r?LANCELOT 
 
 MAURICE HEWLETT
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT 
 
 From the library of 
 Henry Goldman, C.E. fh.D, 
 1886-1972
 
 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 A COMEDY OF ASSUMPTIONS
 
 He had a lovely girl pondering his words
 
 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 A COMEDY OF ASSUMPTIONS 
 
 BY 
 
 MAURICE HEWLETT 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 R. F. SCHABELITZ 
 
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 II. xix. 56 ff. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 
 1912
 
 Copyright, 1912, by 
 THE CENTURY Co. 
 
 Copyright, 1911, 1912, by 
 THE METROPOLITAN MAGAZINE COMPANY 
 
 Published October, igi2
 
 Annex 
 
 PR 
 MIS! 
 
 CONTENTS 
 BOOK I 
 
 THE YOUNG MARRIED COUPLE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I THE CARDINAL ASSUMPTION .... 3 
 
 II DIANA'S WEDDING 14 
 
 III GEORGIAN A'S FATE 24 
 
 IV THE SUIT 34 
 
 V THE LETTER 46 
 
 VI HOUSEHOLD ACCOUNTS 52 
 
 VII THE PURSUIT OF THE EYE 63 
 
 VIII THE EYE CAPTURED 69 
 
 IX CHARLES ON WIFELY DUTY .... 86 
 
 X THE DUKE OF DEVIZES 103 
 
 XI VAUXHALL 112 
 
 XII GERVASE POORE 132 
 
 XIII REFLECTIONS OF A MAN WHO GOT 
 
 WHAT HE WANTED 144 
 
 XIV FRUITS OF VICTORY 165
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK II 
 EGERIA'S DISTRACTIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I EQUIVOCAL ESTABLISHMENT . . . .179 
 
 II NAUSITHOE AND OTHER POEMS . . . 194 
 
 III SHE READS OF HERSELF 209 
 
 IV THE WAKE HOUSE BALL 227 
 
 V EXTRAORDINARY CONVERSATION . . . 240 
 
 VI THE SOUL OF GEORGIANA 254 
 
 VII THE CROWN 268 
 
 VIII FIRST FRUITS 280 
 
 IX WOUNDS IN THE OPEN 297 
 
 X LOCAL REMEDY 314 
 
 BOOK III 
 LOVE IN A MIST 
 
 I THE DUKE AT THE HELM 329 
 
 II ITALY AND THE LOVERS 342 
 
 III GENIUS Loci 354 
 
 IV FONTEMAGRA 367 
 
 V GERVASE'S TEETH 380
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PACK 
 
 He had a lovely girl pondering his words . Frontispiece 
 She would press his hand, lean to him urgently and 
 
 murmur her assurance 59 
 
 " Is this what your quiet ways bring to you? " . .113 
 " I think that you and I can serve each other " . .145 
 
 He snaps his fingers at prosody 219 
 
 When the Duke was present things went much better 289 
 
 Come, my beloved, come 309 
 
 The sun to him was dark, and silent was the moon 363
 
 BOOK I 
 THE YOUNG MARRIED COUPLE
 
 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 THE CARDINAL ASSUMPTION 
 
 PARED down to the bones, so to speak, here is 
 what happened. The Marquis was talking 
 to three or four young men at Arthur's, where he 
 was dining. The talk had drifted from a battle 
 in Bermondsey to politics, and from politics to 
 ways and means. Reform, said the Marquis, 
 could be staved off, because an election could be 
 staved off. The King was very ill, much worse 
 than he chose to discover; but this was known, and 
 a demise of the Crown was no time for an appeal 
 to the country. If the Whigs could be beat, he 
 (the Marquis) would take office and hold it, 
 with a decent backing. But where was he to get 
 that, he wanted to know. Then it was that Lord 
 Netherbow spoke up for the Treasury. There 
 were a number of men there biting their nails, who 
 could bite to better purpose. The Marquis's 
 very blue eyes concentrated. " Name me three," 
 he said, plying his tooth-pick. The names came 
 out with one consent from the three or four young 
 
 3
 
 4 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 mouths. There was Starcross " He 's an ass," 
 said the Marquis; there was Filney "And 
 he 's another " ; there was Lancelot, who was a 
 worker. The Marquis was now vague. His eyes 
 regarded, but did not comprehend, the cruet-stand. 
 "A worker, is he?" he said musingly. : ' They 
 are rare. I might have an eye for him." Then 
 he dipped the corner of his napkin and wiped his 
 mouth with it; and then he drank his port. And 
 that was all. 
 
 But Lord Netherbow, a smart Under Secretary, 
 reported it next day to Clarkson, and Clarkson 
 confided it to Jodrell, and Jodrell at luncheon-time 
 gave it to two others, one of whom handed it 
 on, a rounded whole, to Charles Lancelot. Each 
 bosom as the rumor swelled its way was elated, 
 every eye as the prospect unfolded was the 
 brighter; but none, oddly enough, swelled less and 
 none took less luster than the bosom, than the eyes 
 of Charles Lancelot, for whom, as it came to him 
 finally, Lord Monthermer, the Marquis, actually 
 had an eye. The room in which he sat at his 
 duties, with two other young gentlemen of similar 
 parts and breeding, fairly hummed with the news. 
 It seemed to lift for a moment the thick, sun- 
 enriched dust that hung serried before the win- 
 dows; but Charles Lancelot heard it unmoved. 
 He just lifted his grave face on its long (too long) 
 stalk of neck, and smiled palely, with a remote
 
 THE CARDINAL ASSUMPTION 5 
 
 gaze to Whitehall, as if he saw ships on an hori- 
 zon. Remote young man ! As if conscious of 
 high destiny, he palely smiled. And then he re- 
 sumed the driving of his quill; and his colleagues 
 looked at one another, and one of them said, 
 " Cool hand, Charles." 
 
 But Charles was not at all cool, nor was his heart 
 beating at all steadily in his breast. It was neces- 
 sary to his self-esteem that he should appear so, 
 and perhaps no one will ever realize the efforts 
 that he made to get through that languid summer 
 afternoon with his accustomed method and dili- 
 gence; but cool he was not neither then nor 
 afterwards, until the conviction had settled down 
 in his mind that a great career was opening to him. 
 He had, I may say, always suspected it (for no one, 
 in his quiet way, had a higher opinion of him than 
 himself) ; and, now here it was dawning upon 
 him ! When this conviction, I say, had settled 
 itself in, his elation crystallized into a magnificent 
 gravity, a lofty expectancy which did not add to his 
 social charm. He had always been serious, and 
 was now portentous, under the shadow of Lord 
 Monthermer's eyelid; he absorbed himself in his 
 work, and when he went out into the world exhaled 
 it like an aura. He confided his immense secret 
 to very few; but Mrs. Mayduke was one of those 
 few. He told her. 
 
 Now she, being a pretty woman, was a friend of
 
 6 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 the Marquis's, and ought to have helped; but the 
 young man deprecated her offer with a raised 
 hand and a sideways head. " Not for the world, 
 I beg," he had said. He had not added, but 
 Mrs. Mayduke did to herself that his arn> 
 gance could not have it supposed for one moment 
 that his future depended upon anything but merit; 
 and Mrs. Mayduke was partly right. His golden 
 destiny would come to him tarnished, he felt, if a 
 woman or man of his friends should advance the 
 hour by ten minutes ; but that was not all. Charles 
 Lancelot was so made that he would rather venture 
 nothing at all, than venture and fail. His self- 
 esteem was more than tender it was raw. So 
 it befell that when upon some occasion or another 
 and there may have been more than one he 
 met Lord Monthermer in Mrs. Mayduke's draw- 
 ing-room, though he was presented to the great 
 man, and even exchanged a few words with him, 
 the summons of the watchful eye was not even 
 looked for; and when afterwards from time to time 
 the two may have met in street or assembly, noth- 
 ing occurred except this remarkable thing, that 
 Charles would hide from the embracing scope of 
 the Marquis's eye, and seem for all the world like 
 a hunted wretch rather than a candidate, seeking 
 by all means to escape the hour of doom. Such 
 tricks will self-esteem play with an otherwise 
 reasonable man.
 
 THE CARDINAL ASSUMPTION 7 
 
 But none the less urgently did the overburden- 
 ing consciousness of the eye and its message for 
 him drive Lancelot to his work, and none the 
 less anxiously was the summons awaited. Years 
 passed; Lord Monthermer took office under the 
 Duke of Jutland, and nothing was done either 
 to Charles Lancelot or, it may be owned, to the 
 country; and then it was given out that his lordship 
 had been appointed Envoy Extraordinary to the 
 Congress of Cracow, whither presently his lord- 
 ship departed in semi-state, where he actually was 
 at the time this tale begins, battling for the rights 
 of his country, and hunting three days a week with 
 a pack of foxhounds which he had had imported 
 from his kennels down in Hampshire. Nor, if 
 Diana was so served, was Venus forgotten; for his 
 lordship kept two establishments in and near Cra- 
 cow. In one of them he lived with his suite; in 
 the other a Miss Kitty Jervis reigned, a fair 
 Cyprian whose London address was Prospect 
 Place, Islington. But with her we have nothing 
 at all to do. 
 
 In and through his lordship's doings, and her 
 doings, and the rumors of them which reached 
 our shores, Charles Lancelot of the Treasury 
 mewed his youth and nursed his bantling convic- 
 tions as best he might. He saw his foster-father 
 in affairs out and home, saw him get a dukedom, 
 and become " the Duke " among dukes, as before
 
 8 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 he had been u the Marquis " among marquises, 
 and still stood upon his great assumption; en- 
 cumbered with the many others which had grown 
 parasitically round it. Now here in what follows 
 I have put down the root of his matter, the great 
 primary assumption which is the root also of the 
 title of this book. 
 
 Charles Lancelot was of good family, as he was 
 quite well aware. If he had been of better, prob- 
 ably he would have thought less about it; but his 
 father had been Dean of Wryhope, and his mother 
 was a second cousin of Lord Drem's. Eton and 
 Trinity had had the rearing of him, with no result 
 upon his seriousness, nor upon the curious blend of 
 diffidence and good conceit which he presented to 
 those of the world who cared to concern them- 
 selves with him. Acutely sensitive to outside opin- 
 ion, and cautious not to provoke it before the time, 
 he was still more sensitive to his own, and still 
 more cautious there. Nothing, certainly, would 
 have led him to his great assumption but the 
 harmony it made with his intuitions. From 
 childhood he had believed himself called to a 
 rank out of the common reach, and against all 
 evidence had clung to that assurance. Here then 
 he had plain proof, the first, no doubt, of many. 
 The assumption once made, it took root and pos- 
 sessed itself of his being. His destiny was indeed
 
 THE CARDINAL ASSUMPTION 9 
 
 involved, and, with that, other destinies which 
 got swept into the vortex of his. 
 
 For, of course, this nursling of Destiny, not at 
 all exempt from the ordinary needs of our nature, 
 sought for himself a sharer in his high designs; 
 and of course this book is an account of whom he 
 got, of how he got her and of what he got. 
 
 An illuminative remark in Lady B 's journal 
 
 may be quoted before I get to work a friendly, 
 shrewd-spoken high lady she was, who thought 
 none the worse of a great man for a liaison, and 
 none the better of a woman. She was able with 
 ease to make that curious distinction, saying, first, 
 that the woman was necessary to the man's com- 
 fort, and, second, that she ought to be shunned 
 for being it. Odd how these things go. Here at 
 least is what she writes : 
 
 ". . . Large party at Bagington to meet the 
 Duke" Devizes, naturally: there was no other 
 
 " J s, Lambs, Llantrissants, a sprinkling of 
 
 Wingfields, Lord Alvanley, Rogers, C. Greville, 
 Sydney: an extraordinary jumble of sheep and 
 goats. He kept us all waiting two days ' Busi- 
 ness of State ' and then rode over from Tor- 
 cross, of course by the door of Her carriage. The 
 famous Mrs. Lancelot is the most discreet Egeria I 
 ever saw. Very pale, with serious, almost round 
 eyes, a small mouth, beautifully shaped, she looks a 
 prude. Thin beyond the point, but exquisitely
 
 io MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 dressed. She looks worn and very sad. Talks 
 scarcely at all not much more than monosyl- 
 lables, even to him and yet one can see what she 
 stands for in that quarter. Close observer, misses 
 nothing. High sense of humor, I fancy. The 
 husband came post from town, arrived the same 
 evening, but did not appear until breakfast. Very 
 much at the Duke's service perfectly proper 
 to Her. It 's a strange menage! She was with 
 him all the morning in the library over his leather 
 boxes, and Charles Lancelot ran about on their 
 errands like a footman. After luncheon the Duke 
 and she rode alone. Evening half of the 
 county to dinner. Lord Winthorpe gave her his 
 
 arm ! The Duke took Lady W and had me 
 
 on his other side. We talked of Burdett and Re- 
 form. He is all for musketry, recalled Bona- 
 parte's ' whiff of grape-shot ' a certainty, he says, 
 but doubts if he '11 get a free hand. His cabinet 
 
 is very fidgety, especially Bernard J n (whom 
 
 he calls ' Mother ' !) . Funny to hear the drop in 
 his voice when he refers to Her. We all think 
 it most romantic and had no notion how far it 
 had gone. She had only been lancee since the 
 Duchess died but I know it is a long-standing 
 affair. After dinner the men came in to tea 
 and the happy pair retired to the library, which 
 is kept sacred to his business of all sorts. I ex- 
 changed a few civilities with her before that. She
 
 THE CARDINAL ASSUMPTION n 
 
 seemed to me shy, but not ill at ease reserved, 
 rather." 
 
