having a 
 man to talk to at last ! She 's just the woman to make a 
 quiet, home-loving, devoted wife without a thought out- 
 side her husband and children. Look at her hungry 
 eyes why, she's simply overflowing with pent-up ma- 
 ternal instinct, and yet it's her destiny to be passed over 
 always!" 
 
 Helen seemed overwhelmed by this torrent of words. 
 
 "But I thought you were keen on your work too," was 
 all she could find to say. "The doctors all think you 
 such a clever nurse, ' ' 
 
 "Well, yes, I always do my work heartily; it's my 
 nature. I should do just the same if I were a housemaid, 
 but that brings us back to the original argument. I
 
 DOWNWARD 73 
 
 couldn't stand the life if I wasn't able to get away from 
 it sometimes and have a thorough relaxation. But I'm 
 not meant for a nurse, all the same. I like a complicated 
 surgical case, or a really bad typhoid, where everything 
 depends on the nursing, and I can take pleasure in tend- 
 ing a nice man or an interesting woman any one who 
 is friendly and congenial. But, oh! how deadly sick I 
 do get of those who are not the endless tale of their 
 aches and pains and complaints and requirements ! ' ' 
 
 "I hate to hear you talk like that, it's so unprofes- 
 sional, so unwomanly! Do you really mean to say that, 
 apart from the possible technical interest of a case, or 
 your personal interest in the patient, you really don't 
 like nursing?" 
 
 "Certainly I don't." 
 
 "And don't you take any pleasure in relieving their 
 sufferings?" asked Helen, eagerly. "Is it nothing to 
 you to feel how much you can help and soothe, that your 
 power to do this is a glorious one, greater far than the 
 ability to attract admiration of which you think so 
 much?" 
 
 "Well, really, I never think about it at all. I'm sorry 
 they're in pain, of course, in a passive kind of way, and 
 I always do my utmost for a patient; but unless they 
 interest me I'm very glad to get outside the room and 
 forget them until the bell rings again. They're always 
 wearisome and very often repulsive too, and sometimes 
 they lack even common courtesy towards us. In the 
 face of sober facts, all highfalutin' ideas on the subject 
 vanish ; one gets hardened after seven years of it, espe- 
 cially if one's life has no softening influences," she con- 
 tinued, rather sadly. "I know some nurses are differ- 
 ent ; you cry over your patient 's sufferings when you get 
 outside, and Cliff keeps awake half the night worrying 
 about them if anything goes wrong, but I good 
 heavens! it's nearly five we've been clacking a whole 
 hour!" 
 
 She sprang off the bed and began hurriedly taking off 
 her cotton gown.
 
 74 DOWNWARD 
 
 "I'm always amnsed by the utterly false ideas of hos- 
 pital life which seem to obtain," Dolly resumed indis- 
 tinctly, as she bent over the looking-glass, her mouth full 
 of hairpins. "In fiction, for instance, the pretty nurse, 
 same as the pretty typist, is a stock character, and all her 
 male patients fall in love with her. In real life the 
 majority of both classes are plain. The public like to 
 favour the nun-angel-and-medieal-dictionary theory, and 
 if any writer ever dare to paint a nurse as an ordinary 
 woman, with the usual faults and failings of her sex, 
 everybody is horrified, and there are protests and letters 
 to the papers, and ail sorts of silliness. Why, a jour- 
 nalist told me once that he wrote a most amusing story 
 about a rather lively nurse, which he couldn 't place any- 
 wfeere because, as the editors told him, ' it portrayed the 
 profession in altogether too frivolous a light!' The 
 heroine waa merely a flirt quite respectable, mind you 
 and he had been careful to bring in three immaculate 
 nurses, miracles of piety and virtue, by way of balancing 
 the one frivolous one, but the story was tabooed for all 
 that. He had been a medical student, and he knew the 
 ground well enough, but he couldn't sell the story, and 
 only for that reason. There, isn't my hair nice? How's 
 that for a killing side-parting!" 
 
 She drew on her black stockings. "Look, Helen, 
 this is another pair my last old lady gave me sporting 
 of her, wasn't it? Fourteen-and-a-half round the calf; 
 it's a pity it shonld be wasted. I should look stunning 
 on the stage. Oh, I ought to be an actress, I ought, I 
 ought!" She picked up her white frilled petticoat on 
 either side and did a few dainty steps in the middle of 
 the room, then dipped a filmy, lace-trimmed one over 
 her head and deftly kicked the discarded skirt on to the 
 bed. 
 
 "What a fearfully extravagant petticoat, Pitz!" said 
 Helen. 
 
 "Well, this is my best. I must wear decent clothes 
 sometimes to keep up my self-respect. ' '
 
 DOWNWARD 75 
 
 "But the one you've taken off is beautifully trimmed 
 too. You must spend a lot on your clothes, Fitz!" 
 
 "I haven't a lot to spend, but certainly it does all go 
 on clothes. I adore clothes, especially frills and laces. 
 Mother always said it was the underneath that mattered 
 most. I couldn't bear to have sordid petticoats, though, 
 no doubt, they must be a great safeguard. Messalina 
 herself would have kept straight in Brooky's black 
 alpaca and red flannel abominations. Perhaps that's 
 why Brooks wears them! Now, don't look so shocked, it 
 bores me; and, besides, I must break out after a whole 
 week with old Mrs. Nebuchadnezzar- what 's-her-name ! " 
 
 "I hate to hear you talk like that, Dolly." 
 
 "Well, my child, you ought to be hardened by now; 
 it's nothing to the things Brooky says!" Her voice 
 came indistinctly. She was kneeling on the floor, half 
 under the bed, groping for the cardboard box which held 
 her best hat. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I know, the others can say what they will. 
 But you, Dolly, it always hurts nw to hear you talking in 
 that loose way, because I 'm fond of you, I suppose, and 
 because there's so much good in you. It seems to me 
 such a pity that you let the bad have its way so easily. 
 You say risque things at first because you think it amus- 
 ing, and later you 11 find it a habit, and such habits wear 
 away all one's natural refinement and sensitiveness, all 
 one's innate delicacy. When a woman's once lost that, 
 she's lost almost everything, for words and thoughts 
 lead on to deeds " 
 
 Dolly was busy fastening her pretty light dress; her 
 face was grave. "Am I getting coarse?" she was think- 
 ing. "Am I really deteriorating going downward?" 
 
 Helen went on, speaking very earnestly in her sweet, 
 low voice. " Deeds, Dolly. If all the fallen women 
 in London to-day looked back to their first step, whatever 
 form it took, they would find that before that again, the 
 very beginning of it all was a running after pleasure, 
 feverish craving for excitement for its own sake, an in- 
 creasing carelessness of speech. Little by little, from
 
 76 DOWNWARD 
 
 small things to great, till they lost all the beautiful 
 things that could keep their feet on the upward path, all 
 the real props to spirituality, and then " 
 
 "Oh, nonsense!" said Dolly, "the beginning of it all 
 is that they're seduced by some brute of a man." 
 
 ' ' They get to that in time, but I argue that that is not 
 the beginning : the mind is corrupted first, the defences 
 weakened. As a rule, a woman must have gone a long 
 way downward before that can happen to her, before 
 she could ever permit herself to be in such circumstances 
 as to make it possible. I'm speaking, of course, of women 
 of normal temperament, and not of those who are inher- 
 ently vicious in the first instance; of course, for such 
 there is no help, they would be bound to come to it, how- 
 ever sheltered, but I'm firmly convinced that they are 
 in the minority and that half the lost women could be 
 saved if " 
 
 "If men would let them alone," said Dolly, fiercely, 
 driving in her hatpins. 
 
 "No, if they would let men alone ! There are very few 
 men who don't wait for the woman's signal. She may 
 not always give it deliberately, she may hardly know she 
 has given it, but the man knows, believe me !" 
 
 "How do you know all this?" asked Dolly, looking 
 shrewdly at Helen, as she sat down on the bed to put on 
 her walking-shoes. 
 
 "I've learnt it by degrees in my twenty-nine years. 
 I've been through two London seasons, you know, but 
 most of it 1 got first hand from a woman how I pitied 
 her! She was one of them, and was in my ward, when 
 1 first went to Guy's. She had been a lady refined, 
 caret' ally brought up, and now she was dying alone and 
 in great anguish of mind. She used to tell me the most 
 piteous tilings: it would have torn your heart to hear it. 
 It weighed fearfully on her mind that she could do 
 nothing to warn the thousands of thoughtless girls who 
 were treading that same path she had trodden, without 
 knowing where it would lead them. She died in my
 
 DOWNWARD 77 
 
 arms; it haunted me for months after. I shall never 
 forget it" 
 
 The golden voice faltered. Dolly sat on the bed, 
 looking at her silently. 
 
 "And then I learnt a good deal more from a private 
 patient I had once. He was very well known in Society, 
 very fascinating and handsome. His conscience used to 
 worry him terribly, for he, too, was dying. Although 
 quite young, he had a great deal on his mind, and he 
 used to say it helped him to confess to me oh, such 
 things, Dolly !" She covered her face for a moment with 
 her hands. 
 
 Helen went on : " He seemed to find a great comfort 
 in the fact that he had never harmed a good woman, and 
 he always ended his questionings with the same speech : 
 ' When I found a woman willing to play the devil, I was 
 glad enough to play the devil with her, but I always 
 respected the right sort. That will be taken into ac- 
 count, won't it, nurse!' I wasn't at all sure that such 
 a negative victory wouldn't be absolutely taken for 
 granted, but it was the only comfort he had, that one 
 little piece of self-restraint to his credit, and that made 
 it so pitiful, I thought." 
 
 ""Well, it's small wonder I'm as I am, considering," 
 returned Dolly, brusquely. Helen had moved her more 
 than she cared to own. ' ' Now I must go ; I shall be 
 late as it is. Have I got everything purse gloves 
 umbrella no, I shan't want an umbrella." 
 
 "Better take your cape; you'll be cold." 
 
 "What! spoil the effect with a horrid little uniform 
 cape? No, indeed! Gome along, Helen, I must fly; 
 you 11 go and see Lady Walter, I suppose? Cliffy 's 
 looking after her this evening." 
 
 They walked down the narrow stair together. "Good- 
 bye. Thanks for your warnings ; I know you mean 
 well," Dolly said as they parted at Lady Walter's door. 
 
 "I'm sorry I couldn't persuade you, but perhaps 
 you 11 see I'm right soon, and that Colin Lester is no fit 
 friend for you. Good-bye, dear."
 
 78 DOWNWARD 
 
 Dolly ran quickly down the stairs. The page-boy 
 looked at her admiringly as he opened the door. "A 
 hansom, nurse?" he asked. 
 
 "Avaunt, Willy! I've told you not to tempt me. 
 You know my weakness for cabs, and you know I can't 
 afford them," and holding up her long skirt, with her 
 arm at the correct modish angle, Dolly hurried to her 
 rendezvous.
 
 DOLLY had applied for "theatre time," which en- 
 abled her to stay out till 11.30. The dock in Cavendish 
 Square had just struck the kour when she climbed the 
 stairs of the nursing home that night. As she opened 
 her door, Nurse Brooks called softly from the adjoining 
 room: 
 
 "Fitz! Fitz! Sh! be careful! You 11 wake Dicken- 
 son, and she'll snap our heads off. Well, do tell me 
 about it. Did you have a good time?" 
 
 "So-so." 
 
 "Why, what's the matter!" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "Did you dine at his flat?" 
 
 "Of course not! Don't you know that Miss St. John 
 has the flat next door." 
 
 "Well, that's a fairly palpable arrangement!" 
 
 "Exactly! Probably she has holes bored in the walls 
 so that she can supervise Colin ' movements." 
 
 "Well, did he make love to you?" 
 
 "Of course not," mocked Dolly; "men of the world 
 never make love to a woman when tkey've paid for her 
 dinner, do they ? They ask her out to talk politics and 
 theology, don't they? What idiotic questions you ask! 
 Don't you know what an actor's like, after dinner, in 
 a cab?" 
 
 "No such luck!" 
 
 Dolly shivered with disgust. "Sometimes, Brooky, 
 when you talk like that really I hate you!" 
 
 "Goodness! you must have had a rotten evening! Do 
 tell me what has happened. ' ' 
 
 "Well, I've done with him, that's all." 
 79
 
 80 DOWNWARD 
 
 "What! Why ever oh, not the same reason as you 
 threw over Mr. Galloway, surely?" 
 
 "Yes the same reason, only Colin was a beast about 
 it, and Galloway at least was desperately in love 
 with me." 
 
 ' ' Well, Fitz, I do think you're a fool ! ' ' Nurse Brooks 
 sat up in bed in her excitement. "Colin Lester! Why, 
 you could go on the stage then, and he'd simply make 
 you." 
 
 "That's what he said, but, thanks, I don't want that 
 kind of making. If I loved him it might be different. 
 Besides, what about Marguerite St. John she does love 
 him." 
 
 The other woman shrugged her shoulders express- 
 ively. "Oh, well, some one's got to go to the wall; one 
 must think of oneself. But Colin Lester! Oh, Fitz, you 
 are a fool ! Why, all the Society women are mad about 
 him. They 'd simply jump at him. ' ' 
 
 "I daresay they would, but I'm not a Society 
 woman!" 
 
 "Well, what is it you do want? You won't marry 
 when you're asked to, and you won't do the other thing, 
 and you don't want to stay here!" 
 
 "Good night," said Dolly, abruptly, taking up her 
 candle. 
 
 In her own room she collected all the photographs and 
 prints of the actor and made a bonfire of them in the tiny 
 grate. This childish proceeding seemed to ease her wrath 
 a little. There were only three portraits left on the 
 mantelpiece, and Dolly examined them thoughtfully. 
 
 * ' He makes a bit of a blank, ' ' she thought. ' ' Oh, dear ! 
 life will be natter than ever now. No more theatre 
 passes! I do wieh hs'd waited a few weeks until after 
 my holiday. Perhaps I'd better have married Harold 
 Gordon, after all." She was considering the portrait of 
 a thin, flat-faced young man. "He wouldn't have 
 minded my going on the stage, and then he could have 
 written me up for aU the papers. A post card with 
 'Well . ' on it would bring him rushing back to me. But
 
 DOWNWARD 81 
 
 no, it wouldn't be fair to him and poor little Freddy 
 Smith ; what a repulsive photo he makes always in a 
 Norfolk suit to make him look bigger, I suppose and 
 leaning on a gun, which he couldn't load to save his life, 
 much less fire! How curious it is ths way he goes on 
 imploring me to marry him year after year as if I 
 could ! Only the poor specimens of men have asked me 
 to marry them after all, both at the hospital and since. 
 I don't seem to attract the really decent men, like I) acre 
 Hamilton." She picked up the third photo. "Dear, 
 dear old Dacre; lie never changes. What a splendid 
 friend he has been to me, but he doesn't love me a scrap. 
 I wish he did; one might find peace with him. I must 
 go and see him soon. Perhaps he will help me to get out 
 of this at last, if he sees I 'm really in earnest. ' ' 
 
 She leaned out of the open window, looking across the 
 slate roofs of Wigmore Street and the backs of the 
 houses in Weymouth Street. All around, as far as the 
 horizon, there was nothing to be seen but roofs and 
 chimney-pots. It was very quiet, the subdued roar of the 
 West End was stilling at last. 
 
 She looked out along the black slates and up at the 
 eternal stars. The light breeze cooled her hot cheeks; 
 her eyes were wide and sad. 
 
 "I wonder what will become of me?" she said to the 
 stars. ' ' Oh, I wonder what will become of me ! ' '
 
 VI 
 
 LITTLE Nurse Morley, surprised weeping silently in 
 the bathroom, admitted to Nurse Jessop that Fitz had 
 been so dreadfully c-c-cross with her about giving Lady 
 Walter the wrong hot-bottle, she c-e-c-c-couldn 't help 
 c-c-crying. 
 
 "It's too bad!" the sympathetic Nurse Jessop had 
 confided to Nurse Clifford as they sat on the stairs occu- 
 pied with their knitting. "Fitz has no right to let her- 
 self go like that, and upset little Morley so. It's such a 
 trifling matter after all." 
 
 "Two pearl, two plain," counted the elder woman 
 below her breath, intent on the grey stocking in her 
 hand. "Yes, Fitz has been in a horrible temper all the 
 week. When she isn't downright snappish, she's in the 
 blues and won't speak. I wonder what's the matter now. 
 It makes a great difference to us all when she 's like this. 
 Her high spirits are so infectious, and she has such a 
 power of brightening and cheering, don't you think? 
 But she's never really been the same since she went to 
 Monte Carlo. It thoroughly unsettled her." 
 
 Nurse Morley, still tearful, had crept down the stairs 
 and seated herself quietly behind the others. 
 
 "Monte Carlo!" she said in a voice of awe. "Has 
 Fitz been there f With a patient?" 
 
 "It was last year, before you came. Haven't you ever 
 heard her talk about it ? " 
 
 ' ' No how lovely for her 1 I suppose she went with a 
 patient?" 
 
 "Not she! She went with some theatrical friends of 
 
 hers, and they gave her a splendid time. You should 
 
 have seen the clothes she got for the trip ; only a few and 
 
 quite simple, but so effective ! Fitz in her casino dress 
 
 82
 
 DOWNWARD 83 
 
 do you remember, Jessop ? It was quite a revelation to 
 me. Wasn't she lovely?" 
 
 "She can look very nice," said the other, with her 
 habitual sigh. 
 
 "But how on earth could she afford it?" burst out 
 little Nurse Morley, excitedly. 
 
 "Well, she saved up for the outfit for a long time. She 
 has private means, you know, as well as her screw, and 
 her lawyer or guardian, or whatever he is, let her have 
 60 of the money her mother left her. They went to a 
 comparatively cheap hotel, but it only lasted a few 
 weeks and then Pitz came home alone." 
 
 "Are yon sure that was how she did it?" 
 
 "Morley, child I have you caught our nasty, suspicious, 
 uncharitable tone?" exclaimed Nurse Clifford, reprov- 
 ingly. " I 'm surprised at you ! Yes, I am quite sure ; 
 she showed us the lawyer's letter. She knew what a set 
 of cats we are and was most anxious we should know it 
 was all above board." 
 
 "All women living in an entirely feminine community 
 become cats," remarked Nurse Jessop, with unusual 
 acumen. 
 
 "Yes, we do seem to need masculine leaven to keep us 
 sweet. That's one reason why I advocate staying in the 
 hospitals or taking up private work. The atmosphere of 
 a nursing home isn't good for one's soul. But Morley 's 
 only a kitten, and she ought not to darelop our cat-like 
 ways for years." 
 
 "You're not a cat, Cliff," said the kitten, shyly, 
 caressing the other woman's arm as she sat behind her. 
 She flushed slightly at finding she had used the familiar 
 nickname to one so much her senior. 
 
 " Morley 's nearly as old as Fitz," Nurse Jessop was 
 saying, ' ' and Fitz is only twenty-five. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, but Fitz was seeing life at fint hand when she 
 was a child. She could manage to see life on a desert 
 island. If you locked her in a cellar for jean, lifte 
 would somehow get through to her from some grating. 
 Morley 's only a baby- woman. Fitz is a a "
 
 84 DOWNWARD 
 
 The nurses all looked at each, other; they could not 
 think of a word that would just describe Nurse 
 Fitzgerald. 
 
 "Anyhow," finished Nurse Clifford, "don't forget, 
 Morley, that Fitz is as straight as a die." 
 
 "So far," said Nurse Dickenson, laconically, from her 
 post on the landing. She was leaning wearily against 
 the wall, waiting for Doctor Walter Gordon to emerge 
 from the adjoining room, where he was visiting Nurse 
 Brooks' patient, Mrs. Knowles. 
 
 There was no regular sitting-room for the nurses when 
 on duty. They had their meals in the little basement- 
 room, and here they might also sit during their off-duty 
 time, which, however, they invariably spent either in 
 their bedrooms lying down, or out of doors. On duty, 
 when not actually in their patients' rooms, they were 
 expected to be close at hand, and they generally sat on 
 the stairs or landing where the electric bell-indicator 
 could be seen. Whenever a bedroom was vacant on the 
 first floor they were allowed to use it for this purpose, 
 but they rather preferred the stairs, where the life of the 
 house generally centred, with the doctors going to and 
 fro and the patients' visitors passing up and down. 
 
 "I suppose Fitz had lots of adventures," pursued 
 Nurse Morley, evidently fascinated by the subject of the 
 Monte Carlo trip. 
 
 "Well, I expect so," answered Nurse Clifford. "She 
 met a lot of very gay, queer people Colin Lester, the 
 actor, for instance. ' ' 
 
 "Was that where she met him? I often wondered." 
 
 "Yes, and on the way coming home she struck up an 
 acquaintance with a fellow traveller, a man really in 
 Society, you know" (the actor-manager would not 
 have appreciated the fine distinction implied by the 
 speaker's emphasis on "really") "and he went simply 
 cracked about her at first sight. ' ' 
 
 "How do you know he did?" asked Nurse Morley. 
 
 "Yes, how do you know?" sneered Nurse Dickenson. 
 
 Mary Clifford's kindly, honest face grew severe.
 
 DOWNWARD 85 
 
 "How?" she asked, "because Fitz told me something of 
 the trouble he gave her. She said he was charming, and 
 she would have liked to keep up a friendship with him, 
 and got taken to Ascot and Banelagh, and all that sort 
 of thing, but he behaved too impossibly. F;tz isn't the 
 sort of woman who invents tales of men's attentions to 
 her; she has no need to" Dolly's champion looked 
 pointedly round the circle of downcast faces ' ' and even 
 it' she hadn't told me so do you suppose at my time of 
 life I don't know the sort of woman who makes men 
 lose their wits 1 ' ' 
 
 "I wonder how she does it!" said Molly Morley, in- 
 voluntarily, then reddening again at having spoken her 
 thought aloud. Nurse Clifford gave a short, contemptu- 
 ous laugh. 
 
 ' ' There 's no how it 's a gift, and Fitz has got it. ' ' 
 
 "But she's not so beautiful some people wouldn't 
 call her beautiful at all," put in Nurse Dickenson. 
 
 "Perhaps not, but beauty isn't necessary always. It's 
 something beyond beauty, that will last when beauty's 
 long since dead. Poor Fitz! I'm sorry for her; she's 
 so out of place here. She ought to be on the stage or in 
 Society. She ought to be queening it somewhere 
 somehow. ' ' 
 
 ' ' S-sh ! here 's the Doc. ' ' Nurse Dickenson assumed an 
 air of alertness as the door opened and the somewhat 
 portly form of the famous specialist appeared, followed 
 by Nurse Brooks. 
 
 "That's all, nurse," he said, nodding to her. 
 
 "Thank you, sir," she murmured. 
 
 Nurse Dickenson had opened the door of her patient 's 
 room and stood deferentially aside for the doctor to 
 enter. But the Guinea-Grabber merely stood in the 
 doorway and put his head over the screen at the foot of 
 the bed which faced the door. 
 
 "Well, young lady," he said in a deep, jolly voice, 
 "no need to ask how you are. Rolling in fat, eh ? She's 
 taking all the milk, eh, nurse? That's right! Force it
 
 86 DOWNWARD 
 
 down, whether you want it or not. Why, we shall have 
 to enlarge the door when you leave, ha! ha!" 
 
 The nurses outside heard a giggle from the patient, 
 who was undergoing the Weir-Mitchell "cram-cure," as 
 they called it. She was a perfectly healthy, though con- 
 stitutionally thin young woman who, professedly taking 
 the cure for nerves, was in reality doing so in the secret 
 hope of covering her collar-bones. 
 
 Dr. Walton Gordon, with a cheery "Good-bye, keep it 
 up !" was half-way down the stairs two minutes after the 
 patient's door had been opened for him. 
 
 "He'll call that a visit and charge a guinea for it," 
 said Nurse Brooks. "The Guinea-Grabber is really out- 
 grabbing himself. His visits get shorter and shorter the 
 longer he has the patient in his clutches. At first he'll 
 sit down by the bed and stay about fifteen minutes; it's 
 gradually reduced to five; then he doesn't sit down at 
 all, and, lastly, he stands in the doorway and says 
 'Ha! ha!"' 
 
 "If my patient stays another week, it'll be shortened 
 to 'Ha!' I suppose," said Adela Dickenson. 
 
 "His last stage is just to put his head in at the door 
 and nod silently." 
 
 "Well, he knows there's nothing whatever the matter 
 with them mostly," said Nurse Clifford. "Why should 
 a man like Wally a real healing genius waste his time 
 talking trash to those fashionable fools, in Parisian night- 
 gowns dotted with blue ribbons ? After all, why is it he 
 hurries? Because he's anxious to get down to the hos- 
 pital where people really are ill and not just playing at 
 it by way of a new sensation ! (Heaven knows the poor 
 souls must be hard up for something to do if they can 
 only get a change by stopping in bed at ten guineas a 
 week ! ) He never hurries when any one 's really ill. ' ' 
 
 "No, that's true; he was with Mrs. Knowles nearly 
 twenty minutes," agreed Nurse Brooks. 
 
 "Exactly, even with beribboned fools he knows the 
 difference between one who is ill and one who isn't." 
 
 A bell rang; every white-capped head was raised in
 
 DOWNWARD 8J 
 
 the direction of the indicator. "Mrs. Knowles!" ejacu- 
 lated Nurse Brooks, as she hurried off. "I wish that 
 woman would give me a minute 's peace ! ' ' 
 
 "Here's Sister, with Dr. Raven," whispered Nurse 
 Morley, looking over the banisters. All the women invol- 
 untarily straightened themselves; cap-strings were fin- 
 gered, hair arranged, cuffs pulled down. It was not 
 their employer, Sister Meredith, who evoked these mani- 
 festations of self -consciousness, but "Anthony the 
 Adorable." 
 
 The nurses' faces brightened, a wave of some subtle 
 electricity, some indefinable strengthening force, seemed 
 to pass up the stairs with Anthony Raven. They rose, 
 smiling, as he went by, and he seemed to include them all 
 in his genial nod of greeting. His deep, brilliant blue 
 eyes glanced from face to face in passing. Anthony 
 Raven never missed a woman's countenance. 
 
 Sister Meredith knocked at Lady Walter's door and 
 the two passed in. All the nurses sighed even Adela 
 Dickenson looked pleased and bright. 
 
 "Isn't he splendid!" said Gertrude Jessop, sentimen- 
 tally. She was wont to say it about four times a week 
 with reference to Dr. Raven. 
 
 "Almost too splendid," agreed Nurse Clifford. 
 
 "How d'you mean ( ioo splendid'?" 
 
 "Well, I mean what I say Anthony's overwhelming. 
 He's too good-looking, somehow his exceptional height, 
 his long, absolutely straight back, his iron-grey hair and 
 patrician profile and those wonderful china-blue eyes 
 well, it's altogether too dazzling for a man. It needs all 
 his tremendously good breeding to carry off such mag- 
 nificence, or it would be quite a vulgar display." 
 
 "How absurd you are, Cliff!" 
 
 "No, I'm serious. Don't you see it, Dicky?" 
 
 "I know what you mean. If he were dark he'd look 
 an adventurer." 
 
 "You've just hit it! His colouring saves him. A 
 black moustache over those faultless teeth would damn 
 him. Or if he were languid and haw-hawish instead of
 
 88 DOWNWARD 
 
 full of vitality, he'd be like one of Ouida's dreadful 
 guardsmen. ' ' 
 
 "He'd be less overwhelming with an indifferent 
 tailor," said Nurse Dickenson. 
 
 " So he would, ' ' agreed the other. ' ' His faultless tail- 
 coats, and perfect trousers, and wonderful boots all add 
 to his overwhelmingness. Fortunately, he has one weak- 
 ness his moustache. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Weakness ! ' ' echoed little Morley, quite bewildered 
 by the turn of the conversation; "but it's the most 
 lovely, long, fair moustache!" 
 
 "True, but it hides a bad mouth. I know Anthony's 
 got a cruel, sensual mouth under his Vere-de-Vereish 
 moustache. I know it by instinct, and am grateful for 
 the flaw. To me a moustache is always a flaw, though no 
 doubt it's better than showing the wrong mouth. If on 
 the top of all his other glories he was clean-shaven with 
 the right mouth, well he'd be too impossibly radiant." 
 
 Suddenly Lady Walter's door at the far end of the 
 landing burst open and Dolly marched out, banging it 
 behind her. At this unheard-of breach of good nursing, 
 Mary Clifford rose to her feet with an involuntary 
 "S-sh!" anxious for the professional honour of the 
 house. At that moment a bell summoned Nurse Jessop, 
 and little Nurse Morley, noting the storm-cloud on 
 Dolly's face, thought best to disappear also. Nurse 
 Clifford and Dolly were left alone. 
 
 "What is it?" asked the older woman, anxiously. 
 Dolly was evidently trying to control a royal rage. "It's 
 Anthony ! ' ' she muttered between her teeth, grasping the 
 rail, as she leaned on the banisters, "and it's the third 
 time he 's done it ! " 
 
 "Done what?" 
 
 "Asked me to leave the room when I'm nursing a 
 patient of his!" 
 
 "What! . . . Had anything happened? Had yon 
 made a mistake?" 
 
 "I never make mistakes with a patient! No, nothing 
 happened. I was standing aside as usual more in the
 
 DOWNWARD 89 
 
 background, perhaps, than usual, since Sister was there 
 and all at once I noticed he was watching me my 
 reflection, I mean in the overmantel glass. I caught his 
 eye twice, and he said suddenly, seeming irritated: 'I 
 shan't want you, nurse.' Sister put up her eyebrows 
 and even the patient looked surprised. Lady Walter 
 knows I'm supposed to be a first-class nurse. Of course 
 I went immediately. ' ' 
 
 1 ' Strange ! ' ' murmured the other. ' ' And you say he 's 
 done it before?" 
 
 "Twice before. Once when I was nursing old Sir 
 Thomas Bartlet, and again when I had that Miss Lincoln 
 who died. Twice, and always entirely without apparent 
 reason just as if I got on his nerves, almost. I ! I!" 
 Dolly, used to praise as a nurse and homage as a woman, 
 felt the tears smarting in her eyes at the unaccustomed 
 slight 
 
 "It's certainly very odd," said Nurse Clifford. "Is he 
 generally nice to you?" 
 
 "Well, he was all right when he was visiting in my 
 ward at Bart's, but that was so seldom. The first time 
 I ever saw hiia when I first started as a pro, he was 
 awfully nice, asked me questions about myself and alto- 
 gether made such a fuss about me that the ward-sister 
 thought it necessary to snub me for weeks afterwards, 
 for fear I should get stuck up by notice from a consult- 
 ant. But be was never like it again, and somehow I 
 fancied he seemed annoyed when he met me here first, 
 and though he stares at me a good deal, I always get the 
 impression that my presence irritates him." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense! Impossible!" said Nurse Clifford. 
 "You're making too much of it altogether. I daresay 
 he wanted to say something private to Sister.'* 
 
 Dolly shook her head. "It's not customary to dismiss 
 a nurse from th patient's room like that, as you well 
 know. I shall speak to Sister about it. ' ' 
 
 Presently the senior nurse was summoned away, but 
 Dolly was left leaning over the banisters for a few min- 
 utes only. The little page-boy from the half-landing
 
 90 DOWNWARD 
 
 below announced: "Mr. "Walter to see Lady Walter," 
 and before Dolly could speak she saw Theo ascending the 
 staircase. Her reprimand to the page reached the visitor 
 instead. 
 
 "Why didn't you wait in the parlour?" she asked, 
 curtly. 
 
 "Perhaps because the spider wasn't there," he an- 
 swered, unexpectedly. Theo's smile was irresistible; it 
 seemed to light up and transform his habitually sulky 
 face. Hitherto he had given her half-furtive looks, hur- 
 ried, uneasy glances. That the thought of her had 
 troubled him, Dolly knew well, and the open admiration 
 for the first time visible in his peculiar eyes was in itself 
 enough to dispel her gloomy mood. His unaccustomed 
 gaiety, moreover, took her by surprise. 
 
 She smiled back and asked, "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Don't be so severe with me, Miss Fitzgerald," he 
 answered, evading her question, which Dolly straightway 
 forgot. In her present mood she was grateful for the 
 "Miss." Here was some one who remembered she was 
 a human being, to whom she was a woman, not merely 
 the nurse, the useful machine to be ordered here and 
 there, and turned out of the room to suit a doctor's 
 whim. Theo called her by her name, too; doubtless he 
 had heard it from Helen or his mother. 
 
 "Why are you looking so pleased all at once?" he 
 asked. It was strange how suddenly familiar and at ease 
 they had become, these two, who had hitherto hardly 
 spoken. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," said Dolly, lightly; "it's nice to 
 be called 'Miss Fitzgerald' sometimes. One gets tired of 
 being 'Nurse' to every one, just an official with no per- 
 sonality of one's own. But why are you here so early? 
 It's very irregular! Dr. Raven is only now paying his 
 visit to your mother." 
 
 "I'll wait but not in the waiting-room, please! It 
 was such a glorious morning ; I seemed to want to talk to 
 some one some one nice, and tell them how I felt about
 
 DOWNWARD 91 
 
 May in London. So on my way down to Chambers, I 
 felt I must look up ... my mother." 
 
 "I see. I didn't realize that Wimpole Street was on 
 the way between Jermyn Street and the Inns of Court, 
 or wherever it is barristers go." 
 
 "Oh, any place one wants to go to is always on one's 
 way. ' ' He emphasized the word ' ' wants. ' ' 
 
 "Yet he knows Helen isn't here," thought Dolly. 
 
 For a brief moment they looked in each other's eyes 
 silently. It was Theo who turned his glance away first. 
 "How did you know my place was in Jermyn Street?" 
 he asked, hurriedly, feeling the silence difficult. 
 
 "Lady Walter talks of you a good deal." 
 
 "I'm moving from there next week. The atmosphere 
 of Jermyn Street is too prosaic ; I hate the place. The 
 Temple suits me ever so much better; it's one of the few 
 romantic spots left in London. I've managed to secure 
 delightful rooms, with a wonderful old window the real 
 old stone-work of the Elizabethan period." He broke off 
 just in time to prevent himself saying: "you must come 
 and see it." . . . How quick the thing was going! How 
 this girl with the aureole of brilliant hair made him say 
 things he'd never meant to say. . . . But it would be 
 pleasant to see her in his rooms. His fancy pictured 
 Dolly, in her nurse's costume moving about his sitting- 
 room, examining his pictures, admiring his cherished 
 window. . . . Then he imagined her in different clothes, 
 in evening dress some subtle, glittering, exquisite gown, 
 that would reveal a white throat and satiny shoulders. 
 He pictured her clad thus lying on his divan, among the 
 cushions of blue Persian brocade, her feet in slender 
 silver shoes peeping out from the swirl of her skirts. . . . 
 
 He was looking at her feet now just visible below 
 the short uniform skirt. Slowly travelling upwards, his 
 glance dwelt on her neat round waist, and was arrested 
 by the beautiful curve of her bosom. "What a figure!" 
 he told himself. . . . 
 
 Her eyes drew him irresistibly. Almost unwillingly he 
 found himself looking deeply into them, and this time
 
 92 DOWNWARD 
 
 unable to look away, until inevitably a still stronger 
 impulse drew bis eyes to her lips. . . . 
 
 "Row this woman could kiss!" the thought burned 
 in his mind. 
 
 Anthony Eaven, softly opening the adjoining door, 
 saw them standing thus in silenoe, noted Theo's rapt 
 expression and the gleam in Dolly's eyes. He walked 
 past without a word, and Dolly, catching the furious 
 annoyance of the glance he threw her, stood amazed. 
 
 "Why should he mind?" she thought. "He isn't in 
 love with me. ... It serves me right, though; I'm a 
 brute for making eyes at Helen's man." 
 
 Theo was at a loss to account for the sudden chilliness 
 of her manner, as abruptly she showed him into Lady 
 Walter's room. Sister Meredith, who, fortunately for 
 Dolly, had not followed Dr. Raven out, also received him 
 coldly. Visitors in the morning were a nuisance, and 
 an irregularity not to be tolerated in her well-conducted 
 establishment 1
 
 VII 
 
 THEO WALTER looked a man to be made or marred by 
 women. So far other women had marred what his 
 mother had striven to make. 
 
 This lady, having attained some distinction as an 
 artist, had married, somewhat late in life, Sir Henry 
 Walter, an eminent barrister. The elderly pair hardly 
 expected to be parents, and they hailed the advent of 
 their child with great rejoicings. 
 
 Theo inherited the talents but none of the strength 
 and stability of his brilliant parents. Concentration was 
 a faculty entirely denied him. He seemed likely to prove 
 one of those undeniably gifted people who yet never 
 achieve. The temperament of artist and dreamer which 
 he inherited from his mother conflicted with the strong 
 passions of his father, whose profession it was unwisely 
 decreed he should follow. 
 
 The dull routine of law studies was intensely distaste- 
 ful to Theo, steeped in poetry and romance as he had 
 been from his earliest childhood. He rebelled passion- 
 ately against his father's decree, but the stern old man, 
 realizing the dangers that beset a youth of Theo's char- 
 acter, held firmly to the idea that hard work would prove 
 his son 's salvation. Theo vehemently offered to ' ' slave ' ' 
 (he was given to superlatives and exaggerated forms 
 of speech) at Art as a profession, but his father ridi- 
 culed the idea of "hard work" in such a connexion. In 
 Theo's case the connexion between law studies and hard 
 work was equally absurd, but this the old barrister, who 
 in his time had been a giant for work, did not perceive. 
 
 Theo's mother worshipped him. Her bitter disap- 
 pointment that the longed-for baby did not prove a 
 93
 
 94 DOWNWARD 
 
 daughter was followed by a deep elation at tlie discovery, 
 as the years went on, that the man-child she had borne 
 in middle-age was not to be the usual, unimaginative, 
 noisy, boisterous British lad, but a being of a finer 
 timbre and a rarer intelligence, in whose dreamy eyes 
 she could read her own longings and aspirations, her 
 own thoughts and ideals who took the same deep delight 
 in the subtle arrangement of colours and, later on, of 
 words whose soul seemed the very reflex of her own, 
 and yet who was manly withal, and liked boyish games 
 and the company of other boys. 
 
 Until he was eleven, his mother was his only teacher. 
 She had a pavilion built in the garden of their beautiful 
 country home, and there he had his lessons and his play. 
 The walls were so constructed that they could be slid into 
 grooves, and whenever the weather permitted the pavil- 
 ion was thus turned into a garden room. Climbing roses, 
 clematis and honeysuckle covered it, and beds of flowers 
 cut into the emerald turf around made bright the out- 
 look from the latticed windows. Both in winter and 
 summer the choicest flowers and plants from the con- 
 servatory were saved to decorate the child's rooms. 
 
 There were a few good pictures on the walls, chosen 
 mostly for their colour. Lady Walter was a great be- 
 liever in the educative value of colour. Charming 
 chintzes covered the simple, artistic furniture, and 
 bright, hand-woven rugs from Donegal lay on the 
 ground. In the night nursery where his mother slept 
 with him until at nine years old he had decided this to 
 be "babyish" and begged a room to himself the same 
 plan was observed, and Theo opened his eyes daily on 
 beautiful pictures which coloured his dreams. His toys, 
 books, even the china used at his meals, were all most 
 carefully chosen. Nothing ugly was allowed to be near 
 him, and no grotesque, red-nosed policeman-dolls or 
 hideous golliwogs ever had the chance of being taken to 
 his childish heart. 
 
 His mother taught him to draw and to paint ; she read 
 with him and implanted in him a scholarly taste in liter-
 
 DOWNWARD 95 
 
 ature. His knowledge of the poets at twelve years old 
 was really extraordinary. In natural history and bot- 
 any, too, he was far in advance of his years. Little else 
 he learnt, but as he grew and a taste for refinement and 
 beauty developed in him, his mother's hopes knew no 
 bounds. All the heroes of romance whom she so loved 
 were personified in her dream of his manhood. He was 
 to be Galahad, Arthur the poet for whom the world 
 waited, the painter before whom the world bowed. 
 
 When he was in his twelfth year, Sir Henry suddenly 
 announced that "his mother was making a damned fool 
 of the boy," and Theo was packed off to Eton before 
 Lady Walter had had time to realize what it meant to 
 her. From his first term he returned a young savage 
 his delicate perceptions brutalized and blunted, his inno- 
 cent mind defiled, to the gentle mother's anguish and 
 despair, though his father was apparently well pleased 
 with him. 
 
 Later Theo regained his balance when the flood of new 
 impressions were past, and at Oxford his temperament 
 asserted itself permanently. He took a creditable de- 
 gree, wrote very pretty verses, played the violin like an 
 angel, and his paintings gave evidence of much real 
 talent. His good looks and charm were undeniable. At 
 home he was always sweet-tempered, always the loving 
 and devoted son; so his mother accepted the inevitable 
 with a sigh, and shut the door of her heart on her beau- 
 tiful dreams, striving to forget as they faded and died 
 one after another, that her mind had ever given them 
 birth. The bitterness of the disappointment was soft- 
 ened by its gradual evolution and by his sincere and 
 tender love for her. As long as he remained hers, she 
 could forgive him much. 
 
 But when he left Oxford and settled down to read for 
 the Bar, the poor mother saw that he was indeed but 
 little hers. So as not to be parted from him any longer, 
 they left their country home and took a house in town, 
 somewhat to the young man's annoyance. Sir Henry 
 since maturity a stern moralist in his old age had be-
 
 96 DOWNWARD 
 
 come an almost fanatical puritan, despite, or perhaps 
 because of, his own wild youth. His espionage of Theo 's 
 goings and comings was the cause of much friction be- 
 tween father and son, who had hitherto been the best of 
 friends. He was now over eighty, but his great intellect 
 remained unimpaired, and it was matter for astonish- 
 ment that the wonderful and extensive knowledge of 
 human nature which had contributed to his success 
 should so completely fail him in the management of his 
 son. 
 
 The unwise and galling restrictions which he exercised 
 over the boy had exactly the contrary effect to that 
 desired. Theo was not allowed a latchkey, and one day, 
 owing to a sudden whim, Sir Henry decreed that hence- 
 forth the house must be shut for the night at half-past 
 eleven o'clock. The result was what might have been 
 expected Theo spent half his nights away from home, 
 and became drawn into a very undesirable set of men 
 and women. 
 
 Morally, his mind was a haze of unrealized ideals. 
 Honour, Truth, Charity, a clean life all things good 
 and lovely were emblazoned on his standard, but that 
 standard was frequently dragged through the mire. He 
 talked a great deal about Honour, and ' ' doing the square 
 thing," but, like most men who talk thus, he lacked the 
 moral courage to do it when it happened to be painful, 
 difficult or ridiculous. 
 
 It was in one of his fits of wild remorse and self- 
 loathing that Theo had asked his cousin Helen to be his 
 wife. He was very fond of her she adored him and 
 always had great influence over him. By the parents, 
 therefore, the engagement was regarded with great satis- 
 faction. Sir Henry Walter declared it was the most 
 sensible thing his son had ever done, and promptly 
 raised Theo's rather restricted allowance. 
 
 To his son he said: "You've made me happy; I've 
 hope for you now. Hard work and Helen may cheat the 
 devil of you yet. Stick to the law and keep away from 
 women. It's no use asking you to forego them women
 
 DOWNWARD 97 
 
 and dreams are in your blood. But be true to Helen 
 once she's yours she's too good to play with. Stick to 
 the law and stick to Helen." 
 
 Lady Walter was less sanguine. "Of course I see that 
 the boy would be better married," she said, "but one 
 woman could never really satisfy him. The Flesh and 
 the Spirit are too much at war in him. He wants three 
 women in one the Ideal, the Mistress, the Wife: one 
 woman to worship mysterious, beautiful, the embodi- 
 ment of all his dreams ; one for his wild moods I pray 
 they will be fewer now ; and one to live with and lean on 
 the strong, brave, tender, self-reliant helpmate." 
 
 "H'm, we'd all be satisfied with that variety," said 
 the old barrister, drily. "I'm sorry for Theo's three, 
 especially the third. For, as he can't have all three at 
 once, and he'll never find three in one, it's the third he 
 must have, and Helen's the woman. The lad has shown 
 wonderfully good sense for once in his life." 
 
 But the mother's eyes filled with tears; there was pain 
 as well as joy for her in her son's betrothal. Long ago 
 she had renounced the desire that he should be hers 
 only. She recognized the futility of such hopes, and 
 told herself it was unexpected happiness to share him 
 only with the much-loved niece, her dear sister's 
 daughter. 
 
 Yet now she wept; varied emotions stirred in her. 
 For the woman who was to be Theo's wife, pity and 
 envy were strangely blended. Poor Helen! how many 
 disappointments, how much anxiety might be hers 
 heart-search ings innumerable, bitter, lonely tears. 
 Happy, happy Helen! what exquisite moments, what 
 passionate joy would she know as Theo's wife. 
 
 It was settled that the wedding should take place when 
 the young man was called to the Bar. Sir Henry hoped 
 this arrangement would encourage Theo to press on with 
 his studies. At the same time he drew up a new will, 
 making the greater part of Theo 's inheritance dependent 
 on his marrying Helen and continuing in his profession. 
 The old man left everything to his wife in trust for their
 
 98 DOWNWARD 
 
 son, but if Theo gave up the legal profession within five 
 years of his being called to the Bar, his portion was to 
 be limited to five hundred a year. In the event of the 
 proposed marriage not taking place through any fault of 
 Theo's, he was to forfeit all but two hundred a year. 
 Helen was to be kept in ignorance of this latter clause. 
 
 Sir Henry flattered himself that he had thus made the 
 best possible arrangement for his son's welfare and hap- 
 piness. But on the old man's death, a few months after, 
 Theo was enraged and humiliated at discovering how 
 little he had been trusted, how completely his future was 
 taken out of his hands. He had always intended to 
 abandon the Law and devote himself to Art, as soon as 
 his father's death made him independent. This will 
 tied his hands more than ever. He did not expect to be 
 called to the Bar for another year, and then to have to 
 continue in the profession he hated for yet five years 
 more it was intolerable ! 
 
 The clause relating to Helen did not trouble him. He 
 genuinely desired her for his wife, and looked forward 
 to the marriage. That anything should occur to change 
 his attitude never entered his mind for an instant.
 
 VIII 
 
 WHEN she went off duty that afternoon, Dolly walked 
 down to Dacre Hamilton's office in Lincoln's Inn Fields. 
 
 "Sorry to keep you waiting," said the lawyer, as she 
 entered his room after half an hour's delay, "and even 
 now I can only spare you ten minutes. I 've got a meet- 
 ing of creditors here at three o'clock. No, if I were 
 you, I wouldn't have any more of that money I 
 wouldn't really!" 
 
 Dolly began to laugh. "You always know exactly 
 what I want to see you about, don't you?" 
 
 "Well, it must be nearly three months since you 
 asked. I've been expecting you these last four weeks!" 
 
 "Poor Mr. Hamilton, what a lot of bother I do give 
 you about that wretched scrap of money of mine! I 
 wonder you try to stop me spending it, and thus lay up 
 more future trouble for yourself." 
 
 "Well, child, I want you to keep what's left for some 
 emergency, and not waste it as you have done the rest. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, you can't call the dancing-lessons waste it may 
 be worth hundreds of pounds to me one day not to have 
 forgotten all my dancing ! And my Monte trip why, 
 it was an education ! It was the one bit of brightness in 
 my hard, dull life. The anticipation of it simply kept 
 me alive." 
 
 "And the retrospection?" 
 
 "Oh, well, I suppose it did unsettle me. I've never 
 been contented since." 
 
 "I can't somehow associate content with you, Dolly. 
 You've always been rebellion incarnate ever since the 
 very first day you shed tears on my old desk here." 
 
 Dolly's eyes softened. "You look exactly the same as 
 you did then. The ten years have only made a few nice. 
 99
 
 100 DOWNWARD 
 
 thoughtful lines on your face. . . . But do you wonder 
 I'm rebellious? I seem to have been sent into the world 
 simply to have all my desires thwarted. My life is 
 simply one continued thwart on the part of the powers 
 that be. But I haven't come to grizzle about that now; 
 it isn't your fault. I came " 
 
 "Tell me," said the lawyer, persuasively. At the 
 same time he looked over her head at the clock. He was 
 really fond of Dolly, but for his profession he had a 
 passion, and he had counted on a few minutes to look 
 up some notes before that meeting of creditors. 
 
 "It's simply this. I can't go on like this any more. 
 I've just about come to the end of my patience down 
 to bed-rock. If I 'm to go on as a nurse at all, I must go 
 back to Bart's or one of the other big hospitals. One can 
 breathe there, and it's something to be a part, however 
 small, of a splendid big institution that really stands 
 for something. But Meredith House stifles me. It seems 
 to mean nothing to be simply a sham. Half the pa- 
 tients are playing at being ill, and the doctors accord- 
 ingly play at healing, and we we don't seem real women 
 at all. But, still, I don't want to go on as a nurse, 
 anyway " 
 
 "Ah, the old story," said Dacre Hamilton. 
 
 ' ' Yes, but it 's going to end now. ' ' Dolly looked at him 
 resolutely across the desk, her brows knit in her earnest- 
 ness. 
 
 "I've obeyed the trustees, as I promised, for ten 
 years," she went on. "Mother wouldn't wish me to 
 spoil my whole life just for the sake of a little money. 
 As a dancer I should make twice as much as I should 
 lose, any day. ... It was all very well when I was a 
 young girl; naturally mother wished to safeguard me, 
 but now I'm a woman six-and-twenty next birthday 
 surely I can take care of myself now. . . ? " 
 
 "The world is still just as difficult a place for a fasci- 
 nating, friendless woman as it was ten years ago." 
 
 "Well, thousands of other women fight it, and I'm 
 better equipped than most. Besides, I'm not friendless.
 
 DOWNWARD 101 
 
 I know lots of people who'll be useful to me. You've 
 heard of Delia Delarue?" 
 
 "Most men of the world have heard of Diabolical 
 Delia." 
 
 "It that what they call her? Well, mother and I 
 knew her before she became diabolical. She was my 
 friend when I was a little girl." 
 
 "Really but she must be years older than you?" 
 
 "No, not more than six or seven. If every one else 
 fails, she'd help me to get an engagement." 
 
 "I hope the others won't fail thenl" said the lawyer, 
 earnestly. "Besides, if the club talk is true it some- 
 times is Delia is in rather low water now. The man- 
 agers are fighting shy of her. Perhaps you know her 
 little failing?" 
 