 Let one example suffice for many. You may 
 depend upon it that Charles Greville, the com- 
 placent, imperturbable gentleman, did not miss 
 much. The curious may find it. 
 
 But there follows overleaf the following entry, 
 curiously guarded : " The unforeseen ! The Lady 
 had an interview in the park at eleven which upset 
 her for the rest of the day. The Duke was deus 
 ex machind, swooped down in the nick of time and 
 scared off the interloper. He made light of the 
 matter with that extraordinary, apparent candor 
 he has. He seems to be telling you everything, 
 and tells you nothing. He gave me, for instance, 
 a wonderful, documente account of a dismissed 
 secretary, pulling a bundle of letters out of his 
 pocket, turning them over, opening one or two, 
 finally reading out of one things which, I am posi- 
 tive, did not exist in it. I was very discreet, and 
 so was everybody, I am glad to say. Poor little 
 sweet, suffering creature, I am deeply sorry for 
 her. But her men are devoted to her. She had 
 a talk with Hermia Chambre, and left us in the 
 evening. So did her men." 
 
 And now, who was this lady? What had she 
 to do with so great a man? What had the pair 
 of them to do with blind and groaning England, 
 for whom one of them at least was conceived to be
 
 12 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 working while she groaned? And then the hus- 
 band, Charles Lancelot, running errands " like a 
 footman " what part had he to play? Did he 
 run for England's, for the Duke's or for his wife's 
 needs? And how did England take it as all 
 of a piece? or as the indignity too much (see- 
 ing that his grace had his windows broken, and 
 Reform carried over him) ? Or as negligible? 
 And finally, who is Gervase Poore? 
 
 Gervase Poore, luscious and perfervid young 
 poet, who rendered the story of Nausithoe so 
 warmly as to move the stately reprobation of 
 Wordsworth, and get an invitation to breakfast 
 from Rogers, in actual truth composed that work 
 round about the dainty person of Mrs. Lancelot; 
 and why and how that is so, and what ensued, is 
 a part of the business of this tale. Love, then, is 
 one of the tenants of my new house, and politics, 
 or what gentlemen are pleased to call politics, is 
 another. England hardly comes in, unless by 
 chance one whisks the draperies too high and you 
 see her drab millions swarming like maggots in 
 an old cheese, at the back of the scene. England 
 is not even Chorus : her time was not yet, is hardly 
 now. Let Tom Moore be Chorus, little chirping, 
 
 musical, brave soul, him with candid Lady B 
 
 and caustic Mr. Greville; let them chatter the in- 
 terludes, but watch we our actors : Gervase Poore, 
 serving his term in a lawyer's office ; haunting his
 
 THE CARDINAL ASSUMPTION 13 
 
 lady's whereabouts o' nights, flaming in her wake 
 like phosphorus of the sea; hymning her heaven- 
 high in verse, and hectoring her with scowling 
 brows, driving her (poor gentle soul) along his 
 appointed thorny way: watch we him for one. 
 Monthermer, next, or Devizes, trim-whiskered, 
 blue-eyed, armed at all points, guiding his country's 
 chariot from his chair at White's, measuring the 
 death-pangs of millions, taking counsel and what 
 not from his Egeria, and dining at eight sharp 
 watch him next; and with him anxious Charles 
 Lancelot, the young Treasury official, edging (how 
 oddly) into power over England, aping his chief, 
 plodding the dusty pavements while his grace 
 soared serenely in the blue, running his wife's 
 errands or setting her to run his (God knows 
 which). These three men, and between them 
 that tender, conscientious, pale and slim woman, 
 Georgiana Lancelot Strangways as she had 
 been, Georgiana Strangways ; most anxious to 
 do well, caring, of the four of them, most for Eng- 
 land, listening now to her heart, now to her con- 
 science, distracted, worn thin, pitiful, but always 
 lovely and kind: a woman, not a saint; a martyr 
 but not a champion : here 's the resolving element. 
 And England, blind, groping, blundering, groan- 
 ing, resumes all at the end; and, if no better, is 
 no worse off. Here 's the tragi-comedy of Mrs. 
 Lancelot, and I Ve set the stage.
 
 II 
 
 DIANA'S WEDDING 
 
 THOSE three fair daughters of Sir Peter and 
 Lady Strangways of Thorntree in Co. 
 Glos. whom Lawrence painted and Tom Moore 
 sang, Diana, Georgiana and Augusta, all married 
 well; that is to say, they married young, married 
 in order, and married money, or place, or a pros- 
 pect. Fair they were, in an age when beauty did 
 not think to be adorned by much art, when the 
 bosom wore no jewel but its own, and the com" 
 plexion needed no aid of the paint-box; fair, 
 healthy, wholesome girls, well-connected and toler- 
 ably read. The baronet, a sturdy squire, who sat 
 for his county in a borough of his own, had mar- 
 ried money as well as degree, for his lady came of 
 the house of Polk, and was cousin to the reigning 
 Lord Quartern; and when he went to town for the 
 session would take Mamma and a daughter with 
 him. The only son, Polk Strangways, the future 
 Sir Polk, was serious and already a minor canon 
 of Gloucester. He was married to a widow and 
 hardly comes into this tale. It is not with his 
 but with his sister's wedding that we begin. 
 
 14
 
 DIANA'S WEDDING 15 
 
 Diana Strangways, a sprightly, ambitious young 
 Woman, eighteen, and in the fulness of her bloom, 
 was shown at Almack's no more than twice. Lady 
 
 J y took her the first time, and was very well 
 
 satisfied. So she might be, seeing what followed. 
 It is Diana Strangways, dark-haired and glancing 
 sideways and a little upwards, who in the Lawrence 
 group stands behind her sisters, and touches, just 
 touches, with her finger-tips her left breast. In 
 her hair is the crescent of the huntress. Later on, 
 this was held to be prophetic, seeing whom it was 
 she married and what came of it. But to return 
 with her to Almack's: the second time she was 
 
 taken by that kind and fashionable Miss B , 
 
 the friend, and some say more than friend, of old 
 
 Lord O , who was not long dead. And that 
 
 was decisive for Diana, who may be excused for a 
 triumphant note in her correspondence. Two 
 days afterwards she was proposed for by Sir 
 Carnaby Hodges, a Leicestershire magnate of fiery 
 face and white whiskers, twice her age and a 
 widower with children. Diana demanded a week, 
 and took it, though she had made up her mind 
 before she went to bed. Sitting indeed upon the 
 edge of that sanctuary, she wrote to Georgiana, 
 her next in age, not yet out, who was at Thorntree, 
 fledging her wings with a governess : " Sir 
 Carnaby Hodges has asked for me, and I shall 
 accept him I daresay. He is too stout for my
 
 1 6 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 ideal knight, and thinks of nothing but horses and 
 dogs; but perhaps I was flattered to be thought 
 worth adding to the stud. I admit that he is 
 permaturely gray, that he has been passably 
 wicked; but I had rather my husband had his 
 wickedness behind him than before. Now don't 
 pinch your lip, my dear! When you are as ex- 
 perienced as I am you will appreciate safety. You 
 are much too romantic. I have always said so. 
 Mr. F (Need I say that I refer to Rodrigo?} 
 will despair; but not for long. He is incurably a 
 rover. I told you that he was at Almack's, hand- 
 some and very pale, dressed all in black even to 
 the shoe-buckles. He bowed, but did not ask me; 
 when he had seen me stand up with Sir Carnaby 
 he turned away, and I saw him cover his eyes with 
 his hand just for a moment, as if to brush an 
 image away. He did not stay long. Next day 
 I received a packet from him. I think that he 
 kept one short note but no more. He has 
 behaved handsomely, you will agree. Now, my 
 dearest sister, don't tease me. I am resolved to 
 do my duty, and assure you that I shall be very 
 well at Rothley. Not that I mean to be there 
 more than I can help. I shall make him sit we 
 shall have two, if not three boroughs, with all 
 respect to the radicals and we shall certainly 
 have a house in town. I shall insist upon that. 
 Dover Street, I think." Georgiana, the serious
 
 DIANA'S WEDDING 17 
 
 one of the three, was perturbed and wrote her 
 mind upon many pages; but they arrived a day 
 after the fair Diana had accepted Sir Carnaby. 
 
 All this was in March, the wedding in August, 
 in the early days of the recess. There was no 
 reason for delay, with a sufficiency of money on 
 both sides, and Sir Carnaby was anxious to get 
 back to Leicestershire in ample time for the cub- 
 bing. He was master, you must understand, of the 
 Rothley, whose kennels were at Rothley Harcourt, 
 his place, and did n't feel that he could be spared. 
 Diana, who looked well on horseback, agreed. 
 
 However, it is not upon her wedding I wish to 
 dwell, but upon what happened to Georgiana in 
 the course of it. Lovely bridesmaid to a hand- 
 some bride and the adjectives are chosen 
 she made a serious conquest, though she was 
 scarcely turned eighteen, and in fact knew nothing 
 about it. But so it was. In the party from 
 Corby, which was Lord Quartern's seat (Lord 
 Quartern, brother of Lady Strangways), there 
 chanced to be a young Treasury official, one 
 Charles Lancelot, upon whom it was currently 
 said the Secretary of State had a favorable eye. 
 If the Secretary of State, therefore, should be en- 
 trusted (as everybody believed) with the forming 
 of an Administration, if he should become, in fact, 
 First Lord, the harvest, or a sheaf of the harvest 
 of that favoring eye might be the young man
 
 1 8 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 Charles Lancelot. That, then, was the young 
 man's capital, that and his high seriousness in the 
 conduct of his affairs. A tall young man, dark 
 and deferential, urbane, and somewhat conscious 
 of his urbanity slightly stooping, perhaps nar- 
 row in the shoulders, correctly rather than ele- 
 gantly dressed, rather near-sighted, exceedingly 
 serious; such was Mr. Charles Lancelot. 
 
 Discretion was, I believe, his foible. He may 
 have carried it too far. There he had a lovely 
 girl pondering his words, and he kept them even 
 and general. He talked of the Waverley novels, 
 and considered with Miss Georgiana how far a 
 gentleman with reasons for concealment might go 
 in denials. He might feel justified, at a pinch, in 
 disclaiming all knowledge of the matter a re- 
 buke to impertinence, binding him to nothing 
 but could he deny " upon his honor " ? Mr. 
 Lancelot thought not, and quoted Lord Lans- 
 downe, at whose table he had ventured the dis- 
 tinction. " To you, Miss Strangways," he had 
 gone on, " such differentiation would savor of 
 hypocrisy. You are, I can see, the soul of truth. 
 I confess also that I should myself be at a loss. I 
 hope you will not believe me capable of paltering 
 with the divine commands. I hope I am a serious 
 person." At any rate he took pains to be thought 
 so but he went no further in the declaration of 
 his feelings than what I have reported. Upoo
 
 DIANA'S WEDDING 19 
 
 politics he was dumb. I believe that he hardly 
 mentioned Lord Monthermer, who was the Secre- 
 tary of State with the friendly eye, more than 
 three times a day to her; and said nothing, believe 
 me, nothing of his eye. He spoke of his lord- 
 ship's labors at Cracow, where the Polish ques- 
 tion, legacy of Bonaparte to exhausted Europe, 
 was then in debate; but only to extol his manner; 
 nothing of his matter. His manner, according to 
 Charles Lancelot, was perfect. There, for in- 
 stance, you had the value of truth. " Lord Mon- 
 thermer, Miss Strangways, has the lightning-stroke 
 upon affairs. He blinds with the bare truth, while 
 he rends the fogs of our enemies. Prince Met- 
 ternich is no more proof against him than M. de 
 Talleyrand was. He has been called blunt; but 
 his weapon pierces, not breaks. At Cracow there 
 was a dead set against him. The word had gone 
 round. It was marked. His appearance in an 
 assembly was the signal. One and all they turned 
 their backs upon the hero the deliverer of 
 Europe. It was so noticeable that the Emperor 
 himself felt bound to excuse his subjects. Did you 
 ever hear Lord Monthermer's retort? ' Sire,' he 
 said, ' these gentlemen present me with that part 
 of their persons with which they have made me 
 most familiar. So far as I am aware they have 
 nothing else.' ' 
 
 These general observations were reserved for
 
 20 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 the evening after the ceremony, when the gentle- 
 men had finished their wine and were mostly col- 
 lected about the tea-table. Miss Strangways, as 
 she was now become, had, however, made her im- 
 pression earlier in the day. He had remarked her 
 for a shy rather than a striking beauty, and con- 
 sidered that pensiveness sat well upon her. Her 
 merits of form and feature had to be sought; it 
 flattered him to reflect that she had attracted him 
 almost at once, that no long time had they spent in 
 appealing to his discernment. Closelier examined, 
 she pleased. No very high color, perhaps, in her 
 face; but that enhanced the splendor of her eyes, 
 which were of that hyacinth blue one associates 
 forever, who has seen it, with the Adriatic. Her 
 face was rounded by a firm chin, her nose fine and 
 straight, her upper lip short and proudly curved, 
 the lower full " as though a bee had stung it 
 newly." Her form, he considered, was enchant- 
 ing, the bust not full but tenderly shaped. Doubt- 
 less she might have been taller, to carry so proud 
 a gravity but he had never cared for tall women. 
 I rehearse the catalogue as he made it : he was in 
 no mood for fault-finding, since he admired also 
 her reserve. Her manner was full of courtesy, he 
 thought, and yet she never went an inch beyond 
 what was necessary. There was no unbosoming. 
 He admired that, for that again reflected upon his 
 discrimination. So far he went during the pro-
 
 DIANA'S WEDDING 21 
 
 gress of the wedding ceremony as to whisper to 
 his neighbor and hostess, Lady Quartern, behind 
 his hat, 
 
 " A charming bride, truly." 
 
 " My niece," said Lady Quartern, by no means 
 in a whisper. 
 
 " Impossible to doubt the relationship." Where- 
 at Lady Quartern, a flushed and rather shiny per- 
 sonage, tapped his arm smartly with her fan. 
 
 " Miss Georgiana becomes Miss Strangways? " 
 he ventured again. " One had thought that would 
 be the place of Miss Augusta. They must be 
 close in age." 
 
 " Georgie 's eighteen," said Lady Quartern, 
 " and Gussy's hair is only up for the occasion. 
 You '11 find that Georgie will fill the place." 
 
 "With discretion, I should say she appears 
 to be mature." 
 
 " Good heavens," said Lady Quartern, much 
 too loudly, " she '11 lose half that figure in a year." 
 
 No conversation on these terms could be main- 
 tained by a young Treasury official. Mr. Lancelot 
 shivered into silence. Mute though he must be, 
 however, he did not cease to consider the figure 
 she made, there in her shadowing hat and long 
 ribbons, in her clinging white frock and blue sash, 
 gravely pondering the bride's nosegay which she 
 carried, as if to hear within its lily-tubes the voice 
 which was to proclaim her destiny. She was, with
 
 22 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 her sister Augusta, at the head of the procession. 
 Behind them in a bevy, tall and short, plump and 
 willowy, were county neighbors. Stout Sir Car- 
 naby's wrinkled back was within a yard of her 
 nose, Diana's train shimmered at her feet. He 
 thought to see disapproval of so glaring a con- 
 trast when for rare moments she ceased her 
 attention to the flowers she held and gazed past 
 the pair to the communion table, before which 
 the horrid pact was soon to be made irrevocable 
 " past praying for," as Lord Quartern observed, 
 more truly than he knew, poor man. As if to 
 point his suspicions of her questioning mind, he 
 overheard the pew behind him comment upon his 
 own text. 
 
 " Well, she 's got him. He 's tallyhoed once 
 too often now he 's killed in the open." *' A 
 chopped fox, eh? " And then, " Old Carnaby 
 like a baron, of Christmas beef what '11 she 
 make of all that brawn ? " And the answer. 
 " Make of him? Why, a pair of steps." 
 
 He committed himself no more, either to Miss 
 Strangways' charms or Lord Monthermer's be- 
 nevolent greatness, but was silent on the way back 
 to Corby, though rallied more than once by her 
 vigorous ladyship. In his memory remained, how- 
 ever, the picture of the grave young beauty seek- 
 ing her fate in the lilies; and he had a good mem- 
 ory.
 
 DIANA'S WEDDING 23 
 
 He had sought her out, as has been told, after 
 dinner, and next morning, before the carriage and 
 the saddle horses were ready for the return to 
 Corby, he had the privilege of a walk with her in 
 the garden. She took him over the park.
 
 Ill 
 
 GEORGI ANA'S FATE 
 
 GEORGIANA STRANGWAYS, at the age 
 of eighteen, being a serious-minded girl, felt 
 herself ushered to the threshold of life by these 
 recent ceremonies. She seemed to stand there, 
 looking through the door at the sunny distances, 
 the dim blue hills, the far cumulus clouds, gold- 
 litten at the edges. She was conscious of heart- 
 beats. She seemed suddenly to realize that she 
 had something to keep, something to take with 
 her as she fared forth. Everything done to her 
 by way of preparation, the curious ritual, for in- 
 stance, of clothes, by which they uncover a girl's 
 bosom and cover her ankles, put up her hair and 
 cut down her bodices, seemed (she could not tell 
 why) to be filled with symbolism. She thought 
 now that these things foreshadowed Diana's wed- 
 ding, and forewarned her of hers. Of her wed- 
 ding indeed! That such was to be her portion 
 was a matter of course. She had known that 
 since she had known anything at all, but it had 
 been Di's affair which had made the certainty a 
 fluttering matter. Not that there was much in 
 
 24
 
 GEORGIANA'S FATE 25 
 
 Sir Carnaby to cause flutterings; certainly his joc- 
 ular references to beaux and belles and wedding 
 bells, and such like had had the opposite effect. 
 The less he dwelt upon marriage the more chance 
 for her heart to rise at the prospect. Augusta, 
 her younger sister, judging Sir Carnaby and mar- 
 riage with the clear, critical eyes, and from the safe 
 standpoint of fifteen, had wondered how Di could 
 do it, but Georgiana, nearer to the brink by three 
 years, found her speculations absorbed in the prob- 
 ability that she herself would have to do it within 
 a measurable time. She was a serious-minded 
 girl, to whom marriage meant by no means en- 
 largement, as it had exclusively to Diana. It 
 meant, rather, a call. Some mysterious personage, 
 a shape, an emanation in fact, Love robed, 
 possibly winged, certainly crowned with a star or 
 stars, appeared at your bedside in the gray of 
 dawn, was discovered there by your slow-opening 
 eyes, or discovered himself by a touch upon your 
 forehead. You looked up awfully at his serene, 
 rapt face. " Come, for you are chosen. I will 
 show you to the bridegroom," he said, or you 
 thought him to say; and you arose and followed 
 him. This was the way of it; but she did not 
 discuss the matter with Gussy. Gussy's concern, 
 ever since the wedding, had been wholly with ways 
 and means. "How could she have done it? 
 How could she? Georgie, I hope you won't be
 
 26 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 so impulsive. You ought to be sure of yourself 
 beforehand. Could n't you try with Mr. Mark- 
 by?" 
 
 Mr. Markby was a young man from Gloster 
 who came over to Thorntree every Monday morn- 
 ing to teach the rudiments of drawing. Georgi- 
 ana had smiled. Mr. Markby was chiefly re- 
 marked in the family for his enlarged knuckles, 
 which cracked as he opened and shut his hands. 
 They seemed to rub together like walnuts. It 
 was at this moment, or near it, that Gussy had 
 remembered Mr. Charles Lancelot. 
 
 " I thought he liked to be with you," she had 
 said. " Don't you call it paying marked atten- 
 tions, when they walk with you like that, and agree 
 with everything you say? " 
 
 Georgiana showed a slight increase of color, 
 but no embarrassment. " He did n't agree with 
 me, because I did n't say anything in particular. 
 He mostly talked himself." 
 
 "Did you fancy him?" Gussy asked, all her 
 soul intent upon the answer. 
 
 " I think that a very unpleasant word," 
 Georgiana had replied. " The maids use it. 
 We don't consider gentlemen like that." , 
 
 " Oh, yes, we do," Gussy declared. " We do, 
 but we don't say so. That is the difference. I 
 believe it will be found out one of these days that 
 we are all exactly the same."
 
 GEORGIANA'S FATE 27 
 
 Georgiana did not deny, but did not for one 
 moment believe it. She was a reader of poetry. 
 There was much that was attractive in the Byronic 
 lover a tempestuous young man, mostly in a 
 bad temper, whose feelings of passion made him 
 very uncomfortable, and were vented upon the 
 women of his acquaintance with disastrous results. 
 
 Other guests at the recent wedding were re- 
 ferred to at frequent intervals through that still 
 July weather. There had been Mr. Rose, for 
 instance, Mr. Adolphus Rose, whose " Poems ex- 
 pressive of Emotions induced by Reminiscence, 
 chiefly of travel in the Levant," met and chal- 
 lenged Mr. Wordsworth on his own ground, and 
 in the opinion of the partial beat him there. Mr. 
 Rose had been a wedding guest. His round face 
 and red whiskers, his thick calves, his badly-folded 
 stock had all been remarked by Miss Gussy, who 
 did not put him forward seriously as a rival to Mr. 
 Charles Lancelot. Georgiana too had remarked 
 upon Mr. Rose's peculiarities but did not admit it 
 to her sister. The more she liked poetry, the less 
 she liked Mr. Adolphus Rose. If poets were on 
 that model, better, by far, not know them. 
 
 Lord Monthermer came up for discussion a 
 great man indeed. Did Mr. Lancelot really know 
 him? Mr. Lancelot, it seems, really did. He 
 had called him " his chief " by which, of course, 
 he meant " leader of opinion," for chief in any
 
 28 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 other sense he was not at present; and then he 
 had related anecdotes. One or two of these were 
 regaled. Gussy, with the uncompromising eyes 
 of fifteen, had measured them up as they came. 
 " I believe that Lord Monthermer is greater than 
 that," she had said; " but I believe that Mr. Lan- 
 celot is not. They seem to me to be about his 
 size." If Georgiana had not been so dreadfully 
 conscious of the brink, of the pending apparition 
 of the tall and serene angel, of the voice saying 
 " Come," she would have been able to agree with 
 her sister. But just now all men seemed to be 
 enhanced by a premonitory glow, a sort of false 
 dawn. She felt conscious that Mr. Lancelot must 
 not be touched by such a daring hand; was certain 
 that, at any rate, she could have no part in such 
 criticisms. It seemed proper to tell Gussy that she 
 did n't know what she was talking about; and that 
 would have been done if she could have been cer- 
 tain of the command of her blushes. As it was, 
 she dismissed the subject with a sarcasm. " We 
 are talking like the people in the servants' hall," 
 she said. " Let 's be reasonable, my dear. One 
 wedding should last a family for a long time." 
 
 " It never does," Gussy said. " They 're fear- 
 fully catching things. I wish it was my turn." 
 