 Dolly nodded. "It's a long time since I saw her, as, 
 of course, I can't stand her friends, but if she's in low 
 water I mint go and see her." 
 
 "Who else would help you?" asked Hamilton. 
 
 "Miss Merry Vavasour Mrs. Tom Porter, you know. 
 She was my mother's friend and has always kept up 
 with me. She must be well over fifty now, but you know 
 what splendid comedy parts she still gets, and perhaps 
 next year she and Tom Potter are going into manage- 
 ment. If so, I'm absolutely sure of a 'shop* with them, 
 though their farcical-comedy line wouldn't be mine. 
 But it would be a beginning. And ... I know Colin 
 Lester, too. He might help me." 
 
 "H'm. . . . I'd rather you stuck to Miss Vavasour." 
 
 "Then my old dancing-mistress in Berlin could easily 
 get me an engagement there or in Vienna, if I decided 
 to go in for dancing only. She said when I was over 
 there, two summers ago, what a pity it was 10 waste such 
 a talent as mine. ' ' 
 
 "Ha! that was why you insisted on going to Berlin 
 for your holiday when I advised the seaside." 
 
 "You thought it foolish of me to spend my little 
 money on more dancing-lessons and my holiday in hard 
 work do you remember? Something told me I would
 
 102 DOWNWARD 
 
 need it, thought I've always done what I could to keep 
 up my dancing for that very reason. ' ' 
 
 "Tell me briefly what you propose." 
 
 "My long holiday begins next month. I'm going to 
 stay part of it with a married friend of mine at Hamp- 
 stead. I shall talk it over with her and her husband, 
 and I shall go and call on Delia and Miss Vavasour, and 
 then, when I see some definite prospect of an engage- 
 ment, I shall give notice to Sister Meredith and retire 
 from the nursing profession 1 ' ' 
 
 ' ' H 'm . . . tell me one thing more : what especially 
 has happened to bring you to the ' end of your patience ' 
 aU at once?" 
 
 "Nothing special; it's merely that I can't stand it 
 any longer. . . . Well, perhaps there are special reasons, 
 now I come to think of it. A friendship that has . . . 
 meant a good deal of pleasure and interest to me for 
 some months past . . . has ceased, and I feel the blank. 
 Then, again, one of our doctors at Meredith House Dr. 
 Anthony Raven, the nerve man seems to dislike me so, 
 I feel I don't want to meet him nearly every day . . . 
 why, you're looking quite interested all of a sudden. 
 D'you know Anthony?" 
 
 "Er yes . . . he's a client of mine." 
 
 "Oh, really? Well, he's a perfect beast to me ! Why 
 do you look so stern? Is it the word 'beast' or the 
 thought of your meeting-of-creditors, who are shuffling 
 their boots so in the next room?" 
 
 "No go on; what about Raven?" 
 
 "Oh, it's he you're interested in? WeU, that's all 
 about him. And my last reason is that I want to live. 
 Can't you understand the feeling, Dacre?" Uncon- 
 sciously she used the Christian name by which she al- 
 ways thought of him. "I want to express myself, to 
 fulfil myself in a word, to live. I'm bursting to live!" 
 
 "Yes, I understand that, my child," he said, kindly. 
 "I sympathize with you. Well, I haven't time to go 
 into it any more now." He glanced again at the clock, 
 and rose as Dolly did. "Come and dine with me one
 
 DOWNWARD 103 
 
 day soon ; we '11 do a theatre afterwards if you like, and 
 discuss the whole matter. Of course I must do my best 
 to dissuade you." 
 
 "Of course ... as you so often have before, only this 
 time you won't succeed. Oh, I was forgetting the chief 
 thing I came for!" 
 
 "Well?" asked the lawyer, patiently. The sounds 
 from the adjoining room told him that the creditors 
 waiting for the meeting were getting distinctly restless. 
 
 ' ' The second part of my holiday I get five weeks, you 
 know I wanted to spend it with Madame Herzi in 
 Berlin and have some more dancing." 
 
 ' ' And you want some more money, I suppose. Do you 
 know you've only 80 left? I came across the figures 
 one day last week." 
 
 "Really only 80? How it does slip away!" 
 
 "Trips to Berlin and Monte Carlo and the best of 
 dancing-lessons can't be had for nothing, young lady." 
 
 "Well, money's meant to be spent!" said the actress' 
 daughter easily, and the lawyer smiled grimly at this 
 evidence of the theatrical strain in her. "Mother would 
 approve of all I 've done with the 120 that 't gone. Still, 
 I don't think I'll break into the 80 one does want to 
 keep something for a rainy day. But my allowance will 
 be due on July 1st. Could you . . . would you mind 
 advancing me my allowance?" 
 
 "Certainly, with the greatest pleasure, but do you 
 forget that if you've left the nursing profession by then, 
 there will be no July allowance that there will never 
 be any more allowances once you're on the stage?" 
 
 "Oh, dearl" sighed Dolly; "oh, dear! . . . Well, I'll 
 certainly wait till after the 1st of July, anyhow ! ' ' 
 
 As Hamilton was about to open the door for her she 
 stayed him. 
 
 "Just one second more. Tell me, Mr. Hamilton," she 
 said, persuasively, standing close to him, her face raised 
 to his, "tell me is my father alive?" 
 
 There was a moment's pause. The lawyer looked both 
 annoyed and troubled.
 
 104 DOWNWARD 
 
 "I've answered that question before," he returned, 
 coldly, "and your own mother answered it. "Why will 
 you persist in disbelieving us both?" 
 
 "Because, if he isn't this mysterious trustee, whom I 
 must never approach, who is? I can understand my 
 father wanting me kept in ignorance of his whereabouts, 
 but who else should want to? How many times I've 
 begged you to let me go to the trustee and plead for 
 myself, and prove to him how cruel and unjust these 
 restrictions are, and you've always said it is impossible. 
 It can only be impossible for this one reason." 
 
 "Will nothing ever convince you, Dolly, that your 
 father is dead ? ' ' 
 
 "Nothing," answered Dolly in her most determined 
 manner, "unless you can show me his grave and his 
 death certificate!" 
 
 "Well, I don't know those details myself, but doubt- 
 less you could ascertain them in the usual way." 
 
 "How could I when I don't even know his name? I 
 only know that I'm not entitled to it," she retorted, 
 bitterly. 
 
 Hamilton looked keenly at her; her sincerity was 
 obvious. He saw this was no attempt to trap him into 
 an admission. 
 
 "You've known that all these years!" he exclaimed, 
 startled out of his usual impassive bearing. 
 
 ' ' Of course I 've known it ! and I know, too, that he is 
 alive, and I know he's the trustee I'm sure of it! It's 
 he who's doing his best to spoil my life, having ruined 
 my mother's . . . devil!" 
 
 The lawyer cut the conversation short by opening the 
 door, so that the clerks in the ante-room were in earshot. 
 
 "We'll discuss it when you dine with me," he said, 
 "and now you really must excuse me these gentlemen 
 next door are being badly treated. . . . Good-bye. . . . 
 Soames ! the lift for Miss Fitzgerald. ' ' 
 
 "Thanks, I don't want it!" said Dolly, fiercely, as she 
 swept past the astonished clerk and out of the office.
 
 IX 
 
 ONE morning, about eleven o'clock, Theo and Helen 
 were sitting on a secluded seat in the park. Helen was 
 still in attendance on Miss Raven, who seemed resolved 
 to retain her services as long as possible, rather to 
 Helen's dismay, as she was anxious to get back to Mere- 
 dith House and help to nurse her aunt. 
 
 Dr. Raven's sister was an exacting patient, and though 
 Helen managed to get the daily walk which the rules of 
 her profession demanded, she had no other time to 
 herself, and consequently saw little of Theo in these 
 days. 
 
 She noted now a change in her lover slight, inde- 
 finable, but none the less sure, and it somewhat dis- 
 tressed her. She was accustomed to his moodiness, his 
 stormy railings at fate, his frequent fits of melancholy, 
 alternating with sudden, almost violent high spirits, dur- 
 ing which he exhibited an unbounded optimism, an in- 
 fectious joie-de-vivre. People who knew him only in his 
 gay moments spoke enthusiastically of his charm. For- 
 tunately for her, Helen was acquainted with every side 
 of his complex nature; she had no illusions about her 
 future husband, and cherished him the more perhaps 
 for his faults. She was not analytical, and she would 
 have held it disloyal to show any suspicion of her lover, 
 no matter how peculiar his temper. 
 
 All these drawbacks of his she was wont to group 
 together under the label " artistic temperament," and 
 having thus disposed of them to forget them. His pres- 
 ent preoccupation she at length decided to put down to 
 his anxiety about his mother. 
 
 For a long time they sat in silence. Theo had made 
 105
 
 106 DOWNWARD 
 
 this appointment, and it was over a week since they had 
 met, yet he seemed to have little to say. A few passersby 
 looked at them with interest, and wondered what rela- 
 tionship existed between this sweet-faced woman in hos- 
 pital uniform and the well-dressed, good-looking young 
 man. Obviously he was not a patient. They might p-er- 
 haps be lovers : in that case the frowning preoccupation 
 of the young man's Attitude betokened a lovers' tiff, but 
 a.gain the serene face of the woman contradicted this. 
 
 Suddenly Theo said, sombrely: "I wish we could be 
 married at once, Helen." 
 
 The woman flushed rosy with pure delight; adoring 
 eyes were turned on him. 
 
 "Do you, dear love?" she murmured, the tender 
 emotion making her voice tremble to an even greater 
 sweetness. 
 
 "Yes, Helen, I do it seems ages since we were first 
 engaged. I never liked the idea of a long engagement. 
 I want my wife. Helen, I want to feel safe." 
 
 The joy died out of Helen's face; it grew perceptibly 
 graver. 
 
 "Theo, dear," she said, touching his hand gently, "I 
 thought you said our engagement made you feel 'safe'." 
 
 "So it did," said Theo, gloomily, "but we've been 
 engaged three years now, and I want my wife !" 
 
 "Well, it won't be much longer. You expect to be 
 called to the Bar in a few months, don't you?" 
 
 ' ' A few months ! ' ' tbere was a faint note of alarm in 
 Theo's voice, the weak man's fear of himself. It was 
 fortunate that Helen was not imaginative; she was 
 spared much in her already none too easy position as 
 Theo's future wife. 
 
 "I wish to God I were a free man!" he burst out, 
 passionately, "and not hampered by all these cursed 
 restrictions." 
 
 Helen sighed she had heard it all so often. She said 
 nothing, all had been said before. Her sweet mouth 
 drooped a little at the corners and her eyes grew a little 
 sad. It was not proving a happy meeting, this.
 
 DOWNWARD 107 
 
 "The most glorious of all professions is open to me," 
 went on Theo, engrossed in his own grievance, ' ' and here 
 am I compelled to grind away for more than five years 
 still at the dreary, inconsistent nonsense of Common 
 Law laws made by asses for sheep. It's not good 
 enough, Helen, I've a great mind to throw up the whole 
 thing and get married at once if you'll agree. The dear 
 mother would be generous to excess, I know, and in the 
 future we could get along somehow on the munificent 
 500 a year." 
 
 Helen smiled, encouraging him to talk on. Like most 
 devoted women who are also wise, she knew the value of 
 not opposing a man. Opposition, argument would only 
 fan the flame of his determination. Silent, sympathetic 
 acquiescence would not only please him but would prob- 
 ably result quite without his consciousness in quash- 
 ing the whole idea. Men of Theo's type, unopposed, 
 rarely achieve. 
 
 "No doubt I could earn something by my painting 
 soon, and we would get along somehow. Oh, Helen, 
 think of it you and I married and together, and noth- 
 ing to do all day long but paint and write and love and 
 live wouldn't it be glorious?" 
 
 ' ' It would indeed, ' ' she agreed, gazing fondly into the 
 handsome, eager face from which the clouds had sud- 
 denly lifted; "but think, Theo, what numbers of days 
 and even weeks I might almost say months there are in 
 which you can't paint at all, when, as you tell me, 'it 
 won't come'. . ." 
 
 "Oh, yes, of course," he cried, impatiently, "every 
 artist has his moods you can't grind away at painting 
 and poetry like you can at law and mathematics!" 
 
 "I know, dear," Helen answered, gently, "but then 
 you wouldn't earn much if you didn't work hard." 
 
 "Art is its own reward and a divine one we could be 
 happy even if we were poor," he returned, loftily. 
 
 "Oh, Theo, you know I don't mind being poor," she 
 reproached him. "You know I hate a society life." 
 
 "Think how happy we'd be living quietly in tbe coon-
 
 108 DOWNWARD 
 
 try" he drew moving pictures of simple bliss roses 
 and honeysuckle, green lanes and blue skies. In his imagi- 
 nation it was always summer in the country. Helen could 
 not help smiling inwardly. To her who knew him so 
 well, the idea of Theo living quietly in a cottage, content 
 with love and art and working hard to supplement an 
 income, would have been amusing if the utter lack of 
 self-knowledge it betrayed had not made it rather pa- 
 thetic. Theo, with his expensive tastes pictures, curios, 
 first editions Theo who had always had the best of 
 everything, and couldn't bear erven to have his hair cut 
 out of the mile radius from Piccadilly it was more than 
 ridiculous, it was tragic. 
 
 He would have been ready enough to spend a few 
 weeks of bright summer weather in an idyllic cottage 
 amid expensively simple surroundings, painting or writ- 
 ing as the fit seized him, and as happy as a boy the whole 
 day long. Nothing could have constituted a more de- 
 lightful holiday for him, but as a serious and permanent 
 settlement, Helen knew that such an experiment could 
 only end in disastrous failure. 
 
 Theo 's glance had been attracted by a woman walking 
 towards them. The face was as yet indistinguishable, 
 but his eye was held by the silhouette of a beautiful 
 figure and by the swaying, graceful walk, as if her feet 
 scarcely touched the ground. He reflected that all the 
 great courtesans he had seen both in the high and the 
 half -world had had that wonderful walk, that same sup- 
 pleness of body which somehow suggested that there 
 were no bones beneath the exquisite curves of the soft 
 flesh. 
 
 Was she a great courtesan, he wondered, awaiting her 
 approach with interest or was she a destined one or not 
 one at all? Her attire was perhaps too plain for that, 
 although there was a distinct chic about her smart morn- 
 ing hat, the tailor-made coat, the perfectly cut walking- 
 skirt swinging free from her feet as she strode joyously 
 along. . . . 
 
 "Joyous" was the word that best expressed her, he
 
 DOWNWARD 109 
 
 thought. No, surely not a courtesan. "I should like to 
 paint her," he murmured aloud "as 'A Twentieth- 
 century Diana,' say." 
 
 4 ' Who ? Where ? ' ' asked Helen. 
 
 "This woman coming doesn't she walk beautifully?" 
 The goddess was now close upon them. 
 
 "Why, I believewhy, yes it's Dolly!" 
 
 "DoOyl" 
 
 "One of our nurses why, you know her; she's nurs 
 ing Aunt Violet." 
 
 "Yes, I do know her." His eyes were fixed on the 
 approaching form the tenor 01 his previous thoughts 
 disturbed him. 
 
 " 'And her enchanted hair was the first gold!' " he 
 murmured. "But she looks so different out of uniform." 
 
 "She always dresses beautifully," remarked Helen. 
 "How bright and smart she looks. 1 expect she's off to 
 some rendezvous." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 Dolly had seen them, and raised her eyebrows in smil- 
 ing surprise. She would have passed with her greeting, 
 but Helen stopped her. For & few minutes she chatted 
 with them. 
 
 "It's my 'long day' off duty; you'll never guess where 
 I'm going." 
 
 "You're up to some mischief, I'm sure," laughed 
 Helen. 
 
 "Do I look so wicked?" returned Dolly. 
 
 "Most dangerous," Theo said, and he meant it. 
 "You're going to lunch with some lucky man?" 
 
 "Both wrong. I'm going to lunch with an unlucky 
 woman, and then to the Exhibition with her, and then 
 to dinner with another friend my solicitor. . . . No, I 
 shan't tell you who the woman is, you'd both be hor- 
 rified! Yes, I will, though ... it's Delia Delarue!" 
 She hurried off, smiling back at them over her shoulder. 
 Helen remarked that she was none the wiser, but Theo's 
 brow was once more gloomy. 
 
 "Who is it? Oh, a very notorious woman a has-been
 
 110 DOWNWARD 
 
 of musical comedy, done for now. Why on earth does 
 your friend want to mix with that crowd ? ' ' 
 
 He would not own to himself the astonishing truth 
 that he was fiercely jealous, concerned, about this girl 
 a stranger, the friend of his betrothed. The thought of 
 Dolly remained with him all the afternoon, and he was 
 haunted by some lines of Rosetti's: 
 
 "The rose and poppy are her flowers . . . 
 Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine, so went 
 Thy spell around him, and left his straight neck bent 
 And round his heart one strangling golden hair!" 
 
 And to himself he repeated many times : 
 
 " ' And her enchanted hair was the first gold.' "
 
 A FLAT at the top of a block in a Knightsbridge back 
 street was Dolly's destination. Time was, not so long 
 ago, when Delia Delarue in the height of her fame (or 
 infamy?) had queened it in a house in Mayfair. Now, 
 in her decadence, she still clung to what she called a 
 smart address, and preferred a box in Knightsbridge to 
 a commodious house in Bloomsbury. 
 
 Dolly found the block with some difficulty and began 
 the long ascent ; the modest mansions did not boast a lift. 
 It was four years since she had seen her former friend, 
 and even at that time Delia was becoming socially im- 
 possible to Dolly's ideas, though at the height of her 
 stage popularity. It was difficult to imagine what she 
 had become now that her "little failing" had reached 
 the extreme point when managers fight shy. Dolly felt 
 it would be a relief to get the first greetings over. 
 
 She rang the bell and waited. Sounds of a loud, angry 
 voice could be heard. Nobody came. She rang again. 
 There was the noise of a door opening, and the angry 
 voice, now recognizable as Delia's, shouted: "Why don't 
 you go to the door, you swine?" 
 
 A murmur, a well-bred masculine voice was audible 
 apparently in an attempt at soothing. Steps were heard 
 the man was seemingly following, still expostulating, 
 and Dolly caught the words whispered quite near to her : 
 "I've told you Albert's quite incapable why waste 
 time shouting for him?" 
 
 The speaker was enjoined to go to Hell, and appar- 
 ently retired on that. Delia's voice was again audible, 
 "Jeanette, why can't you go to the door don't you 
 hear the bell, damn you 1 ' ' 
 
 111
 
 112 DOWNWARD 
 
 "Vat! and spoil ze omelette?" a shrill voice retorted, 
 ''I vill not!" 
 
 A subdued murmur of "Brutes ! Devils ! Hellhounds 1" 
 was now heard muffled and meditatively, as if the 
 speaker was soliloquizing gently whilst retreating. 
 
 Dolly was about to steal away, having decided that 
 though amusing this luncheon party promised to be 
 rather painful, when a man's tread was heard quickly 
 approaching and the next second the door opened, and 
 she found herself being gravely welcomed by a good- 
 looking, perfectly dressed young gentleman about her 
 own age. His bored, calm, unruffled bearing the man- 
 ner judged correct in his set filled her in the circum- 
 stances with amazed admiration. 
 
 "Er how d'you do?" he said. "Miss Fitzgerald, 
 isn't it? Do come in ... let me take your things. . . . 
 Our man is drunk already, but that don't matter, as I 
 am an expert butler myself. Excuse me " He pre- 
 ceded her up the passage and opened the drawing-room 
 door. The next moment she was heartily kissed by Miss 
 Delarue, hailed as "old girl" and cordially asked why 
 the devil she'd stayed away so long. 
 
 The two women began to talk, whilst the man stood 
 with his back to the fireplace and surveyed his immacu- 
 late boots. He had a sleek head, his hair was very care- 
 fully parted down the middle; a high forehead gave 
 dignity to his face; his calm, shallow blue eyes were 
 inscrutable ; he was clean-shaven, with a good mouth and 
 chin. Dolly put him down as a mystery the last man 
 one would expect to bear calmly with such treatment as 
 Delia's and such an environment. 
 
 The room was furnished with things of good quality, 
 but very conventional, evidently the taste of a wholesale 
 furnisher. Miss Delarue 's own taste was only visible in 
 the masses of signed theatrical photographs that crowded 
 the walls and mantelpieces untidily, and the piles of il- 
 lustrated weeklies and sporting papers which were lying 
 about everywhere. The room was in great disorder; 
 music, books, newspapers, packs of cards, boxes of sweets
 
 DOWNWARD 113 
 
 and cigarettes lay in confusion on floor and furniture. 
 Cigarette ash was freely sprinkled about and the dust 
 lay thick on everything. 
 
 Delia herself had changed less in the four years than 
 her guest had expected, although she was pitifully al- 
 tered from the girl who had been Dolly's friend as a 
 child. Dolly remembered herself at ten years old look- 
 ing admiringly up at her grown-up friend of eighteen 
 a merry, handsome, gipsy-faced girl, with large, bold, 
 black eyes, red lips, masses of rather coarse, black hair 
 and a splendid bust which promised to become too pro- 
 nounced in the near future. 
 
 The change was most apparent in the eyes, which now 
 were glazed and slightly watery, the flesh around them 
 was unnaturally white and puffy; poor Delia's failing 
 was indicated in these unmistakable signs. Her figure 
 had become blowsy and was too tightly laced. She was 
 dressed in an over-elaborate afternoon costume, slightly 
 soiled and carelessly put on. Many diamonds adorned 
 her, and her fingers were covered with costly rings. 
 
 "Well, young 'un," she said, "easy to see the world's 
 treating you well. How damn cool and pretty you look. 
 I should look a death's-head in that plain rig, but it suits 
 you. Let's see. I was livin' in Green Street in slap-up 
 style when we chin-chined last, wasn't I? This blasted 
 little hole's a bit of a change, but it's all that poor tripe- 
 hound can afford now. ' ' 
 
 This was even worse than Dolly expected. She felt 
 thankful the poor tripehound was standing behind her. 
 To meet his eye would have been dreadful, though she 
 longed to see how he was taking it. 
 
 It was, however, but a mild specimen of Miss Delarue 's 
 method of address. As she grew more at ease with her 
 guest, the full, fruity flavour of her accustomed style 
 was given greater and ever greater rein. Let it be said 
 at once that the speech of Delia Delarue and her kind 
 is quite unprintable in its fullness, as all who have heard 
 it will agree. Only a pale, anaemic rendering of her 
 unique conversational habit is here attempted. "Damn"
 
 114 DOWNWARD 
 
 and "blast" were her mildest expletives. She used them 
 as adjectives, she used them as adverbs ; they were rarely 
 out of her mouth. A breach of the third commandment 
 occurred in almost her every utterance. Her customary 
 terms for other people were swine, tripehound and she- 
 devil, and it was by these three she almost invariably 
 described her man-servant protector and cook respec- 
 tively. 
 
 Presently they adjourned for lunch. The dining-room 
 was in slightly better order ; on the sideboard stood some 
 very fine old plate, tarnished and slightly dirty ; the sil- 
 ver on the table was Little better; the tablecloth, lace- 
 edged and of the finest quality, had more than one hole 
 in it; the china was beautiful and rare. In strange 
 incongruity to the rest of the disorder was a large basket 
 of exquisite pale roses, fresh from the florist's, which 
 stood in the centre of the round table. Dolly was admir- 
 ing it and thinking it must have cost at least a guinea 
 when the voice of her hostess interposed genially : ' ' Now, 
 sit down and stuff. Rotty, how much longer are we to 
 wait for some swill?" 
 
 By this term champagne was apparently intended ; as 
 they had barely taken their seats, the request sounded a 
 little intolerant, but the young man rose obediently and 
 opened a bottle from the sideboard. 
 
 In the absence of the intoxicated Albert, the meal, 
 which was well chosen and excellently cooked, was served 
 by the Frenchwoman, Jeanette an immense, very dark 
 female of middle age, with fierce yellow eyes and a 
 hooked nose. Dolly thought her like a black cockatoo, 
 and the resemblance was intensified by the twist of black 
 hair which she wore as high as possible, like a cockatoo's 
 crest, on the top of her head, the only neat part of her 
 person. She was clothed startlingly in a black silk 
 trained skirt, divorced at the waist from its complement 
 of disheartened-looking blouse of light blue chiffon. 
 From the tight embrace of this upper garment her ex- 
 tremely ample chest threatened to break away at every 
 moment. It quite fascinated Dolly, who could hardly
 
 DOWNWARD 115 
 
 take her eyes off this strange apparition. In the course 
 of the lunch she discovered that the Frenchwoman, al- 
 though freely be-devilled during her absence, was the 
 only person whom Delia addressed with comparative 
 civility. 
 
 "I see you are interested in the chaste beauty of our 
 dear Jeanette," observed the host, with the suavity 
 which apparently never left him. "She is a sterling 
 soul ; the missus and I are both attached to her. There 's 
 nothing useful she doesn't know and nothing she can't 
 cook. ' ' 
 
 "She's a damn-good sort, Jeanette," remarked Delia. 
 "I've had her for years. She can do everything, from 
 nursing one through a bout of D.T. to fooling a writ- 
 server. ' ' 
 
 " It 's very wonderful of her to wait as well as cook so 
 beautifully," said Dolly, feeling something of the kind 
 was required. 
 
 "Yes, our friend Albert's being indisposed so early in 
 the day is trying for the dear lady. ' ' 
 
 Here Miss Delarue uttered a tirade against her erring 
 man-servant which made Dolly hold her breath. She 
 stole a glance at "Rotty" the only name by which she 
 as yet knew her host, but he was eating his bird uncon- 
 cernedly, apparently perfectly unmoved by the flow of 
 horrible language. He caught her glance and easily 
 divined her thought. 
 
 "Quite cuss-proof by now, you see," he murmured, 
 with a smile, under cover of Delia's storm of abuse. 
 Seeing, however, that her violence was really unpleasant 
 to their guest, he presently made a deft and successful 
 effort to check it. 
 
 "Our well-beloved Albert has the most excellent in- 
 tentions," he interposed, when Delia paused for an in- 
 stant, "and he's really an admirable servant, so we put 
 up with his occasional lapses from grace. It's all the 
 fault of his ducal lineage. He- was once butler to the 
 Duke of Borrowdayle, and after that for some years 
 with my father. Many a good turn has old Albert done
 
 116 DOWNWARD 
 
 me in my Eton days. Of course now nobody but our 
 rather unconventional selves would employ him." 
 
 Dolly wondered who his father was, and as the meal 
 proceeded her amazement at the singular menage grew. 
 She elicited the fact that "Rotty" had also been to 
 Oxford and from his allusion to having gone down 
 ten years ago, she concluded he must be well over 
 thirty, in spite of his boyish-looking appearance. She 
 had supposed him about her own age or younger, led 
 away by the foolish ideas current among young men of 
 his set that a connexion with a notorious woman was the 
 "correct" thing. How a man of his age could attach 
 himself for years to a Delia Delarue was incomprehen- 
 sible to Dolly. She knew their relationship must have 
 lasted some time, as he had referred to having had the 
 flat papered twice in three years, because Delia liked 
 constant change. It was a matter for wonder, too, how 
 a man living this life should not only show no trace of it 
 in his face, but actually look years and years younger 
 than he really was. Dolly studied his smooth counte- 
 nance anew; there were no wrinkles, no furrows of 
 thought, anxiety or emotion all was calm, impassive, 
 inscrutable, both skin and eyes clear as a young child's. 
 His manner to Delia was courteous, kind and affection- 
 ately solicitous. She in turn called him impartially 
 Tom-fool, Idiot, Jack-ass, Dearie, Ducky and Tripe- 
 hound. 
 
 Lunch concluded, Turkish coffee was served in antique 
 brass cups, which badly wanted polishing. Delia, who 
 must have drunk quite a bottle of champagne already, 
 then asked for a brandy and soda, which "Rotty" mixed 
 for her at the sideboard without demur. On receiving 
 it, she glanced at the tumbler, desired to know if the 
 occasion was a blasted school treat, and followed this by 
 an earnest inquiry as to what the devil he took her for ? 
 She then flung half the contents of the glass over the 
 ferns in the fireplace, filled it up with brandy neat, and 
 with this in her hand led the way to her bedroom. 
 
 A truly extraordinary apartment was Delia's bed-
 
 DOWNWARD 117 
 
 room. The furniture of white enamelled wood was 
 handsome; the decorations and hangings dainty, fresh 
 and in good taste. They were evidently new, but the 
 carpet, a fine Aubusson, was a survival of a former 
 scheme of decoration and had been shockingly treated. 
 A great patch of red stain near the toilet-table, repeated 
 on the white wood of the latter, showed where a bottle 
 of rouge had once been spilt, and there were white 
 patches of powder trodden into the carpet all round the 
 toilet-table and wash-stand. Dark brown stains in an- 
 other place seemed to betoken the spilling of tea or 
 coffee, and crumbs were thickly scattered on the floor by 
 the bed. 
 
 The wash-stand was intended for a double set of toilet- 
 ware, but only one reposed on it all the rest of its 
 surface was closely crowded with bottles and pots of 
 every shape and size, containing every variety of cos- 
 metic and unguent. The large dressing-table was cov- 
 ered with a rose brocade cover to match the bed-quilt. 
 On this was heaped a heterogeneous collection of toilet 
 and other articles, in some places reaching a depth of 
 some inches. The first layer was apparently composed 
 of a massive silver set of brushes, mirrors and accessories 
 and a quantity of silver boxes all very tarnished. There 
 were also some photographs in silver frames and a few 
 specimens of antique patch-boxes, Battersea enamels, 
 etc. On the top of this were sprinkled packets of pins, 
 ribbons, hair-nets, handkerchiefs, manicure implements, 
 two or three pin-curls and a tail of hair, paint rags, 
 boxes of powder, pots of rouge, pieces of rouge-stained 
 cotton-wool, bottles of scent and of face-cream, cigarettes 
 loose and in boxes and many other oddments. A spirit 
 decanter, half-full, stood on one of the jewel drawers, a 
 black silk stocking hung from one end of the table, sev- 
 eral odd gloves and an expensive lace veil also found a 
 place in the medley and at the back, by the mirror, there 
 was a heap of bills, loose letters and theatre pro- 
 grammes. 
 
 The note struck by this unique dressing-table was
 
 118 DOWNWARD 
 
 repeated throughout the room. Clothes were strewn 
 everywhere, and there were more pairs of boots and 
 shoes ranged round the walls than Dolly ever remem- 
 bered seeing in one room in her life before. 
 
 As in the dining-room, a startling contrast was pro- 
 vided by another large basket of roses which stood on a 
 table by the bed, sharing the space with a pile of news- 
 papers and paper-backed novels, an empty champagne 
 bottle, two pieces of buttered toast and a pink silk 
 chemise torn almost in halves, evidently in temper, since 
 it looked quite new. Everywhere was extravagance, dirt 
 and neglect. 
 
 In a large arm-chair a yellow cat had made itself 
 comfortable among the soft fleeces of a huge, white 
 ostrich feather boa. Dolly's practised feminine eye 
 could see at a glance that the boa was a costly one, and 
 she awaited an explosion with trepidation. To her sur- 
 prise Delia lifted the animal off with a caress and said 
 gently: "Darling, mother's asked you not to do that 
 before." It was almost the only sentence she had 
 spoken without either curse, blasphemy, swear-word or 
 vulgarism. She pushed Dolly into a chair and sat down 
 opposite in another. 
 
 "Now, old girl, we can talk," she said, after a long 
 draught at her tumbler of brandy and soda. ' ' Cough it 
 off your chest let it rip ! What did you want to see me 
 about?" 
 
 Dolly hesitated. Her dream of going on the stage 
 seemed to have receded an infinite distance. Certainly 
 she no longer wished to start her new career under 
 Delia's auspices the idea was ludicrous. All women on 
 the musical comedy stage were not like Delia, yet stage- 
 life had made Delia what she was and the thought was 
 disquieting. 
 
 How different she had been once ! Dolly recalled that 
 long ago friendship when she and Delia had had so much 
 in common even as big girl and little girl that the differ- 
 ence in their ages could not keep them apart. She remem- 
 bered Delia at eighteen, delighted at being promoted to
 
 DOWNWARD 119 
 
 her first song-and-dance, practising her steps before the 
 glass in the little white house at Fulham, with Valerie 
 offering encouragement and suggestions. In those days 
 Delia had been a pretty and modest girl, a little slangy, 
 a little given to head-tossings and over-loud laughter 
 perhaps, but a nice girl enough. 
 
 Dolly glanced at the ruined carpet, the tarnished 
 silver, at the torn chemise, at the tumbler now empty, 
 and lastly she glanced sideways at Delia's 'puffy eyes, 
 blotched cheeks and elaborate, soiled dress. 
 
 "I for no special reason," she answered, confusedly. 
 "I heard you were out of a shop, and thought it would 
 be nice to see you." 
 
 ' ' Oh, was that it ? Damn nice of you, ducky. Most of 
 my pals keep off the grass now, though they were clus- 
 terin' round me like flies when I was thick with the 
 managers. A blasted, self-seekin' crew of " 
 
 She talked on, her speech a little indistinct with a 
 tendency to blur the syllables. Her breakfast had been 
 a pint of champagne and she had had several brandies 
 and sodas before lunch. Gradually her talk became 
 more spasmodic and then ceased . . . she had fallen into 
 a doze. It was not a pleasant sight. Dolly rose and 
 walked to the window, stumbling over a row of empty 
 bottles behind the dressing-table. 
 
 As she looked down into the quiet street far below, a 
 sadness stole over her. The realization of her dreams 
 seemed so far away. Again she asked herself : should I 
 get like Delia ? Surely, surely it was not possible. She, 
 Dolly, had had a better grounding, a different mother; 
 she would start older and wiser than had Delia. Then, 
 too, Delia had complicated things by an unhappy mar- 
 riage. . . . Dolly dimly recalled having heard of a 
 divorce. . She wouldn't make any such mistake, she 
 would keep away from men. . . . 
 
 Here her eyes grew wide she knew this would be 
 difficult, perhaps impossible. She knew her own weak- 
 ness how strong was her desire for admiration how 
 love appealed to her how nearly her own ardent blood
 
 120 DOWNWARD 
 
 had already betrayed her in more than one of her mad 
 flirtations. . . . Then, too, if all she had been told of 
 agents and managers was true . . . 
 
 In any case, she told herself, resolutely banishing this 
 train of thought, she could never become a drunkard. 
 Mother had brought her up almost a teetotaler . . . but 
 then Delia had practically been the same once, Dolly 
 plainly remembered that. The craving came gradually, 
 she had been told. One must drink so as not to be singu- 
 lar, one mustn't refuse to drink or it would arouse ill- 
 will. The taste acquired, one drank to keep one's spirits 
 up, to remain gay and talkative and vivacious to keep 
 away that deadly tiredness, the hours were so long and 
 the standing about at the theatre so tiring. Finally one 
 drank because one had got to need it one could not 
 keep going without it. 
 
 A loud groan, followed by much yawning, interspersed 
 with the usual exclamatory breaches of the third com- 
 mandment, announced that her hostess was awake. 
 
 "Where are you, old girl? 'Scuse my forty winks. 
 Well, suppose we move on to the Exhibish. I'll tell that 
 tripehound to whistle up a chariot. Rotty ! Rotty ! where 
 has that blasted boy got to?" 
 
 Presently there was a light tap at the door. "Well?" 
 said the blasted boy's voice outside. 
 
 "Come in, you fool. What, shy of Dolly? Oh, U Id! 
 Well, stay outside. I want a hansom, or a taxi; we're 
 going to the Exhibish now as per programme. ... If 
 you want to fake, old girl, go ahead, or if this place is 
 too mucked-up for you, go into Rotty 's dressing-room; 
 he's rather good at tidyin' up after himself. When that 
 hell-hound Albert's boozin' the place don't get touched, 
 you see." 
 
 "But does the butler do your room?" 
 
 "Rather, he does everythin' for me, all the rooms, and 
 valets the tripehound as well. He isn't supposed to 
 buttle now ; gone down a lot below that he 's our man of 
 all work." 
 
 "But what does Jeanette do?"
 
 DOWNWARD 121 
 
 "Only cooks. The she-devil won't do a stroke beyond 
 cookin', but she keeps the kitchen as neat as can be, and 
 doesn't care a damn what sort of a mess the rest gets in. 
 She won't even mend my clo', and as Albert and Rotty 
 can't, why my clo' never get mended, and I have to 
 pitch 'em away." 
 
 Dolly moved into the adjoining dressing-room which 
 proved to be moderately tidy. It was somewhat of a 
 shock to her to learn that the young man lived there. 
 She had the true feminine instinct that a man's home 
 should be made as comfortable as possible. Dolly had 
 imagined him finding a piquant contrast in this sordid 
 flat to his own immaculate rooms, and returning to them 
 doubly appreciative of their restful perfection. He 
 looked that kind of man. And to think he lived here, 
 had lived here for years, apparently well contented it 
 was inexplicable! But perhaps he had other rooms as 
 well, she thought, or at any rate a club . . . certainly he 
 must have a club. Dolly found herself hoping that he 
 had. 
 
 "What fake do you use?" Delia asked her abruptly 
 as she returned to the bedroom. 
 
 "Make-up? None, I never have." 
 
 "What, all that colour natural? So it is, to be sure! 
 Well, I'm damned! But don't take that preachy tone 
 about it, my little trout; you'd do it quick enough if you 
 needed it. No doubt you'd be plastered as thick as any 
 one." 
 
 "I daresay," said Dolly, amiably, "but I could only 
 do it off duty. It wouldn't do for a nurse to use even 
 powder when on duty." 
 
 "Lor' ! how quaint! I can't imagine you a nurse . . . 
 what a strange life to lead, slavin' like that! Why the 
 dev d'you do it?" For the first time she showed a 
 momentary interest in her guest's affairs. 
 
 She had now assumed an immense black hat adorned 
 with a whirl of black and white osprey. She stuffed a 
 powder-puff and a stick of lip salve into a gilt bag, 
 wound the feather boa round her neck, tenderly kissed
 
 122 DOWNWARD 
 
 the yellow cat on the brow, and preceded Dolly out of 
 the flat. Rotty f ollowed. 
 
 "Damn-it-all, I meant to have had another drink be- 
 fore startin'!" Delia ejaculated as the man pulled the 
 door behind them. 
 
 ' ' Oh better get on now what ? " he said, at the same 
 time taking out his latch-key so that no show of opposi- 
 tion should vex her into insisting. The ruse succeeded. 
 Delia began to descend the stairs somewhat unsteadily, 
 and Dolly, turning at the bend of the staircase in front, 
 saw a distinct look of relief on Rotty 's countenance. 
 
 "Perhaps that's the explanation," she thought. "He 
 sticks to her to try and keep her from drinking, or rather 
 to keep her from dying of it. I believe the man's a 
 hero!" 
 
 She was distinctly disappointed on finding that the 
 hero did not intend to accompany the ladies to the 
 Exhibition, but was off to his club. It was, nevertheless, 
 a satisfaction to find that he really had a club. No doubt 
 it was a relief to him to get Delia taken off his hands 
 for one afternoon. For her part, Dolly viewed with dis- 
 may the prospect of being alone with Delia all the after- 
 noon out of doors. How many bars were there likely to 
 be in the Exhibition? 
 
 On the pavement the young man took leave of the 
 ladies, Dolly remarking that she did not yet know his 
 name. 
 
 "Er Rottingdean, " he replied, with his cool smile, 
 
 and it dawned upon Dolly that the hero, the tripehound, 
 this quiet, decorous young man must be the notorious 
 Lord Rottingdean, whose name she had heard vaguely 
 coupled with Delia's some time back. 
 
 "Don't be later than six, ducky," said Delia, patting 
 his tie. "Dolly has to go by 'then, and you know how 
 moped I get alone." 
 
 Rottingdean knew and the consequence of that 
 moping. Ke promised to be back at six. 
 
 ^He's a dear, good boy," said Delia with a sigh as the 
 hansom drove of!. "I've known him for a long time, on
 
 DOWNWARD 123 
 
 and off. He really cares for me, you know no cod. He 
 can 't bear a well-ordered life, you know ; everything stiff 
 and regular. He hates domesticity; our rackety life 
 just suits him. He really cares, you see." 
 
 Dolly supposed he must. 
 
 Arriving at their destination, Delia commanded the 
 hansom to wait. There were cabs accessible at the en- 
 trance all day long, but that did not weigh with her. 
 She did not even condescend to make an arrangement 
 by the hour, although they expected to be two hours or 
 more in the Exhibition. It was the habit of her class to 
 be lordly in these matters. ''Money was meant to be 
 spent."
 
 XI 
 
 COMING home late in the afternoon to dress for her 
 appointment with Dacre, some impulse prompted Dolly 
 to get off the omnibus and make her way into the Park, 
 there to retrace her steps of the morning. She did not 
 try and explain or resist this inward prompting, but 
 yielded to it as was her wont with impulses. 
 
 Her thoughts were not with Delia or Lord Rotting- 
 dean, the events of the afternoon or this question of 
 going on the stage but had shaped themselves involun- 
 tarily to Theo. When she reached the bench where he 
 and Helen had been that morning it was hardly a sur- 
 prise to find Theo sitting there, his face turned expect- 
 antly towards the direction from whence she was coming. 
 
 "I knew you would come," he said in a low, rapturous 
 voice, and taking her hand, he gently drew her on to the 
 seat beside him. "How wonderful it is that I knew, and 
 that you have come!" 
 
 "Like a dream," Dolly heard her own voice saying. 
 Their eyes were shining, a smile was on their lips that 
 unmistakable, rapt smile one can see on the faces of 
 couples of every class in the ballroom, in the street, by 
 country hedgerows and town alleys, anywhere and every- 
 where where young men and women seek and find each 
 other. 
 
 They yielded themselves to the magic of the moment 
 and without conventional quibblings or assumed sur- 
 prise; they straightway fell into an intimate, strangely 
 charming conversation. It seemed as if they had been 
 hungering to talk to each other, and now they opened 
 their hearts and talked and talked of themselves, their 
 aspirations, ambitions, hopes, desires, of their taste in 
 124
 
 DOWNWARD 125 
 
 books, plays, music and pictures. They talked, too, of their 
 childhood, and school days, and a little of their mothers. 
 Dolly told Theo about her afternoon, the strange couple 
 she had lunched with, and the perplexity she now felt 
 as to her future course of action. She told, too, of her 
 hatred of Meredith House, and her longing for a differ- 
 ent life. If Dolly told more than Theo it was because 
 the one thing that burned most for expression on his lips 
 was a thing he dared not name even to himself. 
 
 But neither of them spoke of Helen. 
 
 It had grown dusk in their secluded, tree-shadowed 
 seat. The shadows were even kinder to Dolly than the 
 sun had been. In place of her brilliancy that the sun 
 lit up and intensified, the twilight gave her an added 
 mystery. Her eyes would have lured a stronger and 
 wiser man than Theo; a kind of soft glow seemed to 
 emanate from her whole face ; her lips, infinitely witch- 
 ing, were parted in that rapt smile, tender and shy. All 
 the hardness, the boldness, the independence and assert- 
 iveness had vanished from her manner, and as she lis- 
 tened with sympathy, talked in soft tones and asked 
 advice wistfully Theo felt that here was a woman who 
 could do with him as she would. A phrase he had lately 
 read echoed insistently in his thoughts : "To wring one 's 
 soul out on her lips" ... He could not take his eyes 
 from Dolly's lips. 
 
 It seemed quite natural akin with the rest, and a 
 fitting end that when Dolly started up in dismay at a 
 neighbouring clock striking, Theo rising too should 
 put his hands on her shoulders and softly, reverently, 
 with breath held in check and heart-beats almost 
 stopped, should kiss her lips with the best of his soul on 
 his own. 
 
 The world stood still for one wonderful instant while 
 Dolly yielded then as the thought of Helen struck on 
 her heart she flung her head back and drew sharply 
 away from the touch of those passionate hands the 
 hands of Helen's lover. 
 
 "Don't don't I"
 
 126 DOWNWARD 
 
 "Forgive me I couldn't help . . . Oh, if you only 
 knew!" 
 
 "Don't speak, don't say anything! I must go." 
 
 He took her arm, and swiftly, silently they walked 
 along together fear and joy, shame and delight whirl- 
 ing in intoxicating tumult in their hearts. 
 
 Not a word was spoken till they reached Stanhope 
 Gate. Theo hailed a hansom and while they waited on 
 the curb they looked at each other again that soft, 
 strange look with which so much virtue goes out of one 
 that lovers pale and tremble, and feel a dazed faintness 
 and fluttering of the heart, when those other eyes have 
 passed that blot out all the world. 
 
 "When can I see you again?" asked Theo. Dolly 
 made an honest effort to utter a repulse but it stuck in 
 her throat. 
 
 "I oh, I can't! I don't know " 
 
 "I must see you again, I must! Don't be cruel 
 don't torment me! Make it to-morrow dine with me 
 to-morrow. Do, ah, do!" 
 
 "To-morrow! Why, I shan't have another free eve- 
 ning for a week." 
 
 "My God! I can't wait a week. Oh, let me see you 
 some time to-morrow ! You'll have some free time in the 
 day, I know." 
 
 ' ' Only quite early in the morning, and I can 't possibly 
 see you then." 
 
 "The next day, then? You'll be free in the afternoon, 
 surely ? Come to tea with me do at my chambers. ' ' 
 
 If he had named anywhere else Dolly might have re- 
 sisted for Helen's sake. She had been to tea at all the 
 fashionable rendezvous and was tired of them. But 
 Theo 's flat I that romantic, interesting place he had 
 spoken of to be alone with him in seclusion, in a beau- 
 tiful room, the roar of London all round them, yet no 
 one knowing of their secret meeting! She pictured the 
 place, the hour they would spend together how strange 
 and thrilling it would be ... She pictured the way he 
 would look at her what he would say and do. She
 
 DOWNWARD 127 
 
 knew he would kneel at her feet and kiss her hands 
 and worship her. She knew he would kiss her lips and 
 almost die of it. She knew, too, that she would share his 
 ecstasy, and, above all things, she knew that it would be 
 oh ! so different from Colin Lester, and Mark Galloway, 
 and boring Harold Gordon, and stupid little Freddy 
 Smith, and the many brutal men who had desired her 
 and sought to gain her. 
 
 That overwhelming craving for life and joy rushed up 
 in her again. Why should she deny herself this one hour 
 of colour and rapture and innocent delight? It would 
 be innocent, she felt sure. It should be, she determined ; 
 and it would not hurt Helen or herself. Helen had so 
 much she so little. And it was only for once for once, 
 and then never again. 
 
 "I'll see," she breathed, almost inaudibly. 
 
 ' ' Heaven bless you for that ! ' ' 
 
 He helped her in, shielding her dress from the wheel 
 as if it had been an angel's raiment. "Where shall I 
 say ? " he asked. "Is it too late for your appointment ? 
 It's just on eight" 
 
 ' ' My appointment was for eight I shall have to go as 
 I am, then. The Waldorf, please." 
 
 Theo gave the direction in a voice that caused the cab- 
 man to glance sharply down and grin knowingly to 
 himself. 
 
 "Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye." Their fingers just touched : the hansom 
 drove off. Dolly pressed her hands to her gleaming eyes 
 for a moment and then looked at herself in the strip of 
 glass at the side of the cab. Her face bore that curious, 
 veiled expression that women reserve for their seclusion 
 that no man ever sees. 
 
 But Theo shivered as he stood still on the curb, his 
 gaze fixed on the retreating hansom, asking himself how 
 he could have let her go.
 
 XII 
 
 DOLLY only had two hours off that afternoon, and a 
 quarter of the precious time was passed in dressing. It 
 was twenty minutes to five as she drove down the Strand 
 to her meeting with Theo. She had told the cabman to 
 stop at Fleet Street Post Office. The loafers on the 
 pavement uttered jesting exclamations as she stepped 
 nervously out of the hansom, her white shoes and stock- 
 ings visible beneath the froth and frills of uplifted white 
 skirts. She paid hurriedly and sped into Mitre Court, 
 thankful to escape from those rough comments, but only 
 to face a fresh battery of "Oh, my!" and "Well, I 
 never!" "Lor', my shoes!" and "What a daisy!" from 
 a second lot of loafers outside the public-house at the 
 foot of the Court. 
 
 With cheeks burning beneath her white veil, Dolly 
 flew on, relieved to find herself in. the wide space of 
 King's Bench Walk, where th men passing to and fro 
 were not of the kind who gave loud voice to their admira- 
 tion r ciiri-ssity. They all looked hard at the unaccus- 
 tomed vision, kowerer, and Dolly told herself she had 
 been foolish to make herself so conspicuous in hfcr very 
 best dress. But she so seldom had an opportiuiity for 
 wearing it, and she had so wanted to look h.er best-~for 
 Theo. 
 
 "After all, it's London, and the summer, and the 
 height of the season," she thought. "My dress is quite 
 right for a town afternoon in July. Why do they all 
 stare so? Do none of these lawyers and barristers and 
 journalists ever hare a decent-looking wom&n to visit 
 them?" 
 
 The attention she received made hsr feel more and 
 128
 
 DOWNWARD 129 
 
 more nervous and guilty, and when at last she found the 
 block where Theo lived, she was feeling almost hysterical, 
 as she rushed up the stairs, longing for the safety and 
 seclusion of her destination. 
 
 Up and up and up! oh! what a long way it 
 seemed, although in reality it was but two stories. The 
 swish of her silken underskirts seemed to make a loud 
 noise like the wind in a storm. She felt that people 
 would be hurrying out to inquire the cause of the din. 
 
 Up and up and up ! was the place never coming ? 
 Ah, at last the door she sought a heavy oaken door 
 "Mr. Theodore Walter" painted above. It flew open at 
 her tap, and there stood Theo, his face radiant a glad 
 welcome in his eyes. 
 
 "Oh, you've come! You've really come!" he said, 
 jealously closing the door that shut her in with him. 
 
 She stumbled across the threshold, one hand on her 
 heart, too breathless to speak her eyes wide and fearful, 
 beseeching him. 
 
 "You're out of breath . . . why, you're frightened!" 
 Gently soothing her, he led her along a dark passage into 
 a room full of soft light. She found herself sitting on a 
 great divan with Theo by her side, gazing at her. He 
 was kissing the hand he held very gently, very ten- 
 derly, as if it were something he dared hardly touch. 
 