 Letters began to come, in due course, from the 
 adventurous Diana, telling chiefly of hunting feats
 
 GEORGIANA'S FATE 29 
 
 with the Rothley. Nothing about Sir Carnaby's 
 affection. She would certainly stay in the country 
 till February, when Parliament was to meet, and 
 they should all find one another in London. Papa 
 would come to town, of course, as usual. " I 
 have n't a house yet, which is rather vexing, as I 
 am telling my friends that they must be sure to 
 rally to my circle. We shall be mostly political, 
 and, of course, anti-Reform, but must have a 
 sprinkling of literary persons. They are all 
 Jacobins, I hear, and very dangerous, like that 
 dreadful Mr. Leigh Hunt, who spends so much 
 time in prison. But Carnaby knows somebody 
 who knows Mrs. Nelthorpe. If we could get 
 her ! I am told she is extremely witty. And her 
 beauty is undeniable. I still hope for Dover 
 Street, though Carnaby vows that it will ruin him. 
 Your friend Mr. Lancelot has chambers in Albany, 
 I am told. I have asked him to call. He was 
 staying with the Burntislands the other day, but 
 did not hunt. I met him at dinner. He spoke 
 guardedly of you. I must say he is a prudent 
 young man (he cherishes his future !), but, I think, 
 very handsome. Carnaby calls him a goose, a 
 parboiled goose. He is very violent, but as good 
 as gold, the most manageable of men when you 
 have found out his little peculiarities. They are 
 very small. For one thing, he hates being kept 
 waiting for dinner, and though devoted to me,
 
 30 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 never dreams of restraining his fury if that hap- 
 pens. He pulled the bell down twice last week, 
 and once rushed into the kitchen and called Mrs. 
 Pownace an old b h. He called her other things 
 besides, but my pen refuses the task of reporting 
 all that he said. As I say, dearest, he is my slave 
 at all other times but not then. I admit it. 
 And in the field he is, of course, supreme. I have 
 not a word to say. With these trifling drawbacks 
 I am, as I ought to consider myself, the most for- 
 tunate of women. His drinking powers have been 
 shamefully exaggerated." The letter finally con- 
 cluded, " Now, my dearest Georgie, won't you 
 make us happy by a visit? I assure you Carnaby 
 expects it, and frequently refers to it. ' Your 
 pretty sister,' he calls you, or ' that pretty demure 
 little rogue.' Indeed, he thinks a great deal of you, 
 and has a high opinion of your capacity. Charles 
 Lancelot is not nearly good enough for you, 
 though he admits that with the Marquis's interest 
 he might do great things." The invitation was 
 pressed, and accepted. Georgiana stayed three 
 months in Leicestershire, and the interest which 
 Mr. Lancelot had inspired in the bosom of Lady 
 Hodges was reinvested in his favor with a will. 
 It is surprising what momentum a man may ac- 
 quire in this manner. Lancelot did nothing, and 
 for all that appeared may have intended nothing 
 at all ; but he got himself fixed in the girl's head
 
 GEORGIANA'S FATE 31 
 
 as impending. It would have required a very 
 resolute or very impetuous wooer to have out- 
 valued him so long as he said nothing. 
 
 But though she spent Christmas with her sister, 
 and though the Hodges' revels were loud and long 
 and frequent; though she danced out the pointed 
 toes of her little shoes half a dozen times before 
 February came, there were no other suitors. 
 The young bloods of Leicestershire a Corin- 
 thian county looked for more positive charms 
 in a partner than clear gray eyes, a delicate flush, 
 and a Greek profile. Were her eyes gray or blue? 
 It is difficult to be precise, since they varied with 
 the light. When the candles came in, they showed 
 all black. In the mornings they were almost cold 
 in their grayness; and at noon they were hyacin- 
 thine, like a summer sea. Large they were, too, 
 and limpid, and could be very tender. Dangerous 
 eyes, you would have said, but not to Leicester- 
 shire, which demanded sparkle. Now Georgiana 
 was of the sort which does not sparkle provoc- 
 atively, but only when kindled; and Leicestershire 
 had not that to inflame her. As we should say 
 now, the county bored her; and so it was that she 
 did not impress the county. She was too quiet, 
 and when she did speak, too direct. She never 
 had the vapors, she was slow to move ; she had no 
 affectations, did not cling to the house on wet days
 
 32 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 or haunt the shrubberies on showery ones. She 
 neither swooned nor clouded with tears; and on 
 the other hand, she did not ride to hounds. 
 Again, she was a reader, and Leicestershire read 
 nothing; again, she was not blue. Now, Leicester- 
 shire said, a girl should be one thing or another; 
 but she must needs be expressed by negatives at 
 this period of her life. There were many things 
 that she was not; and what things she may have 
 been it passed the wit of Leicestershire and the 
 Rothley Hunt to discover. Stalwart young men 
 in high-collared coats pressed her to their hearts 
 and whirled her about up the middle and down 
 again, and so on. She danced beautifully, like a 
 fairy, said the poetical. You could hardly see her 
 feet, said some. She was so light that you 
 could n't be sure you had her. " Now a man 
 wants an armful, Lady Hodges. 'Pon my honor, 
 your charming sister is a feather-weight. Sylph- 
 like, eh ? So she is. But we look for bone in the 
 shires." Diana, herself of the dainty type, knew 
 that it was no good saying anything to Georgie. 
 Georgie was obstinate and very deliberate. But 
 she was thrown away upon Leicestershire, which 
 thought Diana capital fun, and that a girl should 
 be like an apple dumpling. 
 
 Georgiana's own view of herself was very de- 
 pressed at this time, and perhaps it 's no wonder. 
 She was conscious that she had taken her first
 
 GEORGIANA'S FATE 33 
 
 flight through the door, and had not pleased. 
 She wrote herself down as humdrum, guardedly 
 (as was her manner) to Gussy at home, but more 
 freely in her journal. " They have nothing to 
 say to me, and I nothing to them. They come 
 bouncing in from their hunting, full of appetite; 
 look me all over as if wondering where to begin, 
 fall to with zest, and then put me on the side of 
 the plate all gristle and little bones, like an old 
 French partridge. Must men always be so red, 
 I wonder? These all look as Marsyas must have 
 been when Apollo had taken off a skin. They 
 shine with health; and when they get rather old 
 they take a purple tinge. . . . We hardly ever 
 see them after dinner, or if we do, had rather not. 
 . . . The only book in this house is Blair's " The 
 Grave." There are other things in boards which 
 I cannot admit as books." Later on we find: 
 : ' We dined at Saxelby, and my fate was men- 
 tioned. He had been coming, but was detained 
 at the last minute. I saw his letter of excuses 
 very polite, but formal. No name."
 
 IV 
 
 THE SUIT 
 
 SIR PETER STRANGWAYS, who was a 
 fine-looking man, and sat for a borough of his 
 own, came up, as his custom was, to London in 
 February, knowing, as he always did, that he was 
 a fool for his pains. He could easily have got 
 a pair, and what is the use of being able to put 
 yourself in Parliament if you cannot take yourself 
 out of it when it suits you ? In the county he was 
 something, in London much less. In the county 
 he had his broad-eaved, wide-winged house, his 
 park, his lime-tree avenue, his lake, his farms, 
 his Petty Sessions and his Quarter Sessions. In 
 London he had dark lodgings in Wimpole Street, 
 his club window for mornings and the House for 
 afternoons. He made his bow on birthdays, and 
 saw his wife into her chariot for drawing-rooms. 
 Then he went back into the dark lodging and stood 
 tapping his teeth with his glasses at the window 
 until it was time to go back to the House. To 
 be a baronet, and not a very rich baronet, in 
 London; to have for your wife an honorable lady, 
 whose family did little or nothing for you, and 
 
 34
 
 THE SUIT 35 
 
 stayed in the country when it might have been 
 your right hand in town these were unsub- 
 stantial privileges. Sir Peter never spent a session 
 in this manner without swearing it should be the 
 last. But this particular session had an impor- 
 tance of its own, he had been told. 
 
 It is true that one of the first to call in Wimpole 
 Street was a tall and serious-faced young gentle- 
 man, dark, grave-eyed, circumspect and cold in 
 manner who, alighting from a bay horse and hand- 
 ing up the reins to a groom, tapped the knocker 
 briskly and gave the name of " Mr. Charles Lance- 
 lot, to wait upon her ladyship." It is true that, 
 one of the first, he was also one of the most per- 
 sistent. But it is also true that, to Sir Peter 
 Strangways, who was an open-minded man, he was 
 one of the most insupportable of his wife's guests. 
 Sir Peter, indeed, disliked Mr. Lancelot, for he 
 was afraid of him, and only called him a whipper- 
 snapper or a hop-o'-my-thumb when he was not 
 there when nobody, in fact, was there but his 
 coachman who served him, in London, for valet 
 and buckled his stock for him as if it were breech- 
 ing, with a knee elevated towards (but just not 
 touching) the small of his back. The saucy Miss 
 Augusta used to surmise that Plumer whistled at 
 her papa, and said, " Woo, 'oss," and " Stand 
 steady, ye old foxy," as he buckled and strapped 
 him. But this was only surmise, because Miss
 
 36 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 Augusta, still in pig-tails and rather short skirts, 
 remained at Thorntree with her governess, Miss 
 Tinsley. To the trusty Plumer it was that Sir 
 Peter confided his distrust of the sober young 
 gentleman, by nods and winks, by veiled references 
 to " young Mr. Superfine," or " young Buckram," 
 or open declarations that he was not going to be 
 downed by a young god in breeches. Plumer, for 
 his part, found consolation in the horse which Mr. 
 Lancelot bestrode. The gentleman had, said 
 Plumer, a good seat and good hands; and if he 
 could sit that spanking bay, the plague was in it 
 if he could n't be trusted with a wife. Where- 
 upon, " Who said he wanted a wife, you fool? " 
 would cry Sir Peter with a snort, and Plumer stood 
 rebuked. 
 
 Mr. Lancelot, however, pursuing a line of con- 
 duct which he had thought out beforehand as suit- 
 able to the occasion, was extremely deferential to 
 Sir Peter (whom he called " sir " and bored 
 extremely) ; to her ladyship, who liked good man- 
 ners; and to Miss Strangways, whom he never 
 called Miss Georgiana. That was a country trick, 
 perhaps, and Mr. Lancelot was a very Londonish 
 young man. Besides, he had his ideas and his 
 line of conduct. Briefly, this may be indicated as 
 implying attentions and expecting them. Lady 
 Strangways quite understood. Nothing was said, 
 but everything was implied. Georgiana, stand-
 
 THE SUIT 37 
 
 ing in her delicate beauty before the open door, 
 was to be reasoned into wedlock by those tremen- 
 dous silent arguments which stated nothing and 
 assume everything. 
 
 She had nobody to advise her, nobody in whom 
 she could have confided even if she had been of 
 the temper for confidences. Her dreams of a 
 lover heralded at dawn by an angel, a finger on 
 his lip and the message alight in his eyes, of love 
 like a warm wind enwrapping her, wafting her 
 out through the door into the sunny space beyond 
 why, they were dreams, of course. Before the 
 measured advance of the severe young Treasury 
 clerk they melted as the hoar-frost on the lawn. 
 Without knowing it, without a plain word she had 
 accepted the position. There was nothing to be 
 done but to lay her hands in her lap and wait. As 
 for her dreams, now she dreamed no more; and if 
 the truth must be told, instead of " Lalla Rookh " 
 and " The Corsair,'' instead of " Marmion " and 
 ' The Pleasures of Memory " she now applied 
 herself to Mr. Burke's " Reflections on the French 
 Revolution," and did her best to admire the " Let- 
 ters of Junius." 
 
 The course of this ordered wooing may be briefly 
 indicated. Mr. Lancelot called frequently, dined 
 three times in Wimpole Street, brought cards for 
 Almack's, tickets for the opera, rode beside the 
 Strangways' carriage in Hyde Park. When Geor-
 
 38 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 giana was presented he offered a bouquet; wher- 
 ever she was taken, to rout, assembly or ball, he 
 was present. He danced correctly but without 
 vivacity. He could not make a false step, was 
 incapable of a happy one. At intervals, but never 
 in privacy, he conversed with Georgiana on 
 politics, on foreign travel (he had made the 
 French-Italian-Swiss tour, but had not been to the 
 Levant) , upon the Fine Arts, upon English liter- 
 ature but not poetry. Poetry, he owned, fa- 
 tigued him. Much of it he thought subversive 
 of morals, but admitted the elegance of Pope and 
 the didactic force of Johnson; some of it was surely 
 merely laxative. If he must read modern poetry, 
 it should be that of Mr. Crabbe. He found there 
 a measure of judgment which could hardly perhaps 
 be better stated in a blue-book. " To be elegant, 
 Miss Strangways, should not involve inexactness 
 of statement; a refined understanding may coexist, 
 surely, with sound brain-work. In Mr. Crabbe r s 
 curious tales, my intelligence is never shocked. 
 Lawful curiosity is gratified; amusement is not 
 absent; taste is admitted. Mr. Crabbe rarely 
 offends the most refined sensibility. I am sure 
 that you must admire this poet." Georgiana 
 faintly defended Sir Walter Scott. Lord Byron's 
 work she did not attempt to discuss. 
 