 "You're not afraid, sweet lady?" he was saying; 
 "surely you're not afraid?" 
 
 "No, of course not," she answered, "only every one 
 stared, and I got nervous, and I thought I should never 
 find you, and, oh, suppose any one had seen me ! " 
 
 "But you're not doing anything wrong." 
 
 ' ' N- -no, not really wrong, of course, but not very 
 right either at least ... oh, well, I 'm here, anyhow, so 
 don't let's talk of that." And she flashed her most 
 dazzling smile at him her head a little back, her eyes 
 half mocking. 
 
 Theo agreed with a feeling of relief : how delightfully 
 she fitted in, he thought; how cleverly she understood! 
 
 The room Dolly found herself in was very large and
 
 130 DOWNWARD 
 
 exceptionally lofty; the great window took up the most 
 of one wall and reached almost to the roof; it was the 
 only one in the room and gave it a chapel-like appear- 
 ance. The other end, where the divan stood, was quite 
 in shadow. There were two or three huge palms in pots 
 grouped at the back of the divan, and at its head was 
 placed a large vessel of antique brass on three legs, in 
 which stood several pots of lilies interspersed with ferns. 
 Their heavy, languorous odour was a little overpowering, 
 since there were so many other flowers in the room as 
 well. 
 
 The parquet floor was relieved by a few Persian rugs, 
 and before the hearth a magnificent tiger skin was 
 stretched. The furniture was all antique, each piece 
 rare and excellent of its kind. A collection of old brass 
 was spread on a splendid oak dresser and a couple of 
 cabinets held china that would have excited a con- 
 noisseur's envy. 
 
 Theo was an enthusiastic collector, and as a rule ready 
 to talk about his things as long as any one would listen. 
 To-day, however, they were far from his mind. He did 
 not even call her attention to the cherished window, or 
 to the small collection of pictures of which he was justly 
 proud. This woman filled his whole horizon, all his 
 thoughts. Her presence flooded his spirit with a tremu- 
 lous joy. Her nervousness, now past, had communicated 
 itself to him. She looked so dainty, so maddening in her 
 exquisite clothes he had never seen her like this before. 
 The witchery of her mocking eyes went to his head. For 
 the first time he felt afraid of himself of her. 
 
 As before in the Park, the ordinary conventionalities 
 of talk refused to be uttered. With hands linked to- 
 gether, dumbly they sat beneath the most potent spell 
 that the world knows. Nature's white magic held their 
 eyes enlocked; Nature's white fire made molten their 
 hearts . . . 
 
 As they gazed in silence, the mocking smile died from 
 Dolly 's eyes. She felt as if unseen fingers were straining 
 at the muscles of her face, as if her mouth were becoming
 
 DOWNWARD 131 
 
 drawn. Her lips began to tremble, her eyes to widen as 
 in fear, a storm of tears seemed about to rise and engulf 
 her. In her mind the thought flashed: "This is very, 
 very serious this is aw full" 
 
 Both the young faces were very solemn. Theo's, too, 
 was white and drawn, as Dolly felt her own to be. Just 
 as the strain was becoming intolerable, and the awful 
 magnetism of that endless gaze seemed to be tearing out 
 their hearts, their eyes dropped suddenly simultane- 
 ously, as if at the bidding of some unseen power. The 
 spell had broken with a feeling of unutterable relief 
 they swayed into each other's arms, drowning their pain 
 in the ecstasy of kisses sweet and terrible. 
 
 At last Dolly drew back and opened her eyes. Theo 
 bowed his head upon their clasped hands. "What have 
 you done to me? What have you done to me! " he mur- 
 mured, brokenly. 
 
 It was all just as she had pictured, only far more 
 thrilling and painful, too ; she had not reckoned on the 
 element of pain. 
 
 The time raced along ; the brief hour was almost run, 
 and still they sat side by side, holding each other, pour- 
 ing out their hearts. Returning speech had given them 
 a little ease and gaiety, and they felt they could never 
 tell each other all there was to be told, never slake the 
 desire of the eyes or satisfy the longing for each other's 
 lips. 
 
 "I could hold you like this forever," whispered Theo. 
 "Dolly ! Dolly ! I can never let you go ! I could kiss you 
 for ever and ever. I could look at your face till 
 eternity!" 
 
 "Isn't it wonderful!" Dolly murmured. 
 
 "Wonderful and glorious like you are, sweet 
 sweetest of women. Are you a woman?" 
 
 ' ' Silly boy ! Whatever else should I be ? " 
 
 "A fairy, a sprite, a nymph, a dryad a creature of 
 fire and dew and wondrous magic blood, come down from 
 some distant star-land, some far realm of joy, to torment 
 and delight the sons of men. You do torment, you know,
 
 182 DOWNWARD 
 
 Dolly; you distil the most subtle, intoxicating poison I 
 shall die of you!" 
 
 Dolly ran her fingers through his dark hair; he was 
 so white, and his half -shut, green eyes were glittering. 
 Wild words rose to her lips. She wanted to whisper 
 "Die of me, Beloved, and let me die of you! Kill me 
 with love, drown me in your sweetness! Let me sleep 
 and never, never wake!" 
 
 But she only put her cheek against his, and stifled 
 back the words. His extravagances of speech fascinated 
 her. They were so different from anything she had ever 
 known. 
 
 ' ' I have it ! " he said, suddenly ; ' ' I know what you are 
 now: 'a rose, a lily, a dove, a serpent, a little honey and 
 a handful of clay.' No, not that either, though it's a 
 lovely sentence, but it doesn't describe you it doesn't 
 express the sting and the spell of you." 
 
 "Where does that come from?" asked Dolly. 
 
 "I can't think . . . where now? . . . where? Isn't 
 it maddening when one can't place a thing like that ? Do 
 you know that when we met in the Park a thousand 
 years ago ..." 
 
 "The day before yesterday!" 
 
 "A thousand years ago, my Lady of the Enchanted 
 Hair ! Well, on that day you reminded me of something 
 I had read, and I couldn't think where it came from, and 
 it haunted me all the thousand years until this morning 
 I ran it to earth in the unlikeliest place in the world. ' ' 
 
 "What was it?" 
 
 " 'To wring one's soul out on the lips of the one 
 woman.' Isn't that beautiful? It was actually in Ste- 
 venson's Letters, of all unlikely places, one he wrote 
 when he was twenty-five. 'To wring one's soul out!' I 
 could lose a hundred souls in your kisses, Beautiful, and 
 still be hungry and athirst for you." 
 
 With a tremor she turned her face away and tightened 
 her arms round his neck. Theo bent his head and kissed 
 the laces that fluttered on her breast. He could feel the
 
 DOWNWARD 133 
 
 warmth of her beautiful bosom rising and falling so 
 quickly now. Again he felt afraid . . . 
 
 It was a dangerous moment. Theo rose abruptly and 
 walked away from her to the end of the room. There the 
 tea table, with its burden of silver and china, attracted 
 his attention. 
 
 "Why, you've not had tea yet," he said, welcoming 
 the diversion. "How badly I treat my Lady. But she 
 shall have it in a second. I told Victor to leave the 
 kettle absolutely boiling." 
 
 "It will have boiled away to nothing by now," said 
 Dolly. In a minute Theo returned, carrying a steaming 
 copper kettle. "It almost had, but there's just enough 
 for tea." 
 
 Dolly joined him at the table. ' ' How nicely your man 
 arranges things," she said. "I suppose it's your man." 
 
 "Yes, Victor is a king in his own line. He's a Pole. 
 I picked him up in Paris. ' ' 
 
 Theo was disappointed that she refused to eat. "I 
 thought I'd just got the right tea for a lady," he said, 
 ruefully, and to please him she ate the peach he peeled 
 for her and a few sweets. 
 
 They had lost the sense of time as before, and when at 
 last she looked at her watch, Dolly was horrified to find 
 she was due back on duty in ten minutes. 
 
 "Don't worry, Beautiful," Theo reassured her. "I'll 
 telephone for a taxi, and you'll only be five minutes late. 
 And I '11 take you out to it and show you the easiest way 
 to get here the next time. ' ' 
 
 Next time, Dolly, next time? 
 
 "Oh, Theo, I can't come again," she stammered; "I 
 mustn't, it's not fair I vowed it should only be this 
 once." 
 
 The name of Helen stuck in her throat she could not 
 name the friend she had betrayed, nor could Theo speak 
 of the faithful lover he had wronged. At the words "not 
 fair" Theo's face darkened and his lips tightened. 
 
 "Don't say that," he muttered, "for Heaven's sake
 
 184 DOWNWARD 
 
 don't play with me- I can't stand it. You must come 
 again you must! My God, I can't lose you now!" 
 
 He seized her suddenly by the shoulders and scanned 
 her face. At her reproachful eyes, his roughness fell 
 from him. He pleaded in the voice that was so difficult 
 to withstand. 
 
 ' ' Beautiful be kind to me ! Come again ! Why not ? 
 There's no harm ..." 
 
 Again the name of her friend strained on her lips in 
 vain. 
 
 ". . . no harm, I want you so ! You can't think what 
 it means to me to have your beautiful presence here in 
 my rooms, to hold your beautiful body in my arms. . . . 
 Am I saying too much, darling? Do I speak too plainly? 
 Oh, if you only knew all I long to say to you !" 
 
 "Oh, don't!" murmured Dolly, her face hidden. 
 
 "Come again, then, sweetheart, just once more! I've 
 hardly said a word yet, and I've been waiting for you 
 from the beginning of time think of all I have to say 
 to you! We must have one long evening together. 
 Come to dinner here, on your next half-day." 
 
 "Oh, Theo, I couldn't at night!" 
 
 "Oh, Dolly, you're a woman of the world, aren't you? 
 You know there's no harm; you can trust me?" 
 
 Theo seemed to have some diabolical instinct for using 
 just the argument most calculated to appeal to Dolly. 
 To be called a woman of the world was to be put on her 
 mettle. She did not want to show herself full of subur- 
 ban fears, like Nurse Morley or narrow-minded like 
 one of the girls at the convent. She prided herself on 
 her sensible unconventionality. 
 
 "Yes, of course I trust you, but suppose I were seen? 
 And it's such a difficult place to get to." 
 
 "It's as easy as possible once I've shown you the way, 
 and you won't be seen, it will be pitch dark." 
 
 Both knew that only by a miracle could it be pitch 
 dark at dinner-time in mid-July, but Dolly said nothing, 
 Theo went on in his fascinating, persuasive voice. ' ' You 
 must comethink how glorious it will be a long eve-
 
 DOWNWARD 135 
 
 ning all to ourselves! I've such heaps to say to yon 
 still we'll be so happy ! Come, Love ; say you'll come !" 
 
 The word Love affected Dolly's imagination. It was 
 the first time he had used it, and with all his passion he 
 had not yet said : "I love you/' that simple avowal so 
 unutterably dear to a woman. 
 
 For a man Theo was exceptionally intuitive ; he read 
 her thoughts in her face, and hastened to turn them to 
 account. "You know I love you," he repeated ardently, 
 his arms round her. "You know I love you, Beau- 
 tiful!" 
 
 "Do you, Theo?" she whispered; "tell me so." 
 
 "Haven't I been telling you all the time? Haven't I 
 been telling you so every minute since I first saw you? 
 Didn't I tell you so in the Park, and haven't I told you 
 a hundred times at Meredith House?" 
 
 "What ! when you did nothing but glare at me? You 
 never gave me a friendly word even!" 
 
 ' ' That was because I never felt friendly towards you, 
 because I knew that I could only be your lover never 
 your friend!" 
 
 "And why did you always scowl at me so, Theo?" 
 
 "Ah, I scowled to stop myself from telling you that I 
 loved you ! ' ' 
 
 The words "I love you" gave Dolly the keenest joy, 
 and as he repeated them over and over again, she 
 thought, as she had often thought before, how strange 
 it is that a woman is so anxious to hear that fatal sen- 
 tence spoken, which a man almost always takes for 
 granted on the part of a woman. 
 
 Theo, for instance, never asked her if she loved him. 
 How strange it is that men are always convinced of 
 woman's love, and never seek to be assured of it. Even 
 when a woman is deceiving a man, and encouraging him 
 for some particular reason, being in reality entirely in- 
 different to him in her heart still he never dreams of 
 doubting that she loves him. The easiest thing in the 
 world is to make a man imagine that he is loved; as a 
 rule he does so without any making at all. A woman is
 
 186 DOWNWARD 
 
 sometimes obliged to repel a man with positive insults 
 before he will believe she does not love him, and even 
 then he is only half convinced, and probably concludes 
 she is assuming indifference out of pique, or because 
 he has not nattered her enough! This strange self- 
 satisfaction is doubtless intended by Nature as a special 
 protection; it would never do for Nature's purpose if 
 men were too thin-skinned ! 
 
 When they were making their way to the gate where 
 Theo had told the taxi-cab to wait, Dolly found herself 
 agreeing that she would come to dinner, "just once." 
 
 "But I must come in black," she added, "and 
 swathed in black veils from head to foot." 
 
 ' ' Oh, no ! that would attract more attention than any- 
 thing. That would look guilty. Come in white, do 
 I'm sure you'll look more deadly than ever in evening- 
 dress." 
 
 Dolly had not thought of wearing evening-dress, but 
 now she resolved to, however conspicuous it might make 
 her arrival. She reflected with satisfaction that the 
 white chiffon she had had for Monte Carlo was still in 
 the fashion and almost unworn. 
 
 "Deadly !" she repeated, with a smile. "I'm not sure 
 that that's very complimentary." 
 
 "It's true, you're quite the deadliest woman I've ever 
 known. You ought to be locked up, you know, kept 
 under a glass case. You ought to go veiled, and cover 
 those fatal eyes of yours with blue glasses. They under- 
 stand women like you better in the East, my Lady of the 
 Enchanted Hair! ... I want to paint you as Circe 
 as Life as the Lorelei. We must talk about it on 
 Wednesday ; we must talk about everything on Wednes- 
 day. Wednesday! It's the loveliest word in the lan- 
 guage. My God! it's a week off. ... Beautiful, how 
 am I going to live through this weekt" 
 
 Dolly wondered how often he saw Helen in a week, 
 how often he would see her in this next week, and how 
 he would behave to her. She wondered what was his 
 attitude of mind as regards Helen. Was it possible he
 
 DOWNWARD 187 
 
 fancied that she, Dolly, did not know of the engage- 
 ment? He had absolutely ignored the fact that he was 
 bound to another woman. The name of Helen had never 
 once been spoken between them. 
 
 For Dolly's part, the recollection of Helen so sweet, 
 so trusting contracted her heart with a horrible pang. 
 She felt the thought to be unbearable and shut it from 
 her mind, lest it spoil her new joy. Just once just 
 once more she would meet Theo just once more she 
 would give herself up to this intoxicating madness that 
 had suddenly illumined the dullness of her life, and 
 then, never again! She would end it, stamp it out. 
 And she would warn Helen ; she would manage somehow 
 to warn Helen to look after her fiance better. With 
 feminine lack of logic, she felt her conscience relieved at 
 this idea of warning when it was already too late.
 
 XIII 
 
 THERE was great excitement in Meredith House. No 
 less a person had arrived than the wonderful Lady 
 Angela Strood, in whom Very Great Personages were 
 said to have been deeply interested. She had been sud- 
 denly taken ill in the house of her sister, the Duchess 
 of Lakeminster, and Dr. Walter Gordon had prescribed 
 her immediate removal to the nursing home for an ope- 
 ration by Hereford Williams. She had fallen to Nurse 
 Morley's lot and that little person, very flushed and 
 excited, was now reciting to the interested circle of 
 nurses the wonders of Lakeminster House, from whence 
 she had fetched the great lady under the doctor's 
 supervision. 
 
 "Oh, you should have seen the bedroom! The maid 
 said it was the Duchess' own room. Oh, you should 
 have seen the bed! the curtains were of white satin, 
 veiled with white chiffon think of it chiffon! And 
 there was the most lovely old lace quilt mounted on 
 satin, just like a ball-dress and the pillows were run 
 through with lilac ribbons, and, oh ! such lace round the 
 edge of them ! And the carpet was white actually, pat- 
 terned with wreaths of lilac and pink roses I hardly 
 dared step on it. All the hangings were lilac, and 
 the sofa cushions were covered with tucked pink chiffon, 
 and all the flowers in the room were pink roses and car- 
 nations such masses of them! And oh! the dressing- 
 tables ! she had two one covered with gold toilet things 
 and the other with tortoise-shell ones. The wash-stand 
 ware was made of crystal; it glittered like little dia- 
 monds, and her towels oh ! you never saw anything so 
 lovely as her towels! They were ..." and so on, and 
 so on. 
 
 138
 
 DOWNWARD 189 
 
 "I suppose we shall have all sorts of princelings and 
 dukelings round here now," said Nurse Brooks, "com- 
 ing to inquire and bring flowers. You are lucky, Mor- 
 ley, to get her. I wish I had ! I 've been fearfully dull 
 since Mrs. Knowle* left. She and Julian-darling were 
 so interesting." 
 
 "Well, the Duke of Deerham will be here for one," 
 said Nurse Dickenson, whose brain contained an ency- 
 clopaedia of the alleged amours of the great, compiled 
 from heaven alone knows what unsavory sources, and 
 which she took a pride in keeping up to date no easy 
 task. 
 
 "Won't it be fun!" said Nurse Brooks, clapping her 
 hands. "Be sure to tell us everything, Morley, won't 
 you ? ' ' 
 
 "Hush!" interposed Nurse Clifford, sternly. "If 
 any one were to hear you, Brooks! You know we're 
 supposed not to repeat anything about our patients." 
 
 "I know we're supposed not to do lots of things," re- 
 plied the younger woman with a grimace. "At St. 
 George's, for instance, the nurses are strictly forbidden 
 to speak to the doctors and students, and yet dozens of 
 them get engaged to be married. I suppose it's all done 
 by telepathy or will-power!" 
 
 "If Sister had heard you, there would have been a 
 row. She's..." the opeaker looked cautiously up the 
 landings above and below and then continued: "she's 
 awfully vexed to-day already about Tregonin leaving 
 town." 
 
 "Is Helen leaving town?" asked Dolly, with sudden 
 anxiety. 
 
 "Yes, going to Eastbourne for a week with Miss 
 Raven. Anthony worried Sister into consenting; he's 
 sick of having illness in his house and wants to get rid 
 of her, no doubt. And now Sister's annoyed with 
 herself for giving in." 
 
 "We're short-handed as it is, with Lady Angela just 
 come," grumbled Nurse Brooks, "we shall all have to 
 put in some extra work till Lady Walter goes or
 
 140 DOWNWARD 
 
 Tregonin comes back. When is Lady Walter going, 
 Fitz?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Dolly, preoccupied with her 
 thoughts. Helen was going away! Helen was going 
 away! 
 
 "She's made a wonderful recovery, hasn't she, Fitz?" 
 said Nurse Brooks. The question had to be repeated. 
 
 "I suppose so," returned Dolly, absently. She 
 dreaded Lady Walter's going, yet desired it. This ser- 
 vice to Theo's mother was dear to her; she prized the 
 link between them, but for Helen's sake and for the 
 sake of her good resolutions she longed to cut the tie. 
 Once his mother had left, Theo would have no excuse to 
 come to Meredith House except to visit Helen. 
 
 "I don't know much about that," Nurse Clifford was 
 saying; "I've seen many cases like Lady Walter's, and 
 I've never known them to survive long. If I were 
 Anthony, I wouldn't let her leave till she's made more 
 progress; in any case, she's not long for this world, I'm 
 convinced." 
 
 "Really, Cliff, you think that?" asked Dolly, some- 
 what startled. She knew how correct the senior nurse's 
 judgments were in such matters, and how more than 
 once she had been right and the specialists wrong. 
 Here was a fresh complication. If Lady Walter went, 
 Helen would probably go with her for a time, and in- 
 evitably Theo too. Theo would leave town and be with 
 Helen. Dolly knew this was probably the best thing 
 that could happen, but a fierce jealousy consumed her 
 at the thought. On the other hand, if Lady Walter 
 stayed, she might die at Meredith House, and Dolly 
 would suffer the misery of seeing Theo's grief, Helen's 
 grief, and, for different reasons, would not dare show 
 sympathy with either. Most of all she dreaded Helen's 
 returning to her work and meeting her every day on the 
 former intimate terms. 
 
 What a muddle everything was getting into. Dolly 
 could not see the end. Never mind, there was Wednes- 
 day! Wednesday, for which she longed as she had
 
 DOWNWARD 141 
 
 never longed for any day in her life before. One glori- 
 ous evening was before her she would think only of 
 that, concentrate herself on that, drain every drop of 
 sweetness and then fling away the cup ready for what- 
 ever battle might be beyond. 
 
 "Wednesday and Theo!" she thought to herself, and 
 it was sweet to think that he, too, was longing for the 
 day and saying "Wednesday and Dolly 1"
 
 XIV 
 
 ON Wednesday morning Dolly awoke very early, and 
 her first thought was "To-day!" She felt so happy, 
 so glad. Through the open window the fresh morning 
 air was stealing, and the early sunbeams fell on the 
 uncarpeted floor. She recalled that night only a few 
 weeks back, when she had looked at the stars after her 
 evening with Colin Lester. How unhappy she had been 
 that night, and yet all the time this great gladness was 
 in store for her. 
 
 "I suppose I'm very wicked," she thought, ''but it's 
 astonishing how happy I am in spite of it. I've never 
 done a really mean, bad thing like this before, and yet 
 I've never been so happy in my life. I expect I shall 
 soon be punished most awfully, but I don't care; it's 
 worth it!" 
 
 Then she fell to thinking of Theo, and, according to 
 the strange habit of women in love, she went over those 
 two interviews in her mind, word for word, detail for 
 detail, re-living every instant of that meeting in the 
 Park, and the visit to his rooms, as she had done a 
 hundred times already. 
 
 Now at last the day had come, her fear that something 
 might even now happen to prevent the meeting grew in 
 intensity. When at twelve o'clock a telegram was 
 handed to her, her heart seemed to stop beating. "It's 
 all over," she told herself, tearing open the envelope 
 Avith fingers that trembled. But it ran: 
 
 "Fitzgerald, Meredithiana, London. 
 "Will you do pit until me to-night, Hay market or 
 Garrickf Reply Stuart." 
 
 142
 
 DOWNWARD 143 
 
 The relief was so great Dolly could have laughed fa 
 joy as she wrote out a negative reply. 
 
 "Poor old Stuart will have to sit in some pit alone 
 to-night," she thought. Poor Nurse Stuart, who had no 
 exciting tete-a-tete dinner party in prospect. Poor 
 Nurse Stuart, who had no goodly lover to kiss the hem 
 of her garment. Dolly felt a passionate pity for all 
 women who did not know what it was to be utterly 
 absorbed heart and soul in one well-beloved. 
 
 As she held the door of Lady Walter's room open for 
 Dr. Haven, he noted her shining eyes and the joy that 
 irradiated from her whole face. He stopped short for 
 a second in the doorway. Who shall say what was at the 
 bottom of the dark look he gave her? 
 
 Dolly looked him proudly in the face, a hint of de- 
 fiance in the carriage of her head. "No one can make 
 me unhappy now," her eyes seemed to say; "you are 
 powerless to hurt me. I have a shield, a talisman, 
 against all attacks." 
 
 Later she was told that Lady Walter was leaving 
 Meredith House on Friday, and that Helen, released on 
 that day from Miss Raven, was to accompany her aunt 
 to the latter 's home in the country. 
 
 "What a mercy it had not been to-day!" Dolly 
 thought, as Theo would surely have had to go with his 
 mother. All was turning out for the best. She was 
 glad Helen was at Eastbourne ; she would not have liked 
 to feel that Helen was in town to-night so near. She 
 was glad Theo would have to go away immediately after 
 this meeting, and thus it would be made easy for her to 
 keep her resolves. To-night was hers hers only ! After 
 to-night nothing mattered. She would have had her 
 hour, and the memory would keep joy alive in her for a 
 long time. 
 
 She had thought no more of leaving Meredith House 
 and going on the stage, nor yet of her approaching 
 holiday. From the day she had met Theo in the Park 
 everything else, past and future, seemed to have been 
 blotted out. Love's bondage was as yet sweet to her*
 
 144 DOWNWARD 
 
 "Half -days" begin as soon as the patient is settled 
 after lunch. At last the long morning was over and 
 Dolly was free. Just before she went off duty, Sister 
 Meredith sent for her, and, with some show of depreca- 
 tion, asked if she would mind postponing her holiday 
 in view of the staff being short-handed. The girl ac- 
 quiesced with such cheerful readiness that Sister Mere- 
 dith's heart warmed to her. 
 
 "It's really very nice of yon, Fitzgerald, and I shan't 
 forget it. No. 5 will be vacant to-day, but there'll be 
 an hemiplegia coming on Monday, whom I mean to put 
 there, and Lady Walter's room's already booked by a 
 very bad case which will mean ovariotomy. Would you 
 rather have that or the hemiplegia?" 
 
 "I don't mind, Sister, whichever suits you best. I 
 suppose they are both old ladies, anyway?" 
 
 Sister Meredith laughed heartily. "Poor Pitz, the 
 old grievance! As it happens, one is quite a young 
 woman and the other's a middle-aged one. It's a nui- 
 sance being so full. Last week I had to refuse two 
 hernias and a neurasthenia." 
 
 Dolly seized the opportunity to ask "extra late" time 
 that night, "on account of a party," and Sister Mere- 
 dith answered genially, "Certainly, my dear; stay out 
 till twelve, and enjoy yourself. ' ' 
 
 Dolly thought the afternoon would never pass. She 
 went down Bond Street and had her hair shampooed. 
 As she listened to the French hairdresser's exclamations 
 over its glory she thought shyly how she would like to 
 show it to Theo. 
 
 On her return to the nursing home she lay on her bed 
 and tried to rest. At last it was time to dress at an 
 absurdly early hour. She lingered lovingly over every 
 detail of her toilet and took more time than she had ever 
 done in her life before. To-day there seemed to be a 
 special significance about everything she did. 
 
 Oh, it was good to be in love good to be young and 
 alive! good to be going to meet one's lover, even if 
 there were no to-morrow !
 
 DOWNWARD 145 
 
 At last she was ready at last it was time to start. 
 She stole down the stairs, darkly cloaked, a white lace 
 wrap round her head. It did not please her that any 
 one should see her but Theo. At last she was whirling 
 through the streets in the closed taxi. How hot it was 
 how her heart was beating! 
 
 Now she was hastening through the narrow alleys of 
 the Temple ; there were fewer people about at night, and 
 she kept the lace wrap tight round her face. Now she 
 was speeding up Theo's stairs up, and up, and up 
 the swish of her skirts more than ever like a storm-wind, 
 but what cared she? Now she was at her lover's door, 
 and it flew open before she knocked. Now she was in 
 Theo's arms and all the stars were falling. . . . 
 
 How sweet the secret meeting of lovers at night to 
 steal through the streets, counting one's mad heart- 
 throbs, to know the other is watching and waiting and 
 counting heart-throbs too, to have doors fall open at 
 one's approach and then at last that locking of the 
 arms, that locking of the lips, the slaking of that long, 
 long thirst in the joy of the Beloved's presence. 
 
 It was quite dark in Theo's passage . . . presently he 
 whispered, "Sh! Victor is here," and led her into the 
 room she knew. 
 
 It was lit with many beautifully shaded lights. Theo 
 helped her off with her wraps. Her soft, white chiffon 
 dress foamed out at her feet. She wore silver shoes, as 
 Theo had pictured; a silvery band encircled her waist. 
 In her hair was a pale blue ribbon, at her breast a white 
 rose framed in green leaves. Her young, round arms 
 and bosom were bare ; in her eyes love was shining, and 
 the power to give dreams was on her sweet, parted lips. 
 
 Theo could find no words to express his rapture. They 
 looked at each other, softly smiling utterly content. 
 
 The Polish man-servant served the dinner and waited 
 noiselessly. It had been sent in from outside, and 
 doubtless Theo had spent some thought and a good deal 
 of money on ensuring its perfection, but it might have 
 been the "mush" of her school-days for all Dolly knew
 
 146 DOWNWARD 
 
 to the contrary. She remembered afterwards eating 
 some iced melon at the beginning and that there were 
 red roses in antique glasses on the table. She remem- 
 bered at first refusing wine, but yielding when Theo 
 urged it on her, and being surprised to find that eventu- 
 ally she had drunk a couple of glasses. Beyond this she 
 could recall nothing. 
 
 The meal concluded, Victor wheeled the small table 
 right out of the room. Theo and Dolly lit cigarettes and 
 wandered about whilst he showed her his pictures and 
 different treasures. 
 
 Barely a whiff or two of the cigarettes they took, and 
 even the black coffee remained all but untasted. Dolly 
 took a green liqueur, because of its colour, she said, and 
 Theo was absurdly pleased at this. From early training 
 colour was a craze with him. 
 
 "Now we'll be happy," he said, as Victor left them 
 for the last time, "utterly, madly happy! It's only 
 nine o'clock; we've got nearly three glorious hours to- 
 gether. Dolly, you beautiful darling, I want to see you 
 walking up and down this room of mine." 
 
 "What an absurd boy you are, Theo!" 
 
 "True, I'm three parts mad as a rule, but now I'm 
 intensely sane saner than I've ever been before. The 
 wisest and most sublime thing I ever did in my life was 
 when I persuaded you the god of lovers alone knows 
 how to give me these exquisite hours. Isn't happiness 
 the highest wisdom in this cruel, groaning and travailing 
 world ? Isn 't it a supreme achievement to snatch a little 
 joy in the face of this brutal, hideous, black Destiny 
 that has placed us in this appalling century, nearly 
 three thousand years too late ! You and I should have 
 been ancient Greeks, Beloved; they would have wor- 
 shipped you as a goddess in Greece in olden times and 
 burnt you as a witch in England a century or two ago ! 
 But now walk down the room, Dolly, do and let me 
 watch you." 
 
 ' ' But why tell me why ? ' ' 
 
 "Because you walk so wonderfully; you seem to have
 
 DOWNWARD 14.7 
 
 no bones. I've known other women like that before. . . f 
 Have you ever seen Otero at Monte Carlo?" 
 
 "No, I've only been once and she wasn't there.*' 
 
 "It's worth going all the way across England and 
 France to see Otero walk down the Rooms so quiet, so 
 beautiful, with her wonderful jewels gleaming, and men 
 and women all standing staring after her quite silly 
 and mazed. I once heard Lady Bertram Blayne say 
 when Otero had passed like a pageant, 'Ah, well, we 
 could all walk like that in that bolero of emeralds.' 
 Fancy the absurdity Lady Bertram, with her red wig 
 and the worst make-up in "Wiltshire! And you're just 
 the same, Dolly!" 
 
 "What? I the same as Lady Bertram!" 
 
 ' ' No, no ! your walk is just like Otero 's, and you have 
 that same beauteous bonelessness. Am I rude, Dolly? 
 Do my remarks annoy you? I can't help it, you know; 
 it's your fault. But you're not getting on with your 
 cigarette. ' ' 
 
 "Nor are you." 
 
 "And your coffee's cold we're both equally silly, 
 aren't we? But you must take your liqueur." 
 
 "I must; it's so beautiful." 
 
 There was a sound of a heavy door shutting close by. 
 They both started. "It's only Victor going out to his 
 club, ' ' Theo said. Dolly realized that she was now quite 
 alone in the flat with him. He seemed to divine her 
 feeling and began to talk hurriedly. 
 
 "Yes, take your liqueur. Some day I mean to do a 
 mad picture in which the motif shall be a glorious green 
 liqueur and all kinds of tulips. I'm crazy about tulips, 
 you know; I could wonder myself to death about 
 them. Tulips the Gesneriana that flower in May, rose- 
 coloured with black hearts like lovely oourtesans, and 
 the yellow ones rising from their green sheaths, the 
 purest and sheerest green and yellow in all nature's 
 paint-box! And the Parrot tulips, like strange, bright 
 birds they almost speak! There's no flower to equal 
 tulips, though sweet-peas are full of dreams too. If only
 
 148 DOWNWARD 
 
 the tulips had the sweet-peas' scent, life would be too 
 perfect. That's why these heavenly things only last a 
 few weeks in the year it would be too much, too much 
 for us poor mortals to have them always." 
 
 They were standing still now by the grand piano. 
 Dolly saw that he was talking extravagantly because he 
 dared not be silent. "Ah, well," he continued, "if you 
 once begin to think seriously about flowers you can 
 wonder yourself into madness." 
 
 Poor Theo, he was very near madness himself just 
 then. He had over-estimated his own strength and 
 coolness, and was beginning to realize it. Suddenly he 
 stopped in the middle of a sentence and flung his arms 
 around her. 
 
 "Ah, Dolly," he muttered, between his wild kisses on 
 her throat and lips and hair, "Nature was in deadly 
 earnest when she made you !" He drew her to the divan 
 and they sat down side by side. 
 
 "There is pain in this," he said, "pain for us both, 
 and I did not want to give you pain, my Beautiful" 
 his voice sank to a whisper "do you suffer, Dolly, do 
 you suffer as I do? No, don't tell me; I don't want to 
 hear you say it!" 
 
 "It's worth it," said Dolly, faintly. 
 
 "Ah, how I bless you for saying that how wonder- 
 fully you understand! Do you know those lines of 
 Burton's? 
 
 " 'How ~brew the brave drink, Lifef 
 Take of the herb hight Morning Joy, 
 Take of the herb hight Evening Rest, 
 Stir in Pain lest Bliss should cloy, 
 Shake in Sin to give it zest. 
 Then down with the brave drink, Life!' " 
 
 Then suddenly he made the avowal she had been 
 expecting all the time. 
 
 "D'you know I never meant this to come about. 
 * you believe that, don't you? The very first time
 
 DOWNWARD 149 
 
 I saw you in my mother's room at the nursing home I 
 thought: 'My God, here's a woman who could mean the 
 sun and moon to me, who'd waft me to the skies and 
 bring all heaven to my feet.' And I vowed I'd keep 
 away from you you know why. And I longed, oh! 
 how I longed to get to know you, and talk to you, and to 
 make love to you mad love ! And sometimes I longed 
 to kill you and then myself. . . . But you felt some- 
 thing of it, didn't you, sweet, although you only saw my 
 scowls?" 
 
 "I felt it," Dolly answered. 
 
 "And here we are, in spite of it all. You're here in 
 my arms, piercing my heart drowning the soul of me. 
 So Nature mocks at our puny little efforts ! I suppose 
 it's a screaming jest to her to see us struggling in the 
 grip of the Life-Force. ..." 
 
 Suddenly he started up. "That's it! That's how I 
 must paint you, Dolly as the Life-Force ! Surely 
 you're the Life-Force Incarnate!" 
 
 He began to walk up and down in front of where she 
 sat, talking excitedly. 
 
 ' ' I would paint you swathed in shimmering draperies 
 soft, like moonshine, faintly tinted with mother-of- 
 pearl, or should it be pink? softest pink round the 
 shoulders, deepening to brilliant rose at the feet. . . . 
 And your hair should hang all around you the sun- 
 light shining round the Life-Force glorious! You're 
 the Spring-song too. You're Mother Nature brooding 
 over the earth after winter at the sight of you a quick- 
 ening wave of life rushes over the world! 'The wild 
 Spring, with its chances and dreams' that's Dolly! I 
 should like to paint you as them all, but I could never 
 get your face, Dolly incarnate Life-Force that face 
 of yours that makes the sap rise in the trees and calls to 
 the seeds to ripen and the earth to bring forth. ..." 
 
 All at once his stream of words ceased ; he seemed to 
 lose the thread of his speech. He sat down a little dis- 
 tance off, his head bent, looking at her from beneath his
 
 150 DOWNWARD 
 
 brows. He was very pale, beads of sweat stood on his 
 forehead, one lock of dark hair lay across his temples. 
 
 There fell a perilous silence, and the man and woman 
 were conscious of their hearts' wild beating. . . . 
 
 "Play to me, Theo," said Dolly, a little tremulously, 
 with a sudden inspiration, and he started up, exclaiming 
 huskily, "The very thing!" 
 
 Theo crossed over to the grand piano at the far end of 
 the studio and began to rearrange the lights. From 
 where he stood he switched off all the lamps at Dolly's 
 end of the room except one that sent a flood of light over 
 the divan where she sat. 
 
 ' ' I want to see you as I play, ' ' he said, ' ' resting on the 
 cushions, with your little silver feet just peeping out, as 
 I've imagined you so often. Isn't it strange I knew you 
 would have silver shoes?" 
 
 Dolly lay on the divan and listened. Theo was a fine 
 performer, and had a gift of expressing music. As the 
 glorious strains of Beethoven's Sonata Apassionata 
 filled the room, the very air seemed electrified with the 
 passion and longing that surged in the young man's 
 heart. 
 
 Then he sang a verse or two of Gounod's beautiful 
 Priere, composed to Sully-Prudhomme '8 words: 
 
 Ah! si vous saviez comme on pleure 
 De vivre seul et sans foysr 
 Quelquefois, devant ma demeurt, 
 Vous passeriez. 
 
 8i vous saviez ce que fait naitre 
 Dans I'ame triste un pur regard 
 Vous regarderiez ma fenetre 
 Comme au hasard. 
 
 8i vous saviez quel baume apporte 
 Au coeur la presence d'un coeur, 
 Vous vous assoiriez sous ma porte 
 Gommt une soeur.
 
 DOWNWARD 151 
 
 Si vous saviez que je vous aime, 
 Surtout, si vous saviez comment, 
 Vous entreriez peutStre meme 
 Tout simplement! 
 
 His voice was sweet and thrilling. Dolly could hardly 
 bear it. 
 
 "Do you like it, Dolly? I thought you would. The 
 English version is charming too: 
 
 " 'Tour heart would lead you, trembling, longing 
 Sweet! to my door.' " 
 
 "Trembling and longing, Dolly," he whispered, more 
 to himself than to her. But Dolly heard him. 
 
 Suddenly he stopped and asked her to sing. She re- 
 fused ; her singing voice had proved a grief to her. His 
 evident disappointment was wounding to her vanity. 
 Then she thought of her one talent and sprang up, 
 clasping her hands with delight at the inspiration. 
 
 ''I've got a lovely idea, Theo," she cried; "I'll dance 
 to you and you shall play." 
 
 "Splendid ! Wait a minute, I'll turn on all the lights. 
 You see, this one switch by the piano controls the whole 
 lot. Shall I clear away anything?" 
 
 "No, there's plenty of room. Now play let me see 
 play Tschaiko vsky 's 'Casse-Noisette.' " 
 
 Theo sat down again at the piano. In the middle of 
 the room Dolly began to dance. 
 
 At the sight of Dolly, dancing Theo thought of long 
 beds of tulips, their heads bending, sweeping to and fro 
 in the wind of hedges of sweet-peas climbing to the 
 sky, their clinging tendrils catching the stars. . . . 
 
 At the sight of Dolly, dancing Theo thought of the 
 wild radiance of moonlit skies of the mocking laughter 
 of star-sprites of the summer rain falling, falling, fall- 
 ing in the night, like myriads of crystal arrows of
 
 152 DOWNWARD 
 
 the fragrance of the green, rain-washed earth after- 
 wards. . . . 
 
 At the sight of Dolly, dancing Theo thought of wild 
 winds lashing the seas to fury soft winds gently sway- 
 ing golden corn-fields, gently stirring Dolly's golden 
 hair. . . . Her soft chiffon skirts swirled out around 
 her like the petals of a great white rose ; the blue ribbon 
 had fallen from her head; and see! see! the great 
 coil of her hair was slowly unbinding slowly falling, 
 falling, and the winds were blowing it to the four 
 heavens in great golden clouds. . . . 
 
 Ah! Dolly's hair, Dolly's ensnaring hair falling and 
 flowing around her. ... Ah! Dolly's arms, white, beck- 
 oning arms that maddened so. ... Ah ! what a sight 
 Dolly, dancing dancing to her doom. 
 
 She ceased, breathless, her blue eyes afire and held 
 out her hands to him. . . . 
 
 The rest of the world faded away. . . . She forgot all 
 save that she was a goddess and a god held her in his 
 embrace.
 
 XV 
 
 IT was a bright moonlight night, and when Dolly 
 and Theo stole out into the quadrangle they exclaimed 
 at the multitudinous radiance of the stars. As Dolly 
 put up her hand to draw the white lace wrap around her 
 head, both their faces were plainly visible to a man who 
 stood lighting a cigar in the shadow of another doorway. 
 
 He started forward in surprise and muttered angrily, 
 as if the sight annoyed him. When they passed out of 
 the court he crossed to the doorway whence they had 
 issued and studied the names painted up on the lintel. 
 Hurrying after them, he noted from a little distance 
 how they stopped before the Master's house. Theo 
 seemed to be calling his companion's attention to the 
 beauty of the dignified grey buildings bathed in the 
 moonlight; she nodded, apparently too dazed to notice 
 details. At the church, too, they stayed again and whis- 
 pered together. In the shadow of an archway the silent 
 watcher saw them lingeringly embrace. 
 
 153
 
 XVI 
 
 "I TOLD you so!" cried Nurse Dickenson, excitedly, 
 to the group of nurses on the landing. "The Duke of 
 Deerham has come to see Lady Angela again I He's in 
 the waiting-room with Sister." 
 
 "Surely Sister won't let him see her so soon after the 
 operation?" said Nurse Clifford. 
 
 "Lady Angela will be mad if he's sent away again," 
 put in Nurse Brooks. "Morley says she swore like 
 like a cabman yesterday when he came to inquire and 
 wasn't allowed to see her." 
 
 Nurse Clifford exclaimed indignantly, "Why do 
 these idiotic women come here, on purpose to get the 
 quiet and good nursing they can't get in their own 
 homes, and then do their best to spoil everything by 
 setting all the rules at defiance?" 
 
 "He's coming up!" whispered Nurse Brooks, excit- 
 edly. "Sister can't withstand the ducal frown, you 
 see!" 
 
 A very tall, very pale young man, clad in unostenta- 
 tiously perfect clothes, was stalking up the stairs in the 
 wake of Sister Meredith, whose flushed face and tightly 
 closed lips betrayed her annoyance. The duke gave the 
 group of nurses a languid stare, unconscious of the 
 interest he was exciting. 
 
 "Isn't he like a greyhound?" said Nurse Dickenson, 
 when he had passed. 
 
 "Like a pedigree one, then," rejoined Nurse Brooks; 
 "you can tell at a glance he's somebody there's such a 
 look of race about him!" 
 
 "Nonsense, he looks exactly like any other smart 
 man," cried Nurse Clifford; "if you met him shop- 
 walking in a frock-coat at Peter Robinson's, you 
 154
 
 DOWNWARD 155 
 
 wouldn't notice the look of race, 7 know. What do yon 
 say, Fitz?" 
 
 "Er what about?" asked Dolly, absently. 
 
 "The Duke of Deerham, of course." 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "He's just passed, with Sister mean to say you 
 didn't notice?" asked Nurse Brooks, incredulously. 
 "Oh, don't be absurd; what's the matter with you this 
 morning? You seem half asleep!" 
 
 "Well, I had a bad night." 
 
 "S-sh! Sister will be back in a minute to rag us for 
 not sitting in No. 5," said the senior nurse. "She's in 
 a rage already, that's plain, and you know she likes us 
 to sit in the vacant bedrooms when there are any." 
 
 Two bells rang simultaneously and the group of 
 nurses dispersed- Only Dolly was left sitting on the 
 stairs her head in her hands. 
 
 She heard a man's step approaching and looked up in 
 a sudden fear that it might be Theo. She felt that it 
 would be impossible to meet his eyes in the crude 
 daylight. 
 
 But the figure coming up the stairs was nearly a head 
 taller than the man who possessed her thoughts. She 
 started up on meeting the keen gaze of Dr. Anthony 
 Raven. He looked very stern the genial "bedside 
 manner" had disappeared. In his eyes she saw that 
 strange, bitter animosity that was becoming familiar to 
 her alone among the nurses. 
 
 He came straight up to her, to her intense surprise, 
 and said noticeably ill at ease: 
 
 "I have something to say to you, Nurse Fitzgerald." 
 
 "Yes, sir," she faltered, an unpleasant sinking at her 
 heart. 
 
 He led the way, evidently with premeditation, to the 
 unoccupied No. 5. Seeing the sturdy figure of Nurse 
 Clifford seated there, engaged with her knitting, he 
 hesitated for a moment and then advanced into the 
 room. For the senior nurse Dr, Raven had a great 
 admiration and respect
 
 156 DOWNWARD 
 
 "Er Nurse Clifford, I want to speak to Nurse Fitz- 
 gerald a minute. "Would you er have the goodness 
 to see I'm not disturbed?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." She walked out, her face respectfully 
 blank of the surprise she was feeling. 
 
 The door shut. Dolly stood just inside, facing the 
 specialist. In front of them the full length mirror in 
 the wardrobe door reflected their two figures. 
 
 Dolly looked unflinchingly at the Doctor. As yet she 
 had no inkling of what was coming, but the man's severe 
 mien filled her with forebodings and her heart fluttered 
 painfully. The suspense of the brief silence made her 
 feel suddenly quite faint. 
 
 At last Anthony Raven spoke. 
 
 "I saw you last night, Nurse Fitzgerald, and I want 
 to warn you that you'll lose your post if that sort of 
 thing goes on." 
 
 "You s-s-saw ..." Dolly's voice trailed away. She 
 put her hand to her forehead the suddenness of the 
 blow seemed to stun her. For one hideous second she 
 imagined he must mean he had been present in Theo's 
 room must have seen. . . . 
 
 The stern voice continued: "Yes, I saw you leaving 
 a man's rooms at midnight. It was the merest chance I 
 was visiting a friend in the same block there myself, but 
 any one else might have seen you. Your host accom- 
 panied you out, and drove with you as far as Cavendish 
 Square. Evidently it was a tete-a-tete party; you were 
 alone with him. Don't deny it." 
 
 The man's bullying tone whipped up Dolly's fainting 
 courage as nothing else could have done. She made an 
 effort to command herself, to still that inward trembling 
 which so often saps a woman's self-control in poignant 
 moments. 
 
 "I don't deny it, sir," she said, quietly; "what is it 
 to you?" 
 
 Her apparent calmness seemed to increase his anger. 
 
 "It's this to me," he answered, fiercely, bringing his 
 face close to hers and speaking in a low, furious voice
 
 DOWNWARD 157 
 
 "that 111 not have the nurses of any institution with 
 which I'm connected behaving like loose women, having 
 assignations in men's rooms at midnight " 
 
 "I'm not a loose woman," said Dolly, between her 
 teeth, and, strange to say. her voice was exactly like his 
 own. "Who are you to dare accuse me?" 
 
 "You'll gain nothing by impertinence! I meant to 
 warn you, but since this is the way you take it, I shall 
 compel you to send in your resignation to Sister Mere- 
 dith. Women like you are not wanted in the nursing 
 profession." 
 
 At this starting of her old bugbear, one of her former 
 fits of wild rage seized upon Dolly. She forgot the 
 deference supposed to be due from a nurse to a doctor ; 
 she forgot that he had the power to harm her in her 
 profession. Her nostrils quivered, the deadliest light- 
 nings glittered in her eyes : ' ' How dare you say that ! ' ' 
 she cried; "what do you care for the honour of the 
 nursing profession? You know I'm a first-class nurse, 
 and yet you want to lose me my post! You're a rich 
 man, and you want to turn a working woman out of her 
 calling! Just because I'm once seen in a compromising 
 situation ' ' 
 
 "Women who go to men's rooms late at night are not 
 fit for this calling!" 
 
 "Pah! it's a branch of your own is your own life so 
 immaculate! No ! only you're at the top and I'm at the 
 bottom, so your amours can be public property, and 
 are! but / mustn't deviate one inch from " 
 
 At this unexpected turning of the tables, Dr. Raven 
 lost control of himself as completely as Dolly had done. 
 He seized the girl's arm. 
 
 "You little devil!" he said, venomously. "Be 
 careful! Do you know whom you're " 
 
 He cheeked himself sharply and his hand went to his 
 lips. Fear seemed to rush into his eyes. 
 
 "I know you hate me," Dolly began, and then the 
 significance of his uncompleted sentence, of his action, 
 struck on her inner consciousness and arrested her
 
 158 DOWNWARD 
 
 speech. At that instant she caught sight of the mirror 
 where they were reflected the two pale, fierce faces, 
 alike in their pallor, alike in their fury, alike the two 
 straight noses with quivering nostrils, alike the dark, 
 even brows, alike the angry gaze of their blue eyes. 
 
 The two pairs of brilliant blue eyes held Dolly's gaze. 
 A voice from the past re-echoed from some far-distant 
 cell of her memory her mother's dying voice: 
 
 "Your eyes are so like his so like!" 
 
 The truth smote her wild, improbable, amazing but 
 the truth ! She pointed, speechless, to the mirror. 
 
 "Oh, God!" she gasped. "Look! Why . . . yon 
 you are my father!" 
 
 Anthony Raven had too entirely lost the mastery of 
 himself even to protect the carefully guarded secret of 
 five and twenty years. 
 
 "Yes, damn you, I am your father!" the words were 
 torn from him "and that's why I won't have you 
 dragging yourself through the mud!" 
 
 "As you dragged mother!" Dolly was strangely, 
 dreadfully calm now, and to the storm of violent words 
 that burst from the man in answer she only made reply : 
 
 "Haven't you don me enough harm already, 
 Father f" With that she turned and walked slowly from 
 the room. 
 
 It was a day of destiny, and one more thread re- 
 mained to be woven. Outside the door Dolly came 
 suddenly face to face with Theo. It was the last ex- 
 tremity. She flung her hands up to her eyes, as if to 
 shut out the sight of him, and with a stifled cry rushed 
 up the second flight of stairs and disappeared. 
 
 This action probably altered the whole course of -her 
 life. 
 
 Theo stood motionless for a few seconds, and then 
 turned sharply round and walked out of the house. 
 
 A few minutes later Dr. Eaven issued from No. 5. 
 He had regained his composure, but his unusual pallor 
 and sternness betrayed him to the observant eyes of 
 Nurse Clifford. Throughout this curious drama she had
 
 DOWNWARD 159 
 
 eat knitting calmly in a corner of the landing. None of 
 the three participants in what she perceived to be some- 
 thing of a tragedy had observed her, but there was 
 nothing about them she had failed to notice. 
 
 "Poor little Fits has burned herself at last," her 
 thoughts ran. "What can have happened? Young 
 Walter left the house without seeing his mother and 
 Anthony went without visiting a single patient. What 
 on earth has Fitz done to them both? . . . She might 
 have left Helen's boy alone. I suppose she can't help 
 her nature it's her nature to want to make men burn. 
 Well, I'm glad I'm built differently. . . . Poor Fitz! 
 Poor Helen! . . . What & mercy none of the others 
 Bawl" 
 
 END OF PABT IL
 
 PART in 
 I 
 
 LOOKING back in after years to this, the blackest time 
 of her life, Dolly's principal recollection was the despair 
 that ensued on the postman's visits. Eight times a day 
 her soul was racked anew, as post followed post and no 
 word came to her from Theo. Dolly had not seen him 
 since the day she had fled from him up the stairs, which 
 she no\y realized had been a serious mistake, since it 
 must in some way have wounded hfm, A thousand times 
 she had regretted it On the following day Lady Walter 
 had left the nursing home with her niece Helen, and 
 Dolly knew that Theo had been at Haslemere with them 
 all through the long vacation, and had still not returned 
 to town. 
 
 Apparently he had put her right out of his life. In 
 vain she told herself that it was best so, that it was what 
 she had intended and resolved. But that resolution had 
 been made before the fatal evening which had altered 
 everything. She had never dreamed it would have 
 ended as it did, and she told herself bitterly, miserably, 
 that Theo now belonged more to her than to Helen. 
 
 Yet he made no sign. Days ran into weeks and weeks 
 to months, but long before this her deep humiliation at 
 Theo's silence had given place to more poignant feel- 
 ings. She lay awake at night occupied with horrible 
 calculations. An unspeakable dread was in her mind, 
 a dread that she dared not clothe in words until forced 
 to by the passing of the ruthless weeks. 
 
 At the end of August she was free to take her holiday. 
 A prey to terrible fears, she managed to get through the 
 161
 
 162 DOWNWARD 
 
 fortnight with her friends at Hampstead, but instead of 
 going afterwards to Berlin, she sought retirement for 
 the rest of the time in a small farm-house in Hampshire. 
 Here, among the blessed seclusion of indifferent stran- 
 gers, she forced herself to face the truth that a heavy 
 price was to be exacted for that brief hour of passion 
 a price to be paid by her alone. 
 
 As yet she could feel only fear. Terror of the most 
 painful kind held her in a relentless grip. 
 
 In these circumstances she had paid small heed 
 to the revelation of her father's identity, which other- 
 wise would have been a matter of great moment. In the 
 first excitement of her discovery she had rushed to 
 Dacre Hamilton's office, but the lawyer had been out of 
 town. Knowing how strict was his code of professional 
 honour, Dolly had little hope of getting any information 
 from him, even though Anthony Haven himself had 
 admitted the facts, but when they met a week later, 
 Hamilton had received instructions from his client, and 
 there was nothing to impede their conversation. 
 
 Anthony Raven had told the whole story, including 
 his version of the events of that Wednesday night, when 
 by a curious coincidence he too had visited a friend at 
 the latter 's rooms in the Temple. Dolly was unaware 
 that Hamilton knew all. In her version of the strange 
 interview with her father, she had vouchsafed no in- 
 formation as to the cause of their "quarrel" as she 
 chose to term it. Hamilton never told her how earnestly 
 he had pleaded for her. Eaven, in his rage at Dolly's 
 defiance of him, had intended to repudiate entirely any 
 further responsibility for her. The lawyer's advice had 
 prevailed, however, and the ultimatum which eventually 
 reached the girl was merely to the effect that her allow- 
 ance would continue and nothing should be said about 
 her behaviour, on condition that she kept her own coun- 
 sel and left Meredith House as soon as possible giving 
 notice at once. 
 
 Dolly rather enjoyed the situation. 
 
 "Eeally, Mr. Hamilton, your child-like innocence is
 
 DOWNWARD 163 
 
 charmingly assumed," she said; "it's all so delightfully 
 transparent 1 Does Anthony really think he can buy me 
 for a wretched ten pounds a quarter? How dare he 
 presume to make conditions! Can't I damage him now 
 ever so much more than he can damage me?" 
 
 "No, you cannot. Will you never realize, Dolly, that 
 there is one law for men and another for women, espe- 
 cially when the man is rich and the woman poor. What 
 harm can you do a man of his standing? Even if you 
 were believed, it would only be one more story circulat- 
 ing about him it's no news to you how many there are 
 already. It isn't as if he were a politician, whom a 
 breath of scandal could ruin. But, on your side, you 
 know well that a word to Sister Meredith would cause 
 your dismissal; she can't afford to go against her 
 patrons. 'Dismissed for rudeness to a doctor' it would 
 take some living down, you know." 
 
 "I suppose so," said Dolly, sombrely, "and a woman 
 working for her living can't afford to take any risks. 
 He knows that. Well, he needn't fear; fortunately for 
 him I'm mother's child as well as his. You can tell him 
 Valerie Fitzgerald's daughter isn't a blackmailer, and 
 that I refuse to leave Meredith House till it suits me. 
 Moreover, of course, I decline the allowance with many 
 thanks I" 
 
 The lawyer sighed. He got very tired of trying to 
 prevail against the whims and tempers of men and 
 women. Nothing, however, surprised or shocked him. 
 Patiently he began to expostulate. 
 
 "You've been longing to leave the nursing home for 
 months. Now that it's expedient to do so, you refuse to 
 go. Is that sensible or practical?" 
 
 "It's not expedient. I've just earned Sister's lively 
 gratitude by agreeing to postpone my holiday because 
 we're so short-handed. She's been decent to me on the 
 whole, and I'm not going back on her. Besides, by leav- 
 ing now, I should either get no holiday or no pay for as 
 much holiday as I chose to take. And if I let Sister pay 
 me during my absence, I shall have to work for her a
 
 164 DOWNWARD 
 
 reasonable time on my return, naturally. Who's the 
 sensible and practical one now ? ' ' 
 
 Hamilton smiled. "Well, I suppose you'll keep out 
 of Dr. Raven's way, and try to get the other men's 
 patients. But about the allowance why be so fool- 
 hardy?" 
 
 "No, no, it's unthinkable ; I couldn't touch his money. 
 It's only right he should have provided for and edu- 
 cated me, and had me taught a profession I think a 
 man should be liable for all his children. I don't feel 
 under any obligation for what he has done. But now 
 I'm independent thank heaven for itl I'll take 
 nothing more from him." 
 
 "You 11 miss the forty pounds, child." 
 
 "Of course I shall, dreadfully, but I'd miss my self- 
 respect more. I'll not touch Anthony Raven's money! 
 I'll not sell the privilege of despising a bad father for 
 forty pieces of gold per annum." 
 
 * ' You 're making a mistake, ' ' said the lawyer. ' ' That 
 tendency to melodrama will prove costly, my child. I've 
 often warned you against it. ' ' Inwardly, whilst he scru- 
 tinized her face, he wondered what really were her 
 relations with Theo. 
 
 "It's strange you never saw the likeness before," he 
 said, musingly. 
 
 "That's just what I've been thinking ever since," 
 Dolly agreed; "it's so marked, yet no one noticed it, not 
 even Nurse Dickenson, who has an extraordinary fac- 
 ulty for scenting scandal." 
 
 With her father, Hamilton had indulged in the rare 
 luxury of an "I told you so ! " For years he had urged 
 Raven to allow his daughter to follow her natural bent, 
 but Dolly's father had the delusion of the thoroughly 
 non-moral man that to keep women virtuous they must 
 be strictly guarded from all temptations. He guessed 
 that his daughter had probably inherited a good deal of 
 his temperament, and though he hated the sight and the 
 thought of her, he was afraid to leave her unprotected. 
 All his arrangements had been made under the influence
 
 DOWNWARD 165 
 
 of this idea, and for the same reason he had set his face 
 from the first against her going on the stage. But Dacre 
 Hamilton had never ceased to maintain that the girl 
 would be far safer in a life that suited her far more 
 likely to throw over the traces if forced into an uncon- 
 genial sphere. Now it seemed to be turning out as he 
 had prophesied, though to what extent he did not yet 
 know. He fancied there was a grim secret in Dolly's 
 eyes, and he was fearful for her future. 
 
 "Don't make any change without consulting me," he 
 said at parting, ' ' and, remember, Dolly, I 'm always here 
 if you want me. Come to me if you're in in any diffi- 
 culty, no matter what it is; or if you miss the forty 
 pounds too much." 
 
 "Thank you, Dacre," she said, with a grateful glance 
 from her beautiful eyes. 
 
 "That's right call me Dacre; we've been friends so 
 long." 
 
 "And what a friend you've been to me!" Dolly 
 stood on tip-toe and simply, charmingly, she kissed him 
 on the cheek. 
 
 The lawyer remained standing by his desk for a long 
 time after she had gone, and then for some moments he 
 stared at his greying hair in the glass. 
 
 "If that young brute has done her any harm!" he 
 muttered, savagely.
 
 II 
 
 THE weeks were passing. With appalling, cruel swift- 
 ness they fled, one after another. The hunted look 
 deepened in Dolly's eyes and black shadows were 
 painted beneath them. 
 
 A certain measure of peace had come to her, however. 
 Her mind had regained its balance ; she told herself that 
 it would be all right yet. Theo would not let her suffer 
 there would be no need for fear. His silence had been 
 hard to bear, but she would not let herself believe he 
 had ceased to care for her. It was so vital that he should 
 still care; he must care. He had adored her, he had 
 kissed the hem of her garment, he had said she held all 
 the heavens and the earth for him, he had made her his 
 own. Surely such a passion could not die so soon ! 
 
 She would go to him and tell him what had befallen. 
 It would be painful telling, but sweet withal. He would 
 take her in his arms with kisses and gentle words ; hence- 
 forth their lives would run together . . . and in the 
 spring a strange, beautiful joy would come to them. . . . 
 
 Dolly would sometimes grow rosy with delight in the 
 darkness, as she lay sleepless, picturing that spring-tide 
 and its gift to her. Only sometimes, awakening sud- 
 denly in the cold dawn, when vitality is at its lowest, 
 that chill fear would grip her heart again, and she 
 would bury her face in the pillow and moan, "Oh, God! 
 not that oh, God!" 
 
 Still she delayed communicating with Theo in the 
 hope that the long expected letter would come and make 
 all easy for her. It was so difficult to break through the 
 barrier of that silence, and with such news ! She deter- 
 mined to wait a little longer, just a little longer. It was
 
 DOWNWARD 167 
 
 dangerous, she realized. Sister Meredith had been an- 
 noyed with her for sending in her resignation so soon 
 after a holiday, and more than once she caught the 
 Sister's shrewd eyes fixed on her in a peculiar way that 
 made her catch her breath, with a spasm of that hideous 
 fear. Delay was undoubtedly dangerous . . . but the 
 letter might come to-morrow ... or the day after. She 
 would wait. 
 
 The letter did not come, but instead came through 
 Sister Meredith the news of Lady Walter's death. For 
 Dolly this was an evil stroke of fate; she felt that it 
 would be impossible to write to Theo now perhaps for 
 some weeks to come. She longed to comfort him, her 
 heart ached for him in this grief ; she could not bear to 
 think he was inevitably turning to Helen for consola- 
 tion, that the loss was bringing them still closer together. 
 
 Of Helen she scarcely thought it was too painful. 
 She told herself again and again that she could not 
 afford to consider her friend and indeed it was too late 
 now. 
 
 Meanwhile they flew, they flew those terrible weeks ! 
 And though each was so swift, their total seemed in- 
 numerable years. By Dolly's calendar scanned several 
 times a day and sometimes for hours together when off 
 duty, marked and remarked with countless calculations 
 and blotted with despairing tears only ten weeks had 
 run when Lady Walter died, but Dolly felt that years 
 must have passed, and sometimes she wondered as she 
 looked in the glass that her hair was still bright and 
 golden. 
 
 One night, a fortnight after Lady Walter's death, that 
 strange, sickening fear stood by Dolly's bed and would 
 not be denied. All the thoughts that she had refused to 
 entertain rushed into her brain. All the grim imagin- 
 ings she had resolutely tried to banish made ghastly 
 pictures before her. 
 
 She was lying on her back, her eyes wide and full of
 
 168 DOWNWARD 
 
 horror, staring into the darkness, when the door opened 
 very gently and Nurse Clifford stole into the room, 
 carrying a candle. 
 
 Never beautiful, the senior nurse was now a most 
 unlovely object in a pink flannel nightdress, surmounted 
 by a red woollen dressing-gown. Her scanty hair, grey- 
 ing at the sides, was screwed into a tight knot at the 
 top of her head. One missed in her face the freshening 
 effeat of the white collar and cap-strings. She looked 
 less dignified, in fact not dignified at all, but her kind 
 eyes were full of love and pity, and to Dolly in her deso- 
 lation the middle-aged woman seemed an angel of light. 
 
 She knelt down by the bed and put a protecting arm 
 across the unhappy girl. Without a word, Dolly turned 
 her face to that motherly breast and eased her strained, 
 anguished eyes in a gush of tears. 
 
 "Oh, Cliff, Cliff! if you only knew!" she moaned, 
 "if you only knew! Oh, Cliff, I'm so afraid!" 
 
 The other woman stroked her hair gently, and held 
 the shuddering figure tight in her arms. At last, when 
 Dolly was quiet, she said: 
 
 "I do know, Fitz, dear; I know all about it." 
 
 "Oh! you don't mean to say already " 
 
 "No, no, dear not a bit. Don't worry, nobody could 
 tell yet. But it's your face and your changed manner. 
 I've had a lot of experience, you know, and somehow I 
 guessed. But you don't mind me?" 
 
 "No, not you, Cliff you're so kind, only . . . oh, 
 what shaU I do? God, what shall I do?" Her sobs 
 broke out afresh, her convulsed face was painful to see. 
 The other woman blew out the candle. 
 
 "We can talk better in the dark. Now, Fitz, dearie, 
 you're not to cry, it's so bad for you. Let's think what's 
 to be done. There's no need to be upset; I'm sure it's 
 all going to come right. Have you told him yet?" 
 
 "Not yet." 
 
 "Well, I would if I were you, at once. How long 
 is it?" 
 
 "Twelve weeks."
 
 DOWNWARD 169 
 
 "And your time here isn't up for nearly another fort- 
 night. You must be careful till then, my dear. You 
 know what a genius Dicky has got for a scandal, and 
 that little brute Brooks, too ! You must try and be your 
 old self; make an effort, just for the two weeks, to be 
 cheery and light-hearted anything to keep that scared 
 look out of your eyes. And don't let yourself creep 
 about and walk sort of gingerly. It would be nasty if 
 they got hold of it just before you went." 
 
 "I'll try," said Dolly. "I didn't think I was giving 
 myself away, but Brooks is painfully sharp, and Dicky 
 always thinks the worst of everybody." 
 
 "And tell him, child write and tell him at once. 
 It's not fair to yourself or him or any one to keep 
 silence any longer. You'll see, it will all come right. 
 He'll get a license at once, and when you leave you can 
 be married without more delay. You ought not to put 
 it off a moment longer ... for the child's sake. 
 Fitz " her voice sank to a whisper "do you know, 
 Fitz . . . I envy you. . . . I should have liked a child !" 
 
 The two women clung together in silence. "Oh, if 
 only you are right!" sighed Dolly, "but I'm such a 
 coward, I simply can't bear to think of what's coming, 
 if he ... And then there's some one else, too. ... I 
 can't tell you." 
 
 "I know poor Helen!" 
 
 It seemed a long time that Dolly lay still and speech- 
 less in the darkness. Nurse Clifford could feel her body 
 trembling. Then at last her voice came hoarse, 
 strangled : 
 
 "Who told you?" 
 
 "I guessed, my dear don't be frightened; no one else 
 has. But I was on the landing that day when Dr. Raven 
 talked to you in No. 5 and you were so upset, and then 
 the young man arrived and you rushed away from him. 
 On the whole, it wasn't difficult to put two and two 
 together; but I couldn't understand what Anthony had 
 to do with it, unless he 's in love with you too ? " 
 
 "Oh, no, he hates me!"
 
 170 DOWNWARD 
 
 After a pause, finding no other explanation came, 
 Nurse Clifford asked: "You do want to marry him, I 
 suppose?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "Fitz! You can't mean to say your love has died 
 already!" 
 
 "No, I feel the same; but love is such a strange thing 
 nobody really understands it. That's why every one 
 talks and reads and writes so much about it. It's quite 
 incomprehensible, though, and it's nothing to do with 
 marriage." 
 
 "That sounds downright wickedness to me." 
 
 "I don't mean to be wicked. I only mean that it's 
 difficult to imagine Theo a husband he's not like that, 
 somehow." 
 
 "And you never thought of marrying him at all?" 
 
 "No, I never thought of anything. I never meant to 
 take him from Helen. But he was mine and I was his, 
 and though we tried to keep apart something dragged us 
 together. We couldn't help it; it just happened. And 
 then I went to his rooms, and I suppose we lost our 
 heads. But I never meant it to come to that, nor did he. 
 We only wanted to snatch a little innocent joy together. 
 It was just ... the Life-Force ! And now I feel so lost 
 and lonely and afraid. Do you really think it will be 
 all right, Cliff?" 
 
 Again Nurse Clifford repeated the comforting assur- 
 ance of which she was in reality by no means so con- 
 fident. Day was dawning when she went to her own 
 room, leaving Dolly soothed and almost asleep. 
 
 Next morning proved the good woman's secret fears 
 to be well grounded. The first post brought her a letter 
 from Helen, announcing her marriage to Theo in a few 
 weeks' time. 
 
 "Now we're in for it!" she thought. "Oh, poor, 
 poor Helen! Oh, why will the Life-Force make these 
 fearful muddles for us?"
 
 m 
 
 "My dear boy is so sad and moody," Helen wrote, 
 "that I really think it is best for him that onr marriage 
 should take place at once, though it is hard there should 
 be such a shadow upon onr wedding, as we have been 
 waiting so long. Bnt Theo is miserable here, now that 
 the dear mother has gone ; the place is too full of memo- 
 ries of his childhood. And he seems to have taken a 
 dislike to his rooms in town, and won't go np even for a 
 day, although I hare urged him to, thinking it might 
 cheer him. He needs me so now that I cannot leave him, 
 and our marriage seems to be the only solution. ATI our 
 relatives wish it, too, so we hare decided not to wait till 
 Theo is called to the Bar, as we originally intended. 
 We shall be married very quietly in town, and go 
 straight off to Cairo, probably staying the winter there.*' 
 
 Nurse Clifford thrust the letter into her pocket, pray- 
 ing that Hefen might not announce the fact of her 
 approaching wedding to Sister Meredith, or any one 
 who might inform Dolly. Theo's sadness and unrest 
 seemed to her a good omen for Dolly, though the thought 
 of Helen being sacrificed was too painful to contemplate. 
 But Mary Clifford knew that Helen was a woman of 
 rarely noble character; she felt sure that, once ac- 
 quainted with the facts, Helen would not hesitate to 
 renounce her happiness to the woman who had the 
 greater claim. 
 
 After breakfast she took Dolly aside and again urged 
 her to write without delay to Theo. It was not till two 
 days later, however, that the letter was posted. Dolly 
 spent the whole of her half-day composing it, and tore 
 up a dozen attempts. She had meant to write lovingly, 
 171
 
 172 DOWNWARD 
 
 to reveal the great secret in tender, carefully chosen 
 words, but she still smarted under the humiliation of 
 Theo's cruel silence, and the letter that finally went was 
 cold and crude. 
 
 It was posted on a Thursday afternoon. Dolly ex- 
 pected an answer by the last post on Friday night, or 
 perhaps a wire earlier in the day. She felt sure Theo 
 would rush to her side, and her spirits lightened enor- 
 mously, once the letter had gone. She told herself she 
 had been foolish to give way to fear and to make herself 
 ill with worry. Theo loved her ! Theo would not let her 
 suffer! 
 
 At that time she was nursing an elderly clergyman 
 recovering from an operation and a young married 
 woman, well known in Society, who had developed 
 "nerves," after a not very creditable appearance as 
 intervener in a recent divorce case. Dolly considered 
 this Mrs. Lanyon the most exasperating patient she had 
 ever had. Her bell seemed to ring ceaselessly, her wants 
 to be uneriding. On this particular Friday afternoon 
 she nearly drove her nurse mad. Poor Dolly was look- 
 ing wretchedly ill; the anxiety and suspense, coupled 
 with the strain on her condition, had told on her fine 
 constitution; she was now far more "nervy" than her 
 patient. 
 
 But the pretty mondaine, comfortable in bed with 
 nothing to do, knew no mercy. First she rang for her 
 milk why did not Nurse bring it punctually? . . . 
 Then, if her clock was fast, would Nurse be so good as 
 to put it right? She had had an excellent lunch barely 
 two hours ago, but to a malade imaginaire having a rest- 
 cure, the food is of the utmost importance, and even the 
 arrival of the prescribed glasses of milk between meals 
 makes a break of some kind in the monotonous day. 
 
 How tiresome! The milk was too hot would Nurse 
 cool it ? ... Oh, dear, now it was too cold ; Nurse must 
 really heat it up again; how careless of her! And the 
 poor head was aching so, Nurse must bathe it with Eau- 
 de-Cologne , . . perhaps it might help to send away
 
 DOWNWARD 173 
 
 the pain if Nurse were to brush her hair with the electrio 
 brush! 
 
 And so on and so on an endless succession of petty 
 desires and petty complaints, till Dolly's head ached far 
 worse than her patient's, and her limbs ached, too, from 
 the unnecessary running to and fro. It was a relief to 
 think that she had only eight days more at Meredith 
 House, for she was getting beyond the hard work. The 
 early rising and the innumerable stairs tried her espe- 
 cially, and some days she felt she could hardly keep 
 going till bed-time. 
 
 All through Mrs. Lanyon's fretful monologue Dolly's 
 thoughts were of the wire she was expecting her hear- 
 ing strained to catch the double knock at the front door. 
 As the afternoon passed she began to concentrate her 
 thoughts on the letter she felt sure would come by the 
 evening post. After all, she told herself, it was far more 
 likely that Theo would write announcing his coming. 
 The letter would reach her to-night, surely, and to- 
 morrow he would come to her and all would be welL 
 
 But neither wire nor letter came. 
 
 As soon as she was awake the next morning Dolly 
 began to pray passionately that the letter might reach 
 her by the first post. Whilst dressing, she wondered 
 how many women in London that morning were praying 
 and longing for a word from faithless and forgetful men 
 how many of them for the same cause as herself? 
 
 It was so easy to write a letter ! It was such torture to 
 wait for one that did not come. She recalled with regret 
 the many letters that she had left unanswered from men 
 who had loved her. Freddy Smith, for instance, was 
 wont to heap passionate epistles on her, mainly com- 
 posed of abuse because she did not return his love. She 
 had always regarded this persistent wooer with ridicule, 
 and only one in ten or so of his letters had she troubled 
 to answer. To-day, for the first time, she realized that 
 the little man must have suffered very keenly on her ac- 
 count. Her own trouble made her feel sorry for all the 
 pain in the world.
 
 174 DOWNWARD 
 
 But the letter did not come by the eight o'clock post. 
 Dolly could hardly believe it. At breakfast she sat 
 silent, not hearing when spoken to, eating nothing, but 
 drinking feverishly cup after cup of weak and ever 
 weaker tea. Nurse Clifford filled her cup without com- 
 ment, merely saying at the last, "I'm sorry it's so weak, 
 Pitzj the Gold-Stick is so stingy." 
 
 So the long, wretched day dragged itself out. Post 
 after post passed; a score of letters arrived for the 
 patients, for Sister, for the nurses, for the servants but 
 none for Dolly from Theo. Dolly felt that life could 
 hold no bitterer humiliation she who had been so often 
 wooed, so deeply desired she to wait, faint with 
 anxiety, for a man's word! 
 
 Fortunately the exacting Mrs. Lanyon had a succes- 
 sion of visitors that afternoon and left Dolly in peace. 
 Her other patient, the elderly clergyman, had noted 
 some time ago that Nurse Fitzgerald had some trouble 
 on her mind, and from long and painful experience in 
 a country district he could shrewdly surmise the possible 
 nature of that trouble. He well knew that set-apart 
 look of deep and grievous preoccupation peculiar to 
 women, and what it generally portended. He was a 
 kindly soul, and for days he had been casting about for 
 suitable words with which to gain her confidence and 
 offer help and consolation. Such hints as he had thrown 
 out, however, had been received with blank, almost 
 stupid, non-comprehension. He perceived that the girl 
 was so deeply engrossed in her own thoughts that she 
 did not hear half of what was said to her. Having 
 ascertained, by cleverly casual questioning of Sister 
 Meredith, that Nurse Fitzgerald had private means, his 
 anxiety on her behalf was somewhat relieved. Dolly 
 never knew how much kindly consideration she owed 
 him, or how many times he refrained from ringing his 
 bell, because it would mean more stairs for her to climb. 
 
 When the last post was in, and Dolly realized that she 
 would have to wait two endless nights and a day before 
 the next delivery on Monday morning, she broke down
 
 DOWNWARD 175 
 
 utterly. Nurse Clifford, who had hovered around her 
 all day, took the hysterical girl up to her little attic 
 below the roof. The other nurses, whispering in a group 
 on the landing, agreed that "something peculiar was up 
 with Fitz." 
 
 Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday passed, but 
 no letter came. Thirty-two posts drew out the agony to 
 its uttermost length. Neither self-control nor reticence 
 had ever been strong points with poor Dolly. In spite 
 of Clifford's warnings, she gave herself away on every 
 hand; she found it impossible to conceal her miserable 
 anxiety. By this time everybody in the house, even the 
 page-boy, knew that Nurse Fitzgerald was expecting a 
 letter that did not come a very important letter. 
 
 All the permanent inmates of the house had also 
 noted that Nurse Fitzgerald, formerly so bright and 
 laughing and light-hearted, now scarcely ever spoke, 
 and was always far away in her thoughts, which were 
 obviously of an unpleasant nature. 
 
 Moreover, her personal appearance had greatly 
 changed; she had been so brilliant, so pretty, now she 
 was strangely dimmed and almost plain. She cried very 
 often, her eyes were always red-rimmed and scored 
 below with dark shadows, sometimes wild and sometimes 
 stony all joy had gone out of them ; often it was pain- 
 ful to meet their gaze, so full were they of anguish. 
 
 And her mouth, her beautiful, laughing mouth, 
 curved for joy, was now pinched and set, drawn down at 
 the corners. Her soft, rounded cheeks seemed suddenly 
 to have fallen in. There were large hollows on either 
 side, and this alone marred her good looks considerably. 
 
 "Your figure's absolutely all right," Nurse Clifford 
 assured her ; ' ' you needn 't worry about that for another 
 six weeks, but you are evidently one of those women 
 who show it in their face from the first ; my sisters were 
 both like that. But only quite experienced people 
 understand, fortunately. ' ' 
 
 Sister Meredith cast many a scrutinizing glance at 
 Dolly in those days, and Brooks and Dickenson also
 
 176 DOWNWARD 
 
 stared furtively at her. They had begun to whisper 
 about her together by the time Nurse Clifford had per- 
 suaded Dolly not to rush for the posts, but to leave the 
 matter to her. 
 
 Dolly agreed. On Thursday night she had gone to 
 her bedroom and was waiting there, unable to undress 
 until the suspense of the last post should be over, when 
 Nurse Clifford rushed in with a letter. 
 
 "At last, Fitz! Haslemere postmark this is it 
 surely," she panted, breathless from the many stairs. 
 
 Dolly was trembling all over. Her heart seemed to be 
 falling through her body. With mute, quivering lips, 
 she thrust the letter back to the other woman, who tore 
 it open in fierce haste. "God grant it's all right!" was 
 Mary Clifford's unspoken prayer. 
 
 On a large, thick sheet of cream-coloured paper, 
 headed with a crest and address in bold black letters, 
 was written in a small, delicate, fastidious hand: 
 
 "I cannot believe it. It is impossible. It must not 
 & e .__T.W." 
 
 The last words were heavily scored beneath. 
 
 "'It must not be'!" echoed Nurse Clifford, blankly. 
 "My God, what a brute!" 
 
 But Dolly had fainted. Falling heavily sideways on 
 the bed, she found a few minutes' merciful oblivion. 
 
 When Mary Clifford looked back in after years on 
 this crisis in another's life that made so deep an impres- 
 sion on her, she was able to make some slight allowance 
 for Theo. 
 
 He was suffering from a great shock and a great loss, 
 he was deeply committed to another woman, and after 
 a long engagement his marriage to her was announced 
 for a few weeks hence. In these circumstances the 
 shock of Dolly's news had paralysed all his finer feel- 
 ings. His infatuation for Dolly had suffered from what 
 he imagined was her cruel repulsion of him on that 
 morning when he had come to her, full of love and pas- 
 sionate tenderness. Since then, more than three months
 
 DOWNWARD 177 
 
 ago, she had gone completely out of his life, and much 
 sorrow had come to him in the interval. Probably he 
 had written many letters in answer to Dolly's startling 
 one and torn them up, dissatisfied ; at last sending those 
 cruel few lines in desperation, because the answer could 
 not be delayed any longer. Dolly's letter to him, more- 
 over, had been blunt and cold. How was he to make 
 allowance for a woman's wounded pride, and guess that 
 her feelings towards him were of love, in spite of 
 everything ? 
 
 In after years Mary Clifford was able to weigh these 
 slight considerations against the amazing cruelty of 
 Theo's letter, but at the time she could find no excuses 
 no explanation for his conduct. She did not know 
 which she pitied most, the woman he had thrown over 
 or the woman he was about to make his wife.
 
 IV 
 
 IT was fortunate that Dolly's engagement at the nurs- 
 ing home terminated the day after Theo's letter arrived. 
 She felt it would have been impossible to go on working 
 after that. 
 
 Every one bade her farewell with kindness and regret, 
 though not with quite as much regret as they would 
 have felt for the former gay, brilliant Nurse Fitzgerald, 
 who had kept them all so lively. Sister Meredith, on 
 paying her salary, commented on the fact that Dolly had 
 not asked her for a reference. Why was she not taking 
 another post? Dolly's reply that she wanted a rest 
 first, she felt run down, etc., drew a keen glance from 
 the older woman. 
 
 "Look here, Fitzgerald," Sister Meredith said, ab- 
 ruptly, "have you been making a fool of yourself? . . . 
 Now don't be absurd, child; those heroics are wasted on 
 me, as you well know ... 7 don't want to pry into your 
 affairs, but I've always done my best to safeguard all of 
 you you especially, because you've no parents, and I 
 saw you were the kind that needed it, and I only want 
 to say now that if you should be in any trouble ..." 
 
 But Nurse Fitzgerald had walked out of the room. 
 Sister Meredith drew her own conclusions. 
 
 "So I'm the kind that needs safeguarding," repeated 
 Dolly to herself in her attic bedroom, as with shaking 
 hands she tied the strings of her uniform bonnet. "I 
 suppose it's true. They all think so. Mother was al- 
 ways saying it Dacre's often implied it. Anthony 
 forced me to be a nurse instead of an actress, because he 
 imagined it, though he'd never seen me. And Sister 
 Meredith thinks it too. . . . But in spite of their safe- 
 178
 
 DOWNWARD 179 
 
 guards, here I am all the same fatten! I suppose 
 they'd call me a fallen woman. Helen said that one had 
 to go a long way downward before that could happen. 
 I never meant to ... I never meant to ! " 
 
 She went slowly downstairs for the last time down 
 those stairs which she had often tripped up so gaily; 
 where she had sat and chatted and laughed and talked 
 scandal ages and ages ago when she had been a light- 
 hearted girl ; where she had many times met her father, 
 unknowingly many times watched for Theo in the days 
 when he gave her only scowls; stairs she had run up 
 after so many merry evenings at the theatre, stairs she 
 had crept noiselessly up that fatal night, with Theo's 
 wild kisses on her lips and her heart madly beating, 
 stairs she had climbed, oh! so sorrowfully and wearily 
 since. Every step had a memory for Dolly. 
 
 On the second floor she paused to say good-bye to the 
 elderly clergyman whose gentleness had touched her. 
 
 "Good-bye, Mr. Templeton, I'm leaving now. I do 
 hope you'll go on as well as you're doing you've really 
 made a splendid recovery. And I must thank you for 
 being such an angelic patient. I wish they were all like 
 you." 
 
 "Thank you, my dear, thank you it's you who've 
 been the angelic nurse. I shall miss you greatly. Er 
 er if ever you're in any trouble " 
 
 ' ' He too ! " thought Dolly. ' ' Oh, Heavens ! is it writ- 
 ten in capital letters on my face?" 
 
 Something in her expression checked the good man's 
 speech. In silence he handed her the visiting-card that 
 he had got out ready for her. Dolly pressed his hand 
 gratefully and left the room without another word. 
 
 Thus she passed from Meredith House. 
 
 Nurse Clifford had changed her half-day at a good 
 deal of personal inconvenience so that she could accom- 
 pany Dolly that afternoon. She knew how desolate the 
 girl would feel driving off alone, arriving alone at the 
 bed-sitting-room she had taken in Bloomsbury, sitting 
 alone as the dusk gathered, spending the evening alone
 
 180 DOWNWARD 
 
 with her dreadful thoughts, and sobbing her heart out 
 alone in the darkness when she went to bed. 
 
 Clifford's forethought was most exquisitely tender 
 and kind. She made Dolly lie on the bed and rest while 
 she unpacked. The hideous room looked less appalling 
 with Dolly's things about. Then the good woman went 
 out and made purchases. Returning with flowers and 
 China tea and dainty cakes, she seemed like the good 
 Samaritan in a Sunday-school story. Dolly clung to her 
 with infinite gratitude ; never had she been so mothered 
 since Valerie died. 
 
 "What should I have done without you, Cliff?" she 
 said as she took the cup of tea from her friend's hands. 
 
 "There, that's something like tea!" was her only an- 
 swer. "I should just like the Gold-Stick to see the 
 colour of it! only to see it, though I'd not let her 
 taste a drop of it. Think of all the vile stuff she's pro- 
 vided for me me, a tea-maniac, a tannin- worshipper ! 
 Isn 't it good ? Isn 't it golden ? ' ' 
 
 "Heavenly!" said Dolly. "Why are you so sweet to 
 me, Cliff? Why do you do all this for me? Why don't 
 you despise me?" 
 
 "Perhaps I ought to," said Clifford, cheerfully, "and 
 I suppose I'm a wickedly unorthodox woman; but d'you 
 know, Fitz, a woman who's going to have a child is 
 beautiful sacred holy to me. It doesn't seem to mat- 
 ter much whether she's married or unmarried. For the 
 time being she's a holy thing in my eyes the temple in 
 which Nature 's mysterious forces are working so wonder- 
 fully, and the thought that the woman has to go through 
 so much to bring the little new life into being the new 
 life dowered with an immortal soul, it's so sublime, so 
 beyond all words it simply makes me reverence unut- 
 terably any woman who's doing it. I couldn't do too 
 much for you, Fitz, dear, because what you're doing is 
 so great a thing." 
 
 "But any bad woman can do it," said Dolly, "any 
 weak, drunken creature can do the same, and bring
 
 DOWNWARD 181 
 
 diseased, wretched little embryo criminals into the 
 world." 
 
 "True, but because vile people degrade a great 
 achievement by doing it with vile results, it doesn't 
 make the thing itself less noble when it's greatly, worth- 
 ily done. And what greater thing is there for women 
 to do?" 
 
 "That's all very well. I've thought things like 
 that . . . but, oh! Cliff, it's so different when you've got 
 to really do it, and not talk about it. Got to! Got to!" 
 
 The momentary brightness faded from her face and 
 the look of miserable preoccupation overshadowed it 
 once more. 
 
 Clifford interposed hastily : 
 
 "I can remember a talk I once had with poor old 
 Jessop. You know how seldom she speaks, but that day 
 she let herself go for once. It was in confidence, but I 
 don't think she'd mind my telling you if she knew the 
 circumstances. All her life she's longed to be a mother, 
 and imagine it she told me she had a trunk full of 
 things at her sister's house which she'd been collecting 
 since she was a little girl for those dream children. 
 She's saved up her old toys and scrap-books and dolls' 
 clothes, neatly mended and washed, and all sorts of odds 
 and ends that kiddies like coloured pictures, scraps of 
 dress materials, silver paper, cardboard boxes and even 
 a bag full of pieces of rag for little cut fingers and 
 wounded knees." 
 
 "Oh, Cliff!" 
 
 "Yes, isn't it heartrending? I wept when she told it 
 me, for she knows that those little dream children will 
 never be born now she's turned forty. And after her 
 next birthday she means to distribute the contents of the 
 box among her sisters' children." 
 
 "It's horribly pathetic. Can't she care for the 
 nephews and nieces?" 
 
 "That's exactly what I said, and she answered that, 
 though she's very fond of them, they didn't fill her 
 heart. 'It's one's own child one wants, Cliff,' she said,
 
 182 DOWNWARD 
 
 'the child one has suffered and anguished for. It's the 
 only thing really worth having. Those who have it pos- 
 sess everything, and those who have all else, lacking it, 
 have nothing.' I've never forgotten her words. Poor old 
 Jessop would gladly be in your shoes believe me." 
 
 "I wonder," mused Dolly. "It's so easy to talk 
 but when it actually comes to the point and means 
 ruin " 
 
 "Jessop would probably tell you there are worse 
 things in life than the ruin of one's worldly prospects. 
 She goes too far, of course, but without doubt it is the 
 best and deepest joy for a woman. It's life, my dear 
 to have created, to have given life ! Oh, Fitz, have cour- 
 age even if the worst comes to the worst, it'll be the 
 making of you. The responsibility will make a real 
 woman of you, and you may own some day that your 
 child is the one thing worth having lived for." 
 
 "Do you really think that, Cliff? Why are you so 
 sure?" 
 
 "My empty arms have taught me, dear." 
 
 "But the price think of the awful price!" 
 
 "Yes, you've got to pay for it, of course. Nothing's 
 worth having for women that we don't have to pay 
 pretty heavily for somehow." 
 
 "It's all very well for a woman who has an adoring 
 husband and everything money can buy, and eveiy one 
 praising and blessing and congratulating her," returned 
 Doily, despondently, "but for me all alone, and poor, 
 and despised, and deserted ..." she began to weep 
 and Clifford called herself a tactless idiot. 
 
 "Shut up, Fitz!" she commanded, sternly; "now stop 
 that I simply won't allow it. Don't be a fool! You're 
 not going to be alone and deserted. You're going to 
 have a husband, and the blessed baby's going to have a 
 father, and ten names, and a coat of arms, and what not 
 all! Now just listen to me: you're going to take a nap 
 now, and I'll go out to get some theatre tickets for 
 to-night upper boxes, as you can't stand at pit doors 
 DOW. It's my treat, and when I come back you're going
 
 DOWNWARD 183 
 
 to write a letter to that young man at my dictation ; that 
 will bring him up to town in double-quick time to- 
 morrow, Saturday! And we'll post it in time to catch 
 the country post on our way to a royal dinner in Soho, 
 to which I command you to come as my guest. Don't 
 say a word it's done!"
 
 IT was not till Monday that Theo came, and by then 
 Dolly had spent two days alone and two interminable, 
 sleepless nights. Nurse Clifford had a dangerous opera- 
 tion case on Saturday morning, and while her patient 
 was hovering between life and death, nothing would in- 
 duce her to go off duty till bed-time. This proved unfor- 
 tunate for Dolly, who had nobody to speak to, nothing to 
 read and no duties to occupy her. The English Sunday 
 found her thus defenceless before its horrors. She spent 
 the two days listening for a letter, a wire, a hansom 
 stopping at the door, bearing her cruel lover. When she 
 dressed to go out on Monday morning she looked a 
 wreck. And suddenly she met Theo face to face on the 
 stairs. 
 
 It was a moment of painful embarrassment for both. 
 The landlady, eyeing the couple with the utmost sus- 
 picion, remarked truculently that she would oblige with 
 the loan of her second-floor back drawing-room, and to 
 this villainous apartment she led the way. 
 
 "Easy to see something's wrong there," she subse- 
 quently confided to her next-door neighbour, in the area. 
 "And her pretendin' to be a nurse, too! I never can 
 abide them uniforms, even when they're real; but when 
 they're false, and with golden hair atop oh, my! And 
 the young gent looked a reg'lar devil, too!" 
 
 Dolly and Theo stood facing each other in the room 
 
 above. At first they could find no words. It was a 
 
 strange meeting, so different from their last on that 
 
 memorable evening in July. Then they had met in a 
 
 beautiful room, full of soft lights and the rich perfume, 
 
 * flowers. They could not tear their eyes away from 
 
 184
 
 DOWNWARD 185 
 
 each other, they could not leave each other's lips. Their 
 faces had been transfigured by the glow of a great emo- 
 tion passion had enwrapped them as a cloud of fire. 
 
 Now it was chill October; they were in a dingy 
 lodging-house. The stuffy air of a closed-up room, 
 smelling of soot and dust, oppressed their senses. The 
 desire that had held them like a spell seemed a dead 
 thing. 
 
 Dolly had pictured this meeting so often. They would 
 rush into each other's arms as before, and in that long 
 embrace all the grief and pain, the suspense and tears 
 should be ended, healed, forgotten. 
 
 But now they stood apart, regarding each other coldly, 
 distrustfully, without so much as a handclasp. Every 
 line of Dolly's suffering, dimmed face was an unbearable 
 reproach to Theo. 
 
 Where was the siren of magic blood who had so fired 
 his own? the Circe whose embrace had been an irre- 
 sistible lure? the girl whose breast he had kissed in a 
 white heat of passion, at whose feet he had knelt in 
 ecstasy? . . . This sorrowful, tired woman, with red 
 eyes and a pinched mouth, dressed in a uniform cloak 
 and bonnet had he really been crazed for herf 
 
 He had been angry with her; all these weeks he had 
 nursed a sulky resentment against her for the wound she 
 had inflicted by "playing" with him, as he imagined. 
 Then, too, the sorrow of his mother's death had dis- 
 tracted his thoughts from amours ; life had become very 
 solemn. And there was Helen and all the arrange- 
 ments for the wedding three weeks hence. 
 
 And, lastly, this story of Dolly's was hateful to him; 
 it had such an adventuress ring about it such a stale, 
 novelettish flavour. Her sordid surroundings were hate- 
 ful to him, too. The very idea of fatherhood was re- 
 pugnant; he felt himself too young for one thing, and, 
 like many amorous men, the philoprogenitive instinct 
 was as yet unknown to him. His feeling about the whole 
 matter was summed up in the words he had written to 
 Dolly: "It must not be!"
 
 186 DOWNWARD 
 
 Everything was against poor Dolly, but even thus she 
 might have prevailed had she only appeared the same 
 radiant being as before, for whom he had been sick and 
 sorry many a time since. So deep had been her power to 
 play on Theo's heart-strings, she could even now have 
 revived the old fire had she looked as she used to. She 
 could have swept away all the doubt and distrust and 
 prudence from his heart, all the obstacles from her path 
 if her eyes and lips had beckoned as before, and she 
 had opened her arms and smiled on him with that smile 
 of the incarnate Life-Force. 
 
 "I do sit down," Dolly said at last "I I hardly 
 expected you." 
 
 "You wrote to me." 
 
 "Yes, but I've been waiting so long. I thought you 
 were never coming. . . . Oh, do say something!" 
 
 The implied reproach irritated him, as reproach of 
 any kind invariably does irritate a man. He was sorry 
 for her very, very sorry, though her story seemed like 
 a vague, bad dream, the facts of which he could hardly 
 realize, still less his responsibility in the matter. That 
 he was directly the cause of her red eyes and wretched 
 appearance would never have occurred to him. But the 
 streak of real tenderness in his nature made him now 
 feel pitiful and kind to a woman who was obviously 
 suffering. He mastered his irritation and spoke gently. 
 
 "I don't know what to say. I'm awfully sorry, Dolly, 
 awfully sorry. I can hardly believe it ... it's too 
 ghastly. Are you sure?" 
 
 Dolly nodded; words would have choked her. 
 
 "It must not be it can't be," Theo went on, his 
 fovya gathering firmness as the reproaches he was ex- 
 pecting remained unspoken. "You know, of course, I'm 
 to be married quite s<x3?" 
 
 "I didnt know!" 
 
 "You didn't? Bt*t Helen wrote to one of the nurses, 
 I understood I made sure you knew." 
 
 "I didn't know." 
 
 She felt dizzy, weak, sickened. She longed for the
 
 DOWNWARD 187 
 
 earth to rise up and cover her, to bury her deep, deep 
 her and her ohild. There seemed no room for either of 
 them. The fight was too hard ; she would give it up. . . . 
 Then the primeval mother-spirit rose up in her, the 
 wonderful mother-courage quickened her feeble pulses. 
 She began to speak rapidly, looking at him with pleading 
 eyes. 
 
 "I'm sorry for Helen I'm bitterly sorry for every- 
 thing, but I can't consider her now, nor my pride, nor 
 even you ; I must think of the baby. Theo for the little 
 child's sake, let us marry. The child must have a chance 
 I want everything for him. Oh, Theo, you shan't 
 regret it; you shall be happy I'll be so sweet to you. 
 You loved me so, only a little time ago ! For the baby, 
 Theo. ... Oh, Theo, don't make it so hard for me." 
 
 Theo had the amorous man's dislike for anything 
 resembling a definite advance on the part of a woman. 
 Her pleadings made him hot, uncomfortable, ashamed. 
 The whole thing was indescribably repugnant to him. 
 He looked at the floor. 
 
 "I'm terribly sorry," he muttered, "but it simply 
 can't be. If it wasn't for Helen her arrangements are 
 made " 
 
 "So are mine for next April, and my arrangements 
 are irrevocable, unfortunately!" She laughed bitterly. 
 Theo groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Oh, 
 can't you understand," Dolly went on desperately, 
 "don't you realize? Helen's claim is nothing to mine, 
 now!" 
 
 The odious word "claim" from a woman to a man! 
 This put the last touch to Theo'f revulsion of feeling. 
 He rose to his feet. 
 
 "I'm most frightfully sorry," he repeated yet again; 
 he seemed unable to get away from that phrase. "But 
 it wouldn't be possible. I couldn't even keep you. If 
 I break my engagement to Helen under the terms of 
 my father's will, my income would be reduced to 
 next to nothing." 
 
 "But couldn't you earn a living for your child?"
 
 188 DOWNWARD 
 
 rose to Dolly's lips, but she checked the contemptuous 
 words. 
 
 "Next to nothing?" she repeated. 
 
 "Yes, it's my father's fault, an infernal mess he's 
 made of it. I should only have two hundred a year 
 certain." 
 
 "Two hundred! But that would keep us going at 
 least and you could make money as well. Thousands of 
 people bring up large families decently on that amount. 
 I know it would mean great self-denial, but, Theo, it's 
 for the child! it would be worth it. We musn't think 
 of ourselves now. I'd work, too; of course I wouldn't 
 live in idleness if you were poor." 
 
 "My dear girl, it's impossible. Two hundred! 
 Why, it wouldn't be enough to keep our servants, let 
 alone us!" 
 
 "Then we could go without servants for such a 
 cause!" 
 
 But the prospect did not appeal to Theo. The gloom 
 deepened on his face. Go without servants what an 
 impossible suggestion ! He was anxious to cut short this 
 painful interview. 
 
 "I couldn't possibly drag you down to poverty like 
 that," he repeated. 
 
 This was too much for Dolly, who had been struggling 
 hard to keep command of herself. "God in Heaven! 
 how far do you think the alternative will drag me 
 down?" she cried. "Shall I be better off as a single 
 woman working to support a child ? It's yourself you're 
 afraid of dragging down!" 
 
 "Oh, for Heaven's sake don't go on like that! Of 
 course I shouldn't let you work if it ever happened. 
 But, Dolly, don't you understand" he came close to 
 her and looked at her meaningly "it must not 
 happenl" 
 
 His eyes fell before Dolly's wild gaze. He began to 
 mutter something about drawing on him for as 
 aa she wanted.
 
 DOWNWARD 189 
 
 "Don't talk to me about money!" she gasped; "that's 
 the end ! I won 't touch your money ! ' ' 
 
 "Oh, do be sensible," he began, impatiently. 
 " Go 1" said Dolly. "Go quickly gol"
 
 VI 
 
 THE meeting on which all depended was over. All 
 these weeks Dolly had concentrated her thoughts and 
 plans on it. Beyond it she had not dared look for long. 
 Now she found herself compelled to face the situation 
 in its full severity. Theo had left her to her fate. 
 
 The suspense, at least, was over and that brought her 
 a certain bitter relief. She knew now just where she 
 stood. 
 
 "This is 'seeing life,' " she told herself, ironically, as 
 she sat at a rickety table by her bedroom window study- 
 ing the much-marked calendar and a page of accounts. 
 "This is 'real life' with a vengeance. I've hankered 
 after it often enough, and now I've got it in good meas- 
 ure, pressed down and running over. I didn't bargain 
 for a tragedy, though ! I 'm a tragic heroine now, to be 
 sure, the subject of dozens of novels and plays, betrayed 
 and deserted in quite the orthodox manner. This is 
 'fulfilling one's womanhood,' I suppose, and 'realizing 
 one's purpose in life.' Heavens! I should just like the 
 men who write all that stuff to have a taste of what it 
 actually means. . . . 
 
 "Ten pounds of salary, three pounds already in hand 
 and seventy-five Dacre's got of mine. Thank Heaven, I 
 gtill have that eighty-eight pounds in all. I wish now 
 I hadn't refused to take any more from Anthony, but 
 no I couldn't accept money from him even now. If he 
 knew about this! . . . Eighty-eight pounds, fourteen 
 weeks gone that's twenty-six more to run and quite 
 eight weeks after. Thirty-four weeks. I can just scrape 
 through if I'm very careful and get a cheap doctor and 
 nurse, but I shouldn't have a penny left and after- 
 Wards? What would become of us afterwards?" 
 190
 
 DOWNWARD 191 
 
 She put her head down on her hands, repeating over 
 and over to herself: "What can I do? What shall I 
 do?" The future painted itself grimly before her. 
 Twenty-six weeks in this dreary room or its counterpart 
 in utter loneliness practising rigid economy, in ever- 
 increasing weakness and infirmity avoiding her kind 
 for fear she should meet one who knew her. And then 
 the dread hour would strike at last, and she would have 
 to meet it ... alone ! 
 