 All this was very oppressive, but quite custom- 
 ary. Everything went as everything in such
 
 THE SUIT 39 
 
 affairs did go by assumption. Georgiana's pa- 
 rents assumed the wooer, assumed the wooed; 
 Georgiana herself assumed Mr. Lancelot's desires, 
 and was ready, at the word of command, to assume 
 her own ; and as for Mr. Lancelot, he assumed all 
 that could be assumed; assumed himself desirable, 
 and desired, assumed his future and her interest 
 in it; was ready, in fact, to " assume the God." 
 There were no raptures anywhere, in any bosom. 
 Mr. Lancelot was no Giaour who would carry her 
 heart and understanding by storm; and yet it was 
 evident that she had found favor in his eyes. 
 Modest-minded as she was, she had to admit that. 
 She knew, that is, that he admired her, knew that 
 she was being courted. His eyes, for instance, 
 swept the assembly the moment he entered it until 
 they had found hers, after that never left them for 
 long. He was always at hand to escort her in or 
 out of a room; when she spoke he was all at- 
 tention; when she remained long silent, he became 
 silent also. What she did not know was that he 
 was really in love with her, in his sedate and 
 cautious way. So far as he had a passionate need 
 it was for her. So far as he realized womanly per- 
 fections he saw them in her. He admired her 
 quiet and clear beauty, respected her good sense, 
 believed that he should work the better and ad- 
 vance the higher with her beside him. He was 
 really proud that so great a man as the Marquis
 
 4 o MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 of Monthermer should have him in his eye, not 
 for the glory it was to his repute, but that he might 
 throw himself all glorious as he might be at Geor- 
 giana's feet. That is the real thing; that is genu- 
 ine love; but he was quite incapable of expressing 
 it, and would indeed have been shocked at the 
 notion of such a thing. He would have judged it 
 the height of indecorum, being one of those in- 
 numerable Englishmen who have been reared up 
 to distrust every instinct which may be the subject 
 of thought. To love is not shameful, perhaps; 
 but to admit yourself a lover, to act like one, is 
 unbecoming. So we disguise our feelings, and in 
 the marriage service are careful to inform the 
 world that the sacrament was instituted for the 
 procreation of children. This was a statement 
 which young Mr. Lancelot would have quite seri- 
 ously maintained. 
 
 So the affair ran its appointed course before her 
 very eyes. She saw herself passive, with quiet 
 limbs, watching indifferently all the stages of the 
 assault. The spring passed, the summer came to 
 the full, the prorogation was in sight before 
 Charles made any serious attack. He hovered, he 
 hovered forever; he was assiduous, implied devo- 
 tion in every stoop of his shoulders toward her. 
 He was overpoweringly attentive, and Georgiana, 
 wondering in her own mind that she was not over- 
 come, was shocked at her want of sensibility. She
 
 THE SUIT 41 
 
 sat like a shadowed dove, and listened while he 
 did everything but woo her. But at last, being so 
 much upon her mind, he got to be upon her nerves; 
 so that when one night in July at D e House, 
 at a great assembly* he quite suddenly changed 
 his tone, and with tremulousness said, " Miss 
 Strangways beloved Miss Strangways par- 
 don me Georgiana ! I can contend no longer 
 with my feelings. Let me implore you to listen to 
 my vows of devotion let me assure you that my 
 happiness, welfare, hopes are centered in you ! 
 By this hand " which he now took " I beseech 
 you to tell me may I hope that you have some 
 regard for me?" When this, quite suddenly, 
 came beating at her ears like wings, she was so 
 much disconcerted by the strain that she burst into 
 tears, and hid her face in her hands. Mr. Lance- 
 lot, moved at last to forget himself and his duties 
 to society, was disturbed; he entreated her to calm 
 herself, and offered to go away. She had no 
 reply for him, being incapable of speech, and very 
 much ashamed of herself, although it 's true her 
 heart was saying to her all the time, " You foolish 
 girl, you see that after all you have sensibility." 
 Another assumption was added to the heap. It 
 was true enough that she had sensibility, but 
 very doubtful whether Lancelot's personality had 
 evoked it. 
 
 There was nothing for it, however, just now but
 
 42 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 to ask him to go away. She did it by an appeal- 
 ing look a momentary thing. He bowed and 
 left her. She hid herself, so far as she could, in 
 the shrubberies which, on this gracious summer 
 night, were at the disposal of the ducal guests, but 
 presently returned to the shelter of her mother's 
 turban and feathers. Lady Strangways, after one 
 keen look, realized what had taken place, and 
 really felt that all was as it should be. Tears in 
 a courtship were as proper as a rash to measles. 
 
 She was not a bad sort of woman by any means, 
 but there was no reason why she should rise above 
 her natural capacity. She had been trained with- 
 out intelligence, and had not very much of her 
 own. She thought, so far as she thought at all, 
 in maxims like those we have in our copy-books; 
 and she had no feelings to speak of, and not much 
 sensation. Any kind of intimacy with her children 
 was out of the question, and would have been to 
 her mind improper. Her husband was always 
 Sir Peter, even to herself. Her instincts, toward 
 him and toward their joint issue, were functions 
 rather than desires. She was incapable of seeing, 
 therefore, why Georgiana's affair should be more 
 serious to Georgiana than Diana's had been to 
 Diana, or her own to herself. She disregarded 
 the signs of distress in the girl's shining eyes and 
 storm-painted cheeks, and contented herself by say- 
 ing on the way home that she would speak with
 
 THE SUIT 43 
 
 her after breakfast in the morning-room. Geor- 
 giana, dumb beside her, murmured, " Very well, 
 Mamma," and betook herself to her bed. Before 
 going thither she knelt beside it and begged God 
 very earnestly to inform her heart with love for 
 Charles. She so named him for the first time. 
 Then, too serious to cry any more, she composed 
 herself for sleep as a novice might upon the eve 
 of her initiation. To-night a prayer, to-morrow 
 the veil; between them calm sleep at the feet of 
 Providence. 
 
 The interview was short and to the point. 
 
 "Mr. Lancelot I should say, Charles," said 
 Lady Strangways, " has told you the state of his 
 feelings, I imagine?" 
 
 Georgiana faltered that he had. 
 
 " He seems to me a very superior young man. 
 You are fortunate, I think." 
 
 Georgiana murmured polite agreement. " Very 
 fortunate, Mamma." 
 
 " Your prospects may be brilliant far more 
 so than poor Diana's. Sir Carnaby is respectable, 
 but nothing more for that sort of title gives no 
 real distinction. A knight has the same style ex- 
 actly. But Charles may make a great figure in 
 the world. Politics ! You know, I suppose, that 
 Lord Monthermer has him in his eye? " 
 
 " He has told me that, Mamma." 
 ' That speaks for him better than anything that
 
 44 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 I can tell you. If he has got into Lord Mon- 
 thermer's eye he may go anywhere. It means 
 talent and capacity but, of course, he's very 
 well connected. Distantly he is related to the 
 Drem family." 
 
 " I know he is," said Georgiana without much 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 Lady Strangways took her hand. " Much will 
 depend upon you, my child. Lord Monthermer 
 is a great statesman, of the old school. He is 
 very fond of the society of young ladies. You 
 will find many occasions of serving your husband. 
 I am sure you will bear them in mind." 
 
 " I should try, of course," said Georgiana, who 
 did not follow her mother's train of thought. 
 
 " A great deal will depend upon you," Lady 
 Strangways repeated, " if I know anything of Lord 
 Monthermer. And I do know something." 
 This might have been mysterious if Georgiana had 
 been listening. But she had other things to think 
 about, or to feel about. 
 
 Finally Georgiana was kissed and told to be a 
 good girl. There the matter ended, so far as 
 she was immediately concerned. She found her- 
 self betrothed. 
 
 At a quarter past four Mr. Lancelot was an- 
 nounced to her ladyship, kissed her hand, and re- 
 mained for a short time in conversation, standing 
 on the hearth-rug, with one arm on the mantel-
 
 THE SUIT 45 
 
 piece. Lady Strangways presently desired him to 
 ring the bell. 
 
 " Ask Miss Strangways to come to me," she 
 bade the man-servant. 
 
 In due course Georgiana stood^in the doorway 
 in her high-waisted white frock and blue sash, with 
 her piled hair showing the slimness of her neck 
 and beautiful shape of her head. She was deli- 
 cately flushed from the brows to the bosom, her 
 eyes were round and very blue rather scared. 
 Her lips were primly drawn into a bud. 
 
 " Come here, my child." She came and gave 
 mamma her hand. She did not lift her eyes. 
 Lady Strangways transferred the hand to its new 
 owner. ' Take her, my dear Charles," she said, 
 " and be assured of her affection. I am positive 
 that she will be to you all that a wife should be. 
 Before you go, you will of course see Sir Peter, 
 who is in the library." 
 
 Lancelot, who was really moved, looked at his 
 capture with misty eyes. 
 
 " I leave you to your little chat," said her lady- 
 ship. ' You have to be in the House, I suppose? 
 I know that your time is not your own." 
 
 Then she left the room, and Charles Lancelot 
 dropped to one knee.
 
 y 
 
 THE LETTER 
 
 SIR PETER STRANGWAYS, asleep in what 
 was called the library, and was only not the 
 dining-room because a door was shut, received 
 the suitor with heavy cordiality. He had been 
 schooled beforehand. 
 
 " Glad to see you, sir, and I think I may guess 
 at your errand. Cupid has been favorable, I 
 doubt not. He is a friend to the bold eh? 
 Well, well I found it so myself in my young 
 days. Now let me hear what you have to say." 
 
 Lancelot explained himself. It was not very 
 splendid perhaps. 
 
 " Five hundred a year, rising to seven hundred 
 and fifty! Ah, and a private fortune of three 
 hundred a year. My dear young friend, in these 
 days ! H'm, h'm we must talk this over, 
 you know. We must feel our way here." 
 
 Mr. Lancelot now referred to the Secretary 
 of State's eye. Yes, yes, Sir Peter had heard 
 about all that. Had his lordship committed him- 
 self on paper? His lordship, it seems, had 
 not, but was known to be dissatisfied with poor 
 
 46
 
 THE LETTER 47 
 
 Spendlove. Spendlove, his lordship said, was a 
 donkey. He had told Lord Drem (a distant 
 cousin of Mr. Lancelot's) that he must get a better 
 man than Spendlove a man to answer questions 
 in the House. Lord Drem had named his rela- 
 tive, and a borough; had named them in the same 
 breath. All this had been just before his lord- 
 ship's departure for Cracow where Spendlove, 
 it seems, was not distinguishing himself. 
 
 Then there had been a conversation between his 
 lordship and Charles. It had been short but 
 Lord Monthermer was always short in conversa- 
 tion short, but rather memorable. His lord- 
 ship had said that of Spendlove which Charles did 
 not care to repeat, and had asked him (Charles) 
 two questions: "Can you write a letter?" and 
 "Can you sit a horse?" The bearing of the 
 second question was only visible to those ac- 
 quainted with his lordship's habits. All such 
 knew that it was his custom to dictate answers to 
 his letters as he cantered in the park before break- 
 fast. Now Spendlove was an indifferent rider. 
 Further than this Charles could not go; but the 
 range of his lordship's eye was known to be wide, 
 and it was common talk in the Treasury that it was 
 apt to center upon Charles in any general assembly. 
 Sir Peter listened to these suggestive specula- 
 tions with his glasses, as usual, beating a tattoo 
 upon his teeth. In the end, he admitted that
 
 48 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 Georgiana had ten thousand pounds, and thought 
 that they might do pretty well. He then shook 
 Charles by the hand, stretched himself and de- 
 clared that he should just toddle into White's for 
 an hour before dinner. 
 
 Charles Lancelot took his leave without seeing 
 his betrothed again, mounted his horse and went 
 down to the House of Commons at a sober 
 walk. 
 
 That night Georgiana wrote to Gussy at Thorn- 
 tree. 
 
 " My dearest Augusta, I must tell you my news, 
 which is that Mr. Lancelot whom I must now 
 call Charles proposed to me last night at the 
 Duchess's ball. You will laugh at me when I tell 
 you that I was very much surprised and that I 
 cried, and could n't answer him ; but it is true never- 
 theless. Of course I had been thinking a good 
 deal about him for some time, as he had paid me 
 great attentions. But I suppose one is always 
 taken aback when it comes to the point. I did 
 not expect him to say anything, then, at any rate. 
 I couldn't say anything to him, so (most con- 
 siderately) he left me, but I suppose spoke im- 
 mediately to mamma, for she told me that she 
 wished to see me this morning, and did so. 
 She told me that I was very fortunate and that I 
 could be of great use to Charles in his career.
 