 "It's the loneliness I mind most," she thought. "I 
 might have been able to bear being unmarried, though 
 I'm more conventional than I thought, but I could have 
 borne it perhaps, if he had stuck to me, and I 'd had him 
 to turn to at the last . . . and afterwards. A woman 
 wants a man with her in a show like this. 
 
 "But the loneliness the awful loneliness! No one to 
 talk to, not even at meals, no one to share anything with, 
 no one to say good-morning or good-night to, no one to 
 come back to when one goes out. . . . No, I couldn't 
 stand it! All my life I've been with people, lots of 
 people : how on earth do some women manage to live 
 alone all their lives ? I 'd die of it ! 
 
 "Twenty-six weeks half a year! And nothing to do 
 all the time but the needlework, which doesn't stop one 
 thinking all my life I've had lots to occupy myself 
 with. . . . Needlework and going little crawls in back 
 streets, keeping out of people's way, then back to the 
 empty room and more needlework. . . . No, no, I can't! 
 
 "I might join a library and read lots of books; and I 
 could live in the country somewhere. At least it would 
 be possible to walk about freely there without the fear 
 of meeting people who knew one, but the loneliness 
 would be still worse and in the winter, too, nothing but 
 muddy lanes and wet fields. No, worse than ever ! 
 
 "And afterwards that awful afterwards! I should 
 have to put the baby out somewhere, with some hard-up 
 farmer's wife. I should hardly ever see it ... it 
 wouldn't love me. And I should have to earn for two. 
 I've always spent my salary and my allowance as well,
 
 192 DOWNWARD 
 
 just on clothes and foolery, and now I've no allow- 
 ance. ... I could earn more at private nursing, of 
 course, but that's not always certain, and, with a child 
 to keep, I could scarcely afford to be out of work for 
 even a week. ... It might be some time before I could 
 get a stage engagement, even if I'm ever fit to dance 
 again . . . but the stage is very, very uncertain at the 
 best, and I couldn't afford to run any risks now. 
 
 "And then, worst of all, I could never live with my 
 baby. I could never make a proper home for it like 
 Mother did for me. All my life I'd have to work for it 
 apart, until it could work for itself what an existence 
 to bring a little creature into ! And I should always be 
 second with it ... it would love the farmer's wife or 
 the school-teacher more than the mother it hardly ever 
 saw. ... I should have ruined my life for nothing! 
 
 "And no one would be likely to marry me now . . . 
 men are so conventional at heart. Even if I found one 
 big-hearted enough to take on me and my child, it's so 
 unlikely that I should care for him enough I'm so fas- 
 tidious with men. I've never longed for a home before, 
 I've never yearned for a house of my own and a man on 
 the hearth-rug, like Jessop and Morley and Helen and 
 almost all the women I know do even B rooky! My 
 ambitions have been in another direction. I only wanted 
 to marry Theo because of the child. . . . But, oh! I do 
 want a home now for the child ! And I shall never have 
 one. I've done for myself done for at twenty-five!" 
 
 Slow tears rolled down her cheeks on to the account 
 books, infinitely bitter tears. "I can't! I can't! I 
 can't!" she moaned. "Theo was right , . 'it must 
 not bel' "
 
 vn 
 
 NURSE CLIFFORD was horrified and indignant beyond 
 all measnre when she heard Dolly's account of the inter- 
 view with Theo. She implored Dolly to take the obvious 
 way ont of the difficulty and appeal to Helen. Helen, 
 she felt sure, would never dream of marrying Theo in 
 such circumstances, and if Helen withdrew from the 
 engagement of her own accord Theo's inheritance would 
 not be interfered with and he would be free to marry 
 Dolly. 
 
 But Dolly refused to hear of it. To let Pate take its 
 course and push Helen from her path would have been 
 bad enough. But to ask Helen to deliberately take Fate 
 into her own hands and destroy her happiness of her 
 own volition no, that was unthinkable. 
 
 "I wouldn't marry him now," Dolly declared. "I 
 only wanted to, so that the child should have a home and 
 an acknowledged father, but after his letter, and the 
 tilings he said about money, and the spirit he showed 
 about the whole thing I see now that he isn 't the right 
 person to help provide a proper atmosphere for a child's 
 upbringing. And what sort of a father would he make 
 a man who loathes the idea of fatherhood? ... oh, 
 yes, he made that plain enough. 
 
 "I understand him so well," she continued, "because 
 we're so alike. At first it hurt me frightfully, but I've 
 thought it all out quite clearly. Theo's really devoted 
 to Helen ; he 's been looking forward to marrying her for 
 years. He's got the proper home-y feeling about her 
 not a scrap of passion, of course, but the real mar- 
 riage feeling, just as I could have had for Dacre, if he 'd 
 cared for me enough. But for me Theo's feeling was 
 all passion ; he was crazed about me, and I felt the same 
 for him. We were two flames that rushed together 
 193
 
 194 DOWNWARD 
 
 that were bound to rush together. That's the feeling 
 that makes the great amours, the grand passion but not 
 the happy marriages." 
 
 "It all sounds very crazy and disreputable," said 
 Nurse Clifford, shrugging hor shoulders resignedly, and 
 the laugh with which Dolly hailed this speech gave her 
 real joy. Dol3y had not laughed like that for weeks. 
 
 "Of course when he saw me plain and importunate," 
 she continued, "I'd lost all my magnetism for him, and 
 he positively disliked me. It seems odd that a man who 
 kisses your feet and goes white at your touch one day 
 can really dislike you the next, but it's so. I do under- 
 stand men if nothing else." 
 
 "And I don't not that kind of man!" said the other, 
 positively. 
 
 "No, you only understand the nice, clean, red-faced, 
 honest, good fellows, who don't talk about honour but 
 act it. Theo does just the opposite. Your men are un- 
 imaginative, excellent creatures who play at hitting 
 various kinds of balls as if their lives depended on it, 
 and believe in the British Constitution and 'what-was- 
 good-enough-f or-my-f ather, ' etc., etc. Your kind of men 
 marry as a matter of course, and in the most matter-of- 
 fact spirit, and settle down to beget stolid little public- 
 school boys and their female counterparts. But Theo 
 is so different: one could imagine him climbing up a 
 woman's balcony, or swimming a moat or doing any- 
 thing mad and adventurous to reach her, but never en- 
 tering with a latch-key at the front door to be told that 
 dinner was served ! ' ' 
 
 Nurse Clifford nodded interestedly, but did not speak. 
 It was so nice to hear Dolly rattling on in the old man- 
 ner, when for weeks she had hardly spoken at all 
 
 "If circumstances hadn't forced it on me," she con- 
 tinued, apparently quite absorbed in her subject, "I 
 should never have thought of Theo in connexion with 
 marriage. To me he's essentially the lover, the kind of 
 man with whom one could only live free, never tied. I 
 could make him care for me just the same, any day,
 
 DOWNWARD 195 
 
 once I'm myself again. And when I get over this I 
 know I shall often feel I'd give my soul for one of his 
 kisses; and to the end of his life he'll think sometime* 
 of me, as I was, and burn to have my arms for one min- 
 ute round his neck. But we shall never meet again it's 
 done with!" 
 
 "I'm blest if I can understand you!" ejaculated 
 Nurse Clifford. "But now, to consider Helen's point of 
 view do you honestly think it's fair to let Helen marry 
 that weak, miserable coward without a word of warning ? 
 Sho wouldn't touch him with the tongs if ahe knewl" 
 
 "Oh, yes she would; she loves him he's her 'one 
 man. ' She wouldn 't thank you for your word of warn- 
 ing, and it would nearly break her heart to know what 
 he had done, but her feeling for him would be just the 
 same. She'd give him up to me, very possibly, for 
 duty's sake, and if he wished it, but she'd never marry 
 any other man. She would rather take Theo juat as he 
 is or worse than have the noblest husband in the uni- 
 verse. Don't you know that when a really good woman 
 wants to marry a certain man, no fault or sin on his part 
 will alter her feelings? Helen knows all Theo 'a faults 
 and weaknesses and ignores them. That's Love, the 
 Real Love that 'suffereth long and is kind btareth all 
 things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.' ' 
 
 "It's all very strange," said the other woman, "very 
 strange and topsy-turvy. Aa you say, love is a thing 
 nobody really understands." 
 
 When she departed, it was with feelings greatly re- 
 lieved that Dolly was bearing up so well and apparently 
 prepared to face the situation courageously. This mis- 
 taken conviction proved a comfort to her in the month 
 that followed, during which she was kept to her bed with 
 an unusually sharp attack of influenza and did not see 
 her friend. 
 
 But when Nurse Clifford had gone, Dolly's mood 
 changed, and she fell again to her bitter thinking. In 
 her loneliness she stretched out her arms for Theo and 
 shrieked aloud at the awful prospect of the future.
 
 vm 
 
 ALL tikis tima she had kept away from Dacre, whom 
 she had not even told of her departure from the nursing 
 home. 
 
 Anthony Raven, however on learning in the course 
 of a gossiping conversation with Sister Meredith that 
 Nurse Fitzgerald had not yet taken a new post, or asked 
 for a recommendation made inquiries of the lawyer, 
 who naturally could tell him nothing. Hamilton was 
 feeling very anxious about Dolly, and it was a great 
 relief to him when she called at the office a fortnight or 
 so after her interview with Theo. 
 
 She wore her uniform always now. Formerly she had 
 disliked it and worn it as little as possible in the street, 
 except when her wardrobe was at low ebb between 
 seasons; but now she clung to it as a symbol of respect- 
 ability. 
 
 Although Dolly had come resolved to be on her guard, 
 a few of the lawyer's casual questions confirmed his 
 worst fears. She had not taken another post, although 
 her refusal of Raven's allowance made an idle period 
 especially undesirable; she was resting because she felt 
 "run down," though so soon after her holiday; she 
 looked haggard, miserable, changed, and she wanted 
 twenty pounds or so of her money without giving any 
 reason. 
 
 His face became vry stern, for he had seen the an- 
 nouncement of Theo's forthcoming marriage to Helen 
 in the Morning Post a few days before. 
 
 So it had come what her father had seemed to expect 
 what he himself had tried to guard the girl against. 
 He had done his best for Valerie's daughter ail these 
 196
 
 DOWNWARD 197 
 
 years, but his heart was sick within him as he realized 
 that his efforts had availed nothing. 
 
 He found himself hoping she would give him her con- 
 fidence searching for words with which to invite it, but 
 for once his agile brain was at a loss. He felt stunned 
 at this discovery. 
 
 "Your 'trustee' was furious at your returning the 
 last cheque," he said at length. "He inquired of me 
 what you were doing." 
 
 "Well, as I'm not taking his money, he's no right to 
 know anything about me. Don't tell him a thing 
 promise me you won't, Dacre. I wouldn't have him 
 know for worlds now " 
 
 She checked herself sharply, and the lawyer felt his 
 last lingering doubt vanish. She was in trouble, he was 
 sure now and she had very little money. He longed 
 to help her he must how could he gain her confi- 
 dence ? 
 
 "Why now particularly, Dolly?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, no reason particularly, only ... I hate him. I 
 owe him nothing but silence, and he hates me. Why 
 should he pry after me?" 
 
 "Well, he has this one good point, he's always wanted 
 to be sure you had enough of everything. Why don't 
 you take the money, Dolly? . . . You you'll want 
 money . . . now." 
 
 It was out ! Dolly gave him a quick, fierce glance, but 
 meeting his tender, troubled gaze, the angry words 
 stayed on her lips. 
 
 "You, too!" she said, just audibly, and as the red 
 flood rushed into her cheeks, she bowed her head in her 
 hands, and Dacre saw the tide of hot blood rise to the 
 roots of her hair. 
 
 "Forgive me, Dolly dear, forgive me. I'm so sorry; I 
 want to help you." 
 
 There was a long silence, and whilst he listened to her 
 weeping, he stroked her hand, as he had done at that 
 first meeting ten years ago. 
 
 He thought of the young, bright-haired girl who had
 
 198 DOWNWARD 
 
 come into his office that day a child with all life's 
 possibilities before her. Why hadn't he realized sooner 
 how fond he was of her? Why had he let this cursed 
 work-craze gain such a hold on his life that he had no 
 time to look into his own heart ? He might have married 
 her himself and kept her safe . . . fifteen years wasn't 
 such a discrepancy nowadays. Fool that he was not to 
 have tried 1 ... and now that young brute had brought 
 her to shame, and it was too late too late 1 
 
 At last Dolly raised her head, but she could not meet 
 his eyea. She kept her face retting on her hand. 
 
 "How did you know? It's awful the way people 
 seem to guess." The words were spoken very low. 
 Dacre fondled the little hand he held, as he answered a 
 trifle nervously: 
 
 "Well, my dear, I'm a lawyer, and I hear a good 
 many confidences and knock up against all sides of life. 
 And I know that men are nearly always brutes, and 
 women very often much too sweet and kind to us, and 
 when I see a beautiful girl looking hunted, and all to 
 pieces, full of a mysterious grief . . . well, Dolly, it's 
 not difficult to guess that she's suffering from that in- 
 fernally unjust law that women must always pay the 
 bill for what man has brought about." 
 
 This very weak explanation seemed to satisfy Dolly, 
 to Hamilton's relief. He knew she would be cruelly 
 humiliated had she guessed how his suspicions had 
 really arisen. Then, too, he could not have mentioned 
 Anthony Haven's confidence, as it had been given pro- 
 fessionally. 
 
 "And you don't despise me?" said Dolly, still 
 keeping her face hidden. 
 
 "Despise you! don't say it, child. I want to help 
 you. Promise me you'll let me make things comfortable 
 for you. You'll want lots of money now count it as a 
 loan if you like." 
 
 "It's awfully good of you," said Dolly, faintly, but 
 in her heart the words rose: "/ shan't want much . s 9 
 'ft must not &*.' "
 
 DOWNWARD 199 
 
 "And . . ." he seemed at a loss for words; in his 
 agitation he held her hand so tightly that she glanced 
 up at him in surprise. "...And, Dolly, I've often 
 thought ... it's occurred to me lately ... if you 
 cared to ... if you only would ..." 
 
 Dolly shook her head. "Please, Dacre, please!" she 
 said, awd he was silenced. "Another minute and he'd 
 hftTe proposed to me," she told herself, "and in the cir- 
 cumstances that would be an indelicacy which I could 
 never have forgiven . . . men don't understand. It's 
 gloriously chivalrous, of eourse, but I couldn't have 
 stood it; I'd rather die than be married out of pity. 
 If he really wanted me he'd have asked before." 
 
 It was Dolly who did not understand ! 
 
 She began to question him about her mother, of whom 
 she had recently thought a great deal. Dacre had but 
 little information about Valerie. His father, who had 
 been her confident, had told him something and he had 
 had one long talk with her when she was first struck 
 down by her final illness. But from what he told her 
 and from what she already knew, Dolly was able to 
 piece the story together. 
 
 She was the child of a great love, that she had always 
 known. Why her parents had not married she could not 
 guess. Perhaps the young medical student, with his way 
 to make, had felt an early marriage with an obscure 
 little actress to be undesirable for him. Perhaps Valerie, 
 a girl of twenty, had loved him too well to make condi- 
 tions, and having once given herself had found it was 
 too late, as millions of other women have done. 
 
 Remembering Anthony's fascination even in middle 
 age Dolly could picture him an irresistible, reckless, 
 glorious young lover. He had been little more than a 
 boy himself he was still a year or two short of fifty 
 now. Dolly remembered that Valerie had spoken of 
 three wonderful years of happiness; their love was old 
 and tried, therefore, before they parted, but it was news 
 to her to learn that she was the cause of that parting. 
 Anthony had not wanted a child.
 
 200 DOWNWARD 
 
 "He was a qualified doctor then ... it would have 
 been quite possible for him to have arranged the mat- 
 ter," was the way Dacre put it, but Valerie had refused. 
 She longed for a child; she counted this one her justifi- 
 cation. Anthony had sworn he would leave her and 
 bade her choose between lover and child, and she had 
 chosen Dolly. 
 
 Dolly wept afresh as she listened. Poor, brave little 
 mother what wonderful spirit she had shown! what 
 a high moral courage and sense of right had been hers ! 
 How greatly she had sacrificed for the sake of her 
 belief love, happiness, all! Yet she had been more 
 than two years younger than was Dolly now, and she 
 had more to lose than had her daughter. 
 
 Dolly felt bitterly ashamed ; how weak and wicked she 
 seemed in comparison with this noble-hearted young 
 mother. Theo's mere hint had been enough to seriously 
 set her contemplating the destruction of her hope of 
 motherhood the most hideous dishonour of which a 
 woman can be capable. She could imagine what her 
 mother had suffered, how the impetuous young lover 
 had stormed and pleaded and implored; how he had 
 finally flung himself off in a fierce rage, and had kept 
 his vow never to return. Dolly had inherited his tem- 
 per and his hot blood, and this with her knowledge of 
 him in middle age, gave her an idea of what he must 
 have been like then. Yet Valerie had withstood it all 
 rage and pleading alike, her love, her need and her own 
 heart's longing. 
 
 "She must have had to face the loneliness, too," 
 thought Dolly, "only worse, because theirs was just like 
 a marriage. What a lesson for me ! ' ' Yet in her heart 
 again rose that spectral thought: "It must not be." 
 
 Dacre told her how, shortly after his parting from 
 Valerie, Raven had married an heiress, out of pique, and 
 with her money had gone to specialize on the brain in 
 Vienna. She died at the end of a year, possibly from 
 a broken heart, Dolly thought to herself she could 
 imagine how he had treated his unloved wife, his
 
 DOWNWARD 201 
 
 heart sore for Valerie. Later he had set up in Harley 
 Street, and married another rich woman, who had died 
 at the birth of a son. This son was the one being besides 
 Valerie whom Anthony had loved, and he, always a 
 sickly child, had died at the age of eight. Dacre at- 
 tributed Anthony's feeling against Dolly partly to this 
 fact. She, the unwanted daughter, who had lost him 
 the love of his life had lived and was strong and healthy, 
 while the son whom he had grown to care for in his 
 maturity had been too frail to live. 
 
 "Yet he's always had this strong feeling of respon- 
 sibility for you," Dacre said, "and I give him credit 
 for it, since most men utterly detach themselves from 
 their illegitimate children, and consider that a money 
 payment entirely meets the case. I've had many settle- 
 ments of that kind to prepare, and the father's attitude 
 has always struck me as extraordinary, considering the 
 children born out of wedlock are every whit as much 
 their own flesh and blood. But your father has always 
 been accountable for you, and perhaps the weight of it 
 on his mind has helped to set him against you." 
 
 "He must never, never know about . . . this," said 
 Dolly, "that would be the last horror. Promise me, 
 Dacre, that he shall never guess I"
 
 IX 
 
 ANOTHER two weeks dragged wearily past. The lone- 
 liness grew more and more oppressive to her as the hours 
 of daylight grew shorter. Soon Dolly found herself de- 
 taining, on one pretext or another, the little maid who 
 waited on her, and even making talk with the sour-faced 
 landlady when they met in the hall. "Presently I shall 
 be glad to have my meals in the kitchen, I expect," she 
 thought. "I begin to think loneliness is the most awful 
 thing in the world, when you've got something on your 
 mind. Why, why did Cliff get iU, now of all times? 
 Another week of these horrors will drive me mad." 
 
 The thoughts of her mother she had resolutely ban- 
 ished from her mind. Sometimes she wondered that her 
 reason did not give way. Both the courses open to her 
 required the utmost courage, and she felt she had not 
 sufficient for either. Whichever way she looked she saw 
 desolation and dishonour. 
 
 The day after Theo's visit she had called on Delia 
 Delarue. "Difficulties" such as Dolly's were by no 
 means rare occurrences in the circle to which that lady 
 belonged. Her coarse reminiscences made Dolly shud- 
 der ; it had cost her a great effort to make the necessary 
 confidence, but she endured it for the sake of the definite 
 purpose which had brought her there. 
 
 When she left, she had obtained a great deal of un- 
 savory lore of a certain kind, and an address written 
 on a sheet of paper. 
 
 "Mind you, it's only as a last resource," Delia had 
 said, "and if you can keep off it, do as it's really a 
 devil's business. And remember, you've sworn to leave 
 my name out whatever happens!" 
 202
 
 DOWNWARD 203 
 
 "Don't be afraid, I shall keep my promise. " 
 The address Dolly put away in her writing-case, but 
 the thought of it haunted her, and she returned to it 
 again and again. The evening after her visit to Dacre, 
 she had burnt the piece of paper, but the address was 
 impressed on her memory. It repeated itself in her ears 
 all day ; at night, when she tried to sleep, it was written 
 in letters of flame before her aching eyes. And day and 
 night the words with which Theo had doomed her echoed 
 through her brain in unending repetition : 
 "It must not be!"
 
 THE hour struck when Dolly could bear it no longer 
 She was rushing through the streets now in the direction 
 of Euston Road. It was about nine o'clock at night. 
 Here and there in the bright circle of the lamp-posts a 
 passer-by stared curiously at the white face and wild 
 eyes of the hurrying woman, and wondered at the cause 
 of her haste. 
 
 ... At last she reached her destination, a house in a 
 side street. The blinds were closely drawn, a faint light 
 glimmered from behind them. She rang and knocked 
 several times at the shut door before it was opened an 
 inch or two, and the impudent, face of a woman in a 
 soiled print gown appeared. The door was kept on the 
 chain, and while the woman inquired Dolly's business in 
 a familiar manner, she was looking keenly beyond to see 
 if the visitor had a companion in the background, or if 
 any one else was lurking near. 
 
 "Too late now, my dear," she said, familiarly, and in- 
 dicated the card fastened to the door, which bore the 
 words: Consultations between 10 and 12 a. m. "You 
 come at 11 to-morrow and you'll be fixed up a treat." 
 She leered unpleasantly at the shrinking girl and then 
 suddenly banged the door upon her. 
 
 Before lying down that night Dolly took a strong dose 
 of the sleeping-draught she had lately started. ' ' I shall 
 have to go to-morrow," she thought. "I daren't die and 
 I daren't go through with it. ... But I shall never be 
 happy again never feel clean never hold up my head. 
 Yet nothing at all happens to Theo!" 
 
 Dolly rose at nine o'clock the next morning her head 
 204
 
 DOWNWARD 20; 
 
 aching intensely from the strong sleeping-draught. She 
 drank a cup of tea and put the room in order to pass the 
 time. At ten o'clock she was standing at her window, 
 looking down into the street far below, and wondering 
 how long one could retain consciousness after jumping 
 from that height, or whether one would die instantane- 
 ously when she noticed a smart carriage and pair 
 stopping at the lodging-house door. 
 
 Some minutes afterwards there was a tap at her door, 
 and almost before she could utter a listless "come in," 
 the little maid-of-all-work had burst excitedly into the 
 room and announced breathless from the climb and the 
 staggering novelty of a cockaded footman on the steps 
 of their own establishment "A lady to see you, Miss 
 Miss Tregawring!" 
 
 Dolly wheeled sharply round to meet the outstretched 
 hands of Helen a strangely radiant Helen with pink 
 cheeks and shining eyes, clad in white cloth and ermine, 
 with lilies on her breast. 
 
 "Oh, Dolly I felt I must come; I can only stop a 
 second. Forgive me, dear how can I say it? Last 
 night I was at Meredith House to say good-bye, and I 
 heard something about you just a rumour Dicky and 
 Brooks, you know. . . . Oh, Dolly, it isn't true, surely?" 
 
 "Quite true, Helen." Dolly's voice was hard and 
 cold; she drew back from Helen's embrace. 
 
 "Oh, you poor little thing! Don't repulse me, dear; 
 my heart aches for you. I'm so happy to-day, I want 
 every one else to be happy. I felt I must come, though 
 my uncle is furious he's waiting in the carriage. It's 
 my wedding-day, Dolly. I've stopped on my way to 
 church, because I felt I simply could not leave England 
 without knowing about you . . . we're going to Cairo 
 for our honeymoon, and shall be away perhaps all the 
 winter." 
 
 "You're going to be married to-day?" 
 
 "Yes, at eleven o'clock didn't you know?" 
 
 "You're going to be married at eleven?" 
 
 "Yea why . . .?"
 
 206 DOWNWARD 
 
 "Oh, nothing, only the idea of marriage is so amusing 
 somehow, especially to-day at eleven!" She broke into 
 peals of hysterical laughter. Helen held her hands 
 tightly all the radiance had gone from the bride's face. 
 
 "Poor little Dolly," she murmured, soothingly, "poor 
 little Dolly ! That's what I wanted to know ; aren't you 
 going to marry, dear?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Oh, how dreadful for you! Why don't you? it 
 would be better so, whoever it is. It's not that horrid 
 Colin Lester^ surely ? ' ' 
 
 "No, quite an immaculate young man, with heaps of 
 money." 
 
 "Dolly, I can't understand you." The tender-hearted 
 woman was deeply pained. Dolly's eyes glittered 
 strangely. 
 
 For one mad moment she was tempted to make Helen 
 understand, to shriek out the truth to her: "I can't 
 marry him, because you're going to, this morning at 
 eleven! And when he is standing in church with you, 
 I shall be tearing the very heart out of my body our 
 child mine and Theo's! mine and Theo's! That's 
 why! That's why!" 
 
 She longed to shriek out the dreadful sentences to 
 beat them into Helen's face. Her mind pictured Theo 
 waiting at the chancel steps Theo, in wedding gar- 
 ments, rather pale and excited, his green eyes very 
 bright, his dark hair brushed carefully back. Around 
 would be the little group of relatives. She knew some 
 of them by sight Sir John and Lady Tregonin, Lady 
 Merioneth so very much grande dame Theo's distin- 
 guished soldier-uncles, and his godfather, the Lord 
 Chief Justice. All these important people would have 
 kindly words, approval and blessings for Theo, admira- 
 tion and congratulations for the bride. But the bride 
 would not come ; Dolly would stop her ! The bridegroom 
 should wait and wait in vain, as Dolly had waited for 
 his letter, sick at heart. He should be bitterly shamed 
 as she had been shamed !
 
 DOWNWARD 207 
 
 She would stop the marriage a word would do it ! A 
 word from her would turn the heads of Sir John Trego- 
 nin's horses round, a word from her would send Helen 
 back to her uncle 's home unwed, a word from her would 
 brand Theo as a seducer and a coward in the eyes of all 
 who heard! 
 
 She wanted every one to hear. She wanted to shriek 
 it from the housetops! At that moment she saw red 
 all was red: Helen's fate hung in the balance. Then 
 Dolly spoke . . . and spared. 
 
 "You'd best not understand, Helen! D'you hear 
 you had better not! I'm no suitable subject for your 
 thoughts put me away from them. You must go now, 
 or you'll keep your bridegroom waiting, and he won't 
 like that. Ha! ha! I know he won't like that! And 
 I've an appointment at eleven, too, a very important 
 appointment! You said I should go downward, Helen 
 if I wasn 't careful and you were right ! I 'm very far 
 down now too low for you to touch. Soon I shall be 
 as low as one can sink after eleven this morning! 
 I'm no fit companion for a bride a bride, ha, ha! ha, 
 ha ! Go now, Helen go ! go ! and be happy, if you can. 
 Tell Theo I said so; tell your Theo don't forget. Tell 
 him you've seen Dolly Dolly going downward!" 
 
 She locked the door in Helen's face and flung herself 
 on the bed to stifle the mad screams that were rising to 
 her lipa.
 
 XI 
 
 "MARRIED!" she gasped, writhing convulsively on the 
 bed. " Married! to-day, to-day!" 
 
 Again and again she repeated the words. The blood 
 oozed from her deeply bitten lips, staining the bed-linen 
 which her frenzied hands were tearing to rags. Then, 
 losing control utterly, she shrieked aloud: "God! 
 punish him, punish him ! God ! let me die kill me ! " 
 
 Nobody heeded. The fourth floor was deserted at that 
 hour. Far below in the basement the landlady and her 
 minion were hard at work. No fellow creature heard 
 Dolly's desperate crying or came to soothe and help. 
 She was alone with her despair, realizing to the full that 
 "the sin ye do by two and two, ye pay for one by one." 
 
 Somehow she had never realized exactly what his mar- 
 riage would signify the finality of it the utter deso- 
 lation for her. She had not dreamed it was to be so 
 soon, and to-day to-day of all days ! 
 
 The time for her appointment passed, but she took no 
 heed. Her hysterical attack spent, she lay still, ex- 
 hausted . . . Eleven o'clock they were being married 
 now! She saw them at the altar in the brougham re- 
 turning from church at the reception in the train 
 going away together . . . Bitterly she pictured the 
 look on the bridegroom's face. How thankful he would 
 be to be safely married to Helen and with his troubles 
 all behind him. He would be flushed, eager, radiant 
 with plenty to say for himself. His path was clear now. 
 He had won a sweet, devoted wife, a large income was 
 assured him, and before him lay the prospect of a 
 delightful honeymoon, the long winter passed en joy ably 
 in Cairo. 
 
 208
 
 DOWNWARD 200 
 
 "Will lie ever have to pay?" she thought, fiercely. 
 "Why does it all fall on me? I don't blame him for 
 anything but deserting me. I tempted him it was more 
 than half my fault oh, if only he had stuck to me ! 
 We meant no harm, either of us, but it has ruined me 
 that hour of madness while he rises from it to a safer 
 and happier life. He has everything love, wealth, posi- 
 tion, while I've' lost even the little I had. I'm beggared 
 and in the dust, while he is honoured and congratulated. 
 Is it fair ? God, is it fair ? ' ' 
 
 Twelve o 'clock struck they were married now. Dolly 
 was now engrossed with the old torturing thoughts, 
 "What shall I do? What can I do? What will become 
 of me?" She told herself she could not keep her ap- 
 pointment now. Her courage was gone. It was impos- 
 sible. And even whilst telling herself she could never 
 do it, she rose desperately and began to bathe her face 
 and coil up her disordered hair preparatory to starting 
 off on that dreadful expedition. 
 
 "It's the only thing there's no other help," she 
 muttered wearily. "It's got to be done." 
 
 But while she dressed through the turmoil and mis- 
 ery of her mind came fresh, piercing and insistent the 
 thought of her mother. It was nearly eleven years since 
 Valerie had died, but her presence was vivid in that 
 squalid bedroom. She seemed suddenly to be there, 
 holding Dolly in her protecting arms encircling her 
 with mighty strength. 
 
 Dolly ceased to resist the thought and let it rush warm 
 and comforting into her mind. Mother dear, tender 
 mother! how sweet to feel her near after all these 
 years ... As in a dream, she saw the little white house 
 in Fulham, the little room where her mother had come 
 night after night to kiss her in bed the garden plot 
 where they had dug and planted together, "between 
 tours" the green seat among the rose-trees, where, in 
 summer, they had so many loving talks, so many merry 
 times together. 
 
 How soothing, how strangely peace-giving it was, this
 
 210 DOWNWARD 
 
 sudden dream of her childhood. She took off her out- 
 door things again . . . some impulse made her kneel 
 down, her weary head resting against the bed. . . . 
 "Mother what a woman! And Dolly, too, could be a 
 mother; what was it Cliff had said 'it's one's own child 
 one wants the child one has suffered and anguished 
 for.' " 
 
 A great light seemed to flood her soul . . . everything 
 was suddenly changed. Inarticulate prayers rose in her 
 heart; she found herself possessed with an impulse of 
 intense thankfulness, of immeasurable relief. 
 
 Her mother was with her, her mother's great love had 
 saved her. 
 
 And while she was thus on her knees the great, golden 
 moment came to Dolly that wondrous moment when 
 her child quickened to life, and she felt for the first time 
 that strange, thrilling stir of new life within her most 
 mysterious and beautiful of all human experiences. 
 
 Trembling and weeping for joy, the mother-heart 
 cried aloud in her, and again she lifted up her soul in 
 uttermost thankfulness that she had escaped this great 
 crime and preserved for herself this great happiness. 
 Her mother's name occurred as often in the prayers as 
 the name of God, but it was to the Great Spirit of Love 
 she was pouring forth her gratitude. 
 
 The difficulties of the future that had seemed so in- 
 superable were suddenly smoothed out as by sottt* sagti 
 hand. Everything was strangely simple now. Accept 
 money? Yes, she would accept money for her child 
 from the father who had wronged her, from the lover 
 who had deserted her, from the friend she could not pay 
 back, from any stranger who offered she would accept 
 money now for her child. 
 
 And if they would not give she would take and take 
 again ! For her child she would steal, forge, lie, if need 
 be what mattered any law that conflicted with her 
 child's welfare? For the life she had helped to create 
 she would commit any crime short of destroying other 
 life for the child all things were possible to her.
 
 DOWNWARD 211 
 
 A great elation seized her the immense, ineffable 
 elation of Woman fulfilling her Destiny. She felt 
 strong, glad, invincible. As she walked up and down 
 the room her movement was like a paean of victory. She 
 flung back her head and wanted to sing aloud in her 
 triumph she threw out her arms and felt she was 
 clasping the world. 
 
 Tender, joyful thoughts glowed in her mind. "I'm 
 going to be a mother, a mother!" She repeated the 
 word over and over again that wonderful word holding 
 joy and tears immeasurable mother ! Her arms were 
 going to hold a little child a child who was flesh of her 
 flesh. Little hands would clasp her, little feet would 
 run stumbling after her, a baby voice would call and 
 clamour for her she would be the One, the Indispen- 
 sable, the Mother. Downward? No, she was not going 
 downward! From to-day she would climb upward, be 
 the path ever so steep, and a little child should lead 
 her. . . . Upward! up ward 1 
 
 What did the man matter? She did not need him 
 now. She could fight for her child alone ; if necessary, 
 she could die for it. But her thoughts went thankfully 
 to Dacre. He would help her he would tide her over 
 this difficult time. 
 
 All ideas of the drawbacks of her position were swept 
 aside, now that she had once felt her child's faint stir of 
 life. No empress, married by an archbishop, in the sight 
 of two continents could have been more filled with joy 
 and pride at presenting an heir to a waiting nation than 
 was Dolly at that moment rejoicing in a mean London 
 lodging over the thought of her illegitimate child. For 
 the time being she was Motherhood Incarnate she was 
 one with the great heart of Nature. For the time being 
 she lost sight of everything except that Woman 's Crown 
 was to be hers that jewelled crown of thorns, so heavy 
 and so glorious to bear. 
 
 Poor Dolly poor, passionate, beautiful Dolly 1 She 
 needs your sufferances, the deepest pity of which you 
 ar capable. The world cannot know her rapture nor
 
 212 DOWNWARD 
 
 guess her elation. To the world her transcendental ,30,7 
 would appear an impious mockery. In the eyes of the 
 world at its kindest she is just an erring woman about 
 to cumber the ground with a nameless child. . . . 
 
 You that are without sin, be merciful 1 Let no one 
 e&e judge her.
 
 PAST IV 
 
 THE Tillage of "Wylton looked very forlorn in the 
 March dusk. The sixty or so red and white bungalows 
 of which it principally consisted required the sunshine 
 to make them look attractive. They were grouped un- 
 evenly into half a dozen off-shoots of the main road, 
 straggling along the downs above the prosperous seaside 
 town of Skarne. The whole was ill-planned, but it 
 looked charming enough in August when all the bunga- 
 lows were occupied, the windows filled with fluttering 
 muslin curtains and the tiny gardens with bright sum- 
 mer bedding-plants; when hammocks were hanging in 
 the diminutive verandas and striped canvas chairs set 
 out on the grass plots. Now, however, with half the 
 houses shut up, the gardens desolate, and the muddy, 
 unmade roads deeply furrowed and almost impassable, 
 it was a cheerless spot in the twilight. Although Wyl- 
 ton owned four policemen, who never by any chance 
 were to be seen, as yet it did not possess a single lamp- 
 post. After dark such of its inhabitants as chose to be 
 abroad had to rely on the moonlight for their guidance. 
 The roads were grandiloquently named Lancaster Drive, 
 Burlington Gardens, Sandringham Avenue, etc., and 
 the sixty bungalows, going to the other extreme of 
 nomenclature, shared among them half a dozen such 
 titles as "The Hut," "The Nest," "The Haven," "The 
 Nook," etc., etc. In addition there were four "Mas- 
 cottes," three "Sans Souci" and, of course, the inevi- 
 table "Clovelly" and "Rosebank," without which no 
 respectable residential quarter could possibly be 
 complete. 
 
 213
 
 DOWNWARD 
 
 A little Yray from the cliff edge, where the end of 
 Sandringham Avenue met the Downs, stood a bungalow 
 apart from the rest which was occupied all the year 
 round. It was somewhat larger and certainly more 
 decorative than the others; on the small white gate was 
 painted the name "The House of Good Hope." The 
 garden, enclosed by a low fence of rough posts with the 
 bark on, was comparatively large and bore signs of 
 careful tending. 
 
 On this particular afternoon in March the stillness of 
 the road where not a soul seemed stirring was suddenly 
 broken. The front door of "Good Hope" burst open 
 and out rushed a stout, red-faced, panting woman. 
 With her holland skirts held high, disclosing two feet 
 of extraordinarily generous proportions, cased in felt 
 boots, pell-mell over the lumpy clay furrows she rushed 
 and stopped at a small villa half-way down the road, the 
 windows of which were decorated with a profusion of 
 cards bearing the word "Apartments." 
 
 "Dr. Jocelyn! Dr. Jocelyn!" cried the panting 
 woman. "Oh, please come quickly, sir; the boy's in the 
 convulsions Mrs. Faithfull's boy, Keddy!" 
 
 The young man she addressed had just deposited a 
 bundle of golf-sticks in the corner of the veranda and 
 was preparing to take off his muddy boots before enter- 
 ing his small sitting-room through the open French 
 window. At her call he rushed across the square of 
 grass which constituted the villa's front garden and 
 ran down the muddy road at top speed. Vaulting the 
 fence, he tore across the lawn of "Good Hope" and into 
 the house, scattering lumps of clay right and left. 
 
 The woman followed as quickly as her shortness of 
 breath would allow. "In the bathroom," she called 
 after him, with mighty puffings, as she halted for a 
 necessary second at the little gate, her hand on her over- 
 taxed heart. 
 
 Jocelyn flung off his coat and turned up his shirt- 
 sleeves as he hastened across the square lounge-hall of
 
 DOWNWARD 215 
 
 the bungalow to an open door from which clouds of 
 steam were issuing. 
 
 Bending over the bath, her face flushed, her lips 
 tightly set, Dolly was supporting her boy in the water. 
 His little face was deadly pale ; his head lay against her 
 arm, the soft hair clinging to his brow damp from the 
 steam. His lips were blue, his body convulsed with the 
 horrible tremors. 
 
 "Arthur! for God's sake!" gasped Dolly, "is this 
 right? It came on so suddenly " 
 
 "Quite right. Put something between his teeth a 
 cork is best and get brandy. I'll hold him." 
 
 "Brandy! I've none." 
 
 "I have tantalus on the sideboard. You run and 
 get it ; I can rub him better. ' ' He proceeded to rub the 
 child's chest and limbs scientifically. "I wish I'd 
 known this was coming," he muttered to himself. "Aha, 
 that's better, that's better" as the stiffened limbs re- 
 laxed a little. "Good man he is, a good Keddy-man. 
 He's answering to the treatment, you see," he called 
 over his shoulder as Dolly rushed in with the brandy. 
 "It's all right; the worst's over, and the brandy will 
 finish it. Now, then, a hot blanket, please. That's it 
 capital! There's nothing more to fear now. ..." 
 
 In a few minutes they had the child in bed, wrapped 
 in warm blankets. Without a word, he went quietly off 
 into a doze. It was barely a quarter of an hour since 
 the seizure, but Dolly was white and trembling from the 
 shock. 
 
 "That was smartly done very!" said Jocelyn. "But 
 of course you've been a nurse, haven't you? You must 
 have got him in the bath almost at once." 
 
 "We did. Thank God there's always hot water in 
 this blessed little boiler, and Elizabeth had the blankets 
 to the fire and was off for you in a flash." 
 
 "I'd no idea the dame could flash at afl, but she 
 certainly did." 
 
 "Bless her dear, loyal heart she adores Keddy; and 
 bless you too, Arthur ; you have been a
 
 216 DOWNWARD 
 
 That grateful glance of Dolly's made the man give 
 silent thanks for the lucky chance that had enabled him 
 to he of use to this beautiful woman in her hour of need. 
 
 "I'm thankful I was handy, that's all. I'd just come 
 in from the links. Now I'm going to prescribe for you 
 both, if I may." 
 
 "Please do; it's awfully good of you." 
 
 "Keddy will be going on nicely now. "Watch for a 
 rise of temperature, though, and don't give him any- 
 thing but milk. And Keddy's mother is to lie down 
 and rest for a bit. I'll cycle into Skarne now and get 
 two prescriptions made up oh, yes, you're to have 
 some bromide. Why, you're all to pieces! You'll be 
 knocked up to-morrow from the shock!" 
 
 Tears came into Dolly's eyes. "It's very nice of you, 
 Arthur," she faltered. "I hate to give you the trouble 
 when you must be tired after a long day's golf you 
 don 't want to be bothered with patients on your holiday. 
 The wind is ghastly, too, and the road's like a ploughed 
 field some of the way. If it wasn't for my Keddy, I 
 wouldn't let you go." 
 
 "Indeed, wouldn't you? Well, I'm going, anyway, 
 for Keddy's sake, not to mention Keddy's mother! I'll 
 come round again before turning in just to see how he 
 is. By the way, those back teeth of his you were telling 
 me about must be pretty fierce things. I 've never known 
 a child of that age have convulsions before. He's four, 
 isn't he?" 
 
 "Four in April," said the mother, softly. When 
 Jocelyn had gone she stood for some minutes by the side 
 of the cot gazing at her son. 
 
 "My precious baby!" she murmured, "mother's own 
 beautiful Brown Bird! Thank God, you're safe; I 
 couldn't live without my Keddy!" 
 
 She lay down on her own bed, and, passing her hand 
 through the bars of the cot, took the child's little hand 
 in hers. In a few minutes she, too, had dozed off, and, 
 after all, it was old Elizabeth who did the watching.
 
 ABOUT ten o'clock that night Arthur Jocelyn tapped 
 softly at Dolly's door. She opened it herself, hushing 
 him to silence with upraised finger as he came into the 
 halL 
 
 "Ked's sound asleep," she whispered. "His pulse is 
 good and temperature only ninety-nine point six. Eliza- 
 beth 's asleep, too, and I'm as right as rain. I've had a 
 splendid rest, and the priceless old dame has looked 
 after us both. Now it's my turn; I'm going to sit up 
 with Keddy." 
 
 "Then so am I!" announced Jocelyn. 
 
 "Indeed you're not. Think of the neighbours!" 
 
 "We will think of them if you like. We'll think of 
 them all night, though I confess it seems a waste of time. 
 But I'm going to sit up with you, for all that." 
 
 "Think of the noise you'll make and the oxygen you'll 
 consume which my boy ought to have!" 
 
 "Madame, I'm a medical man. I don't propose to 
 make a noise or consume any of your boy 's oxygen ; I 'm 
 going to spend the night sitting in this delightful lounge, 
 in that very artistic chintz-covered chair before a 
 roaring fire!" 
 
 "Who's going to make it roar? I've just been poking 
 it out!" 
 
 "I'll make it roar in two minutes. No woman can 
 build a fire ! All you 've got to do is to sit opposite me 
 in that other artistic chintz-covered chair." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Yes, and if the boy so much as blinks you'll be able 
 to hear him. When I 've inspected my patient and made 
 the fire roar, I shall fetch whisky and cigars from my 
 217
 
 218 DOWNWARD 
 
 own mansion and we'll settle down to a gorgeous quack- 
 quack. In the small hours, perhaps, 111 make some 
 coffee. Now, doesn't that sound much jollier than your 
 sitting here all alone, yawning and starting at every 
 crack ? ' ' 
 
 "Well, it has its points, I'll admit." 
 
 "Good! You reflect on those points, while I fetch 
 in some logs of wood. ... I say, before I forget, I met 
 the man you call the Norse King on the links to-day, and 
 when I'd got close to him I discovered an old friend 
 Godwin Leigh." 
 
 "Really? How nice! I do want to know him." 
 
 "He was at Cambridge with me, and we shared digs 
 for a time when I was a student. He's a tremendously 
 good sort, though rather strait-laced. Goes in for char- 
 ity organization and good works. And I've another 
 piece of news for you ; that large old house on the main 
 road is let for three months." 
 
 "Do you mean the Square House?" 
 
 "That's it. The tenants are coming in to-morrow. 
 Musical people, apparently at least I hear a 'cello and 
 two violins were among the luggage to-day, and a special 
 piano has been sent down from Bechstein's." 
 
 "That sounds promising. I hope they'll entertain. 
 Are there any children for Keddy to play with?" 
 
 "No, there are only the man and his wife, and she's 
 an invalid, Miss Sapper told me." 
 
 "Of course Miss Sapper would know! Then I sup- 
 pose they won't be entertaining. What an odd time of 
 the year to come. March is the worst month here." 
 
 "Ah, well! you and I are making the place fashion- 
 able," said the young man with a grin. "Now to face 
 the blast once more your wood-shed is at the back, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, and there's a lantern in the porch; you'd 
 better take it, as it's pitch dark." 
 
 ....** 
 
 Left alone, Dolly busied herself fetching cushions and
 
 DOWNWARD 219 
 
 arranging matches, ash-tray, siphon and tumbler on a 
 little table between the two chairs which flanked the 
 hearth. She next got out her coffee-machine and cups 
 and placed them handy on a tray. Her eyes sparkled a 
 little: how horrified the neighbours would be if they 
 knew ! And Jocelyn was certainly very good company ; 
 he was about her own age, an amusing talker and always 
 gay and light-hearted. He had come to Wylton at 
 Xmas, a casual visitor, to recruit from a bad breakdown, 
 consequent on over-work during an epidemic of typhoid 
 in the East End quarter where he practised. She re- 
 called the succession of dreary winters since she had 
 settled in Wylton four years ago how quickly these 
 last few months had sped by contrast. 
 
 Jocelyn had first made her acquaintance by running 
 after Keddy's hat one stormy day on the cliff. They had 
 been formally introduced shortly afterwards at the house 
 of the Vicar of Skarne, and as everybody at Wylton 
 soon got to know one another well, they quickly became 
 constant companions. He had taken Dolly to the links 
 with him, and though her golf progressed very slowly, 
 they had had many cheery hours there together. The 
 books he had lent her and the talks they had had together 
 had stimulated her intellect; mental fare was somewhat 
 meagre at Wylton. But, above all, it was the masculine 
 companionship that had cheered and brightened her. 
 She had thriven on the stimulus of a man's homage and 
 a man's admiration, both so necessary to a woman of 
 her calibre. 
 
 At thirty Dolly was in the height of her beauty. Her 
 figure had eventually gained by maternity, rather than 
 lost, as is generally the case. Deep-bosomed, slender- 
 waisted, her neck rose from her shoulders truly like a 
 tower of ivory, and she had still the carriage of a mythi- 
 cal queen. She had kept her fair, girlish complexion, 
 too, and the grief she had gone through only showed in 
 her deep blue eyes, giving them perhaps an added mys- 
 tery and charm. Preparatory to her vigil, with a view 
 to added comfort, she had taken down her heavy hair,
 
 220 DOWNWARD 
 
 and it now hung in a plait down her back, a seductive 
 rope of gold reaching to her knees. She had changed 
 her short tweed skirt and blouse, the only possible cos- 
 tume in which to brave the Wylton roads in winter, and 
 now wore a pale blue tea-gown, all frills and laces, which 
 revealed her beautiful throat. 
 
 Jocelyn gazed at her admiringly as they stood to- 
 gether for a few minutes by Keddy's cot; Dolly was 
 looking at her boy with a lovely expression in her eyes. 
 The domesticity of the scene, and his part in it, dis- 
 turbed the bachelor. He had no wish to marry, but he 
 coveted this desirable woman and the form of the beauti- 
 ful, sleeping child symbolized all that he had so far 
 missed in his life. 
 
 In truth, Keddy was a boy any man might be proud 
 to have fathered. The perfect oval of his face, the deli- 
 cately cut features, the curve of his sweet, childish 
 mouth, composed a whole unusually pretty for a boy of 
 his age. From his well-shaped, white brow the luxuri- 
 ant dark hair was flung back in a tangle on the pillow. 
 His extraordinarily long black lashes lay upon his 
 cheeks, and beneath the shut white lids were large, won- 
 derful eyes, deep blue like his mother's, but full of that 
 exquisite serenity that sometimes gives an unearthly 
 beauty to childhood. 
 
 "When his eyes are shut he doesn't look a bit like 
 you," Jocelyn remarked. 
 
 "No, he's not like me," said Dolly, with a sigh. 
 
 The lounge made a charming room at night when all 
 the doors which opened on to it were shut. Curtains of 
 soft turquoise blue were drawn across the lattice win- 
 dows, and a heavier curtain of a similar colour shut off 
 the outer porch. Below a brilliant rose-wreath frieze 
 the walls were hung with plain white paper, which gave 
 an impression of space to the room, and all the wood- 
 work was painted white. The floor was carpeted in a 
 shade of turquoise blue, and the light chintz covers of 
 the chairs repeated the note of roses in the frieze. On 
 an oak table in the centre books and papers were piled
 
 DOWNWARD 221 
 
 in untidy luxuriance, and Dolly's golf -clubs stacked in 
 a corner gave a homelike, masculine touch to the whole. 
 Over the hearth, which was a reproduction of an old- 
 fashioned open grate, a motto was carved in the stone- 
 work, "Each Man's Chimney is His Golden Milestone," 
 and above this hung a life-size sepia head of Dacre 
 Hamilton. 
 
 Jocelyn sighed as he looked contentedly around and 
 settled himself in his easy chair. Both in his somewhat 
 rackety student days and his more decorous existence 
 of the last three years he had many times congratulated 
 himself on his freedom ; but now, for the first time in his 
 adult life, the idea of a home seemed attractive to him. 
 
 Having lit a night-light in Keddy's room and set the 
 door open, Dolly sat down in the other big chair opposite 
 Jocelyn. 
 
 They smiled at each other. 
 