 THE LETTER 49 
 
 She said that Lord Monthermer, his chief (or his 
 future chief: I don't really know which), is fond 
 of ladies' society, and seemed to think that he 
 would like mine. I must say that that is very un- 
 likely, as he has never seen me, and cannot there- 
 fore know how dull I am in company, and how 
 much afraid of clever men. I am very much 
 afraid of Charles, though he is all kindness and 
 respect. He kissed my hand after mamma had 
 left him alone with me, and spoke very feelingly 
 about his sense of obligation to me, and his belief 
 that we should be the happiest couple in London. 
 He was extremely kind. He went on then to 
 talk of the future, of his political ambitions, etc. 
 He said that in these days of popular discontent 
 and dangerous tendencies against the throne and 
 the orders of society, it was of the highest im- 
 portance that men of family and education should 
 unite to crush in their infancy all germs of faction. 
 He hopes for a borough of Lord Drem's, who is 
 a cousin of his, and that then Lord Monthermer 
 will make him a parliamentary secretary, at first 
 unpaid. He thinks that he may rise to be a lord 
 of the Treasury. To work for me, he said, was 
 the dearest wish of his life. His language is 
 well chosen and very dignified, but grave. He 
 very seldom smiles, never laughs. I still think 
 him extremely handsome. He dresses with great 
 care, and looks well on horseback. [Then follows
 
 5 o MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 the anecdote about Lord Monthermer dictating in 
 the park.] 
 
 " Dearest Gussy, do write to me and wish me 
 joy. If you had been here I should have had a 
 thousand things to tell you. I expect that I shall 
 have a betrothal ring to-morrow. I have chosen 
 pearls, because I love them so. Charles said that 
 diamonds were not becoming to so young a be- 
 trothed, though I shall be twenty when I am mar- 
 ried. He is thirty, which is just the right differ- 
 ence, I think. The wedding will be at Thorntree, 
 I 'm glad to say, in November. Polk will be one 
 of the officiating clergymen, I suppose. I am writ- 
 ing to him, and of course to dearest Di. I know 
 that she admires Charles, and I hope you will too, 
 when you know him. 
 
 " We shall be home by the end of the month, 
 I hope. I am longing to see my sister again, and 
 I wish to believe that she shares the feeling. She 
 knows that my engagement will make no difference 
 between us. 
 
 " Dearest Gussy, will you contrive by hook or 
 by crook to let Henry Perrin know this news? 
 You might get a moment after church, or perhaps 
 when you meet him in the village. I don't feel 
 that I can write to him very well. I should like 
 him to know if possible before we return. Of 
 course all that was quite hopeless. 
 
 " I am going to be very happy, and very useful
 
 THE LETTER 51 
 
 to Charles. It is a great thing for a girl to have 
 such privileges as I have. Mamma says so, and I 
 am sure that she is right. I have a great many 
 letters to write. There are Uncle and Aunt 
 Quartern, Aunt Venables, to say nothing of grand- 
 mamma ! 
 
 " Adieu, dearest sister, and wish me joy.< 
 Your fond Georgie. 
 
 " P. S. We are to look at a house soon, which 
 papa thinks would be suitable. It is in Smith 
 Square near Westminster Abbey very con- 
 venient for the House, when we get there ! "
 
 VI 
 
 HOUSEHOLD ACCOUNTS 
 
 THE wedding was done quietly at Thorntree 
 on a very wet and windy day. The great 
 elms on the lawn before the window rocked them- 
 selves about and scattered their last pale largess 
 to the sodden grass. The rooks were tossed in 
 the sky like black flakes, and in gusts the rain 
 battered at the windows. Church was considered 
 to be out of the question, so a message was sent 
 down, at the last minute, to Dr. Mumby, the 
 rector, to say that the ceremony would take place 
 in the drawing-room; and Dr. Mumby in due 
 course arrived in his great riding-cape, with his 
 canonicals in a little black bag. The village was 
 greatly disappointed; but they rang the church 
 bells before and after the wedding. 
 
 There were four bridesmaids. Diana had had 
 six. 
 
 Lord Drem, a fine and ruddy man of five-and- 
 forty, with a very handsome wife; an elderly Miss 
 Lancelot (from whom her nephew had expecta- 
 tions), two gentlemen friends from the Treasury, 
 and a brother, James Lancelot, of the Common 
 
 52
 
 HOUSEHOLD ACCOUNTS 53 
 
 Law bar, represented the bridegroom's party. 
 His sister Maria was a bridesmaid. 
 
 The Quarterns brought a small host from Cor- 
 by; and of course Sir Carnaby and Diana Hodges 
 came. 
 
 After breakfast, at which the best speech by far 
 was made by Polk Strangways it was really a 
 sort of sermon, but more optimistic than most ser- 
 mons the happy pair departed for Bristol, 
 whence they intended to take ship for Leghorn 
 and the honeymoon. That was to be spent in 
 Italy. They must needs be back early in the New 
 Year, not only because the House would meet in 
 February, but because Lord Monthermer was 
 expected from Cracow and it was very necessary 
 that his eye in its homeward sweep should en- 
 counter and remain upon the persons of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Charles Lancelot. " We cannot afford to 
 seem negligent in such a matter," Charles had told 
 his affianced. " I shall have advice from London 
 and no doubt the court at Florence will give 
 us news. I am sure my Georgiana agrees with 
 me." His Georgiana satisfied him on that point. 
 That was but one of the many of his assumptions 
 which she took up. 
 
 Everybody agreed that the bride looked charm- 
 ing. Charles was a tall young man and beside 
 him she looked slim and little. She was very shy, 
 and her lips would have been better for more
 
 54 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 color. Her eyes looked enormous, and of so 
 dark a blue as to seem black. " Not a taking 
 beauty," said Lady Quartern. " You have to 
 look hard at her to see her at all. Rather like 
 a ghost, you know. She 's thinner than she was 
 last year." 
 
 " There 's hardly anything of her," her neigh- 
 bor replied old Squire Wilmot of Dropmore, 
 who wore gold spectacles burning upon his crimson 
 forehead, and was never known to put them any- 
 where else. He used them for reading, it was 
 said, but as he never read anything 
 
 " She 's a worrying girl, in my opinion," Lady 
 Quartern went on. " She '11 get thinner than that 
 unless her Charles treats her well. But so far as 
 I can see she might as well have married a ramrod. 
 However " The weather, you see, was against 
 enthusiasm; and Charles Lancelot's manner dis- 
 couraged it. Lord Drem said that he took her 
 as very young members take the oath. He him- 
 self was all in favor of Gretna Green and moon- 
 light nights. As for Georgiana, who can tell what 
 her feelings may have been? She was never in- 
 vited to reveal them. 
 
 Haunted though she may have seemed in her 
 veiled whiteness, she was delicious when she came 
 down in her traveling gear; her dark blue pelisse, 
 her great blue bonnet, her furs and feathers. Her 
 eyes sparkled, her lips parted, her little teeth
 
 HOUSEHOLD ACCOUNTS 55 
 
 gleamed. She kissed mamma, was kissed by 
 papa, blessed by Polk, hugged by Gussy and Di. 
 She kissed a number of the people, and was kissed 
 by others, shook hands with the servants, and 
 jumped into the chaise and pair like a bird. A 
 last whisper from Gussy on the steps of the house 
 had made her blush; her last look, sidelong, was 
 for Gussy, and showed roguery lurking. That 
 pert child had put lips to her ear. " Has he 
 kissed you yet? " " Yes, of course." " But prop- 
 erly ?" No reply. "I thought not," whis- 
 pered Gussy. " Make him do it" The sidelong 
 look had been her reply. The postilion cracked 
 his whip, the slipper was flung (gravely, by Polk, 
 as if he were scattering the good seed) ; off they 
 went, for Bristol and Leghorn, and whether in- 
 deed she then, or afterwards, followed Gussy's 
 last injunction is not by me to be reported, but is 
 to be inferred by the judicious reader from what 
 follows. All I know is that her letters home were 
 copious, but, to Gussy, unsatisfying. There was a 
 great deal about the court in Florence, and much 
 about the magnificence of Rome but of Charles 
 as a lover, nothing at all. 
 
 My Lord Marquis of Monthermer came home to 
 his country in March of the next year and was re- 
 ceived with every demonstration of gratitude from 
 King and people. His acts and deeds at Cracow,
 
 56 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 it was universally admitted, entitled him to all the 
 honors of an affectionate race. England's honor 
 and material advantage had not been forgotten; 
 due regard had been had for the equitable claims 
 of France, of Prussia, of Austria, of Russia 
 just so much as was their due from our proud 
 island breed and no more. The only nation omit- 
 ted from this catalogue appears to have been 
 Poland. On these grounds there were great re- 
 joicings, and a great reception. The King was 
 ill, believed to be dying, but he had his lordship 
 down to see him at Windsor, called him Tom, and 
 promised him a duchy. The populace greeted 
 their hero in a more boisterous but no homelier 
 fashion. They lined the Kent Road, threw up 
 their caps. Some of them shouted, " Give us 
 Reform! " and made his lordship grin. " I '11 be 
 damned if I do," he said, for the benefit of his 
 gentlemen. He had, in fact, hastened his return 
 in order to put a stopper on that move, if it might 
 even now be stopped. His hope was in the King, 
 who was known to hate it so much that he re- 
 mained alive for the purpose of " dishing Grey," 
 as he put it himself. But he knew that the King's 
 was a precarious life besides, as he said, " He 's 
 such a liar that you can't hold him anvwhere." 
 However, here he was; here was Piccadilly flam- 
 ing with lanterns from end to end; a crowd all day 
 about Wake House, and a duchy for the asking
 
 HOUSEHOLD ACCOUNTS 57 
 
 or without it; for Lord Monthermer never asked 
 for a thing, but waited until it was offered: -then 
 he took it or not, as might suit. 
 
 That was in March, in mild and open weather; 
 but the Lancelots had returned in the bitter fogs 
 of January to their house in Smith Square, and by 
 the time the great man was really come the little 
 lady of that house was settled into a staid routine 
 from which, she supposed sometimes, nothing but 
 revolution could ever move her. 
 
 Don't suppose, pray, that she wished to be 
 moved from it. Nothing of the sort. She was 
 an enthusiastic housewife, glorying in her duties, 
 taking them seriously, getting herself into a glow 
 of health and beauty in their vigorous exercise; 
 watching intently as a bird a crumb for the daily 
 occasion when she could be of service to Charles. 
 How she drilled her three maids, how she lectured 
 the page-boy (for his good), how she overlooked 
 the linen, saw to the nightly deposit of the plate 
 under the bed, how she frowned over accounts, 
 ordered dinner, presided at it, broke her little 
 heart over a tough cutlet, and mended it again 
 with thanksgiving over a good pudding were 
 long and foolish, though (to me) touching to tell. 
 These things are common knowledge; but so is 
 the sunshine over a copse, so are the cloud shadows 
 racing over a hill-flank, so the opening of the rose. 
 Like a rose she opened, like a rose quietly bloomed ;
 
 58 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 and Charles grew sleek and snug under the minis- 
 tration of her gentle hands. 
 
 And Charles was very kind to her, and always 
 courteous; and when he reproved her, did it 
 kindly; and when she cried on his shoulder, he 
 patted hers. 
 
 He was grave, and preoccupied, and immersed 
 in business, full of thought for the morrow that 
 is, his own morrow. Lord Monthermer had been 
 expected in February at the latest. He did not 
 come till the middle of March. Such things may 
 make a young man gray before his time. 
 
 Sitting in the little drawing-room before the fire, 
 holding his wife's hand when she offered it to his 
 keeping (but not seeking it), he used to expound 
 his anxieties and to hint at his ambitions but on 
 these last, which were boundless, he was very re- 
 served. She could only guess and did in time 
 come to know how exorbitant these were : how 
 they were the fund of poetry in him which every 
 one of us has. 
 
 " Lord Monthermer," he used to say, " can 
 save our unhappy country, and nobody else can do 
 it. Of that I am persuaded. As our greatness 
 has been in the past, so it must be in the future : 
 an anointed king, a patriotic aristocracy, a loyal 
 people. A wonderful order, as the Collect puts 
 it in our ancient formulary. This dangerous and 
 growing cry for Reform really aims, not at abuses,
 
 She would press his hand, lean to him urgently and murmur 
 her assurance
 
 HOUSEHOLD ACCOUNTS 61 
 
 but at property for how else are you to regard 
 a movement which denies to persons of responsi- 
 bility and influence the exercise of their just rights? 
 Once give way to that, and throne and peerage, 
 church and land the very fabric of England 
 topple together to the dust- of ruin. Anarchy 
 must result that is inevitable. You lay hands 
 on property, nothing is sacred, for everything in 
 this world is subject to the law of property. The 
 home! The wife! The family! All these 
 sacred things depend upon property for their 
 privilege and sanctity. Miserable fools! They 
 know not what they do. 
 
 " Lord Monthermer, born to rule, a natural 
 leader of men, will save us: no other can. You 
 will see, my love, you will be able to judge for 
 yourself. His eye has fire the fire of au- 
 thority, born in him. He will return none too 
 soon he will receive his. warrant from the King; 
 he will organize the loyal opposition and he 
 will choose his lieutenants. He will choose his 
 lieutenants. He will need them. I can only say 
 for myself that I shall be ready, when I am called. 
 I have had warnings, as you know, and I have not 
 been idle. That also you know. I am sure that 
 my beloved wife will be at my side, when the time 
 comes." 
 
 She would press his hand, lean to him urgently 
 and murmur her assurance. They came to be to
 
 62 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 her these sort of words like a call to arms. 
 All her guards turned out to their posts. And 
 as time wore on, the hero returned, the dukedom 
 conferred, the attack on Reform massed for de- 
 livery, and shock upon shock of assault made and 
 re-made, although her slim sentinels were worn 
 by watching, and the summoning orders for them 
 became peremptory, petulant, fretful and weari- 
 some, they never failed of appearance, but with 
 the same urgency, the same warm low murmurs 
 assured their master of loyalty. 
 
 For the fact is that Georgiana was to be two 
 years a wife and one year a disappointed mother 
 before anything happened. But what then hap- 
 pened was in itself a drama.
 
 VII 
 
 THE PURSUIT OF THE EYE 
 
 LORD MONTHERMER came home, I say, 
 in the middle of March. His great speech 
 in the House of Lords was made in April. He 
 received the thanks of Parliament, a pension and 
 a duchy at the end of May; and not only had his 
 eye not swept up Charles in its ranging search for 
 a lieutenant, but it had swept up other persons not 
 (in Charles's estimation) fitted by prospect, wit 
 or ambition to fulfil that station. It had swept 
 up Pink Mordaunt, an aging buck, well connected, 
 once a Whig, an incorrigible gamester, a well- 
 known Corinthian. [But Lord Monthermer's 
 Corinthian tastes were equally notorious.] It 
 then swept up Lord Bernard Wake, his lordship's 
 own second son, a fine young man, a soldier, but 
 (said Charles) without principle; and it swept up 
 others whom it were tedious (as to Charles. it was 
 exasperating) to mention. Of all this our poor 
 Georgiana heard more than enough. She burned 
 with Charles, she grew white with his dismay 
 but she had now and then to flog herself to do it, 
 for by the time these things happened her own 
 
 63
 
 64 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 little world was full. " Hints of joy, surmised 
 bliss," were hers and I don't know how much 
 of her troublous time ahead was due to the way 
 Charles took it. It is the fact that the one oppor- 
 tunity that the year showed of a recontre with 
 Lord Monthermer was made frustrate by her con- 
 dition. Charles was dreadfully vexed; but his 
 vexation shocked her; and that 's much worse. 
 
 In April, amid all the fuss and flurry of the 
 great return, she knew herself to be blessed among 
 women. She hugged her bosom, she prayed by 
 her bed. She walked her London with shining 
 eyes. She caught herself standing here or there 
 rapt in a soft air of wonder and expectation. She 
 had not guessed, could not have guessed, what 
 this common lot of her sex would mean to her. 
 To have made a man to have made a living 
 thing what the poet knows, what the musician, 
 now she knew; and all great tradition, all religion, 
 all Heaven and earth cried sanction to her deed; 
 cried her holy, cried her blessed. For a week, for 
 a fortnight she held her secret; then she whispered 
 it to Charles and hid her happy face upon his 
 shoulder. What were Lord Monthermer and all 
 Parliament, what were the Treasury and all its 
 junior lords, what were the Estates of the Realm, 
 the hush of the Senate, the seals of office, the 
 Great Seal itself, to the like of this? O happy, 
 happy wife !
 
 THE PURSUIT OF THE EYE 65 
 
 Charles received the news sedately, as his wont 
 was, but with great kindness. He kissed her, he 
 patted her shoulder, his hand touched her waist 
 for a moment, lightly, then was withdrawn hastily, 
 as if somebody had entered the room. But no- 
 body had. She noticed that, even in the midst of 
 her private tremulous triumph. It vexed her into 
 inquiry. Was he elated? Did he share her 
 elation? God knows. He was too kind by half : 
 that 's the fact. 
 
 He spoke of the necessity of care, spoke of 
 drafts and chills, wet feet. He spoke of the pru- 
 dence of abstaining from entertainments, a pru- 
 dence which he frankly admitted would be 
 unfortunate " in the present state of our affairs "; 
 advised frequent consultations with her mother, 
 luckily at hand. He mentioned the fact that his 
 own mother had had nine children, of whom three 
 remained alive : in a word, he was practical while 
 she was dreaming, he sat fast in his chair while 
 she floated beyond him in an ecstasy. He had 
 begged her to beware of chills but her worst 
 came from him. Yet he was only himself; he 
 meant to be kind; and really, considering his pres- 
 sing private anxieties about Lord Monthermer's 
 eye, he said extraordinarily little about the in- 
 convenience of a first season without his brand-new 
 wife. For, you see, if the natural advantages of 
 a rising young official can be enhanced in the rang-
 
 66 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 ing eye of a gallant chief by a young and very 
 pretty hostess, it is a serious thing that she should 
 be put out of action before the first engagement. 
 That was a very serious thing; that cripples a 
 young man. It was impossible for Charles Lance- 
 lot to conceal this altogether, though, as he was 
 a gentleman through and through, he never once 
 referred to it. 
 
 But, God bless the man, she knew! One slip 
 that guilty snatching away of his embracing 
 arm had opened her eyes. Now she saw. 
 Now she could read him like a newspaper, pick out 
 what mattered and leave out what did not. She 
 knew, and knowing was at first disheartened, then, 
 studying more deeply, dismayed, and then hurt, 
 and then despondent. Her pride in herself threat- 
 ened next to disappear; she struggled against that, 
 and she struggled against other feelings, physical 
 as well as mental. She fought gallantly for 
 loyalty. She stood by him as long as she could: 
 she attended his parties, she gave them; she jostled 
 in crowds, hurried hither and thither, joining in 
 the chase of him of the eye, who was now Duke 
 of Devizes and went everywhere, or seemed to go 
 everywhere except to just that place whither 
 poor little champion of a lost cause she had 
 dragged herself with Charles. The end of this 
 sort of thing could have been predicted by a 
 mother with humanity or a husband less self-ab-
 
 THE PURSUIT OF THE EYE 67 
 
 sorbed. In July she fell ill, and had to be taken 
 away. She was taken down to Thorntree by her 
 Spartan mother, suffered horribly, lay in misery 
 and torment (bereft of Charles, who must be in 
 town) until the end of August. The child was 
 born prematurely at the end of the month, born 
 impossible, born dead. The one thing she prayed 
 for then was that she might die also. But that 
 was denied her. 
 
 Charles came down by flying post, and went to 
 her. He fell on his knees by her bed; he sobbed; 
 he took her hand and wetted it with real salt tears. 
 But he had no words or at least such words as 
 he had were book words, without heart behind 
 them. He had a heart, this unfortunate Charles, 
 and kept it locked up like a skeleton. To such as 
 he the heart is a stultifying, terrible organ, well 
 placed and properly placed, in the very center of 
 the frame of a man. It 's the only tolerable place 
 for such an infernal explosive. Distrust it, says 
 Charles, for it speaks by feeling, not by principle ; 
 distrust it, for it cries for what it wants, not for 
 what you ought to appear to want. A man's repu- 
 tation, a man's very honor, depends upon the 
 figure he cuts in the outer air. But the heart 
 cares nothing for his figure and is all for simplicity. 
 Now, if you are simple, you will be taken for a 
 simpleton. Can anything be simpler than that? 
 This is the conviction of the Charles Lancelots of 
 
 5
 
 68 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 the world: upon it they live, and their wives 
 perish of starvation. 
 
 As soon as she was well enough to sit up and 
 see her friends, as soon as some faint flush of 
 blood began to show again in her cheeks, this 
 devoted Charles began to talk about the Duke. 
 The Duke! And baby born dead! O hapless 
 race of men! He had correspondents in all 
 quarters, of course, and gave her all the news. 
 The Duke, he understood, was to stay in Leicester- 
 shire for the cub-hunting. Now this was impor- 
 tant; for possibly the Hodges might meet him. 
 He might even dine at Rothley. Did not his 
 Georgie think that a letter to Diana, giving news 
 of her convalescence, might, in a postscript, 
 hint ? She took the hint to herself, anyhow, 
 and wrote her disingenuous letter. She went so 
 far as to tell herself that anything is lawful for 
 the man you love, and before she had signed it 
 was convinced not only that she loved, but that 
 she was interested. Generous creatures of her 
 sort live upon their assumptions; and perhaps it's 
 as well that they do, seeing they have nothing 
 else to live upon. 
 
 Shivering, therefore, rather piteously, Geor- 
 giana came back into the world of dukes and 
 similar great affairs. But she came back different. 
 There is such a thing as over-anxiety. Charles had 
 wounded her, though neither he nor she knew it.
 
 VIII 
 
 THE EYE CAPTURED 
 
 THE Mrs. Lancelot of a year later, the Mrs. 
 Lancelot two years a wife, was a very dif- 
 ferent person from her of my recent exposition, 
 that hesitating, wistful little lady of anxieties ; she 
 was more possessed, more reserved, much less 
 given to enthusiasm. Her gentleness remained, 
 with her childish contours that adorable, round 
 baby face which Gervase Poore, the poet, in his 
 meteor flight across London, acclaimed as the 
 Vision of Beauty, and those wide and wondering 
 blue eyes which made her look innocent if indeed 
 she were not, and bespoke for those who knew her 
 best her absolute candor these things remained 
 to her. But her carriage was more definite, her 
 expression was more set; she had composure, even 
 aplomb. It was now or hereabouts that the word 
 statuesque began to be applied to her by her ad- 
 mirers and friends though she was more figur- 
 ine than figure in the world. 
 
 But I have marked another difference by that 
 sentence. She now had admirers and friends. 
 
 Admirers among the discerning she had, but 
 69
 
 7 o MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 very rare and respectful men like Count Peter- 
 sen of the Swedish Legation, whose habit of 
 bowing to her first in a roomful alone betrayed 
 him; admirers like Mr. Rogers, who laughed her 
 Toryism to scorn, and called her " dear child " ; 
 friends only to call them so, for really she had no 
 intimates at all, not a woman in all London with 
 whom to be bosom to bosom. She owed this to 
 her difficulty of utterance, and partly to her ex- 
 cessive anxiety to be liked. The defect and the 
 desire often go together. But certain women took 
 her up, and one of them was Mrs. Mayduke. She 
 was an old friend of Lancelot's, but, oddly enough, 
 though she knew the Duke of Devizes quite well, 
 she did not guess at the secret of Charles's anxiety. 
 Charles would have bitten his tongue out sooner 
 than talk of his anxiety not because he was 
 ashamed of having it, but lest, having owned to it, 
 he should afterwards fail in his quest. To be 
 known to a Mrs. Mayduke as having desired and 
 as having failed oh, impossible ! Yet, it was 
 under Mrs Mayduke's auspices that the Duke and 
 Georgiana first met. She was a merry, plump, 
 roguish woman, with ample side-curls, very good- 
 natured and very indiscreet. She made a fuss 
 with Georgiana from their first meeting, and en- 
 couraged her young friend to unfold herself by 
 unlimited petting and open-voiced admiration. 
 She praised her figure, praised the gowns she
 
 THE EYE CAPTURED 71 
 
 clothed it in ; she used to take her hand and, hold- 
 ing it, pick up her fingers one by one and cry out 
 upon them. "Musical fingers, my dear made 
 for the pianoforte! How can you neglect the 
 intention of Providence ! I call it heartrending. 
 With fingers like yours what a touch ! Or the 
 harp? No, no, your arms are too thin. You 
 want a great arm like Mrs. Jordan's for the harp 
 
 and a Siddons expression Saint Cecilia, you 
 know the divine Raphael the soul sitting in 
 your eyes! Now you, Georgie, are too reserved 
 
 oh, by far ! And your eyes, fine as they are 
 yes, very fine are too busy inquiring, judging, 
 watching, to have anything to say to the men. 
 Mrs. Siddons, you may guess, has a great deal to 
 say to them." So on she rattled; and Georgiana 
 listened, and smiled vaguely, and sometimes 
 blushed. But she liked it all the same. She liked 
 to be taken notice of, even though it made her 
 feel the more lonely. It shows how reserved she 
 was that she spoke to nobody not even to this 
 ardent friend of Charles's desperate Duke-hunt, 
 nor of her nightly prayers for his good fortune. 
 