 "You certainly can make fires, Arthur, I'll admit. 
 And it's rather jolly to be sitting here so cosily with the 
 wind howling outside as it is. Why, you've slippers on, 
 too; how domesticated!" 
 
 "I brought them over with the whisky; my boots are 
 in the porch with half an acre of good Kentish soil stick- 
 ing to each. Quite domesticated, as you say me in 
 slippers and you with your hair down." 
 
 "I'd quite forgotten," murmured Dolly, with a shade 
 of embarrassment. 
 
 "I'm glad you did. What ripping hair you've got, 
 Dolly!" 
 
 "Mrs. Faithfull, please," said Dolly, trying to look 
 severe. "You begged me to call you Arthur and I 
 agreed, as we were good friends and formality doesn't 
 come natural to me, but " 
 
 "Formality doesn't come natural to me, either; I'm 
 the soul of informality, and to-night, madam, I 'm going 
 to call you Dolly, if only to get the proper intimate 
 atmosphere for our quack-quack." 
 
 1 ' Very well, then, because you were so good this after- 
 noon, and for to-night only, mind. How scandalized our
 
 222 DOWNWARD 
 
 dear friends, Mrs. Merton and Mrs. Redwood and Miss 
 Sapper, would be if they could see us!" 
 
 "Oh, come! Surely even those prize tabbies could 
 find no fault in such an innocent proceeding as this ? ' ' 
 
 "My dear Arthur, you don't know them! Even 
 though you were brought up in a provincial town, you 
 have no conception of the evil imaginations possessed 
 by the elderly female residents of a seaside village to 
 say nothing of their extraordinary aptitude for gossip. 
 Why, when my old friend, Dacre Hamilton, comes down 
 to see us, I daren't even let him sleep in the house, 
 although I've a sweet little spare room here." 
 
 "Do you put the poor chap in the wood-shed?" 
 
 "No, not quite that, but he has to turn out at night 
 and take a wretched room at old Mrs. Wilder 's, ever so 
 far down the cliff, as your landlady is the only apart- 
 ment letter here, and she always goes in for what she 
 calls 'long lets.' It enrages me so at first I wouldn't 
 hear of it, but Dacre insisted. He said I should have no 
 character left otherwise, and when I got to know the 
 women here I saw he was right. ' ' 
 
 "Odd, isn't it, that people should be like that after 
 nearly two thousand years of Christianity? That's 
 your friend up there, isn't it?" He indicated the 
 portrait of Dacre over the hearth. 
 
 "Yes, the most wonderful friend woman ever had!" 
 
 "Humph! any one would be glad to be your friend, 
 Dolly," said Jocelyn, jealously. "Any one would be 
 glad to serve a pretty woman like you just for the 
 pleasure of it." 
 
 "Well, I've not found men so disinterested," said 
 Dolly, bitterly. "Dacre is one in a million." 
 
 "What has he ever done that's so wonderful?" 
 
 "He's done everything; he's been mother and father, 
 counsellor, guide and friend. I could never tell you all 
 he's done. He practically saved my life and Keddy's 
 life. He brought me through the blackest time a woman 
 could ever know. If you knew all he 's done ! ' ' 
 
 "Tell me your story, Dolly," said the man, per-
 
 DOWNWARD 223 
 
 raasively, "you promised you would some day, and a 
 night sitting like this is the very time for confidences. 
 Although we 've been such friends since we met, and I 've 
 told you all about my life and all my love affairs and 
 scrapes, yet I know nothing whatever about you, except 
 that you were once a nurse and you've not been 
 married. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Hush ! ' ' Dolly flashed an uneasy glance round 
 "if any one should hear you!" 
 
 "Who on earth could hear?" 
 
 "I was a fool to tell you whatever made me do it?" 
 
 "My dear, don't you know women always tell. that 
 kind of secret? Did you ever hear the story of the 
 elderly lady who once went to a priest and confessed 
 that she'd made a slip? 'Surely this was not recent, 
 my daughter?' said the priest. 'Oh, no,' answered the 
 penitent, 'it was twenty years ago, but I do so love 
 talking about it ! ' ' 
 
 A smile trembled on Dolly's lips, but was sternly 
 suppressed. ' * Well, I 'm not like that, ' ' she said. ' ' God 
 knows I want to forget it, if I can; but I've never been 
 good at keeping secrets of any kind. I always was 
 dreadfully unreserved and age hasn't taught me wis- 
 dom. But it's so vital that this one should be kept for 
 the boy's sake, though I mean to tell him, of course." 
 
 ' ' Do you really ? That 's interesting. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, he ought to know from the beginning; it would 
 be a shock to hear it suddenly when he's grown-up. 
 And so many people know. It all came out at the 
 nursing home where I worked. But, oh ! I hope nobody 
 will be so cruel as to punish my Keddy for his parents' 
 fault." 
 
 "Don't worry, little woman; it'll all be forgotten by 
 the time he's a man. It isn't likely he'll run across any 
 of those people who knew you. I suppose you've taken 
 another name on his account?" 
 
 ' ' Oh, yes, my own maiden name was altered by formal 
 deed-poll enrolled in Chancery that's what Dacre 
 called it. Of course he arranged it for me, and it was
 
 DOWNWARD 
 
 all done on the boy's account. And I often tell myself 
 that no one can prove I 'm not really a widow, especially 
 if I eventually do marry." 
 
 "Of course they can't. Nothing is likely to turn up 
 to upset your boy. That's why I think it's a pity to 
 tell him when he need never know." 
 
 "Oh, but it would be wrong to build his life upon a 
 lie, when the truth might come out at any time. He 
 must know everything from the first. I've begun al- 
 ready ; when he asked me why he had no daddy, I told 
 him his daddy was very cruel to mother and had never 
 seen him and never would see him." 
 
 "And what did the little chap say?" 
 
 Dolly's face lit up. "The darling said, 'If I'd been 
 there when he was cruel to mumma I 'd have thrown him 
 over the cliff!'" 
 
 "Good chap! 'Stout fella!' " 
 
 "I feel sure it's best to tell children the truth about 
 everything ; the truth is so much simpler than anything 
 we can invent. When he grows up he'll understand all 
 I have suffered for him, how I was tempted, how bitterly 
 I have been punished, and I feel sure it won't cause him 
 to be ashamed of me, but rather make him very gentle 
 and kind to the women who come into his life. No 
 woman will ever be the worse for my son, I feel sure, 
 for he will have learned the woman's side of things from 
 his mother." 
 
 "Well, can't you teach him that without letting him 
 know he's illegitimate?" 
 
 ' ' No, it would be merely talk unless I could point the 
 argument with my own case, Avritten in blood and tears. 
 Besides, I hope he'll have too much sound common sense 
 for the word illegitimate to be a bogey to him. It's only 
 a word, after all." 
 
 "A word that has the power to wreck lives." 
 
 "The more shame to those who give it such a power! 
 Why, just think a minute how absurd it is to say that 
 the existence of any human being is idegall And all 
 this sentimental nonsense about the value of a father's
 
 DOWNWARD 225 
 
 name, as if one parent's name were any better than 
 another's! In a properly conducted world all children 
 would bear the mother's name, as they used to when the 
 world was younger and simpler." 
 
 "Oh, come, Dolly; that would really be going too 
 far." 
 
 ' ' Too far ? Oh, how funny you illogical men are over 
 the foolish laws you've made for yourselves and us! 
 Doesn't a mother do more for the children than a 
 father? Isn't it right that she should give her name to 
 the child whom she carries for nine months to whom, 
 in convulsions of agony, she gives life at the risk of her 
 own, and in the majority of cases nourishes it after- 
 wards at the price of her strength for nearly a year, not 
 to mention her love and service during childhood? It's 
 such obvious common sense that all children should bear 
 the mother's name, only, of course, men can't see it." 
 
 "Well, I hope all will turn out as you expect and that 
 Keddy won't mind," said Jocelyn. 
 
 "Why should he mind, so long as nobody turns it up 
 against him? I never did." She checked herself 
 sharply; for a minute her eyes fell before the man's 
 curious glance and raised, questioning eyebrows. Then 
 she met his surprised look boldly. 
 
 "You see, I'm not very good at keeping secrets," she 
 said. 
 
 Jocelyn bent forward eagerly. "But it is a relief to 
 speak out sometimes, isn't it? to open the locked door 
 and look into the secret chamber and ease one's heart? 
 You interest me tremendously! Tell me your story, 
 Dolly, and the howling of the wind will make a fitting 
 accompaniment. Confess it will be a relief to talk freely 
 to a sympathetic listener, since you haven't seen your 
 guide and philosopher for three months!" 
 
 "What a devil you are, Arthur you understand 
 women so uncannily well! You're right, it is some- 
 times a relief to talk freely. Often I long to suddenly 
 burst out the truth to the good ladies of Wylton when 
 we're gathered together for one of those excruciating
 
 226 DOWNWARD 
 
 tea-parties which they revel in. I listen to their eternal 
 conversation about the drains, the iniquity of the Skarne 
 Town Council, the achievements of the rival sets of 
 chickens, and I long to cast a thunderbolt in their midst 
 and give them something to get really excited about. 
 How it would horrify and delight them ! They all ad- 
 mire me, you know think it so sad that a nice-looking 
 young woman should be left alone so early in life, such 
 a devoted mother, too, and so on. And since Dacre went 
 abroad for a long holiday the first he's had for years 
 I've missed my confidant so much; I'm quite afraid I 
 shall break out badly soon." 
 
 ' ' Break out now, then ; it '11 do you good, and with me 
 your secret is buried in a grave. You know that, don't 
 you?" He held out his hand to her and Dolly took it 
 gratefully. 
 
 "You've been a great help to me since you came, 
 Arthur. I don't think I could have borne this last win- 
 ter with Dacre abroad but for you, and you were very 
 good this afternoon." 
 
 Jocelyn bent and kissed her hand. ''Dear little 
 woman," he murmured, "I'd do anything for you."
 
 Ill 
 
 THERE-, was a short pause. Dolly's eyes were fixed on 
 the glowing fire. 
 
 "My mother was a clergyman's daughter/' she began, 
 "the kind of clergyman whose children run away from 
 home. They're exceptional, fortunately. Mother left 
 the parental rectory when she was seventeen and went 
 on the stage. She must have had an awful struggle, but 
 I don't know much about it. My father is still alive; 
 he's a well-known specialist quite possibly he's been 
 one of your examiners. You'd be surprised if I were to 
 name him, but I don't mean to. They both came of 
 good county families and so did Keddy's father. My 
 boy has good blood in his veins and good brains behind 
 him. Neither of his parents are particularly clever, but 
 his grand-parents were really a most distinguished quar- 
 tette an eminent doctor, an equally eminent barrister, 
 an artist who made a name for herself, and an actress 
 of great talents. He won't be able to brag about them, 
 but they are there. My boy ought to achieve ; he '11 have 
 brains and imagination and passion and artistic talents 
 if only the passion doesn't wreck all! both his grand- 
 fathers were devils ..." 
 
 "I know Keds is an awfully fine chap and is going to 
 knock a hole in the sky, and it's awfully interesting, but 
 I want to hear about you, Dolly." 
 
 "Forgive me, I'm a bore, I know I'm so afflicted with 
 'maternitis' ! Well, to continue : My parents were never 
 married, as I 've just let out to you, and my father broke 
 mother's heart. I won't go further into their story, as 
 it would take too long. I was fifteen when mother died. 
 Mr. Hamilton was my father's solicitor and acted as my 
 227
 
 228 DOWNWARD 
 
 guardian. He looked after me, and my father, acting 
 through him, sent me to school and then forced me to be 
 a nurse. My ambition was the stage. I had a flair for 
 the footlights, and oh, Arthur, I could dance divinely ! 
 That's been a great blow to me I've been done out of 
 the career in which I could have excelled I've minded 
 that bitterly . . . 
 
 "But I was happy in a way, and I saw life of a sort 
 and many men loved me. I thought it dull, and rebelled 
 against the routine frantically, but it was a vortex of 
 wild gaiety compared with the existence I've led here. 
 At the nursing home I had two special friends one was 
 Mary Clifford, whom you have met." 
 
 "A good sort, Miss Clifford." 
 
 "The very best. The other was I'll call her Helen. 
 She was engaged to a boy whose mother afterwards be- 
 came my patient at the nursing home, and he ... he is 
 the father of my Keddy." 
 
 Dolly's voice faltered. She had slipped to the ground 
 while telling her story and was now seated curled up on 
 the hearth-rug. Her great eyes were shining and a red 
 spot burned on each cheek. She looked very young, 
 with her white, round throat bare and the plait of hair 
 hanging over one shoulder. 
 
 Jocelyn, who was deeply interested and excited, kept 
 his eyes fixed on hers. He was holding her hands in his 
 and he stroked them gently now, saying in a low voice : 
 
 ' ' Poor little Dolly ! Go on, dear. ' ' 
 
 "It sounds bad, doesn't it? It sounds vile and hor- 
 rible, the betrothed of my friend! It's difficult to ex- 
 plain, even to myself. Helen was away, and he came 
 every day to see his mother really to see me and he 
 got into my thoughts somehow, and into my blood . . . 
 and into my heart. At first I tempted and led him on, 
 but afterwards I tried hard to throw off his spell that's 
 what it was, a spell that held us both ! And he tried, 
 too, but it was written ! Can you understand ? I was 
 so tired of the hard, joyless life, the squabblings and 
 pettinesses of a lot of women shut up together, the dead-
 
 DOWNWARD 229 
 
 cning influence of the sick-room from which we could 
 never escape for more than a few hours. I was .young, 
 and I longed for beauty and colour and gaiety ; I craved 
 for love and joy. Theo represented all this for me. He 
 was so handsome, too ; Keddy is just like him the same 
 well-cut features and fine brow. Keddy 's dark hair is 
 just like his. and grows round the forehead just as his 
 did. Sometimes the past comes back so vividly, I 
 shudder when I run my fingers through the boy's 
 hair . . ." 
 
 "But he has your eyes," said Jocelyn, who had been 
 moving uneasily in his chair. These rhapsodies over 
 another man 's looks were little to his taste. 
 
 "Yes, I'm glad of that. I couldn't bear to have 
 Theo's eyes always looking at me. They were such 
 strange, beautiful " 
 
 "Oh, don't think about his eyes," groaned the man, 
 involuntarily, crushing her hands in his. "Tell me the 
 rest." 
 
 "There's not much more to tell. He had lovely rooms, 
 and he made me come there. We had such talks ... he 
 was the most wonderful lover." 
 
 ' ' Oh, damn ! ' ' murmured Jocelyn, once more writhing 
 in his chair. 
 
 "I only went twice, once to tea ... and one fatal 
 time to dinner. He played Beethoven's Sonata Apas- 
 sionata, and then he sang " 
 
 "So that's why you wouldn't stay for Beethoven's 
 Sonata at that concert in Skarne the other day?" 
 
 "That's why. I can't bear to hear it ... for so 
 many months it haunted me. Then I danced. ... I 
 danced myself mad, Arthur . . . and I've never danced 
 since. ' ' 
 
 'Was that all?" 
 'All. Only that once." 
 'Rough luck!" murmured the man. 
 'And I paid the price. And he got off, as usual!" 
 heavy pritJe for a musical evening," Joxrelyn said,
 
 280 DOWNWARD 
 
 whimsically, and then in a changed voice, "but you love 
 your boy. You think he's worth it?" 
 
 "Of course he's worth it all, a hundred times over! 
 But I might have had him without those horrors, and 
 that thought makes me very bitter." 
 
 "Was it so very bad, Dolly dear?" 
 
 "Hell, Arthur heU! I can't bear to think of it even 
 now! I can't talk about that time." 
 
 "And how was it it ended like this?" he looked com- 
 prehensively round the pretty, comfortable room. 
 
 "Dacre managed all that. That Christmas he took 
 three weeks' holiday. He went out to see Theo in Cairo. 
 What happened I never knew, but Theo agreed to allow 
 me 300 a year if the child lived, and also to pay later 
 for his education. Dacre insisted on a proper settlement 
 it was all his idea. I didn't like taking Theo's money, 
 but he was rich, and I was determined the child should 
 have the right environment from the first, and every 
 chance in life, at whatever cost." 
 
 "Quite right why shouldn't the brute pay?" 
 
 "That's what Dacre said. Towards the last I came 
 here to hide. There were no bungalows then ; I lived in 
 one of those thatched cottages up at Dillborough. I had 
 taken the name of Faithfull and I wore widow's weeds, 
 though I simply loathed doing that. It was Cliff's idea-, 
 she said the reason these miserable secrets cropped up 
 afterwards was because people didn't attend properly 
 to details at the time, so I became known here from the 
 first as a highly respectable widow." 
 
 "What made you take that name?" 
 
 "I wanted the initial F for one thing, and then I'm a 
 great believer in the influence of names. I thought it 
 would be a good one for Keddy to bear through life, and 
 would perhaps help to keep me up to the mark, too it 
 was such a difficult life I was starting on. When Keddy 
 was born I wanted to register him as the son of Dorothea 
 and the late somebody Faithfull, but Dacre wouldn't 
 permit it ; he said it was a criminal offence. On his ad- 
 vice, the registration was purposely omitted, and if ever
 
 DOWNWARD 231 
 
 Keds has to produce a certificate to prove Ms age, it 
 must be his baptismal one. He was christened at Skarne 
 Church. Cliff and Dacre were his god-parents, and we 
 gave him the names of ' Clifford Hamilton. ' So you see, 
 all is in order for him, and no one knows except my two 
 true friends." 
 
 "And me also your true friend." 
 
 Perhaps it was a shadow thrown by the flickering fire- 
 light, perhaps it was merely a morbid imagination, but 
 for an instant it seemed to Dolly there was a hint of 
 triumph in Jocelyn's expression, a sinister twist to his 
 mouth. The impression had passed instantly, but a look 
 of fear crept into Dolly's eyes. She recalled how little 
 she knew of Jocelyn, how short had been their acquaint- 
 ance; yet here she was telling him the secrets so care- 
 fully guarded by her trusted friends secrets on which 
 her boy's welfare might depend. 
 
 She got up on her knees and put one hand on his arm. 
 
 "You are my true friend, Arthur?" she said, 
 earnestly. "You'll never, never tell?" 
 
 ' ' Good heavens, what d 'you take me for ? I 'm a white 
 man, I hope ! D 'you think I would give a woman 
 away?" His tone was angry. Dolly spoke soothingly. 
 
 "No, no, of course not, or I shouldn't confide in youu 
 It means too much to me. But promise, Arthur." 
 
 "You're safe with me, little lady of course I prom- 
 ise. Now finish the story. Why didn't you go on the 
 stage?" 
 
 "The doctor said I must never dance again. . . . 1 
 was very ill, you see ... everything went wrong. 
 Eeally, it was a wonder we lived at all ! And giving up 
 my dancing I minded more than I could say that was 
 the last and cruellest blow, though there seemed a 
 peculiar fitness about it when I remembered." 
 
 ' ' What made you settle here ? ' ' 
 
 "It was the only place where the boy thrived. I tried 
 other places for a little, but we came back here finally, 
 and lived in one of the first bungalows a dreadfully 
 jerry-built hovel with walls three inches thick, Oh,
 
 232 DOWNWARD 
 
 that first winter and the howling of the wind! . . . 
 Dacre thought I'd be less restless if I had a nice home 
 to take root in. So he bought this piece of land and 
 built me this dear house, when Keds was a year old. 
 I watched it being put up and planted everything in the 
 garden myself. All the fittings I chose in town; Dacre 
 made me get the best of everything. I insist on paying 
 rent for it, but of course what I pay is purely nominal, 
 and I believe he puts by my little quarterly cheques in 
 the Savings-Bank account he opened for Keddy. And, 
 lastly, he furnished it throughout for me as a present. 
 I sometimes feel ashamed of all I've taken from him, but 
 it consoles me to think it's for the boy, too. A charming 
 home makes such a difference to a child." 
 
 "Your friend certainly has been very decent." 
 "Oh, Arthur, you may well say it. And he's so wise 
 and understanding, too. The house was really a wonder- 
 ful idea of his. It's kept me occupied for nearly two 
 years, the building and furnishing and laying out the 
 garden. But the novelty has passed off now . . . lately 
 
 I've begun to feel ... I've been thinking " 
 
 "You're beginning to tire of this secluded life?" 
 "I don't know." Dolly hesitated. Jocelyn saw his 
 chance. "It would be strange if you were satisfied," he 
 said, eagerly. "The mother-passion is all very well, but 
 a woman can't live by it alone. A woman like you wants 
 a man by her side. You're too young to bury yourself 
 here. A beautiful woman should be in the world, tasting 
 the joys of woman's power, seeing life. You were 
 meant for love, Dolly; you're simply wasting yourself 
 here. ..." 
 
 Tears gathered in Dolly's blue eyes and fell down her 
 cheeks. She was still kneeling upon the hearth-rug. 
 Jocelyn, bending forward, drew her into his arms, mur- 
 muring words of comfort. For a few minutes she rested 
 her head on his shoulder contentedly enough, and even 
 clasped her arms around his neck; but when his lips 
 sought hers she pushed him away with an exclamation 
 of anger.
 
 DOWNWARD 233 
 
 "Don't you know I don't want that! How hateful 
 you men are! You've only got one idea in your heads 
 where a woman's concerned." 
 
 She resumed her seat on the opposite chair and con- 
 tinued more calmly. "You didn't mean to vex me, I 
 know, but it's so strange that you men should never be 
 able to see beyond passion. Can't you see that after my 
 experiences I never want anything to do with passion 
 again? Isn't it plain to you that a woman may want 
 something else from a man? Can't you understand the 
 necessity for affection in a woman's life, that she some- 
 times longs to put her head down on a man 's rough coat, 
 and her arms round his neck, and just have a real 
 brotherly hug, something no woman could give her ? ' ' 
 
 "No, my dear, the brotherly-love tack where a pretty 
 woman is concerned I certainly do not understand, espe- 
 cially at nearly 1 a.m.!" 
 
 "Arthur, what a brute you are ! You disgust me, but 
 I can 't help laughing at you ; you are such an ingenuous 
 brute a naive brute. There's something to be said for 
 Mrs. Redwood's and Miss Sapper's point of view, after 
 all. You men do your best to give reason for it. I've 
 a great mind to turn you out of my house without more 
 ado." 
 
 "I shouldn't go." 
 
 "Elizabeth would soon make you if I eoiildn't." 
 
 "There I agree. I quail before the thought of the 
 incomparable Elizabethan brawn. Before Elizabeth's 
 bovine arms I should flee. But you wouldn't have the 
 heart to wake her up after her hard day 's work, surely ! 
 And I 'm just going to make you some coffee, too ! " 
 
 "I'll tolerate you, then, if you'll make the coffee, but 
 no more amorous advances, please." 
 
 "Seriously, Dolly," Jocelyn was standing over her. 
 "Seriously, you've called me a devil and a brute and a 
 few other things to-night. Don't you realize what a 
 perfect little fiend you are being, sitting there in that 
 blue wrapper " 
 
 "It's a tea-gown, a most sophisticated garment!"
 
 234, DOWNWARD 
 
 "It has all the deviltry of neglige, and yon sit there 
 with your alluring hair hanging in a plait and tell me 
 the story of how another man has loved and won you . . . 
 why, it's more than I can stand!" 
 
 "Good gracious you asked for it!" 
 
 "Yes, I longed to know your life, because I'm wild 
 about you. You know I am you know I want you 
 desperately, Dolly!" 
 
 It would be untrue to say that Dolly felt no qualm of 
 fear as Joeelyn's eyes glowered at her. It was the mid- 
 dle of the night ; outside the wind whistled and howled. 
 After all, a considerable volume of sound might be re- 
 quired to wake Elizabeth, and a very little would suffice 
 to aroose and frighten the child ; but it would never do 
 to show fear of Jocelyn, and it would never do to upset 
 Keddy. With an effort Dolly laughed in his face. 
 
 " Arthur, there are many things I want from you 
 yoor friendship, your companionship, your masculine 
 point of view, your admirable sense of humour, to say 
 nothing of your books and your golf -knowledge, but I 
 do not want your carnal conversation, nor any man's. 
 D'yon understand, once and for all, that I've done with 
 that kind of thing forever!" 
 
 "But not long ago you said something about mar- 
 rying." 
 
 "Marrying, perhaps, but not that kind of thing!" 
 
 Brutal words rose to the man's lips: "That kind of 
 thing is all you can expect now. No sane man would 
 marry a woman with your history!" but he checked 
 them, and it was well that he did. 
 
 "Very well, I accept that as final," he said, somewhat 
 sullenly. 
 
 "Good, and now since the kettle's boiling, will you 
 make the coffee, and at two o'clock sharp you must go. 
 If Keddy hasn't wakened by then, he won't stir till 
 dawn, and I might just as well go to bed so as to be 
 fresh to look after him in the morning." With this she 
 went into Keddy 's room, locking the door behind her. 
 
 Jocelyn brewed the coffee and awaited her return
 
 DOWNWARD 285 
 
 with some curiosity. He could not help laughing when 
 she reappeared with her hair coiled up and the seductive 
 blue nigligi replaced by a dark tailor-made costume of 
 the severest cut, a stiff white linen collar and black tie 
 encircling her throat. 
 
 "I thought perhaps you'd enjoy your coffee better if 
 I attended to your hint," she said, demurely. 
 
 "You look positively hideous, Dolly," he retorted. 
 "What a cruel revenge to take on me !" 
 
 But when, at five minutes past two, he returned to his 
 own lodging, it was with a somewhat savage feeling of 
 disappointment that the evening had turned out so 
 differently from his expectation. 
 
 "I never dreamed it was as bad as that," he thought. 
 "Nobody could marry her, of course. I'd give anything 
 to have her in town for a month. And she so refined, so 
 particular, such good style a kept woman 1 Who'd 
 have thought it?"
 
 IV 
 
 THREE weeks later came a day of sudden spring. The 
 sun shone in unaccustomed bravery. Soft breezes blew 
 from the west, and as Dolly walked round her garden, 
 cutting slips of foliage for her vases, she felt the spring 
 pangs in her heart. 
 
 Keddy, in a blue reefer coat, seated on a wooden horse 
 which bore the unexpected name of Bognor, was speed- 
 ing on a mad career, along the length of the hall, into 
 the little drawing-room, out through the French win- 
 dow, on to the gravelled path that encircled the lawn 
 and then back again. Shouting joyously to his steed, 
 he propelled himself partly by its wheels and partly by 
 his own feet, to the great detriment both of the gravelled 
 path and of the carpets. 
 
 Dolly hummed softly to herself as she arranged her 
 vases. She was startled when Arthur Jocelyn's voice 
 hailed her suddenly from the window. 
 
 "It's a glorious day. What do you say to an hour on 
 the links?" 
 
 "No, thanks, Saturday's my busiest morning. I've 
 the flowers to finish, and buttons to sew on Keddy 's 
 clean clothes and heaps of other little things to do." 
 
 "And this afternoon I suppose you're booked for Mrs. 
 Redwood 's hen-cackle ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, aren't you?" 
 
 "I was foolhardy enough to accept, but couldn't we 
 both cut it and go for a good long walk along the cliffs 
 to Wylvering Towers or over the fields to Blenner 
 Woods? Do, it's such a ripping day it's a sin to waste 
 it on a goose-gossip." 
 
 ' ' True, but you know how terrified I am of Mrs. Red- 
 wood. She'd never forgive me for cutting her party." 
 236
 
 DOWNWARD 237 
 
 "Pooh! she'd never know." 
 
 "Never know? What blasphemy, Arthur! Why, 
 Mrs. Redwood is absolutely omniscient as regards the 
 doings of Wylton. She's like the beasts with eyes behind 
 and before. My life wouldn't be worth living. Besides, 
 I've a special reason for going; your large friend, Mr. 
 Leigh, is to be there." 
 
 ' ' The deuce he is ! What possesses him ? ' ' 
 
 Dolly smiled mischievously. "How should I know? 
 But I fancy he has a passion for Miss Sapper," she 
 replied, demurely. 
 
 "But how did he get to know old Mother Redwood? 
 He didn't want to, I'm sure." 
 
 "That's very possible, but though a Norse King pro- 
 poses, Mother Redwood disposes. She wished it, and 
 so it was!" 
 
 "I wonder what you see in him!" said Jocelyn, after 
 a short pause, and his changed tone made Dolly laugh 
 outright. "What the dickens is there to laugh at?" he 
 continued, rather irritably. "Why, you've barely known 
 the man a week!" 
 
 "Three weeks exactly since you introduced us at the 
 golf club." 
 
 "Wish I hadn't. You hardly knew him when I went 
 up to town last week, and, after about ten days away, I 
 come back and find you and he as thick as thieves." 
 
 "Well, that's your fault for going away," retorted 
 Dolly. "You leave me alone in this godless, manless 
 spot in the dire month of March ; I meet the Norse King 
 every day on the links. There we are, two stranded 
 souls " 
 
 "Teh! I like the idea of the beefy Godwin being a 
 stranded soul." 
 
 ' ' Beefy ! What a libel ! You 're jealous, Arthur. ' ' 
 
 "Seriously, Dolly " 
 
 "Mrs. Faithfull, please!" 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Faithfull, darn it all ! Seriously, why have 
 you taken such a fancy to Leigh?"
 
 238 DOWNWARD 
 
 "It's no business of yours, but I'll tell you. I like 
 him because because " 
 
 ' ' Hi-yup-hoo ! hi-yup-hoo ! ' ' With wild yells Keddy 
 came round the corner of the house and affectionately 
 butted into Jocelyn. 
 
 "Hullo, how's the Keds-man? Quite well again now, 
 old chap? And how's Bognor? He looks rather down 
 on his luck." 
 
 "What's 'downonisluck' mean?" inquired the child. 
 
 "Oh, off colour I mean to say miserable. Poor old 
 Bognor 's getting to look a bit bashed about, don't you 
 think?" 
 
 "I daresay that's because Keds has taken to throwing 
 him down the cliff path," Dolly remarked. 
 
 ' ' By Jove ! that must hurt him awfully. ' ' 
 
 "It doesn't matter, he must learn to be brave," re- 
 plied the child, gravely. "Mumma, may I have anuvver 
 pink tulup?" 
 
 "Darling, you've already had several tulips, and they 
 cost a penny each, and you only waste them." 
 
 "No, I don't. I've stuck them on my sand-castle in 
 the back garden." 
 
 "Well, here's a lovely daffodil." 
 
 "Bognor likes the tulups best he says so." 
 
 " Bognor 's tastes are really very expensive," said 
 Dolly, handing her son another tulip resignedly. "Look 
 at the track his wheels have made across the carpet in 
 this room," she continued, addressing Jocelyn; Keddy 
 had rushed off with another joyous yell. "But when I 
 remonstrate, I'm told that Bognor doesn't like to go in 
 at the front door. Elizabeth was scolding me about the 
 carpet this morning, and I told her the house was made 
 for the child, not the child for the house." 
 
 "You make an idol of that boy." 
 
 "It's better than making an idol of the furniture as 
 some women do ... and what else have I got to make 
 an idol of?" she cried with sudden passion. 
 
 "I'm sorry, Dolly, if I said anything to hurt you "
 
 DOWNWARD 239 
 
 "Oh, don't mind me. I'm foolish to-day; it's the 
 spring, you know." 
 
 "Ah, yes, 'the wild, wonderful harlot,' the 'pale, 
 slim young witch' she's very disturbing, I know." 
 
 "You really are a nice person at understanding, 
 Arthur." She joined him at the window, and together 
 they gazed for a while in silence at the mystery of sky 
 and sea spread out before them. 
 
 "Mumma, may I have anuwer tulup?" asked Keddy, 
 reappearing suddenly. 
 
 "No, beloved; I've used them all except this bruised 
 yellow one. You can have that if you like." 
 
 "Bognor doesn't like them b'oosed, and it'll look 
 wrong with the pink ones, mummy." 
 
 "Bless my soul! what an aesthetic youngster it is I" 
 exclaimed Jocelyn. 
 
 "With a sigh Dolly took one of the tulips from a vase. 
 "Now, Keddy, this is the very last," she said, sternly; 
 "tell Bognor that mother really means it." 
 
 "And tell Bognor that / think he ought to cultivate 
 a taste for humbler flowers," added Jocelyn. "Penny 
 tulips, indeed luxurious dog!" 
 
 "No, uncle, he's a horse," explained the child, seri- 
 ously, adding in a lowered voice, "it isn't really him 
 what likes the tulups, that's only pretendin'; they're 
 for mt." 
 
 Jocelyn shouted with laughter, but Dolly's blue eyes 
 narrowed in sudden pain. "It's all so like his father," 
 she said in a low voice. 
 
 "By Jove!" murmured Jocelyn. He pressed her 
 hand silently, shouldered his clubs and strode off along 
 the road. 
 
 Dolly remained standing at the window, looking 
 blankly at the horizon. There was only one figure 
 visible between the bungalow and the edge of the cliff, 
 a man in dark clothes who was walking along slowly, his 
 hat in his hand, his eyes turned on the ground. Pres- 
 ently Dolly became aware of him and stared at him 
 fixedly.
 
 240 DOWNWARD 
 
 "What's come over me to-day?" she thought. "I'm 
 quite hysterical. If I didn't know it was impossible, I 
 should say that was Theo, just the same look of the 
 shoulders and back of the head. ... It's a long time 
 since I thought of him, but to-day I can't get him out of 
 my head. I wonder where they are if Helen's happy 
 if they have children. Does he ever remember ? Does 
 he ever think of us?" 
 
 "Mumma," said a sad little voice behind her, "do you 
 fink uncle really meant it when he said Bognor looked 
 miserable? I shouldn't like to fink my throwing him 
 down the cliff made him downonisluck. " 
 
 Dolly drew her son into her arms. 
 
 "No, uncle didn't mean it like that," she answered, 
 with equal earnestness. "I'm quite sure Bognor 's a 
 very happy horse. He has everything he wants, even 
 his favorite flowers, but if I were you I wouldn 't throw 
 him down the cliff again, just in case it smashed him. 
 And now I'm coming to see your castle, but first give 
 mother a tremendous hug, little son a real, hard love, 
 arms-round-neck, because mother's got such a pain." 
 
 "A pain, mumma?" inquired Keddy anxiously, one 
 sympathetic hand placed involuntarily on his own small 
 stomach. 
 
 "Yes, my Brown Birdeen, but not that sort of pain." 
 
 "A heggache, mum?" 
 
 "No, not a heggache either!" 
 
 "Oh, then, that's all right," he returned in a relieved 
 voice. "Elizabeth says those are the only pains that 
 matter."
 
 MBS. REDWOOD'S bungalow, one of the many "Mas- 
 cottes," was situated in "King's Drive," a thorough- 
 fare at present represented by a cart-track along the 
 downs. It was as yet the only finished dwelling in "The 
 Drive," though a melancholy litter of bricks and scaf- 
 folding poles gave evidence that at least one other was 
 in contemplation. Old Colonel Eedwood spent the 
 greater part of his time pottering about with a telescope 
 in his front garden, and it was said in Wylton that Mrs. 
 Redwood's extraordinary knowledge of her neighbours' 
 doings was due to her own manoeuvres with the tele- 
 scope from the large bay-window of her sitting-room. 
 
 She was the only permanent resident of Wylton who 
 entertained regularly, and her frequent tea-parties were 
 well attended by her neighbours, whether from motives 
 of ennui or fear it is impossible to determine. 
 
 "One certainly gets to know there what's going on in 
 the place," was Miss Sapper's comment as she overtook 
 Dolly on the way to "Mascotte" that afternoon. "Get- 
 ting to know" was a passion with this lady, a tall, 
 weather-beaten spinster, with bright, bird-like eyes and 
 that air of intense busyness which extremely leisured 
 folk take such pleasure in assuming. 
 
 Miss Sapper seldom concluded a letter (and she wrote 
 scores of unnecessary ones weekly) without the words 
 "in desperate haste," and her answer to perfunctory 
 inquiries as to her health was invariably, "Well, thank 
 you, but oh! so terribly rushed!" She and Mrs. Red- 
 wood were the rival news-agencies of Wylton, but Miss 
 Sapper considered the other had an unfair advantage 
 over her in the possession of a telescope and a husband, 
 241
 
 242 DOWNWARD 
 
 who, in spite of a misanthropic dislike of his fellow- 
 creatures, especially women, was certainly a means of 
 bringing news home. 
 
 ' ' Have you seen anything of the new people at Square 
 House?" she asked; ""Waller their name is. I met him 
 this morning on the cliff not far from your house quite 
 a young man, with such an interesting face and rather 
 long hair ; he looked like a poet. ' ' 
 
 "I think I saw him," said DoUy without interest. 
 "A wealthy poet is rather an incongruity, somehow." 
 
 "How do you know they're wealthy?" demanded Miss 
 Sapper, judicially. 
 
 "I don't; they seem wealthy, but I know nothing 
 about them except what Mr. Jocelyn told me." 
 
 "Ah! it was I who told Mr. Jocelyn what he knew," 
 said the other, triumphantly. 
 
 "Of course, who else could have?" 
 
 Enormously gratified by this ironical compliment to 
 her powers as a news-agent, which she resolved to repeat 
 to her professional rival at the earliest opportunity, 
 Miss Sapper poured out a stream of information about 
 the new-comers. Dolly barely listened, being fully occu- 
 pied with holding her pretty dress out of the mud and 
 picking out the least bog-like parts of the road to walk 
 in. The wind, too, had risen, which necessitated occa- 
 sional attention to her hat. "There'll be another storm 
 to-night," she said to her companion, "and we shall 
 have another horrid, bleak Sunday." 
 
 "Dr. Marler from Skarne calls every day," Miss 
 Sapper answered, too engrossed with the thought of her 
 new neighbours to give any thought to the weather. 
 "She is a great sufferer, Mrs. Waller, I mean; it was a 
 London specialist who advised her to come here." 
 
 "I wish I could take an interest in strangers as you 
 do," said the younger woman frankly. "It must be 
 very time-filling. As it is, unless they appeal to me in 
 some special way, or they've got children for Keddy to 
 play with the Wilsons haven't any, I suppose?" 
 
 "Waller, my dear, Waller I happened to be passing
 
 DOWNWARD 243 
 
 when their luggage was unloaded, and, of course, looked 
 for the name. No, there are no children; three have 
 been born dead isn't it sad? They're frantically anx- 
 ious for a family quite young people, you know." 
 
 "Poor souls!" 
 
 Arrived at their destination, the women lingered in 
 the porch to shed their outer Wellington boots without 
 which it was almost impossible to traverse the Wylton 
 by-roads at that time of year. Whilst thus engaged, 
 Dolly was amused to see Jocelyn 's familiar tweed-clad 
 figure making difficult progress along King's Drive. 
 
 "He's come, after all to keep watch over me, I do 
 believe," she thought with amusement. 
 
 The two small sitting-rooms were packed with people, 
 amongst whom the hostess gyrated genially. She was a 
 large, robust lady, looking ten and behaving twenty 
 years younger than her real age. Her most noticeable 
 point was an astonishing staccato laugh, which irrever- 
 ent subalterns in her regimental days had nicknamed 
 "the Redwood neigh." 
 
 One swift, comprehensive glance sufficed to show Dolly 
 that Godwin Leigh had not yet arrived. Presently she 
 found Jocelyn at her side. "So the hen-cackle is, after 
 all, to be graced by the condescending cockerel," she 
 said, smiling maliciously. 
 
 "Apparently not," he retorted, with a grin at his 
 own aptness. "I don't see the beefy Godwin any- 
 where. ' ' 
 
 "You're looking in the wrong place, then. The Norse 
 King is just making a most effective entry," replied 
 Dolly, trying to speak naturally, but conscious of a sud- 
 den feeling half shyness, half excitement as she 
 caught sight of Godwin Leigh towering above the other 
 heads in the doorway. 
 
 Without a word Jocelyn moved away. Dolly was too 
 preoccupied to notice his expression or give him a 
 thought. The other man had seen her and was making 
 his way to her. 
 
 Exceptionally tall and very upright, with crisp,
 
 244 DOWNWARD 
 
 reddish-gold hair which would have curled had it been 
 allowed to grow longer, bright, rather prominent blue- 
 grey eyes and a healthy, tanned skin Godwin Leigh's 
 appearance, on the whole, justified Dolly's nickname of 
 the Norse King. In addition, he was well set-up, lithe, 
 lean and excellently tailored, and the only thing about 
 him that did not please Dolly's taste was his long, fair 
 moustache and the rather full under-lip it just revealed. 
 
 "I was looking everywhere for a blue hat and 
 gown," he said, "only instead of navy-blue, to-day 
 it's a a a " 
 
 "Saxe-blue," rejoined Dolly. "On these festive occa- 
 sions I shed my eternal coat and skirt." 
 
 "I like it," was his answer, "but I like this, too, im- 
 mensely," he indicated the clinging folds of her graceful 
 long gown. "You always wear blue, don't you, to match 
 your eyes?" 
 
 "Of course!" 
 
 "When may I come and see Keddy again? He prom- 
 ised me the privilege of digging in his sand-heap at my 
 next visit. To-morrow's Sunday may I come to- 
 morrow?" 
 
 "Yes, do," said Dolly, who was intensely conscious of 
 Jocelyn antagonistic at her side. 
 
 "I say, Leigh, you're forgetting the foursome we've 
 fixed up for to-morrow afternoon," he interposed. 
 
 "No, I'm not; but we can't play later than five. May 
 I come at five, Mrs. Faithfull?" 
 
 As Dolly assented, he exclaimed, suddenly, "There's 
 actually some one I know. What a place this is for 
 meeting long-lost friends!" 
 
 A very pretty, fluffy young woman had just come in 
 and was greeting Mrs. Redwood. 
 
 "Why, it's Mrs. Darner," said Dolly. "She stayed 
 with Lady Holbrook at Skarne Park two years ago. 
 Yes, there's Lady Holbrook, too; she's Mrs. Redwood's 
 cousin, you know." 
 
 While speaking she had rapidly taken in every detail 
 of the other woman's attire, noted the different style of
 
 DOWNWARD 245 
 
 her sleeves, the novelty of her hat and half a dozen 
 other details which proclaimed her costume to be more 
 correctly modish than Dolly's own. The two women 
 were by now near enough to greet each other. Mrs. 
 Darner appeared pleased to see Dolly. "You still here?" 
 she exclaimed, with a slight but rather fascinating 
 shriek; "actually one real woman among the troglo- 
 dytes ! How are you, and how on earth do you manage 
 to stick to this barbarous piece of coast year after year ? 
 Don't tell me you've been here ever since!" 
 
 "I have indeed; I'm stuck to it, you see. Here's 
 some one else you know." 
 
 ' ' Godwin Leigh, of all the unlikeliest visions ! It must 
 be epochs since we met. What are you doing here 
 reforming the local scandal-mongers? That would be 
 a good work, wouldn't it, Mrs. Paithfull?" 
 
 Godwin replied that he was having a holiday, golfing, 
 and the volatile lady turned up her eyes. 
 
 "M on Dieu what a place for a holiday!" 
 
 "Well, I've had the unexpected luck to meet two old 
 friends, to say nothing of a delightful new one in Mrs. 
 Faithfull." He glanced at Dolly and smiled. 
 
 "Ah! and you've actually survived it the place and 
 the golf-club cooking, I mean, not the friends, of course. 
 Well, and how are your projects going? Are you still 
 in the London County Council, agitating for providing 
 factory girls with manicure sets and deserving char- 
 women with pin-curls?" 
 
 "I'm still fighting for helpless women and children," 
 replied Leigh, stiffly, reddening a little. Mrs. Darner 
 shrieked with laughter, and Dolly experienced a slight 
 revulsion of feeling towards the Norse King. He had 
 very nice manners, but no sense of humour, and he was 
 certainly inclined to be a wee bit priggish. 
 
 "Mr. Leigh, you're simply golden!" cried Mrs. 
 Darner, still chuckling. "I wish Dickie could have heard 
 that. The wretch wouldn 't come with us to-day I can 't 
 blame him! You remember Dickie Worrall, Mrs. 
 Faithfull; he's stayin' at Skarne Park, too."
 
 246 DOWNWARD 
 
 "And that other friend of yours, Captain Lane, who 
 was so kind to my little boy?" 
 
 ''Jimmy? Oh, he's coming on Saturday when Dickie 
 goes. Minna Holbrook refused to have them both at 
 once. She said they were so troublesome last time, but 
 I refused to come without either of them." 
 
 Dolly reflected on the fidelity of Mrs. Darner's ad- 
 mirers. It must be quite two years since she had visited 
 Skarne before and scandalized the news-agencies by her 
 calm acceptance of the young officers' obvious devotion. 
 
 "Minna has been quite disagreeable about it," Mrs. 
 Darner was saying; "she made me promise that when 
 Jimmy came down Dickie should go back. So absurd I ' ' 
 
 "How is your husband?" asked Godwin, suddenly. 
 If he had hoped to embarrass the lady he was dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 "My poor Charlie? Why, the poor pet is grilling on 
 the plains of India, building ugly bridges and so forth. 
 Where else should he be?" 
 
 "And when do you rejoin him?" 
 
 "In October," said Mrs. Darner promptly, her eyes 
 dfrnfting with satisfaction not wholly free from malice 
 at being able to give an unexpected reply. She added, 
 demurely: "Dickie and Jimmy and I are all going out 
 together in a trooper probably. Won't it be fun?" 
 
 Leigh moved away, and the two women exchanged 
 amused glances. Dolly had never liked him less. 
 
 ' ' He 's starchier than ever, ' ' said Mrs. Darner ; ' ' what- 
 ever will he be like when he's in the House of Lords? 
 You know he's Hatherton's heir, I suppose?" 
 
 But Jocelyn had not told Dolly this, and she won- 
 dered why. 
 
 "Now do tell me about yourself," Mrs. Darner con- 
 tinued; "how do you manage to survive the troglo- 
 dytes?" 
 
 "Do you mean the Wyltoners? What a good name 
 for them ! ' ' 
 
 "Yes, isn't it? they are so prehistoric. I knew it 
 would amuse me t-0 come, and would pJease Minna and
 
 DOWNWARD 247 
 
 annoy Mrs. Redwood. She hates me, yon know. I 
 believe her neigh is worse than ever; and her side! I 
 wonder you people stand it." 
 
 "Well, yon see, she's Lady Holbrook's cousin, and 
 Skarne Park is the only big house in the neighbourhood, 
 and you know how ridiculous people are in small rural 
 communities. The Redwoods are 'service,' too, and the 
 rest of us very small fry." 
 
 "My dear, Colonel Redwood is only A.S.C., simply 
 nothing! looking after the stores and washing the 
 mules' faces, and. so on. The A.S.C. is called the 'muck 
 train' in the army slang." 
 
 "Well, that doesn't count with the troglodytes," 
 laughed Dolly; "in unfashionable watering-places a 
 Colonel is a Colonel and thought a great deal of." 
 
 "It must be a nice change for them. In India he 
 would be nobody; it's trains that matter there, and so 
 of course the Civil Service leads society. Oh, there's 
 Minna blinking at me ; she wants to go. Good-bye, Mrs. 
 Faithf ull ; we must meet again. So glad to have lighted 
 on you to-day." Charmingly graceful, she flashed 
 away, leaving envy in Dolly's heart. 
 
 As soon as the Skarne Park carriage had driven off, 
 Mrs. Redwood descended on Dolly, neighing vivaciously. 
 "I saw Kate Darner talkin' to you scandal as usual, I 
 suppose? No! As a rule, that's all she can talk about. 
 I'm surprised my cousin stands her. They're simply 
 nobody in Indiah, you know Mr. Darner is only 
 P.W.D." 
 
 "What's that? Partially Wed-Ded, or Pretty Well 
 Damned?" asked Jocelyn, who had hastened to Dolly's 
 side on Mrs. Darner's departure. Dolly also looked 
 inquiring. 
 
 "Public Works Department," explained Mrs. Red- 
 wood condescendingly, reminding herself that these 
 middle-class provincials could not possibly be expected 
 to understand the shibboleth of the elect; "and of 
 course in Indiah especially the service people take the 
 lead," she concluded.
 
 248 DOWNWARD 
 
 "But I thought Mr. Darner was Civil Service?" said 
 Joeelyn with assumed innocence. 
 
 "My deah Doctah, when I say service, I mean of 
 course the Army!" She gave the concluding words 
 markedly capital letters. 
 
 "But I thought the Navy was called the Senior 
 Service?" 
 
 "Er er ye-es, but it's merely a form, a survival. 
 The phrase 'in the service' is always taken to mean 
 Army; you surely know that!" 
 
 "The suns of Indiah certainly affect the sense of 
 humour," whispered Joeelyn as Mrs. Redwood swept 
 away, distinctly ruffled.
 
 VII 
 
 THAT evening, when she had finished her light supper, 
 Dolly sat down in her little drawing-room to write to 
 her friend Mary Clifford. 
 
 " 'The House of Good Hope.' 
 "Wylton, Skarne, 
 
 " March 28. 
 "DEAREST CLIFF, 
 
 "My Keddy is sleeping the sleep of a baby-cherub. 
 Elizabeth the Peerless dozes over the kitchen fire; not a 
 sound can be heard in the house, but outside the wind is 
 doing its worst, and you know what our wind can do. 
 And in Dolly's heart fires are burning and storms rag- 
 ing fires I thought long quenched and storms I fancied 
 forever stilled. 
 
 "I'm getting quite poetical, you 11 be thinking! Oh, 
 Cliff, I feel so wild and restless it's years since the 
 spring has unsettled me so. I thought I would work it 
 off a bit by writing to you. 
 
 "It's a man, of course, or rather men. There are now 
 two men on my horizon extraordinary for this for- 
 saken village. One is Arthur Jocelyn, whom you met 
 when you came down last. Since then, as I've told you, 
 we have become very friendly, and he has been really a 
 godsend to me in many ways. His intentions, however, 
 are strictly dishonourable, unless I have lost my former 
 nice discernment in these matters. I only want him as a 
 friend, so his said intentions don't worry me, except in 
 so far as they may interfere with our friendship, but I 
 think I can manage to avert any fatal declaration. He 's 
 tried more than once already. 
 
 "The other man is the Norse King. Since I last 
 wrote I've got to know him and we've become tremen- 
 249
 
 250 DOWNWARD 
 
 dons friends; it's only a little over three weeks, but it 
 seems ages, and, anyway, we're in love with each other. 
 At least, I know he is and I think I am. He 's a splendid 
 fellow, not only good-looking, but so kind and charming, 
 and he must have a great heart, as he devotes his life 
 and income entirely to philanthropic works. He was on 
 the London County Council, but lost his seat when the 
 Moderates came in. He takes a great interest in rescue 
 work, but his special craze is School Board improvement, 
 from the hygienic and spiritual point of view. He talks 
 a great deal about it and at first it rather bored me, but 
 he's succeeded in interesting me now, and it has shown 
 me what a very good and unselfish man he is. 
 
 " Cliff, dear, what I do want is a husband ! There, it's 
 out! You won't be shocked, I know. You 11 probably 
 smile and say it's a want shared by many thousands (or 
 is it millions?) of women in this out- manned country. 
 
 "You are such a dear, comfy, understanding creature, 
 you won't mistake my meaning, I know. What I need is 
 a man's friendly companionship, a man's affectionate 
 admiration, a man to do things with in short, a com- 
 rade. Yes, and a lover, too, and in a sense a mate. I 
 want a man to share my life with. I 'm so tired of being 
 alone. 
 
 ' ' I know it 's shameful of me to be discontented. I 've 
 got a lovely boy, and an income, a charming home, fresh 
 air and country surroundings. But passionately as I 
 love my child, I feel that at any rate while he 's so young 
 I want some one else to live with. As Jocelyn said the 
 other day, a woman cannot live by the mother-passion 
 alone, except in the New Drama. There, and occasion- 
 ally among the extremest cranks, one hears of women 
 who want children but not husbands, but I 'm not abnor- 
 mal in any way, and I want the trinity of humanity, the 
 ordinary domestic joys. I've quite foregone my dreams 
 of a stage career, a brilliant life in the public eye. 
 Motherhood, too, isn't satisfying with only one child. 
 Every time I cut Ked's curls I long for a little girl 
 whose curls need never be cut I dream of a little
 
 DOWNWARD 251 
 
 daughter, with dewy eyes and long, silky hair, and a 
 little brother for Keds as well. One seems a very poor- 
 sized family ; the joy I have in my child makes me often 
 feel what a pity it is not in duplicate, to multiply that 
 joy. 
 
 "As for my leisure, I'm sick of it. I long for work; 
 I want to mix in the world again and meet vital men and 
 women like the two or three who have lately drifted 
 down here and so unsettled me. I met such a pretty 
 woman this afternoon, a Mrs. Darner. She was so sweet 
 and smart and gay, she made me feel how quickly my 
 youth is going wasted! 
 
 "Keddy wants a man to live with too. It isn't good 
 for a child to be entirely in the hands of women. I've 
 tried to be father and mother to him, but I feel my limi- 
 tations more as he grows older. He is so pleased when 
 he gets a game with a man. Godwin and he are great 
 pals, and Godwin with his large-heartedness and high 
 moral sense will make a splendid father for my boy. I 
 want the help of a wise and good man, or he may turn 
 out just like Theo. 
 
 "And so, Cliff, in short, if Godwin asks me to be his 
 wife, I shall accept him. And I shan't tell him my 
 secret. I know you think this wrong, we've discussed 
 the ethics of it so often, but as I've often told you I 
 hold that all should keep the details of their wild oats 
 severely to themselves. 
 
 "I know what thought will at once rise in your mind 
 Dacre; but don't let's go into all that again. I've 
 told you over and over again that you 're quite mistaken 
 in your idea that Dacre would like to marry me. I 
 know I have his devoted affection, but he doesn't care 
 for me a bit in that way. If he did, surely he would 
 have said so in these four years, if not before. And 
 though he knows how deadly it is here in winter, and 
 how much I depend on his coming down frequently, yet 
 he's gone abroad for four whole months, and I've 
 scarcely had a line from him. No man in love would 
 do that, now wotdd he ?
 
 252 DOWNWARD 
 
 "I've stopped to think a bit. ... Of course if Dacre 
 did by any chance ask me, it would be very difficult to 
 know what to do. Of course, if it came to the point I'd 
 really rather marry him I'd be happier with him cer- 
 tainly; there never was a man so absolutely perfect 
 before, was there? and we've been friends for fifteen 
 years, and he knows my secrets too all would be 
 straightforward and above board. 
 
 "After all, I've only known Godwin three weeks, and 
 though I've got that lovely, thrilly feeling that makes 
 me blush like a fool when he approaches, still I know 
 how quickly that wears off. And he sometimes does 
 seem rather a prig, rather strait-laced too. I can't be 
 really natural with him as I can with Dacre. But I've 
 never looked on Dacre even as a possible lover; he's 
 more like a father to me, though he's only fifteen years 
 my senior. 
 
 "Oh, well, it isn't really difficult after all, as you're 
 quite wrong about Dacre. He'll never ask me, so I've 
 no need to bother about whom I'll choose. Godwin 
 probably will, and I shall say 'yes.' 
 
 ' ' In any case, I 've got to get back to the world again. 
 D'you grasp that, my friend? I can't stand this back- 
 water of life any longer. If I don't marry Godwin, I 
 shall try and let 'Good Hope' for the summer, and 
 Keddy and I will go forth to find other fortunes. He 
 is older now and so much more robust that I don't think 
 his health will suffer from the change. 
 
 "Now, instead of calming me, writing this letter has 
 stirred me up worse than ever. All the winds of Heaven, 
 all the fires of Hell don't seem enough to express my 
 unrest. Outside the wind is shrieking around the cliffs 
 like mad. I shall go out and fight with it, and leap 
 about on the Down to shake off the seven devils that 
 possess me. Good night, Cliff dearest. 
 
 "YOUR DOLLY." 
 
 "P.S. I don't like his under-lip (Godwin's) ; other- 
 wise his exterior is perfect for a fair man."
 
 DOWNWARD 253 
 
 Buttoned up to her neck in her thickest overcoat, a 
 white shawl tied over her head, Dolly struggled along 
 the cliff in the teeth of the howling wind. She felt 
 exhilarated by the sound of it, like shrieks from a thou- 
 sand throats, and by the dull booming roar of the waves 
 below. One of Jocelyn's absurd stories occurred to her. 
 A noted explorer when travelling with his wife in the 
 Saharan desert was caught in one of the terrible siroc- 
 cos. He remarked: "By Jove, Maria, it's worse than 
 Skarne Bay!" Dolly laughed to herself. Fascinated 
 by the sound of her own laugh amongst the din, she 
 laughed aloud again and again in her exultation, fling- 
 ing up her head to the rough embrace of the wind. Then 
 the clouds that obscured the moon suddenly rolled away, 
 and revealed to her another solitary figure, a man stag- 
 gering along with bowed head a little distance off. 
 
 She checked her laughter and awaited rather curiously 
 the stranger's approach. "I hope it isn't Arthur," she 
 thought. "I feel too hysterical for one of his scenes, 
 and he would be sure to make one meeting me in these 
 circumstances, after this afternoon." As they came 
 abreast both looked up. The wind caught the light 
 shawl on Dolly's head and tore it backwards, uncovering 
 her golden hair and excited face. 
 
 The stranger stopped suddenly and uttered an ex- 
 clamation. Dolly, too, stood still as if petrified, staring 
 horror-struck into the face of Theo Walter.
 
 vu 
 
 "DOLLY!" 
 
 "You!" 
 
 For a few minutes they could find no other words. 
 Then Dolly said in a low, stern voice : 
 
 "What are you doing here? What do you mean by 
 following me?" 
 
 ' ' I never dreamed you were here good heavens ! why 
 we've taken a house here for three months." 
 
 "What! Helen's here too?" She glanced panic- 
 stricken around, as if she expected to see Helen advanc- 
 ing along the Downs. "Why, are you the people who've 
 taken the Square House?" 
 
 Theo's words were lost in the great rush of wind 
 which nearly flung them both off their feet, but Dolly 
 knew the answer already. She was recalling the gossip 
 of this afternoon Miss Sapper had got the name wrong, 
 of course just like a news-agency. "Waller" the 
 young man who looked like a poet the musical instru- 
 ments, the piano that had been sent from town the wife 
 under care of a specialist. It had been Theo she had 
 seen in the morning, walking so near her house. . . . 
 
 ' ' Can 't we get out of this wind a minute ? " he shouted 
 to her. "I must speak to you." 
 
 Dolly looked up and down the cliff: the nearest shel- 
 ter was a mile away at the end of the asphalt esplanade 
 at Skarne. There were a few seats along the downs, but 
 nowhere affording the slightest cover or protection from 
 the wind. 
 
 "I suppose that's a private house?" Theo indicated 
 the lights of "Good Hope," a few yards away. 
 
 "That's my house," said Dolly. She hesitated a 
 minute and then led the way to it without another word. 
 254
 
 VIII 
 
 ON tiptoe, stealthily like a thief, Dolly entered her 
 home, followed by Theo. The lounge was almost in 
 darkness. She pulled up the by-pass of the incandescent 
 light and stood listening a second. All was quiet but 
 for the sound of Elizabeth's rhythmic snores. Reas- 
 sured, she went quickly across the hall and jealously 
 shut the door of the room where the child was sleeping. 
 
 How frightfully thrilling it was this unexpected ad- 
 venture. She unbuttoned her thick ulster and threw it 
 down on the oak settle. Her eyes glittered and her 
 pulses throbbed as she took the shawl from her head 
 and mechanically thrust her fingers through her aureole 
 of golden hair. Theo stood by the hearth, his eyes fixed 
 on the portrait of Dacre. Dolly took the opportunity of 
 observing him. 
 
 In the inner chamber of her heart she had retained 
 an ardent memory of a handsome, lithe youth, interest- 
 ingly pale, with a god-like brow and passionate green 
 eyes that fascinated equally whether they glowered sul- 
 lenly or were lit up with an irresistible smile. His dark 
 hair invited a woman's caressing fingers; his voice could 
 woo wondrously; the touch of his lips was unforget- 
 able fire. It was a florid portrait, and probably had 
 represented him at no time. But now she saw him as he 
 really was. His hair, a little long and disordered by 
 the wind, made no appeal to her: that poetical pallor 
 now seemed merely the sickly pallidness of the town- 
 dweller ; there were premature lines of discontent on his 
 face ; his mouth looked weak and had acquired a peevish 
 droop. The graceful, slim lines which his figure still 
 retained were hidden by the heavy overcoat, and beside 
 the memory of Godwin Leigh, he appeared a poor speci- 
 men of a man. Only his fine eyes retained their charm, 
 255
 
 256 DOWNWARD 
 
 and they too were altered by the deep melancholy which 
 had become their habitual expression. Although only 
 thirty, he looked already a disappointed, disheartened 
 man. Fire had gone out of him. 
 
 Before this saddened, uninspiring presence Dolly's 
 excitement abated, and a feeling of chilled disappoint- 
 ment came over her. She realized as so many women 
 have done that the uttermost blunder of love is the 
 meeting of old lovers. This mistake had cost her a pre- 
 cious memory, which is an irreparable loss to a woman. 
 
 She signed to him to come into the little drawing- 
 room that they might have greater freedom of speech. 
 The galling thought struck her that, perhaps, he too was 
 realizing the blunder, but his first remark was: 
 
 "I'd forgotten how beautiful you were, Dolly." 
 
 Secretly delighted, she replied coldly: "I don't want 
 you to talk like that, please. I've let you into my house 
 at this late hour" for the first time the indiscretion of 
 the proceeding occurred to her, and there was a slightly 
 anxious note in her voice as she continued " because, 
 as we've met, it's necessary we should settle one or two 
 things. But let us waste no time. If you and your wife 
 are settled here for three months, then of course I must 
 go." She checked his attempt at remonstrance: "No, 
 I couldn't possibly stay, I couldn't bear to meet Helen. 
 Perhaps you don't know how often she's tried to get in 
 touch with me during these years. ' ' 
 
 "I never knew that." 
 
 "It isn't likely she'd mention it, but she was afraid 
 things would have gone badly with me and I might be 
 poor and suffering. She 'd heard about my trouble, you 
 see, at Meredith House everybody knew. She wanted 
 to offer me help and it hurt her badly when at last Nurse 
 Clifford had to tell her that I wouldn't meet her, though 
 she was glad to hear I wanted for nothing. I I 
 couldn't face her now; she would be sure to guess the 
 truth." 
 
 Theo looked upon the ground. Evidently he found it 
 difficult to meet her eyes a dull flush momentarily suf-
 
 DOWNWARD 257 
 
 fused his pallor. "I I don't like to think of your 
 leaving because of us," he said, hesitatingly. 
 
 "Oh, I'm only too glad of an excuse!" 
 
 "Aren't you happy here, Dolly?" 
 
 "Rapturously happy," she answered, bitterly. 
 "Haven't I everything to make me so? But tell me 
 about Helen. Is it true that she's an invalid?" 
 
 The man sighed heavily. "Poor girl, she is very 
 nearly. Fate has been very rough on us. Helen's god- 
 mother, Lady Merioneth, died the year after we were 
 married and left her a lot of money. All my invest- 
 ments have prospered too. I know nothing about busi- 
 ness, but my broker is a genius and everything he's 
 touched for me has turned into gold. It's been the same 
 with Helen's money we grow richer every year. I 
 started a newspaper, by way of something to do, a 
 weekly review Letters perhaps you've heard of it?" 
 
 4 ' I hear of nothing in this place. ' ' 
 
 "Well, even that's prospered the unlikeliest thing. 
 But it's so strange, we can do nothing with our money. 
 Helen's ill-health keeps her always in retirement, and 
 then you see we have no children." 
 
 His last words were almost a whisper. Dolly thought 
 again of what Miss Sapper had said. She asked, gently : 
 
 "Is that why Helen's health ?" 
 
 "Yes, poor darling, it's only that. She's had such 
 terrible times and she 's lost all three of the babies. This 
 last trouble almost broke her heart." 
 
 "And you ?" 
 
 ' ' Oh, I sometimes feel I 'd give my soul if Helen could 
 have a living child!" 
 
 Dolly hardened her heart. 
 
 "So you want a child now?" she said, cruelly; but 
 she was sorry the next minute when she saw the pain 
 in his eyes. 
 
 "I know I didn't behave well to you, Dolly," he an- 
 swered, "but, by God, I've been punished for it! And 
 it's such a curious irony our money and our childless- 
 ness when you think that it was my fear of being poor,
 
 258 DOWNWARD 
 
 of hurting Helen and of the responsibility of a child that 
 stood between you and me. I've got what I prized 
 money, and I haven 't got what I dreaded a child. But 
 Helen's heart is broken." 
 
 Dolly was silent. Theo seemed to find a relief in 
 speech. He continued, still in the same low voice : 
 
 "And she's been such an angel about it all. She 
 doesn't know, of course, that I blame myself for every- 
 thing. She's been the most wonderful wife a man's ever 
 had; she's changed all my ideas; it's she who's taught 
 me what a brute I've been. I never dreamed such 
 women existed ! And she 's borne her horrible sufferings 
 and crushing disappointments without a complaint, but 
 her hair's quite gray, Dolly, though she's only thirty- 
 three." 
 
 "Poor Helen, I'm so sorry. I always thought of her 
 as happy and of you as tremendously successful, with 
 everything you wanted." 
 
 "That's the irony of it we've everything we want 
 except one thing, and the loss of that embitters all the 
 rest to Helen. There is a curse on me. I could bear 
 everything except the knowledge that Helen's being 
 punished for my fault. That's where the sword enters 
 my heart." 
 
 Dolly was thinking : "I seem to have had the best of 
 it after all. And I 've got the boy. ' ' 
 
 Theo's eyes had been caught by the portraits of 
 Keddy with which the walls were covered. His eyes 
 went from one to another; then he got up and exam- 
 ined them closely. 
 
 "Is it the child?" he asked, huskily. 
 
 "Our son," said Dolly, and as she spoke a sudden 
 anger flamed up in her mind and made her long to strike 
 this man in the face. She would like to have refused his 
 hesitating request to see the child, but for very pride in 
 her darling she could not. But she made Theo go by 
 himself; she felt it would be unbearable to stand by 
 Keddy 's bedside with his father, the man whose fault 
 had made so great a difference to the little life.
 
 DOWNWARD 259 
 
 It seemed a long time whilst she waited alone. At 
 last Theo came back and sat down beside her. His face 
 was working ; Dolly looked away. 
 
 "He's got a deep dimple in his chin, exactly like 
 mine," said the man, unsteadily. "And his right 
 thumb is actually double- jointed like mine." 
 
 Dolly answered : " He 'a exactly like you when he 's 
 asleep." 
 
 "You see it too, then? It was a great shock to me. 
 What a wonderful thing Nature is ! ~He he Dolly ! 
 he's got a wooden horse on the bed. ..." 
 
 ' ' I know ; that 's his great friend he won 't go to sleep 
 without it." 
 
 "What a dear chap how Helen would adore him! 
 Oh, if we had a boy like that my God, my God ! ' ' 
 
 He put his head down on his hands. Dolly felt in 
 that moment she was amply avenged. Her warm- 
 hearted nature made her very sorry for Theo and re- 
 gretful that she had felt so bitter against him. Since 
 the day of Keddy's sudden illness, she had kept brandy 
 in the house, although she had a peculiar prejudice 
 against spirits, inherited from her mother. She pressed 
 a brandy and soda on Theo now, and talked brightly to 
 him while she mixed the drink, doing her utmost to put 
 heart into him. After all, he had only been married four 
 years, she reminded him, and then, too, he and Helen 
 were first cousins. It was a mistake to let himself get 
 morbid as to the cause of their childlessness. Let Helen 
 get well first, and then see. . . . And if Sir Buller 
 Westlake couldn't put her right, why not try Lorne- 
 Seymour a most successful man or Walter Gordon, 
 the "Guinea-Grabber," was very clever. And when the 
 bracing winds of Skarne had done their work, let him 
 take Helen to Aix in May and later to the Engadine. 
 
 Dolly exerted all her great personal charm to soothe 
 and cheer the unhappy man, whom strange chance had 
 sent her as a guest that night. Presently the subject of 
 his trouble was dropped and he found himself talking 
 animatedly, inspired by her kindliness and charm.
 
 260 DOWNWARD 
 
 Dolly forgot the feeling of dislike he had first aroused 
 in her and had ceased even to think of their tragic re- 
 lationship. For the time being he was merely a stricken 
 fellow-creature who needed a helping hand. 
 
 It was an evil fate that turned her very goodness into 
 a weapon against her. Arthur Jocelyn happened to be 
 walking home along the cliff-path, from a smoking- 
 concert in Skarne. Seeing a light in Dolly's front room, 
 he went up to the window, meaning to knock upon it, 
 partly from a mischievous desire to startle her as he had 
 done before and partly because he wanted her to put her 
 head out of the window and talk to him for a few 
 minutes. 
 
 His footfalls made no sound upon the grass, but 
 before he had time to knock he had caught a glimpse 
 into the room between the carelessly drawn casement 
 curtains . . . 
 
 He stood as if petrified Dolly and a strange man at 
 this hour of the night ! He looked at his watch nearly 
 twelve o'clock. . . . Good heavens, it was the fellow 
 from Square House an absolute stranger to her ! And 
 they were talking quite cheerily together, their chairs 
 close together . . . and she was giving him a drink, 
 actually ! 
 
 He strode away, rage and disgust in his heart. 
 Strange to say, the detail of the drink rankled most of 
 all. 
 
 "I always had to fetch my own whisky," his angry 
 thoughts ran. "She professed to have an objection to 
 keeping alcohol in the house. Yet she's got it for 
 him . . . and after all the fuss she made the other night 
 about my staying late! By Jove, he's a married man, 
 too, with a sick wife . . . and she can't know him . . . 
 she must have picked him up on the cliff, without an 
 introduction. A regular bad lot, not worth a thought, 
 by Jove! By Jove! I'll go home to-morrow morning, 
 damned if I don't! I ought to have been at work these 
 three weeks past; it was only on her account I stayed. 
 Curse her how she's taken me in!"
 
 IX 
 
 A FEW minutes after Jocelyn had passed Theo rose to 
 go. "Thank you for all your goodness, Dolly," he said. 
 "You don't know what you've done for me. I'm glad 
 I met you." 
 
 "I'm glad too," Dolly answered, but she did not add 
 the thought in her mind: "I'm glad because, though 
 this meeting has spoiled the ardent memory so dear to 
 me, it has also laid the ghost of a dead romance a pain- 
 ful inhabitant for a woman's heart." She gave him her 
 hand frankly. How strange and prosaic it was that she 
 should shake hands with Keddy's father thus indiffer- 
 ently. It was extraordinary how completely his charm 
 for her had vanished; she thought how many poignant 
 moments she might have been spared in these years 
 could she have seen him as she now did. 
 
 Aloud she said : ' ' Now, go home and start afresh, and 
 be happy and make Helen happy. It's frightfully late, 
 by the way. Will she have been anxious about you ? ' ' 
 
 "No, she was asleep when I came out, and she has a 
 nurse in her room. But, Dolly you'll let me see you 
 again, as you're not leaving for another week." 
 
 "No, Theo, I can't do that, not on any account our 
 paths lie in different ways. I would leave the place 
 to-morrow, only it isn't convenient for a week or so, as 
 I told you." 
 
 "You 11 let me see the boy?" he pleaded. "I want to 
 see him awake and hear him talk." 
 
 "No, still less that. I don't want him to know you. 
 I'm sorry if it hurts you, but it's best so. What would 
 Helen think if she saw him ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, Helen mustn't see him. . . . Are his eyea like 
 mine?" 
 
 261
 
 262 DOWNWARD 
 
 "No, like mine; so awake the resemblance is not so 
 marked. And now you really must leave me it's a 
 good thing I've no neighbours quite near, or my reputa- 
 tion would be gone forever." 
 
 "Good night, Dolly. God bless you!" He put her 
 hand to his lips. 
 
 "Good-bye, Theo. Good luck." 
 
 She shut the front door and went straight to her bed- 
 room, where the little boy was sleeping calmly. She 
 hung over his cot and devoured him with her eyes. 
 
 "1 won't share you with any one, my darling," she 
 murmured; "you're mine mine only! I've paid dearly 
 for you, and no one else shall have you. ' ' 
 
 She remembered that Theo had given her no under- 
 taking not to try and see her or the child again. The 
 thought made her uneasy, yet she felt strangely re- 
 luctant to leave Wylton before Leigh's departure. It 
 would be so likely for him to misunderstand her going. 
 He might even think she wished to avoid him. It might 
 spoil everything. 
 
 Her excitement had now subsided and gave place to a 
 boundless melancholy. She shivered as she lay wakeful 
 in bed, listening to the eternal wind. "Why does he 
 come into my life again just now?" she thought, "now, 
 when the outlook is brightening at last? It's a bad 
 thing for me, it will bring me ill-luck. I won't see him 
 again I won't!" 
 
 Then suddenly it occurred to her with a pang of 
 horror that Theo might well claim the right to visit her 
 if he chose. She had entirely forgotten for the time 
 being that the money paid quarterly into her account 
 by Hamilton's firm came from Theo. She reflected now 
 that her daily bread and the child's, their clothes, all 
 their comforts were bought with Theo's money, and the 
 idea was unspeakably bitter. "What a fool I should 
 have looked if he had reminded me," she thought, "as 
 another sort of man might have done !" It was a relief 
 tp remember that the house belonged to Dacre and the 
 Been his gift. She 4 tried to r'emind herself
 
 DOWNWARD 268 
 
 of all the logical and well-grounded reasons for her ac- 
 cepting Theo's allowance, but though common sense 
 told her she was right nevertheless some subtle spiri- 
 tual influence made her feel indescribably degraded. 
 She cried herself to sleep. 
 
 For the next few days she confined her walks to the 
 back garden and sent Keddy out in charge of Gertrude, 
 the young girl who came to help in the mornings. They 
 were very dull days, and though Dolly was thankful to 
 hear nothing from Theo, she missed her meetings with 
 Leigh at the golf club and was indignantly surprised 
 that Jocelyn left her alone. They had been accustomed 
 to meet almost daily. 
 
 When Miss Sapper dropped in to tea on the third 
 afternoon, she was flattered at the warmth of her wel- 
 come. Dolly was hurt at hearing the news of Jocelyn 's 
 sudden departure. What could have induced him to go 
 off like that without a word? she wondered, and con- 
 sidering how far she had confided in him, his unfriendly 
 conduct caused her some uneasiness.
 
 " MUMMA, may I have my toys now?" 
 
 No answer. Keddy peered anxiously through the bars 
 of his cot, but all that was visible of his mother was a 
 glimpse of rumpled golden hair. How dreadfully lazy 
 grown-ups were, sleeping still when little boys had been 
 awake for hours and hours! 
 
 "Mumma," said the patient little voice, "please may 
 I have my toys now?" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "Mumma, I know it's sixerc'ock; ; can I sit up now?" 
 
 "Mumma, do wake up ! I are so tired of being quiet. " 
 
 "Mumma-a-a-a!" 
 
 At last came signs of life in the other bed ; a muffled 
 voice replied, "S-sh, goshleep at once!" 
 
 "Oh, mumma, do let me be awake. I do want my toys 
 now." 
 
 The plaintive request could not be disregarded any 
 longer. Dolly's face emerged from the bed-clothes and 
 she opened one blue eye. "Baddest, evillest, sinfullest 
 of boy-fiends," she murmured, sleepily. "Take the toys, 
 only be quiet for heaven 's sake ! ' ' 
 
 "Mummy, you know I can't reach them!" said 
 Keddy, reproachfully. 
 
 Dolly groaned, sighed, yawned, then leaned out and 
 dragged from beneath her bed a wooden box about two 
 feet square in which was a heterogeneous collection of 
 toys, cards, books, paper figures with roughly inked 
 faces, a lump of plasticine, an old milk can, several 
 pieces of wood and other oddments dear to Keddy 's 
 heart, which constituted his morning playthings. This 
 box the child received with an angelic smile. 
 264
 
 DOWNWARD 265 
 
 "Now my dlessing-gown, mummy," lie requested, and 
 Dolly groaning again and now thoroughly roused 
 knelt upon her bed and helped the boy into the small 
 red garment which hung in readiness over his cot rail. 
 
 "Worst and wickedest of gnomes and goblins," she 
 said, as she finished by kissing his little face all over. ' ' I 
 implore you to play quietly, and don't allow Bognor to 
 do any roaring, and don't drop anything on the floor as 
 I shall not pick it up. Now don't speak another word; 
 poor mummy will die if she doesn't get to sleep again." 
 
 "I won't make a soun', mumma," whispered Keddy, 
 confidentially, "and I won't allow Bognor to rattle the 
 sojers in the milk-can nor nothing!" 
 
 Dolly buried her face in the pillow and tried to renew 
 the magic web of sleep around her spirit. Before, how- 
 ever, there was time for a single strand to be woven, 
 Keddy pressed his face against the cot bars and said in 
 a loud whisper: 
 
 ' ' Mumma ! I 'm not really a bad, sinf ullest boy, am I ? 
 I'm not really a gnome and a gobberling? You're 
 only in fun, aren't you, mumma? . . . aren't you, 
 mumma? Mumma-a-a-a ! " 
 
 "No, no!" replied Dolly in despair; "you're an angel, 
 a king's son! Of course I was in fun, but do, do be 
 quiet now, beloved, or mother will die." 
 
 "Not really die, mumma not die ploperly? Not die- 
 an'-go-to-God?" inquired Keddy with acute anxiety. 
 
 "Yes, really die!" cried Dolly, emphatically. 
 
 "Oh, mumma, I don't want you to die ploperly yet." 
 His voice indicated that a howl was imminent. Dolly 
 hastened to reassure him as to her intentions of lon- 
 gevity. For a few minutes there was silence, and then 
 Keddy piped again: "Mummy, when you do die, may 
 I have your big black cash-box, the one what locks up ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ' ' And may I have your snow boots to play giants wiv 
 every day?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "An' the big tea-cosy what you never use?"
 
 266 DOWNWARD 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And may I . . ." 
 
 Dolly raised her stern face from the pillows and con- 
 fronted her son. 
 
 "Clifford, if you speak one word more I'll ring for 
 Elizabeth, and you shall get up at once and have the 
 coldest bath possible, with absolutely cold water, mind; 
 and, what's more, I'll lock Bognor up in my wardrobe 
 for the whole day. I mean it!" 
 
 At this dire threat Keddy's flow of conversation was 
 at last quenched. For the next hour silence reigned, 
 except for sundry clatterings with the contents of the 
 box, the sound of mechanical toys being wound up, and 
 a prolonged, low chanting in which Bognor was in- 
 formed, anthemwise, of Keddy's plans for the day. 
 These included a walk with mother to the golf club, 
 a hope not destined to be realized, for the eight o'clock 
 post brought Dolly a note from Godwin Leigh which 
 made her kiss her child rapturously and tell him he 
 must walk again with Gertrude that morning because 
 mother had something else to do. As Gertrude allowed 
 him to dawdle along the roads as slowly as he chose and 
 to walk luxuriously in the thickest mud, Keddy had no 
 objection to this change of plan. Moreover, he had been 
 promised two crackers and a new pencil by way of con- 
 solation for his supposed disappointment, so the young 
 man's horizon appeared glowing and he smiled seraph- 
 ically when Dolly, absent-mindedly, poured an extra 
 large supply of cream on his porridge. Her own break- 
 fast remained practically untouched while she read and 
 re-read Godwin's rather stiff little note. 
 
 "Skarne Golf Club, 
 
 "Wednesday. 
 "DEAR MRS. FAITHFULL, 
 
 "As my presence is urgently required in connexion 
 with the new plans for the Open-Air Schools for de- 
 fective children at Hampstead, I find I shall not be able 
 to take the extra ten days' holiday I had planned, but
 
 DOWNWARD 267 
 
 shall have to return to town on Sunday afternoon. Will 
 you be gracious enough to let me see as much as possible 
 of you in the rest of my time here. I want a long talk 
 with you. If you are free to-morrow morning, will you 
 come for a walk with me, say, to Wylvering Towers or 
 wherever else you choose. J. will call for you at eleven 
 o'clock in the hope of your being able to come. 
 
 "Yours, GODWIN LEIGH." 
 
 Meals with Keddy were apt to be prolonged somewhat 
 wearisomely owing to the share partaken of them by the 
 ubiquitous Bognor. The wooden horse was hoisted on a 
 chair on Keddy 's left hand, and every now and then 
 spoonfuls of porridge, egg, etc., before being consumed 
 by the boy, were held for a minute under Bognor 's nose 
 to the great detriment of the table-cloth, chair and car- 
 pet, all of which occasionally received portions of the 
 animal's ration. Dolly frequently complained bitterly 
 of the general undesirability of Bognor as a table com- 
 panion, but to-day she bore everything with unruffled 
 calm. 
 
 To-day Keddy was allowed tea in his milk; unob- 
 served he took extra helpings of brown sugar, filled his 
 egg-shell with marmalade, buried the corpses of bread 
 soldiers in the salt, and perpetrated unspeakable atroci- 
 ties with the treacle all without notice or rebuke. 
 
 Dolly's thoughts were far away as she sat staring at 
 Leigh's letter. "The first half is in his platform com- 
 mittee manner, which I don't much like," she was think- 
 ing, "the last few lines are in his other manner, which 
 is charming. I wonder which is the real man, which 
 would predominate in home life? I'm sure the more 
 natural manner is really he. He wouldn't want to be 
 platformy at home, surely. It's strange that it's only 
 when he talks about his work that he's stiff and stilted. 
 I wonder why?" 
 
 "May I get down, mummy?" asked Keddy, glancing 
 apprehensively at the wreck about him, as he arranged 
 soins plates to" conceal tUt west shocking ptrrtitms of the
 
 268 DOWNWARD 
 
 table-cloth. Having received the necessary permission, 
 he put his fists in his eyes and murmured: "Thangord- 
 fmygoodbreakfusahmen" by way of grace, climbed down 
 from his chair, laboriously lifted Bognor from his and 
 stole off with unusual quietness to play in the darkest 
 recesses of the tool-shed, until his malefactions on the 
 table-cloth should be safely obliterated by the process 
 known as "clearing." 
 
 Unheeding, Dolly sat there, her elbows on the table, 
 her eyes fixed on the far green rim of the downs where 
 it melted into the greyish, faintly purple sky of a bleak 
 March day. 
 
 "I wonder what he really means," she mused, "and if 
 he really cares. After all, I don't understand men as 
 I once thought I did. I 've never lived in the same house 
 with a man, not even a father or brother. I've only 
 known them intimately under abnormal conditions, 
 either as sick patients or in the three stages of affaires, 
 'leading up,' 'in the thick' and 'backing out,' as Brooky 
 used to say. Men are very easy for a moderately clever 
 woman to understand once she's lost all her illusions, 
 but it's experience of them in ordinary daily life that 
 counts, and there I'm quite ignorant. Although I've 
 had so many wooers, until I met Arthur Jocelyn I've 
 never in my life had a man friend, with the exception 
 of Dacre, and he's always been a guide and consoler 
 rather than a playmate and chum . . . 
 
 "It would be frightfully thrilling to marry Godwin, 
 knowing so little of him," her thoughts ran on. "But, 
 of course, it would be mad. Why, I've never even had a 
 meal with him, and think what an enormous difference 
 a man's attitude to the food question makes in a home. 
 If breakfast is the test of a wife, then dinner is certainly 
 the test of a husband. ... I couldn't bear a man who 
 fussed over food or knew the proper sauce for every 
 dish, as Colin Lester used to. And, oh, I'm sure I 
 couldn't live with a man who wanted whisky every 
 night. ... I must try and find out what he drinks and 
 when. To be dependent an alcohol for one's gaiety,
 
 DOWNWARD 269 
 
 energy, vigour even for one's wit, like the men we 
 used to tour with in the old days what could be more 
 despicable? Godwin, my heart, I hope you're almost a 
 teetotaler!" 
 
 At eleven o'clock Dolly was ready dressed in her neat 
 country clothes. There was an extra polish on her shoes, 
 an extra burnish on her hair and a special brightness 
 in her eyes. A blue chiffon scarf, swathed round hat 
 and hair and tied under her chin, set off her delicate 
 colour becomingly. As she stood looking down the road, 
 whilst fitting on a new pair of gloves, she hummed joy- 
 fully to herself. All thoughts of the uncomfortable 
 proximity of Theo and his wife had vanished from her 
 mind, the unfriendly, silent departure of Jocelyn was 
 forgotten. 
 
 Presently the large form of Godwin Leigh came in 
 sight. 
 
 "He is a fine-looking man," she thought, with a sud- 
 den thrill. " How well he walks !" She hastened away 
 from the window and called: "Elizabeth, my priceless 
 pearl!" The old woman's smiling face appeared at the 
 kitchen door. She adored Dolly. 
 
 "I'm going out and perhaps I shan't be in to lunch. 
 Don't wait for me in any case. Give the Goblin his 
 food at one o'clock, and if he doesn't want any pudding, 
 don't force him; let him make up with fruit." 
 
 "The Lamb shall have all he wants, mum." 
 
 "No, no Elizabeth, not that that would mean us 
 being up all night and him having to stay in bed a week. 
 No, spare the chocolate box, please, but make the Brown 
 Bird happy, of course." 
 
 "I will, mum." Elizabeth retired, chuckling. Hear- 
 ing the front door bang a few minutes later, she went 
 out again into the hall and looked after the retreating 
 forms of Dolly and her companion. "Aha, so that's it, 
 is it?" she said. "He's a fine figure of a man, to be 
 sure, but he's not the man for her. I do wish Mr. 
 Hamilton would come back before it's too late."
 
 XI 
 
 AT half -past twelve, beneath the shadows of the 
 ruined towers of Wylvering, Godwin Leigh asked Dolly 
 to be his wife. 
 
 The bleak morning had given way to a bright noon; 
 invigorating breezes blew around them as they sat on 
 the grass near the edge of the cliff enjoying the pale 
 spring sunshine. Below, the tide was coming in with 
 little gentle ripples, and Dolly, looking from the calm 
 Bea to the cloudless sky overhead, chose to regard it as a 
 good omen for her future. 
 
 For a little space of time she was happier than she 
 had ever dreamed she could be again. Godwin had 
 been so kind, so charmingly tender. His wooing seemed 
 to strike just the note that accorded with her mood, and 
 after four years of loneliness to be beloved again was 
 very sweet. 
 
 Soon they were discussing their plans for the future. 
 The man delighted Dolly by confiding in her rather 
 shyly that all his adult life he had longed to be married. 
 
 "But I couldn't find the one I wanted," he said. "I 
 go little in society, and such girls as I met there seemed 
 to be brainless and heartless. And the women I meet 
 in my work, who have the same interests as myself 
 they're good, earnest women, all brains and hearts, but 
 for the most part without charm. Directly I saw you on 
 the golf links, so serene and beautiful, I thought 'Here 
 she is at last ! ' and when I found you were free and saw 
 how quietly you lived, tending your child, making the 
 best of your lonely lot, my heart went out to you. I 
 used to have a prejudice against widows," he continued, 
 "but I respected you from the first because you were 
 270
 
 DOWNWARD 271 
 
 really Irrmg a widowed life, although the world waa 
 dear to you. But now you 11 end your days of 
 mourning . . ." 
 
 Dolly turned her face away ; she winced at his words 
 and found sudden tears surging up in her. How hateful 
 a thing it was to deceive ! She longed to tell the truth, 
 but dared not. 
 
 ''Is it . . . is it painful to you, sweetheart !" 
 
 "No no, don't think that!" 
 
 "Some day, perhaps, you'll tell me! " 
 
 "Yes, yes, Godwin when I know you better, but just 
 now well, perhaps it is rather painful. I've had an 
 unhappy life on the whole, and ... I want to forget. 
 I want to begin afresh with you a quite, quite new 
 volume." 
 
 The earnestness of her manner, of her deep eyes 
 destined to give men dreams thrilled and touched him; 
 the inference that her first marriage had been unhappy 
 was not displeasing. 
 
 "Well write it together, Dolly," he said, with genu- 
 ine feeling, and Dolly, drawing a deep breath, told 
 herself that at last she stood on the edge of all her sor- 
 rows, soon to leave them behind forever. With a little 
 forced laugh she remarked that their acquaintance had 
 only dated from less than a month ago. 
 
 "What of that? I should have been very disap- 
 pointed in you if you'd given me a different answer on 
 that account," said the man; "if there's one thing I 
 especially despise, it's the middle-class idea of courting 
 the idea that one has to dance attendance on a woman 
 for a certain length of time before speaking. Why all 
 these foolish conventionalities? Directly I looked into 
 your eyes, when Jocelyn introduced us on the links, I 
 knew you for my wife." 
 
 She said thoughtfully: "Suppose you should be 
 wrong about me? Suppose I should turn out quite a 
 different kind of woman?" 
 
 "I know the kind of woman you are. I couldn't be 
 wrong. You're just mine."
 
 272 DOWNWARD 
 
 "So ~be it!" thought Dolly. His arrogance did not an- 
 noy her; on the contrary, it carried a kind of relief. If 
 he was so set on having her so be it! But she was 
 secretly dismayed that he should form so wrong an 
 impression of her, though even had he answered differ- 
 ently she dared not speak. How strange it was the 
 secret which had been so difficult to keep from Jocelyn, 
 which, in fact, had slipped out of its own accord, should 
 be impossible to confide to Godwin. 
 
 In her longing for happiness, for ease of mind, she 
 characteristically consoled herself with the thought : 
 "It's his own fault if he can't read me aright I'm 
 easy enough to read ! I never pretended to be a discon- 
 solate widow. I've not acted a part I simply couldn't; 
 and I don't ask him about his past, why should he know 
 mine? I'll be an immaculate wife, and that's all that 
 concerns him," 
 
 But presently she was again disturbed. Leigh had 
 been explaining his position and prospects, which was 
 not in itself disagreeable to her as it would have been 
 at such a time to a woman of finer sentiment. 
 
 "Lord Hatherton of Ardwick is my cousin," he told 
 her; "he's a bachelor, and when his brother died five 
 years ago I became his heir. He's a comparatively poor 
 man, though there's a nice place down at Ardwick. He 
 allows me 1,000 a year, but it almost all goes on my 
 work. Fortunately, he's too great a recluse to know 
 this, as he'd highly disapprove. Of course I shall have 
 less to spare for the Cause as a married man, but when 
 I inherit there will be plenty, and until then you won't 
 mind being poor, will you, as so much is needed for the 
 Cause? Fortunately, you're independent yourself, I 
 take it!" 
 
 Acting on a sudden impulse, Dolly said, hurriedly: 
 "I lose my income if I marry." 
 
 "That's a pity for my poor people's sake, but no 
 matter. And your boy's future?" 
 
 "Oh er er, I retain enough for him, and er his 
 education and future's provided for." She resolved to
 
 DOWNWARD 273 
 
 write to Dacre about this at once ; a new settlement must 
 be arranged with Theo. For herself, she longed to be 
 made independent of his allowance by her marriage, but 
 she resolved that Theo's son should not cost Godwin 
 Leigh a single penny. 
 
 "I don't mind being poor as long as I'm happy and 
 busy," she said. "I want to help you with your work, 
 Godwin. I've often felt a longing to do rescue work." 
 
 "Oh, no! I couldn't allow you to do any of that, 
 dear; it's shocking work. With the defective children 
 now " 
 
 "But why why? It's a woman's work, surely." 
 
 "Yes, but not work for a young, innocent woman like 
 you." 
 
 "Godwin you hurt me! I'm thirty I'm a mother 
 I've suffered! Do you think me such a foolish doll?" 
 
 "No, no, my dearest girl but you don't realize the 
 debased, brutalized women some of them are, and you're 
 so sweet and pure ..." 
 
 This was unendurable. 
 
 "I've seen life!" she answered, striving to control 
 herself. ' ' These women are not likely to harm me some 
 of them are young too, mere children all of them were 
 pure once, and and we're all sisters under our skins. 
 I could help them; I feel for them so." 
 
 He smiled at her indulgently. "I love your sweet 
 charity, but you don't know what you're talking about. 
 You and those women! But we won't talk about it 
 any more now. Let's go and forage at the inn for 
 lunch. Hard-boiled eggs and cheese they're sure to 
 have, and that's enough for me, if it pleases you." 
 Dolly was so delighted at this indication of simple tastes 
 that her annoyance subsided, but she thought to herself 
 that if all rescue-workers shared Leigh's spirit, it was 
 easy to understand why so few women were rescued. 
 
 For the rest of the walk she was careful to keep the 
 conversation off embarrassing subjects. They had a 
 merry picnic lunch and walked slowly homeward some- 
 times holding hands, often looking into each other's
 
 274 DOWNWARD 
 
 eyes. If Dolly did not feel the rapture of ardent love 
 for her newly betrothed, neither did she feel any of the 
 unrest and clamour of love. The peace and content of 
 her heart seemed an infinitely more precious thing to 
 her. She took a feminine delight, too, in the thought 
 of being married, of being really a Mrs, after so many 
 years of pretence. As with all women of her tragic 
 history, the haven of matrimony seemed infinitely 
 desirable to her. 
 
 She was going to be married ... a real wife with a 
 real wedding-ring! She could throw far into the sea 
 that other ring which she had bought for herself in such 
 deep humiliation. Henceforth she had done with humili- 
 ation and with shame. She was going to begin a new 
 life turn over a clean page. New clothes, new trunks, 
 a new house, a new life, a new world . . . her heart 
 thrilled with joy at the prospect. 
 
 They made a wide detour by Hencham and Dillbor- 
 ough and returned along the main road. Near the latter 
 village a smart open carriage swept past them contain- 
 ing a woman propped up with cushions, a man and a 
 nurse in uniform. The lovers were too engrossed in 
 their conversation to notice tie occupants of the car- 
 riage, nor did they hear the woman say, as it drove on : 
 
 "Why, that was Dolly! Didn't you see, Theo? I'm 
 sure that it was she and looking so pretty and happy, 
 too; I am glad! Do let's torn back and speak to her. 
 Edwards I" 
 
 "No, no," said the pale, anxious-looking man at her 
 side, "it wasn't she; I'm sure you're mistaken. It 
 would look most singular to go after them. Drive on, 
 Edwards!"
 
 XII 
 
 "MUMMA," said Keddy after breakfast on Friday 
 morning, ''aren't you never going to play wiv me 
 again?" He climbed on to her knees and they hugged 
 each other for some minutes. 
 
 "Have I been such a nasty mummy lately, my 
 Birdeen?" asked Dolly, conscience-stricken, leaning her 
 cheek against his. 
 
 "Not 'zackly nasty, but more like a step-muwer, " re- 
 plied the child; he knew all about step-mothers from 
 Grimm's Fairy Tales. Dolly laughed and hugged him 
 again. "I'm awfully tired of playing with Gertrude," 
 he went on. 
 
 "But I thought you loved to go out with her?" 
 
 "To go out, yes; she does let me slosh about in the 
 rnud, but she can't play properly. She doesn't know 
 nothing about sojers, an' she pretends to be bears all 
 wrong, an' she said there's no such fing as an enchanted 
 forest when I asked her to 6 one yesterday." 
 
 "Well, never mind, my own; I'll be a lovely mummy 
 now, and we'll have no end of games. Mr. Leigh's com- 
 ing to tea this afternoon; perhaps he'll play with you, 
 too. And I'll tell you a secret, little Son; perhaps next 
 week perhaps on Monday you and I are going up to 
 London!" 
 
 "In a cab an' a train an' anuwer cab like we did 
 before?" 
 
 "Yes, just like that!" 
 
 Keddy beamed silently; this was too huge an event 
 for words. 
 
 "You shall come out with me this morning, and we'll 
 walk to Skarne and shop," Dolly continued, piling joy 
 275
 
 276 DOWNWARD 
 
 on joy. "Go and put your boots on yourself, mind 
 Elizabeth 's only to tie the knots. ' ' 
 
 "May Bognor come, mumma?" 
 
 "No, darling, not to Skarne he's much too trouble- 
 some." 
 
 "He says he'll be very good." 
 
 "I dare say, but I can't take him, he's so heavy to 
 carry up that long hill, and you know you won't like 
 pushing him all the way." 
 
 The prospect of the shops at Skarne was too dazzling 
 for Keddy's spirits to be downcast, even at having to 
 leave his familiar friend behind. He bent down and 
 whispered at length into Bognor 's wooden ear, appar- 
 ently words of comfort. Dolly caught a scrap "an' a 
 train an' anuwer cab, fink of that!" Evidently Bognor 
 was being consoled by the promise of delights in the 
 near future. "So I'm expected to take this wretched 
 animal to town with me, am I?" was her own thought. 
 
 They started off in high spirits; Keddy was ever a 
 lively child, and to-day his mother's light-heartedness 
 communicated itself to him. He jumped and bounded 
 about on the Downs and carolled for joy. For a time 
 they ran races, Keddy always mysteriously winning, 
 and at length they sank breathless on one of the rough 
 wooden seats. An old lady already sitting there with a 
 fat black pug at her feet regarded their intrusion with 
 evident coldness; little boys were always objectionable 
 in her eyes, especially little boys who shouted and bel- 
 lowed about nothing. 
 
 She seemed, however, to exercise a baleful fascination 
 for Keddy, who stared at the lined old face in solemn 
 silence for some minutes. Dolly rested contentedly, 
 gazing at the sea, all unconscious of the thunderbolt her 
 offspring was preparing for her. Presently it came. In 
 a loud, clear voice Keddy asked, "Mummy, when is that 
 old lady going to God?" 
 
 He was surprised at the rapidity at which his mother 
 sprang to her feet and hurried on, holding him firmly by
 
 DOWNWARD 277 
 
 the wrist. "Mumma, you're hurting me! Mumma, 
 don't run so ... are you cross with me?" 
 
 "No, little Son," Dolly made reply in a somewhat 
 stifled voice, "only you shouldn't have said that; it 
 might have vexed the old lady." 
 
 "But I fought it was nice to go to God. You told me 
 I should go myself some day, when I 'm very old. ' ' 
 
 "Ye es, dear, of course. But still, old ladies don't 
 want to talk about it, not with strange little boys, 
 any way. ' ' 
 
 "But she was so very old, mumma, and so crinkly; she 
 must want to be made new again." 
 
 Tactfully Dolly pointed out a steamer on the horizon 
 which had the desired result of changing the subject. 
 
 "Johnny Merton's daddy's going to take him on a 
 puffer-steamer at Easter," Keddy remarked. "He's 
 going to Margate an' back, an' he's going to take his 
 dinner and tea in a hamper." 
 
 Dolly shuddered. "Well, some day you shall go on a 
 steamer too, but I would rather have the dinner and tea 
 in shops when we get there." 
 
 "But I haven't got any daddy to take me. Sometimes 
 I do wish I had a daddy, mumma a good daddy, not 
 the one what was wicked to you." 
 
 "Do you, my darling? ..." She had not meant to 
 tell the child yet, but the wistful little voice pulled at 
 her heart strings. She bent down and lifted up his face. 
 
 "Look at me, Keddy. Will you promise to keep a 
 great secret a very great secret? Well, mummy's 
 going to get a new daddy for her Brown Bird, and it's 
 Mr. Leigh .... He 's coming to live with us for always. 
 Now, then, what do you say to that?" 
 
 To her surprise and disappointment, the joyous shout 
 she was expecting was not forthcoming. Keddy stared 
 at her for a minute with large, wondering eyes and then 
 said, "Bognor doesn't like Mr. Leigh. He laughed at 
 Bognor's tail; he said it was a piece of catskin." 
 
 "But you like him, Keddy?" 
 
 "Yes, I like him, but will he give me lessons? Lauri*
 
 278 DOWNWARD 
 
 Carter's daddy gives him lessons every morning, an' 
 Laurie hides in the currant bushes sometimes " 
 
 "No, he won't give you any lessons, and you'll never 
 need to hide from him. He'll be a very kind daddy and 
 play soldiers better than any one else you know, and 
 perhaps he'll take you to the Zoo sometimes." 
 
 "Ho! will he? The Zoo! Johnny Merton's never 
 been there. Hurrah! hurrah!" 
 
 At last signs of joy : Dolly felt vastly relieved. Keddy 
 bellowed and jumped about, racing on wildly and finally 
 butting into Mrs. Redwood, who was ascending the cliff 
 path from Skarne, somewhat short of breath. 
 
 "Hurrah! I'm going to have a new daddy," he 
 shouted. "Mr. Leigh's going to be my daddy and take 
 me to the Zoo and never give me any lessons!" 
 
 "What?" shrieked the lady, her annoyance at having 
 the parcels knocked out of her hands amply recom- 
 pensed by this choice tit-bit of news. "Well, really!" 
 Then as Dolly came up, she was welcomed with two out- 
 stretched hands and the heartiest possible neigh: "My 
 dear Mrs. Faithfull ! My dear girl ! I am delighted to 
 hear the news. What a surprise! How sudden, but 
 how very pleasing!" 
 
 "It's only just settled," said Dolly, scarlet with vex- 
 ation. "I told the child as a secret ... we had no idea 
 yet . . ." 
 
 "But you don't mind an old friend like me knowing, 
 when we've been neighbours all these years. I'm de- 
 lighted quite delighted! Of course he's almost a 
 stranger to me, but I thought him charmin ' ; such a fine- 
 lookin' man, too, and I hear he's heir to Lord Hatherton 
 of Ardwick? 
 
 "Trust you to find out everything," thought Dolly. 
 
 "How surprised Mr. Jocelyn will be rather a blow, 
 too, yes?" Mrs. Redwood added archly. "I think so! I 
 had a letter from him this morning, askin' me to send 
 on some music he'd left at my house. The place seems 
 dull without him, and now we shall be ksin' you, too?" 
 
 "Oh, no-fcmg's settled, " Dtflly assured her hastily,
 
 DOWNWARD 279 
 
 "we haven't had time to discuss anything yet. Oh, look 
 where that boy's got to he'll kill himself! I must run 
 after him. Good-bye, Mrs. Redwood!" 
 
 All unconscious of the awful breach of confidence he 
 had committed, the young man was galloping down the 
 steep cliff path at a perilous rate, apparently fired to 
 frenzy point by the prospect of visiting the Zoo. At 
 last, after a breathless run, his mother caught him and 
 most unexpectedly proceeded to administer a sharp 
 rebuke. 
 
 "Is that what you call keeping a secret, Clifford? 
 Didn't you promise me not to tell any one about your 
 new daddy?" 
 
 "I've not done nothing. What have I done, 
 mummy ? ' ' asked Keddy in an injured voice. 
 
 "You told Mrs. Redwood the secret." 
 
 "Oh . . . Oh h. I didn't fink you meant not to tell 
 her. I fought you meant me not to tell Laurie an* 
 Johnnie an' Gertrude an' Elizabeth, an' Uncle Arthur, 
 an' the fishmonger's boy, an' gardener an' postman." 
 Dolly could not help smiling at this enumeration of the 
 people who mattered in her son's small world. 
 
 "You might have told all of them, if only you'd not 
 told Mrs. Redwood," she said, less severely. "Mrs. 
 Redwood is a person one never tells secrets to." 
 
 "Why, mummy? I like her, she gave me a chocolate 
 fish once. Why mayn't she hear seclets?" 
 
 "Because because, oh, never mind!" said Dolly in 
 despair. 
 
 "May I ask her why, next time I meet her?" 
 
 "No, certainly not!" 
 
 "Why are you so cross, mummy?" 
 
 "I'm vexed, Keddy. I'm disappointed in you. 
 Mother likes to feel she can trust her boy. What kind 
 of a soldier will you make if you can't keep a secret five 
 minutes ? ' ' 
 
 "But I don't want to be a sojer now, so it doesn't 
 matter! I'm going to be a lawyer like Uncle Dacre
 
 280 DOWNWARD 
 
 an' have an office an' a chair what turns round an' 
 round. ' ' 
 
 "Well, Uncle Dacre has to keep lots and lots of secrets 
 more secrets than any one else." 
 
 "Then perhaps I'll he a motor cabman," said the 
 child, meditatively. "I should like to blow those horns 
 in the streets. Have yon stopped being cross, mummy ? ' ' 
 
 "Y-yes, I think so. Yes, love, I have. After all, 
 you're only a very little boy, aren't you?" 
 
 "I'm four in May. Can we go to the Zoo on my 
 birthday?" 
 
 "Yes, beloved." Dolly bent down and kissed him, 
 and the serious little face lit up at this sign of for- 
 giveness. 
 
 "I didn't mean to," he whispered. "I'll never do it 
 again. ' ' 
 
 Made happy by repeated assurances of forgiveness, 
 Keddy resumed his galloping and curveting. They had 
 now reached the beginning of the asphalted esplanade 
 at Skarne where these manoeuvres were safe enough. 
 Dolly, as she followed, was blaming herself for not hav- 
 ing exacted a promise of secrecy from Mrs. Redwood 
 not that it would have been much good, she thought, 
 consoling herself. Engagements were rare in Skarne 
 and practically unknown in Wylton, where young, un- 
 married men did not exist. Mrs. Redwood could not 
 possibly have denied herself the triumph of whispering 
 such an exceptional piece of information to her profes- 
 sional rival, and once Miss Sapper was acquainted with 
 it nothing short of gagging and imprisoning her would 
 have prevented it spreading. Dolly felt sure the parcel 
 of music for Jocelyn would be accompanied by a little 
 note from Mrs. Redwood bearing the news. This 
 thought was rather pleasing to her ; she felt glad that he 
 should know. She resigned herself to the idea of her en- 
 gagement being announced at once, hoping only that 
 Leigh would not be congratulated before she had had 
 time to explain the circumstances. Fortunately he was
 
 DOWNWARD 281 
 
 acquainted with no one in Wylton except herself and 
 Mrs. Redwood, though every soul in the place knew him 
 by sight and something of his affairs. 
 
 They spent a good deal of time at Skarne, as Keddy 
 shared his mother's passion for shops, and liked to take 
 each window in turn, enumerating exactly which arti- 
 cles he would buy when he grew up. Both were tired 
 when they reached the Downs again on the homeward 
 journey, and for the child's sake a short halt was made 
 at every wooden seat. 
 
 Dolly was sitting on one, looking seaward as usual, her 
 arm round the little boy whose head was pillowed 
 against her, when suddenly a familiar voice greeted her, 
 with the well-remembered hoarse note that betokened 
 nervousness. She turned sharply round and saw Theo 
 standing behind the seat. 
 
 His eyes were fixed on the child, who was gazing back 
 in a friendly manner. Dolly was greatly embarrassed. 
 Before the little one it was impossible to utter any re- 
 buke. With murmured excuses she rose, but Theo was 
 holding out his hand to Keddy, and the boy trustingly 
 placed his small hand in his father's. 
 
 ''Who 're you?" he asked. "I haven't seen you 
 afore." Theo cast an imploring glance at Dolly, but 
 she signed an emphatic negative. "This is the gentle- 
 man who lives at the Square House now," she said, 
 coldly. 
 
 "I'm an old friend of your mother's." Theo was in- 
 tensely nervous as he addressed his son for the first 
 time. He knew nothing of children and was painfully 
 anxious to please this one. "May I be your friend, 
 too?" 
 
 "If you're mumma's friend, of course," Keddy an- 
 swered, and still holding hands they walked along to- 
 gether. Dolly, with averted face, was hurrying on as 
 fast as she could. 
 
 "Grant me this one boon," said Theo in a low voice. 
 
 "It's against my wish," she replied, speaking fast,
 
 282 DOWNWARD 
 
 without turning her head. "You know how I feel about 
 it. It's too bad." 
 
 Keddy settled the matter. He lifted his arms towards 
 his father and said in a voice, the assumed pathos of 
 which he knew by experience to be irresistible, "I'm so 
 tired! will you please carry me?" 
 
 Never had the charm worked so instantaneously. The 
 stranger lifted him up at once, holding him close and 
 tenderly. He clasped his hands around Theo's neck, 
 and, with a sigh of deep content, laid his head down on 
 the man's shoulder. He was too tired to talk. Theo's 
 heart was too full for speech, and Dolly's averted face 
 did not invite it. 
 
 "Heaven is merciful to me to-day," the father mur- 
 mured, as he trudged along with his precious burden. 
 Then the strange, tragic trio moved on in absolute 
 silence. 
 
 Dolly wondered what he was thinking about. Theo 
 wondered at her implacable jealousy and resentment. It 
 was such an old story now, he thought. Why was she 
 not content to bury it and be friends for the boy's sake? 
 Her attitude seemed strangely cruel to him, coming 
 from a woman of warm heart, too ! The feel of the 
 sturdy little body in his arms, the sweet child face on 
 his shoulder, the exquisite scent of a child's hair, the 
 sight of the long lashes lying on the soft pink cheeks 
 and the bow-shaped baby mouth all the strange loveli- 
 ness he held in his unaccustomed arms filled him with 
 poignant emotions, and a keen, passionate regret pierced 
 his heart for the child he had begotten and betrayed. 
 His son his flesh and blood how wonderful it was! 
 How terribly a man's acts bore fruit! 
 
 At last they reached the narrow door in the high 
 wooden fence which separated the end of the Square 
 House grounds from the Downs. Dolly indicated it and 
 curtly bade him put the boy down. 
 
 "Mayn't I see you home? It's only a stone's throw 
 further." 
 
 "Please leave us now," she replied.
 
 DOWNWARD 283 
 
 "We used to know the little boys who had your house 
 last" said Keddy, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "There 
 was a splendid rubbish heap at the end of the garden 
 and lots of nice barrels an' fings, an' we used to play 
 forts there. I'd like to come again." 
 
 "Run home, Keddy, and see if there are any letters. 
 There might be a picture post card for you, and Bognor 
 will be wanting you badly." 
 
 "Good-bye . . . Keddy." Theo held out his hand. 
 Then he bent and kissed the boy timidly. Keddy waved 
 his hand and ran off, well pleased with himself and his 
 morning. 
 
 "Dolly, won't you let me see him sometimes?" Theo 
 burst out, with something of his old, impetuous manner. 
 "Surely you wouldn't grudge me an occasional half- 
 hour?" 
 
 "I grudge you everything!" 
 
 "Just the crumbs that fall from your table . . . when 
 you have so much " 
 
 "I can't afford to lose a single crumb!" Her voice 
 and eyes were fierce and terrible. "So much! You 
 forget I've paid for what I've got with 'agony and 
 bloody sweat.' You've only paid with money!" 
 
 Theo winced as if he had been stung. "God! you 
 women are cruel! To allude to the money!" 
 
 "Why not? You've had the satisfaction of giving it 
 of feeling noble and generous. I've had the humilia- 
 tion of receiving it. But I don't wish to hurt you, only 
 you bring it on yourself. Listen: you cut yourself off 
 from us when your support was a matter literally of life 
 and death to us. You deliberately chose a life apart 
 from us. Very well, now keep to it! Keep to your 
 chosen path and leave us alone. . . . Other reasons 
 apart, don't you understand that you're likely to com- 
 promise me seriously? You're a stranger here; to you 
 it's an idyllic little village. I live there, and I know it's 
 a hotbed of gossip and scandal, like most little villages. 
 If yon haunt my house, if ydu're seen in my company 
 what will be thought ? How can I accotmt for knowing
 
 284 DOWNWARD 
 
 you? Nothing's so difficult as to make a previous old 
 acquaintance appear a casual new one. And there's 
 something else. ... I'm going to be married. I've a 
 chance to retrieve the mistake which has almost ruined 
 my life. I've a chance to live as other people. What 
 will that chance be worth if you get me talked about and 
 my secret comes outt" 
 
 "He doesn't know, then?" 
 
 "No, he doesn't know."
 
 XIII 
 
 KEDDY was very bored that afternoon. Missing his 
 morning nap never agreed with him. He was tired of 
 the sand heap in the back garden, where mother had told 
 him to play. It was no use going into the kitchen for 
 amusement. Elizabeth was scrubbing the floor, and she 
 had a strangely violent objection to little boys with 
 dirty garden boots walking over her newly scrubbed 
 floors. Plainly the kitchen was now a perilous place, 
 and, in spite of the subtle delights of its cupboards and 
 tins, it had obviously better be avoided for the present. 
 The drawing-room offered absolutely no possibilities, as 
 mother and Mr. Leigh were there, and they seemed to 
 have a great deal to say to each other. Keddy had been 
 in once, and made plans for a speedy visit to the Zoo; 
 the future looked bright enough, it was only the present 
 that hung heavily. 
 
 To-day he was in a mood for adventure, and he sud- 
 denly bethought himself of those fascinating regions at 
 the end of the gardens belonging to the Square House. 
 With Keddy to think was to act; a few minutes later a 
 little figure in a blue reefer jacket and red fisher cap was 
 running round the corner of Sandringham Avenue and 
 over the Downs towards that door in the wooden wall. 
 
 The latch was easy to undo ... no one was looking. 
 The little figure crept into the garden . . . not a soul 
 about ! Look ! There was the sublime rubbish heap, 
 there the glorious barrels, there the mysterious potting- 
 shed sights to warm a small boy 's heart ! 
 
 An hour later, after returning from her drive, Helen 
 285
 
 286 DOWNWARD 
 
 "Walter was resting in a long chair in the veranda, with 
 Theo sitting by her side. 
 
 "I feel much better already," she said. "What a 
 glorious day, isn't it, dear? it's really spring at last. 
 It was a good thing we came here; I feel I'm going to 
 get well now." 
 
 Her greyish hair and the lines of pain on her face 
 had aged her greatly, but the tender mother-eyes were 
 still serene and full of love, and her golden voice was 
 musical as ever. 
 
 Presently she suggested another walk round the gar- 
 dens to look again at the spring flowers, and to show 
 how strong she was. Together they went very slowly 
 along the paths, Helen leaning on her husband's arm, 
 until, when nearly at the end of the garden, Theo de- 
 cided it was getting a little cold for her and hurried 
 back to the house for another wrap. 
 
 Helen walked on alone with rather unsteady steps, 
 anxious to see what she could do. Now she had reached 
 the rough part of the grounds where the heaps of leaf- 
 mould, tanks, frames, sheds, etc., were grouped together, 
 hidden from view by a tall hedge of old privet. She 
 had never been beyond this hedge before. In ordinary 
 circumstances it was unlikely that she would ever have 
 gone there, but Destiny had a purpose to fulfil. Destiny 
 drew Helen round the hedge, past the mound of leaf- 
 mould, into the potting-shed, and there on a heap of 
 straw in the doorway she beheld a beautiful vision of a 
 child asleep. 
 
 "Theo, I'm here by the shed. Come quickly!" 
 Her voice was trembling with a joyful excitement. 
 "S-sh! Don't make a noise! Oh, Theo! the most 
 wonderful thing has happened. Look there! a little 
 child for us ! " 
 
 ' ' Good Heavens ! ' ' 
 
 "An answer to our prayers, don't you see he's ex- 
 actly like you. He's been sent to us! Isn't it beautiful
 
 DOWNWARD 287 
 
 and wonderful? Why, he's the image of that miniature 
 of you as a child, the one I have always on my dressing- 
 table. It's the same face, the eyes cast down, as in the 
 miniature, the exact colouring, and every feature, even 
 your dimple in his chin. Oh, look at the darling, 
 Theo!" 
 
 "Helen, dear! . . . Helen, what are you saying? 
 Yes, he's a sweet little chap. I do see a likeness, but it's 
 only a chance one. He's some one else's boy, of 
 course . . . crept in here to play and fallen asleep, 
 tired. See how dirty his boots are with the mould. He 
 must have been here some time. No doubt his mother's 
 frantic about him " 
 
 "Oh, Theo, don't you think he's meant for us? Oh, 
 he must bel What else can the strange resemblance 
 mean? I've prayed so for a little son like you " 
 
 "You're hysterical, darling do calm yourself!" 
 
 "I'm quite calm. . . . Perhaps we could adopt him; 
 I'm sure we're meant to have him, somehow. I feel it. 
 Such an exact likeness couldn't be a chance. We must 
 find out where he lives, and I'll go and see his mother." 
 
 "I I believe I've seen him playing in in the garden 
 of the big bungalow over there 'Good Hope' it's called. 
 I'll take him round there and inquire." 
 
 The gardener, hastily summoned, established the iden- 
 tity of the strange little boy. Theo again frantically 
 begged Helen to return to the house and leave him to 
 restore the child to its mother. But Helen insisted she 
 would go herself and laughed away his fears for her 
 the extra fatigue, the lateness of the afternoon, etc. 
 She must see the wonder-boy's mother herself, she said, 
 and find out if there were any chance of adopting him. 
 In the midst of the discussion Keddy yawned, rubbed 
 his eyes and woke up. The unhappy man was compelled 
 to beat a retreat to the house he dared not risk a 
 recognition from his son. 
 
 He locked himself in his study and the cold sweat 
 poured off his brow, as he watched the little procession 
 start off through the front gates along the main road.
 
 288 DOWNWARD 
 
 Helen was in the bath chair ; Keddy squeezed in at her 
 side, smiling broadly. His clothes and hands were plas- 
 tered with every kind of garden dirt, but the sweet- 
 looking lady did not seem to mind a bit ; he had had the 
 time of his life on that rubbish heap, and being driven 
 home like this was a grand end to a glorious afternoon. 
 The nurse in uniform, smiling too, walked at the side, 
 and, in the absence of the usual bath-chair attendant, 
 the gardener was pulling the chair. 
 
 Keddy 's absence had only been discovered at home 
 when he was not forthcoming at tea-time. Dolly and 
 Elizabeth had searched the house and garden with 
 growing apprehension, and then Leigh had hurried on 
 to the Downs to look up and down the cliff path. 
 
 Dolly had just issued from the cellar, slightly dishev- 
 elled, her eye* anxious and wretched, when the bath- 
 chair stopped at the gate, and she heard her boy's ex- 
 cited little voice announcing, ' ' This is my house ! ' ' She 
 rushed down the path and seized him in her arms with 
 inarticulate exclamations of thankfulness and joy. 
 
 "My darling! where have you been? Oh, Keddy, how 
 could you? Oh, mother's been so dreadfully f light- 
 ened 1" Then, suddenly remembering the kind person 
 who had brought her child back to her, she raised her 
 head . . . and found herself facing Helen! 
 
 The sudden horror that rushed into her face, blanch- 
 ing it to the trembling lips, the fear in her eyes, the 
 broken syllables she tried to utter that would form no 
 words were enough in the circumstances to reveal the 
 truth to the woman she had wronged, even although the 
 truth was to Helen so unthinkable a thing. 
 
 The wife's mind worked rapidly: the extraordinary 
 likeness, except the eyes, and those the eyes of Dolly, as 
 she now realized: Theo's inexplicable dread of her 
 going to the child's home: Dolly's terror at the sight of 
 her. This was why. 
 
 She recalled Theo's refusal to turn back that day they 
 had met Dolly on the high road, and her memory went 
 further back along the years . . . this was why Dolly
 
 DOWNWARD 289 
 
 had refused to meet her, had rejected her offers of help. 
 This was why Dolly had not married the father of her 
 child. Perhaps this was why they had no children. 
 The hand of God, the righteous anger of God, was visible 
 now in her own trouble : where the man had sown, the 
 wife was reaping. This was why ! 
 
 It was all plain now, and yet it was impossible, inex- 
 plicable. Dolly and Theo! Oh, surely not Dolly and 
 Theo ! her friend and her husband . . . 
 
 The nurse had followed Keddy into the house, the 
 gardener had respectfully moved out of earshot. 
 
 A long, long time seemed to have passed while the two 
 women faced each other in silence; Dolly was holding 
 on to the gate for support. At last Helen said, pain- 
 fully: "Is it really you, Dolly? Why are you afraid 
 of me?" And, with a feeble, backward gesture of her 
 hand, Dolly indicated the child visible at the house door. 
 
 "Is that why? Is it ... that?" A nod was her 
 answer. "But you were my friend f" 
 
 Dolly bowed her head in bitterest shame. She could 
 find no words for defence. Let Theo defend himself if 
 he could. Let him explain and excuse if he dared. 
 Only let that suffering, stricken, white face go away 
 right away out of sight out of mind, .and give Dolly 
 a chance to forget to bury this agony in the depths of 
 her heart, once and forever. Oh ! when was she to see 
 the end of this business ? When was she to be allowed 
 to put it behind forever this everlasting harvest of a 
 minute's madness? 
 
 Without further word, Helen withdrew her head into 
 the shade of the bath-chair hood, and Dolly saw her face 
 no more. As the chair slowly creaked away down the 
 road, Leigh hurried up, breathless, to receive rapturous 
 salutes from Keddy. He was surprised at the passion 
 of hysterical sobs with which Dolly flung herself into his 
 arms when they were again inside the house. He con- 
 soled and soothed her as nicely as possible, made her tea, 
 held her trembling hand steady while she drank it in 
 short, did all that a man could for an agitated woman.
 
 290 DOWNWARD 
 
 But it was not him she wanted, and all he did seemed 
 nothing. Her heart ached for Dacre, the perfect friend 
 and comforter, the one who knew all her tragedy, who 
 would understand exactly the pain of this reopening of 
 old wounds the only one who could have restored her 
 self-respect. With all her heart she longed for him. 
 The future that had seemed so fair had suddenly become 
 clouded and dim.
 
 XIV 
 
 LEIGH dined and spent the following evening, Satur- 
 day, with Dolly. He left early, as they had decided to 
 have a farewell walk on Sunday morning and then to 
 lunch together before his departure by an afternoon 
 train. Dolly and her boy were coming up to town on 
 Tuesday, and the engaged couple had made many plans 
 for a happy time to be spent as much as possible 
 together. 
 
 Thus their plans, but Fate, using the insignificant 
 persons of Mrs. Redwood and Arthur Jocelyn as instru- 
 ments, had arranged differently. 
 
 When, at eleven o'clock that night, Leigh reached the 
 club-house where he was living, he was surprised to find 
 Jocelyn waiting for him in the deserted smoking-room. 
 
 "Hullo, old chap, you here again! What's wrong?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "You regard me, then, as a messenger of evil omen? 
 I'm sorry to say that's about the truth." 
 
 "What d'you mean? Is it a joke?" 
 
 "I never felt less like joking in my life. Can we talk 
 privately here?" 
 
 "Yes, there are only two other men staying, and they 
 seem to have turned in. Fire away. Will you have 
 anything? Scotch cold?" 
 
 "No, thanks, I'll have brandy and neat, please. Tell 
 you the truth, old man, it's a deuced nasty business I've 
 come about." 
 
 Leigh looked at H anxiously. "Well, go on what 
 is it?" 
 
 "I got a note from Mrs. Redwood this morning the 
 lady who neighs. Is it true that you're engaged to Mrs. 
 Faithfull?" 
 
 291
 
 292 DOWNWARD 
 
 "Yes! Well?" 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry, Godwin, old chap. I'm afraid 
 it 11 be a blow, but do you know her history?" 
 
 "History! Confound it, man, she's got none." 
 
 "For your sake I wish to God that were true, but she 
 has and a pretty black history 1" 
 
 "That's a damned lie!" 
 
 "Look here, be careful! . . . Don't put your hands 
 on me! Do you suppose I'd have rushed down from 
 town immediately I heard the news if I hadn't wished 
 you well if I hadn't wanted to stop you making a fool 
 of yourself, and taking a step you'll regret all your life? 
 Pull yourself together, man I know it's a shock.'-' 
 
 "Shock!" 
 
 "It's devilish nasty for me, and you may be sure I'd 
 not say anything against any woman, bnly a man must 
 stand by his pals. Even then, if you hadn 't been pretty 
 decent to me at Cambridge, I'd not have opened my 
 mouth, or if you'd been a different sort of man, but I 
 know how strait-laced you are, and that as heir- 
 presumptive to a peerage you've got to consider your 
 family, and all that. I knew how awfully rough you'd 
 cut up if you'd found it out after marriage." 
 
 "How did you come by her history?" 
 
 "Man, she told me herself! Otherwise I wouldn't 
 have believed it, she seemed altogether so straight." 
 
 ' ' Told you herself ! I '11 ask her to tell me ; I'd rather 
 hear it from her." 
 
 ' ' As you please ; I 'd much rather you did, too. ' ' 
 
 "It can't be very bad if she'd tell you " 
 
 "That's a matter of opinion. I know I'd marry no 
 man's leavings, and I'm only a poor devil of a G.P." 
 
 "Leavings good God! Here, tell me, tell me! I 
 can't wait till to-morrow. Get it out, quick quick, 
 man!" 
 
 ""Well, in the first instance, she's an illegitimate child, 
 and she's followed her mother's example not unnatu- 
 rally you could hardly wonder, and that boy's illegiti-
 
 DOWNWARD 293 
 
 mate, too. She's not a widow, and she's never been 
 married," 
 
 "Impossible . . . impossible " 
 
 "I was surprised, too, I can tell yon, as she was al- 
 ways so very particular. Why, she made quite a fuss 
 when I tried to kiss her, and wouldn't even let me use 
 her Christian name. But the worst is to come: the 
 staggering part of it is that she's been living on an 
 allowance from the man ever since." 
 
 ' ' A kept woman . . . merciful heavens, what infamy ! ' ' 
 
 "Pretty thick, isn't it? And one can't be sure he's 
 the only one. That lawyer friend of hers built and fur- 
 nished the house for her, bought the ground and all. 
 As you know, men don't put down money like that for 
 nothing. It may be all right, of course ; some fellows are 
 so queer about women, but to a man of the world, 
 coupled with all the rest it's certainly suspicious." 
 
 "Terrible . . . terrible. Jocelyn, d'you swear it as 
 man to man?" 
 
 "I swear it's the truth, so help me God. By Jove, old 
 man, I'm sorry for you!" 
 
 "I'm stunned! I thought her so pure, so sweetly 
 womanly!" 
 
 "She's a charming woman in every way, and I was 
 dead gone on her myself, but, honestly, she's not suit- 
 able for a ivife, not yours or any man's. I'm afraid 
 she's rotten bad throughout think yourself lucky 
 you've found it out in time. I'll tell you something 
 more. D'you know why I went off in such a hurry? It 
 was because I was so disgusted with her. I saw her one 
 night, at nearly twelve o'clock, entertaining that melan- 
 choly fellow from Square House. I know he was a 
 stranger to her; she must have picked him up on the 
 cliff, just like a common cocotte. And she was giving 
 him a drink! 7 always had to bring my own whisky 
 when I looked in of an evening said she couldn't stand 
 ha-ving the stuff in the house all a blind, of course, to 
 look more respectable. A damned good actress, no 
 doubt! I tell you, it gave me a shock, I just looked
 
 294 DOWNWARD 
 
 through the window for a rag, never dreaming she 
 wasn't alone; but for that, and the allowance, I'd have 
 overlooked the rest. Every woman can make a slip, and 
 it's cruel rough luck on them the way things turn out. 
 But letting herself be kept afterwards that's the nasty 
 part. And picking up strangers in the street! Too 
 thick, altogether too thick ! ' ' 
 
 "I can't believe it. I won't believe it till she tells rne 
 so herself. I'll go to her to-inorrow morning and. ask 
 her gtraight"
 
 XV 
 
 THAT Sunday morning, after a feverish night of 
 walking, Leigh watched the sun rise on the Downs. 
 Later he saw Dolly's blinds drawn up and her home 
 awakening for the day. To pass the time he went 
 wearily along the coast to Wylvering Towers, where 
 they had been so happy, only five days ago. Then, 
 hurrying back, he reached the bungalow just as Dolly 
 had come to the gate to wait for him, ready for her 
 walk. 
 
 "Why, what's the matter?" she exclaimed, at the 
 first glance at his face. "Godwin, dear, what is it?" 
 
 "Come indoors!" he answered, huskily. "I want to 
 ask you something." 
 
 In a flash Dolly knew. His grey face, his bloodshot 
 eyes could only mean one thing to her. Since they had 
 parted last night some one had told him ! 
 
 A chill crept around her heart the light seemed to 
 go out all those bright dreams for the new life van- 
 ished the gay castles in the air came tumbling down. 
 
 She would not be married now ! She was not to turn 
 that fair new page and start afresh. She was not to 
 have a new, real name and a new, real wedding ring. It 
 was over . . . 
 
 Before Leigh had spoken a word she knew exactly 
 what was coming. She sat very still and quiet, her 
 hands in her lap, while he blundered out his story in 
 clumsy, halting words. To his every question, she 
 answered, "Yes, quite true," in a small, cold, lifeless 
 voice. 
 
 "Have you nothing else to say?" he asked at last, 
 stung by her attitude. "Have you no defence to make 
 for the injury you have done me?" 
 295
 
 296 DOWNWARD 
 
 "I've done you no injury! I was prepared to make 
 you as perfect a wife as woman could be to man, within 
 my powers." 
 
 "But but you've deceived me you've outraged 
 me!" 
 
 "How have I deceived you!" she cried, suddenly 
 warming. "I haven't told you a single lie, nor acted 
 any lie beyond taking the title 'Mrs.,' which I was com- 
 pelled to do for my son's sake. How have I deceived 
 you? I'm exactly what I appear to be a woman, 
 strong, healthy; my hair's all my own and it reaches 
 nearly to my feet; my eyes are bright with health and 
 not with belladonna; my teeth and colour are all my 
 own there's nothing sham about me from crown to 
 heel. Presumably that was the kind of wife you wanted 
 since you sought me out, not I you! Well, where 's the 
 deception?" 
 
 "I thought you pure!" said Godwin, with bowed 
 head. 
 
 "Pure what d'you mean by 'pure'f How can you 
 assess the exact purity of a woman 's mind ? "We 've had 
 all sorts of talks, we've discussed intimate questions 
 whatever quality of purity you detected in me then is 
 genuine. I haven't shammed for you! But, of course, 
 you don't mean purity of mind you men have a false 
 and vulgar standard! you refer to technical purity, 
 the only kind you can understand. "Well, how were you 
 deceived ? You imagined me a widow that is, a woman 
 who has given herself in wedlock innumerable times. 
 Instead of which you find me a woman who has once 
 given herself out of wedlock, and you consider me irre- 
 vocably soiled damaged unfit for an honest man's 
 wife. How pitifully ridiculous ! ' ' 
 
 "I don't admit it. Your arguments are dangerous 
 and unsound in the extreme. A man has a right to 
 demand purity in the woman he is going to marry." 
 
 "Purity again !" cried Dolly, despairingly. "If you'd 
 only tell me what you mean by that ! If I 'd announced 
 myself as a spinster and you'd discovered the child after-
 
 DOWNWARD 297 
 
 wards then I could have understood your anger, but 
 you couldn't have expected virginity in a widow!" 
 
 "Heavens! Can't you see that the fact of marriage 
 makes all the difference?" 
 
 "I know it's supposed to, but for the life of me I 
 can't see why it should. And have you the right to 
 demand such innocence in me ? Has your own life been 
 so spotless?" 
 
 "It's absurd to bring that question up," he answered, 
 coldly. "I am a man; it's only natural there should be 
 a different standard for women, since the results of their 
 actions are so different." 
 
 "Of course! and it's only natural a man should take 
 advantage of the fact that the woman has to bear the 
 result for both," retorted Dolly, with bitter aptness. 
 
 "Oh, don't let us fling words at each other any 
 more what's the use? You think in a different lan- 
 guage to me. You don't seem to have an idea as to how 
 severe a man's code is on this matter." 
 
 "No, I don't, and thank heaven for it!" she cried, 
 with angry irony. "You think me a fallen woman, 
 unfit to marry; but there's still a depth to which I can't 
 sink, since I can't understand a man's code !" 
 
 The tired man rose to his feet. "What's the use of 
 arguing?" he said, wearily. "It's all over; let me go." 
 
 "No, no, Godwin!" Dolly caught him by the arm. 
 "Don't leave me I implore you to stay! Let's argue 
 all day and all the night, if need be. Let me hear every- 
 thing you can say against me and let me defend myself. ' ' 
 
 "It can do no good." 
 
 "Not to you, perhaps; but to me it can. I don't ex- 
 pect to convince you, but I must convince myself that 
 I'm not really the debased creature you think me, or I 
 shall lose my self-respect. Don't you understand what 
 the result of such a blow as you have dealt me to-day 
 might be? If I lose belief in myself, I'm lost! That's 
 the fatal harm you virtuous people do your deadly 
 censoriousness robs the erring of their self-respect, and 
 thus they lose the only weapon with which to fight their
 
 298 DOWNWARD 
 
 way back, the sole defence between them and the 
 depths!" 
 
 Leigh was impressed against his will by the earnest- 
 ness of her pleading and the appeal in the deep sadness 
 of her eyes, as she faced him, one hand stretched out to 
 keep him back. 
 
 "Upon my soul, you seem a good woman," he mut- 
 tered, looking fixedly at her. 
 
 "I'm a decent woman, Godwin; I'm pure in the real 
 sense of the word, and the fact that you can't see it 
 shows to what an extent narrow and conventional views 
 can warp a man's real nobility. I'd have made you a 
 good wife!" Her voice shook as the wild regret for all 
 those fair dreams of the new life surged up in her. 
 "Ah, don't be afraid," she went on, sadly, "I'm not 
 going to entreat you; I know it's all over; I couldn't 
 marry you now, no matter if you begged me " 
 
 The man sat down again. "You said just now ..." 
 he hesitated, embarrassed, his voice growing indistinct 
 "you said 'only once.' My poor child, I'm very sorry 
 for you; that was very hard. I know what scoundrels 
 some men are; I can understand a woman losing her 
 head ... it isn't so much that; it might even have been 
 possible to overlook that, but the frightful part of it to 
 me is that you've accepted an allowance from this man 
 ever since. You've lived on him at your ease coining 
 your shame, so to speak. ' ' 
 
 "But what else could I do, with a child?" 
 
 "You could have worked for your child," he an- 
 swered, sternly, "refused the payment of dishonour 
 worked, and thus atoned!" 
 
 "Oh the cruelty and imbecility of you men!" Dolly 
 cried, furiously. "Wasn't the happiness and welfare 
 of my child the best possible atonement and justifica- 
 tion? What sort of life, what sort of upbringing and 
 atmosphere could I have provided for the boy, strug- 
 gling in dire poverty to make a living for us both? 
 Won't the home and surroundings and personal devo- 
 tion I've been able to give him through accepting his
 
 DOWNWARD 299 
 
 father's money won't they make all the difference in 
 the world to his character and his future ? Why should 
 I sacrifice both him and myself to this senseless idea of 
 petty pride, which you call atonement ? Having already 
 done him one wrong, am I, then, to heap other wrongs 
 on him by denying him all the advantages that money 
 can buy?" 
 
 "You've got your lesson pat," said Godwin, grimly. 
 He distrusted glibness in women and hardened his heart 
 accordingly. 
 
 ' ' I 've had time enough to think of it all these years, ' ' 
 she answered, bitterly. "And when you talk of work, 
 why should I be the only one to work ? Why should not 
 a man work for his child, no matter in what circum- 
 stance it was born? Considering the enormous disad- 
 vantages of illegitimacy, surely the very least a man can 
 do for an illegitimate child is to pay for its keep ! ' ' 
 
 "The law of England " began Godwin, stiffly. 
 
 "Oh, don't talk to me about the law, or I shall lose all 
 patience! The cruel, devilish law of England allows a 
 child only one parent the father; unless it's a child of 
 what they call shame, and then the mother's good 
 enough! A father's name is considered an honour, 
 something to keep clean and do credit to, but to bear a 
 mother's name is a mark of disgrace. What could be 
 more monstrously unjust and cruel? These horrible 
 laws that you men have made for us " 
 
 "Oh, what's the good of all this, Dolly? I'm not re- 
 sponsible for the laws. What good can we do by talking 
 and talking?" 
 
 ' ' No, no. . . . You shan 't go ! " Once more she barred 
 his exit with outstretched arms, and her eyes were so 
 wild that he felt afraid of her. 
 
 "You've talked of atonement! How long ought it to 
 last, d'you think? I've been atoning every minute since 
 I committed the fault! Is it to go on forever? a life- 
 time of expiation for a minute's sin? Is that just, you
 
 300 DOWNWARD 
 
 He thought he had not deserved such scorn as quiv- 
 ered in her words and flashed from her steely eyes. 
 
 "What do you know of my punishment?" she con- 
 tinued, passionately. "Ah, if I could show it to you, bit 
 by bit, as it ate into my heart!" Her voice was quiet 
 now and full of intolerable pain ; the words fell from 
 her lips slowly, very slowly, as she stared in front of 
 her. . . . "Those dreadful first weeks of terror and 
 humiliation: the ghastly day I knew I was to be left in 
 the lurch to fight for myself: the deadly temptation to 
 destroy the thing that meant my ruin . . . and the long 
 months of bodily and mental misery : the loneliness . . . 
 ah, Godv:in! the awful loneliness . . . and the climax 
 when I had to face that fearful agony alone. ..." Her 
 voice faltered and broke into a sob. 
 
 "If you men knew what women go through!" she 
 went on, and as he listened Godwin Leigh felt strange 
 tears start into his eyes "And I was alone no grate- 
 ful husband, no kindly lover to praise and comfort me. 
 And the afterwards, too, was terrible, when I'd lost 
 health and looks and spirits, and the doctor told me I 
 must never dance again. I'd thought so much of my 
 dancing, but I lost that, too. . . . 
 
 "And the long years I've lived here the long, lonely 
 evenings listening to the wind howling. Can you think 
 what it's been to a woman of my temperament? I, who 
 thirsted for Life ! ' ' Her voice sank to a whisper. ' * Can 
 you guess at my sufferings and temptations? . . . And 
 now this last blow ! ' ' she thought suddenly of Helen 's 
 stricken face as it had turned from her door, two days 
 ago. "Hell? only a woman with my history knows 
 what hell means ! ' ' 
 
 Godwin felt a sudden impulse to rush forward and 
 seize her in his arms. But Jocelyn's phrase recalled 
 itself insidiously: "A damned good actress!" He stiff- 
 ened again and once more moved towards the door. This 
 time Dolly let him pass. 
 
 "One more thing," she said, wearily. "Who told 
 yon?"
 
 DOWNWARD 301 
 
 "It was Jocelyn!" he replied, after a moment's 
 hesitation. 
 
 "What? Arthur? Not Arthur Jocelyn ? I told him 
 in the greatest confidence he swore to keep my secret ! ' ' 
 
 "Well, he thought he owed it to me as a friend." 
 
 Dolly was bewildered. Her words came breathlessly: 
 ' ' But I was his friend, too ! Did he owe me nothing ? ' ' 
 
 "Men stand by each other." 
 
 ' ' Ah, your code again your splendid code ! ' ' she 
 cried, fiercely. "Oh, I'm glad I'm a woman! I'd rather 
 be a fallen woman even than such a man as you or 
 Arthur!" 
 
 The door was shut Dolly was alone. She sat down 
 very slowly, repeating to herself : ' ' He was my friend 
 I trusted him." 
 
 And a voice in her heart whispered : "Helen was your 
 friend Helen trusted you." 
 
 The front door banged. Dolly realized that Godwin 
 Leigh and all that he stood for was passing out of her 
 life. She uttered a loud cry and ran out into the hall. 
 The dream of marriage had been so dear to her, it was 
 difficult to believe it had ended. For a second she 
 wached the tall figure striding, with bowed head, along 
 the road ; then, turning sharply, blinded with her tears, 
 she stumbled to the hearth and fell on her knees, a 
 huddled heap of woe. 
 
 "Oh, Dacre come to me!" she sobbed, "I can't bear 
 any more." 
 
 In the kitchen old Elizabeth listened to her lady's 
 sobs with a face puckered with anxiety. She would have 
 liked to have cried herself, but that wasn't her way. At 
 last she took from the dresser drawer a worn little 
 leather writing-case and drew from it a sealed envelope, 
 on which was written, in Dacre Hamilton's writing: 
 "To be sent if Mrs. Faithfull should be in any grave 
 trouble." Inside was a stamped telegraph form, ad-
 
 309 DOWNWARD 
 
 dressed to the lawyer's partner at the firm's London 
 offices. It contained only five other words: "Wire 
 Hamilton come Wylton Elizabeth." 
 
 The old dame smoothed it out thoughtfully. 
 
 "I expect this was the kind of thing he meant," she 
 muttered. "The time's come, I don't misdoubt. That 
 there starchy clothes-pole have given her the go-by, sure 
 enough, and it'll do her good to meet a real man again, 
 if nothing else comes of it. There ! I shall lose a day on 
 account of this dratted day-of-rest. Well, it can't be 
 helped and now to make that poor, dear lamb a nice 
 cup of tea."
 
 XVI 
 
 AFTER an extraordinary cross-country journey round 
 the coast from Folkestone to Skarne, which took twice 
 as long as the crossing from Boulogne, Dacre Hamilton 
 arrived at "Good Hope" late on Wednesday evening. 
 A telegram from Folkestone had warned Dolly of hia 
 arrival, and for once he had consented to let her put 
 him up for the night. 
 
 After a late supper, when the secret of his sudden 
 appearance had been explained, they settled down by the 
 fire in the little drawing-room, and slowly and painfully 
 Dolly told him what had been happening. He had said 
 very little, but his presence alone was a deep comfort to 
 her, and as she looked at the fine, clean-cut face, with its 
 lines of thought and deep, kindly eyes, a sense of peace 
 stole at last upon her troubled spirit. 
 
 "I don't know what I should have done if you hadn't 
 suddenly come like an angel from Heaven," she said. 
 ' ' This morning, when I woke up and remembered again, 
 I felt like dying of despair, the blank was so awful but 
 you've changed it all. What made you give Elizabeth 
 those directions so many months ago?" 
 
 "I knew you would never dream of fetching me across 
 half Europe, no matter how much you needed me, and I 
 didn't want you to be in need, that's all. There's not 
 much that escapes the Priceless One's eye; I knew I 
 could rely on her to summon me if you really 
 wanted me." 
 
 "But, my dear friend, I've wanted you frightfully all 
 the time! I can't tell you how I missed you." 
 
 "It was to hear you say that, child, that I went away. 
 I didn't mean to speak just yet, but I must. . . . Dolly, 
 303
 
 804 DOWNWARD 
 
 don't you think it's time you came to me at last and let 
 me take care of you and Keddy for always?" 
 
 ' ' Oh, Dacre, don 't don 't ! I 've suffered enough ! ' ' 
 
 "Ah, I'm too old and grey, of course; I might have 
 known the most beautiful girl in the world wouldn't 
 have me." 
 
 "Grey what nonsense! You've only got about ten 
 grey hairs, and I adore them all. If you only knew what 
 it means the haven you offer me but I've some pride 
 left, and I can't can't be married out of pity." 
 
 "Well, I can, and I've certainly no pride where 
 Dolly's concerned. Marry me out of pity, child, just 
 because you're sorry for an old fool, who found out too 
 late how dearly he loved you and has been ass enough 
 to waste four years more in the hope you'd get to tol- 
 erate him." 
 
 ' ' Dacre ! Is it really true ? Can it be true 1 No, no, I 
 can't listen; you're only doing it because you're sorry 
 for me. If you had really cared, you wouldn't have gone 
 away for so long." 
 
 "Can't the dense child understand that the poor 
 Solicitor-Slave went on purpose to make her miss him, 
 to make her find out just what he meant in her life, if 
 anything ? ' ' 
 
 "Is that really true?" 
 
 "The Slave swears it." 
 
 "Is that why he wrote so very seldom?" 
 
 "That's why he stinged in stamps!" 
 
 There was a pause, during which they looked deeply 
 into one another's eyes. Then Dolly spoke. 
 
 "Dacre, dear, my kind, true friend, I can't imagine 
 anything more perfect than to stay with you always 
 I've told Cliff so scores of times. I would never have 
 dreamed of accepting Godwin if I'd thought you cared 
 for me in that way, but I never could believe you did, 
 and in any case I can't let you marry me now I know 
 that other men regard me as ... unfit for wifehood." 
 
 Dacre took her 4 right hand and placed it against his 
 heart, covering it with both his own.
 
 DOWNWARD 805 
 
 "Listen, little Dolly," he said, very solemnly; "to me 
 you're still the little golden-haired girl who came to me 
 in trouble fifteen years ago. Ever since then you've 
 brought most of your troubles to me, and I've tried to 
 help, but not very successfully, since the only real way 
 to help is to share. I know your remorse and your sor- 
 rows I want to share them. I know your wounds I 
 want to heal them. I know your long and bitter atone- 
 ment I want it ended and forgotten. Only one thing 
 will blot out your grief and the awful hurt men have 
 done to your soul, and that's love! Little Dolly, I love 
 you commonplace words, but the most misunderstood 
 in the world. I've seen so much of the sad hearts of 
 men and women that I've learnt to know something of 
 what love means. Come to me, dear, and let me show 
 you." 
 
 For the first time he kissed her lips. . . . 
 
 "I love you, too, Dacre," whispered Dolly; "there's 
 nobody like you ! But what can I do for you in return 
 for all you do for me?" 
 
 "Ah, how can you ask such a question? you who 
 can give me joys I've never dreamed of you who give 
 me your lovely, young life, the riches of your beautiful, 
 warm woman's heart? Think how cold I've been all 
 these years with nothing but my work! You put fire, 
 youth, joy into my life the debt is all on my side, 
 believe me, my girl of girls ! ' ' 
 
 "And Keddy?" said Dolly, wistfully. 
 
 "D'you think my heart's so small it can't find room 
 for a little microbe of a man-child not a yard long? 
 Why, of course I want him too; we couldn't get on 
 without our boy." 
 
 At the word "our" Dolly clung to him rapturously. 
 "Dacre, you're an angel!" she said. "That's not the 
 word, but I can't find a better. When I think of other 
 men I've known Theo, my father, Colin Lester, Gallo- 
 way, Jocelyn, Godwin Leigh why, I can hardly believe 
 you're a man at all!" 
 
 " It 's a doubtful compliment, but I 'm out for all I can
 
 306 DOWNWARD 
 
 get to-night. Superman, perhaps? Well, I decline the 
 role I prefer that of Solicitor-Slave prior to merging it 
 in the jealous, masterful, iron- willed Husband." 
 
 Dolly laughed deliciously. "Laugh again, my Dolly!" 
 said Dacre, in delight; "I want you to laugh for hours 
 daily till the corners of your mouth are turned up the 
 right way again. "Well, where were we? ... I can as- 
 sure you I am a man, but it's lucky for me you've only 
 met such a low lot of thorough scoundrels. In compari- 
 son with them even a very ordinary thief of a lawyer 
 must necessarily shine out as a demi-god ! ' ' 
 
 "Godwin wasn't a scoundrel; every one would call 
 him a white man." 
 
 "Only a half-caste, my dear. If he uttered all the 
 things you've repeated to me, he must be a precious 
 poor stick of a man. Inside, he's only got a dried valve 
 instead of a heart." 
 
 "I'd no idea you were such a frivolous, talkative 
 person, Dacre I've never seen you like this before." 
 
 "Ah, you've never seen me just engaged to be mar- 
 ried! But I shall tone down soon the wise husband 
 rarely talks; but, by the way, d'you realize that the 
 Solicitor- Slave and Superman, the Lawyer-Thief -cum- 
 Demi-God, is still patiently waiting to be accepted?" 
 
 "You'll never be ashamed of the boy?" whispered 
 Dolly. 
 
 ' ' Never, dear why should I ? A little child is a little 
 child, and this one 's yours. He shall have my name and 
 be my son our eldest son, Dolly." 
 
 Dolly hid her blush against his shoulder with a sigh 
 of utter content. 
 
 Presently they began to make plans. "I arranged 
 with my partners to take six months' holiday," Dacre 
 told her. ' ' I hadn 't had a proper one for ten years, and 
 I realized it was then or never. Two months are left 
 still: the Riviera season is not done yet, and what my 
 girl needs is gaiety. What do you say to a few days in 
 London to get some smart gowns, then back here to pick
 
 DOWNWARD 307 
 
 up Keddy and Elizabeth, and then off to the cote- 
 d'azurf" 
 
 "Oh! how glorious that would be! But even you 
 don't want to take a child and an old woman on your 
 honeymoon." 
 
 "Certainly I do I refuse to be parted from Eliza- 
 beth. I M rather leave you behind ! It'll be the time of 
 her life, once she's recovered from the journey, and 
 Keds will be in the seventh heaven. He can protect her 
 from the amorous advances of the Latin nations, whilst 
 you and I wander in the orange groves or waste our 
 substance in the Rooms. And sometimes we'll go excur- 
 sions up the hills; you can ride a donkey, and we'll find 
 an immense mule for the Priceless One and a small asslet 
 for the Man-child. The Slave will walk. Is it a 
 bargain t" 
 
 "Shall I wake up and find it's a dream?" was Dolly's 
 answer. 
 
 "And now we must turn in, as I shall have a very full 
 day to-morrow. Fortunately it doesn't take long to get 
 a special license." 
 
 "Oh, Dacre so soon?" 
 
 " I 'm forty-five, sweetheart ! ' ' 
 
 Dolly kissed him charmingly. "To-night you're only 
 about twenty-two," she murmured. 
 
 "I'll catch the nine-thirteen express and get back 
 here in time for dinner. Engage a room for me some- 
 where, will you? The day after to-morrow we'll be 
 married in Skarne Church by the vicar, that nice old 
 chap who christened Keddy. I'll give him a call on my 
 way to the station. Not a soul but ourselves in the 
 church, except Cliff and the boy and Elizabeth, of 
 course I'd rather leave the bride out than that ador- 
 able woman! If possible, I'll bring Cliff back with me 
 to-morrow night. It wouldn't be legal without her, 
 would it? You consent? Heaven bless you!" 
 
 "I'm entirely in the hands of my solicitor." 
 
 "Good and there you shall stay, madam! We'll 
 catch the twelve o'clock train up after our wedding,
 
 308 DOWNWARD 
 
 yes ? and for six solid days you shall shop madly, without 
 interruption, the Slave merely existing to carry parcels 
 from place to place. And if you're sure you can get 
 your gowns done in time, I'll book four berths in the 
 luxe-rapide for Saturday week. Agreed?" 
 
 "Are you sure I shan't wake up soon?" asked Dolly, 
 ecstatically. Dacre continued with a sudden change of 
 voice: "There's one person I must see on my return 
 to-morrow afternoon, or before we're married next day, 
 and that's Mrs. Walter." 
 
 "Oh, Dacre, if you only would! If any one can help 
 her you can. I shan't be happy even on my honeymoon 
 unless I can take away very different thoughts of her." 
 
 "I'll do my utmost. One thing more can you tell 
 me where there's a saddler's or harness-maker's in 
 Skarne, near the station, if possible? It'll save time 
 the other end if I buy a horse- whip before starting." 
 
 "What on earth for?" 
 
 "For Arthur Jocelyn," said Dacre, grimly. 
 
 And "Won't Bognor be pleased!" was Keddy's de- 
 lighted comment when his mother told him the wonder- 
 ful news at five-thirty next morning, holding him tight 
 in her arms.
 
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