 Charles, in fact, was really growing gray with 
 anxiety. His ambitions (the fiercer for their 
 banking-up) devoured his vitals. He was very 
 conscientious, and omitted no iota of his duties; 
 but the strain on his concentratlve powers was be- 
 coming too much for him. The fire had quite con-
 
 72 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 sumed what little demonstrativeness he had ever 
 had. He began to brood over his troubles, never 
 patted Georgiana's shoulder now, never took and 
 stroked her hand. When she gave it him he held 
 it limply, and offered her every encouragement to 
 take it away again. He had grown very silent. 
 Strange what a little they had to say to each other. 
 They passed long hours after dinner without ex- 
 changing a word; and he had got into the way of 
 discussing nothing with her but the merest details 
 of daily life. 
 
 This was neither interesting to himself nor to 
 her; she was now becoming a woman, this foiled 
 young mother, and to a woman household cares 
 became meaningless and irritating unless there is 
 that within the heart which gives them sanction 
 and reason. 
 
 But she had had so little from him at any time 
 that she did not feel his silence as a change. Her 
 call to love and cherish him remained as per- 
 emptory as it had ever been. Conventional or 
 not, as it might be, she always heard it and 
 never failed to answer it. Out she came, fully 
 armed, to look all ways for that advantage of his 
 which he, the fool, hid from her. Secretive by 
 instinct, secretive by habit also, he was now con- 
 cealing from her, too, how anxious he was, how 
 inclined at times to despair; and while she knew 
 this very well, she did not feel herself equal to the
 
 THE EYE CAPTURED 73 
 
 task of taxing him with his reserve or of dragging 
 his reserves out of him. She had perhaps learned 
 resignation since the loss of her baby. But she 
 watched him closely, and suffered for him pure 
 pity. 
 
 Meantime, the Duke of Devizes, howsoever 
 carefully sought, remained close at hand, yet re- 
 mote and inaccessible. He was often in the coun- 
 try, seldom in the House ; but his appearances and 
 disappearances alike were effective. On one occa- 
 sion when there was a motion for Reform brought 
 forward in the Lords, he appeared like a god 
 from a machine and as good as directed their 
 lordships to drive it out which they did by an 
 exemplary majority. He did his work with that 
 bluntness, that absence of parade, that directness 
 and that absence of heat which were habitual to 
 him; and their lordships did theirs with as much 
 enthusiasm as they were capable of. Riots fol- 
 lowed at Portsmouth, Rochester and Southamp- 
 ton, the quelling of which in the last-named he 
 personally superintended. His estate lay in 
 Hampshire, and he was Lord Lieutenant. His 
 popularity with his party went up at a bound, and 
 that which he had in the country stood the strain. 
 Charles Lancelot, his enthusiastic admirer, doted 
 upon the possibility of serving such a man. So 
 much he revealed to Georgiana, who hung upon 
 his words. The Duke showed himself after this
 
 7 4 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 in London at one or two great houses, and was 
 again a familiar figure in Piccadilly and the Park. 
 At the opera he received an ovation, and saluted 
 stiffly from his box, scarcely rising from his chair. 
 This was a man! Lancelot reported the incident 
 next day to his wife. She assumed it admirable, 
 in such a man, though her heart sank a little as it 
 listened. It was entirely counter to her own 
 nature to despise people because they offered trib- 
 ute. She remembered afterwards thinking to her- 
 self that she would have thought more of the Duke 
 if he had been moved say, to tears by such a 
 testimony. Later still, when she had come to 
 know him, she had to laugh at the memory of such 
 a thought. Tears and the Duke ! She had been 
 sure that she would have cried herself. Lancelot, 
 however, saw nothing but character. If the mob, 
 he explained, had execrated him he would have 
 been as little moved. She had to own that. 
 
 The very next day, at a party at Mrs. May- 
 duke's, he was suddenly announced and walked up 
 the room in her full view. 
 
 Sitting at the far end, she was aware, as by pre- 
 science, of an impending event. She saw men 
 about the door stiffen and move aside; she saw 
 deferential glances, efforts to be seen. Then a 
 footman appeared, proclaimed him, and immedi- 
 ately behind him a spare, very upright man came 
 in at the doorway (more completely at ease than
 
 THE EYE CAPTURED 75 
 
 any one she had ever seen before in her life) and 
 gave two fingers to his hostess. Was this the hero 
 who swayed a whole house of Peers ? He looked 
 like an elderly fox-hunter with his shrewd, side- 
 whiskered, humorous face, with his tended white 
 hair, his color of burnt brick and his china-blue 
 eyes. His dress, too, had that neatness and effec- 
 tiveness combined which such persons have. A 
 perfect Master of Hounds 1 And Georgiana, be- 
 ing romantic, had to explore diligently to find her 
 food in this trim, little old precisian, whose every 
 look and gesture was on the watch against emo- 
 tion. She told herself that all this was studied, 
 and found the absence of romance the most ro- 
 mantic thing about him. So she had once seen a 
 North Sea skipper, in a storm which would have 
 made the Corsair sing like a tenor at the opera, 
 skirt the extreme knife-edge of danger without a 
 wink of his eyelids. 
 
 She watched, with a high heart, Mrs. May- 
 duke's obeisance and subsequent effusion of wel- 
 come ; she watched the dapper hero take it all for 
 granted. She saw the cluster of candidates for 
 recognition or presentation : men and women alike 
 cast self-consciousness to the crowd. She saw her 
 husband hover, saw him advance presently with a 
 ceremonious bow, saw him recognized instantly, by 
 a scarcely perceptible clearing of the strong face; 
 she saw two fingers in white kid go out, and the
 
 76 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 thin lips snap out the words "How d'ye do?" 
 She marked breathlessly what followed. Charles 
 persisted, and the Duke listened while he looked 
 quietly about him. His keen blue eyes caught 
 hers, rested a moment and passed on beyond her. 
 Georgiana had instantly lowered her own, but re- 
 sumed her watch as soon as safety allowed. 
 Charles then made his great essay. She could 
 only guess at it by its sequel. He leaned forward 
 and said something which certainly held the 
 Duke's attention. He gave to it a lift of the 
 eyebrows and a thoughtful gaze. He nodded 
 shortly once or twice. To Charles's next propo- 
 sition he looked directly at Georgiana and seemed 
 to be reading into her beating heart. Then she 
 saw him move forward, accompanied by Charles, 
 in her direction, shaking off the pack of aspirants 
 by some easy means quite indiscernible. Before 
 she knew what was about to be she was receiving 
 his presentation, his stiff bow, the scrutiny of his 
 unassailable eyes, the good-humored but shrewd 
 smile of his thin lips. His bow was extra-pro- 
 found, semi-humorous in its ceremony. 
 
 " Delighted to make your acquaintance, young 
 lady," he said. 
 
 Georgiana was hardly mistress of herself, and 
 murmured she knew not what. The Duke, who 
 had no small talk, was by no means embarrassed 
 by the lack of it, but continued his searching and
 
 THE EYE CAPTURED 77 
 
 benevolent regard of her face and form, as she 
 felt, without seeing it. Charles, who was very 
 nervous, plunged into conversation. 
 
 " Your words in the .House, Duke, have en- 
 couraged all England." 
 
 The Duke laughed. " You pay me a bad com- 
 pliment, my young friend. If I encouraged the 
 Jacobins I must have expressed myself very ill, 
 for example." 
 
 " A faction," said Charles, " a faction, sir." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said the Duke. " It 's about 
 half the country." 
 
 ' The country will follow your Grace." 
 
 " H'm," said the Duke, " I don't believe it. 
 The House of Commons won't follow me, I doubt. 
 But I shall have Despard out in a month and then 
 we '11 see." Sir James Despard led the Commons 
 a Whig. He dismissed the subject and turned 
 to Georgiana. " Keep out of politics, my dear. 
 It 's no job for a pretty woman." 
 
 "Mayn't I help?" she asked, half begging. 
 She was elated by his evident kindness to her. At 
 the moment she really thought herself a Tory, 
 and burned to fight under his flag. 
 
 ' Why, of course you may and the more the 
 merrier. But don't dirty your fingers. Leave 
 all that to our friend here, and the likes of me." 
 
 Mrs. Mayduke swam up, breasting the air like 
 a duck the pond. " Duke, I must take you away.
 
 7 8 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 The Russian Ambassador is here and I don't 
 know what in the world to do with him. He 
 asked me for you the moment he came." 
 
 The Duke nodded. " I '11 deal with him. 
 Come along, Mary. Have at him." He gave 
 Georgiana his two fingers. " Good-by, my dear. 
 Keep out of politics. Good night, Lancelot." 
 He turned and followed his hostess, who had 
 exchanged with Georgiana a merry glance for a 
 scared one. It may be said of the younger lady 
 that she had never felt so young in her life before. 
 And yet the Duke did not give her an impression 
 of age. He had white hair, it 's true, and not 
 very much of that, but a young man's confidence, 
 and a young man's bright eye. She thought of 
 him as essential man, neither old nor young, but 
 as that to which all youth tends, as that from 
 which age declines. He was the zenith, but for 
 all she could believe of him by hearsay or fancy 
 had never been more, and could not conceivably 
 be less. 
 
 Jogging home together in their hired coach she 
 and Charles were very silent; but her hand very 
 simply sought for his, found and held it. 
 
 Charles, however, was unresponsive, consumed 
 by his dreams. To timid pressure accorded from 
 time to time as her excited mind moved her to 
 expression, he returned none.
 
 THE EYE CAPTURED 79 
 
 A week or so later she and the Duke met again. 
 This was at Lady Ogmore's breakfast a Ve- 
 netian dejeuner it was called ; and if masks make a 
 Venice, it was most Venetian. Lady Ogmore, the 
 dowager, had a house overlooking the Green Park 
 and gave great entertainments. She was the most 
 fashionable person on Georgiana's visiting-list, 
 and this particular party was very fashionable in- 
 deed. There were two Royal princes, and at 
 least three great ladies who ought to have been 
 nowhere, as somebody said, but in Bridewell. 
 There were wits and dandies, poets and reviewers, 
 as well as peers and politicians. Lady Ogmore, 
 who aspired to be to the Tory party what Lady 
 Holland was to the Whigs, went equally far afield 
 and with equally Catholic taste herded lampooner 
 and lampooned in one pinfold. Everybody was 
 masked, and when the revels had reached their 
 height all masks were taken off, to the confusion 
 of some and the entertainment of the unconfused. 
 
 Georgiana, still very shy in a large company, 
 clung to her husband's arm as long as she could. 
 At the breakfast itself she sat between two strange 
 gentlemen, one a great rattler, who made her 
 laugh, the other a caustic commentator on the fol- 
 lies in which he himself did not scruple to share. 
 In after days, remembering this feast, she was 
 astonished at herself not at what she remem- 
 bered herself to have been, but at what she was
 
 80 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 then become, remembering it. She saw herself 
 at the board, slim and pretty, and shy, in her pink 
 tunic with its gold fringe and clinging skirt, with 
 her hair twisted high in a Greek knot, to show 
 the nape of her neck and finely shaped head. 
 While she remembered, she knew herself still to 
 be slim and very pretty (so much her modesty al- 
 lowed herself, though her lovers called her lovely, 
 and the newspapers wrote of " the beautiful Mrs. 
 L 1"); but whence had she got her self- 
 possession? Whence that quality which made 
 her attention so extraordinarily worth having, 
 which made her, it was said, the best listener in 
 England? Certainly she had it not, as she re- 
 membered herself, at Ogmore House. Silence 
 fell between her and the dandy, silence presently 
 between her and the wit; and what covered her 
 (as she afterwards blushed to remember) with 
 confusion and despair was that these two eminent 
 tongues presently interchanged sallies across her 
 little tongue-tied person. 
 
 Isolation was thus branded upon her: she felt 
 like a pariah-dog; and afterwards, when they were 
 all out on the terrace, and the fun was faster, she 
 was standing alone, rather rueful, and there came 
 along Lady Adela Sparkless, a raddled lady, 
 rather mad, with nodding plumes above a bleached 
 head. "Ah, how d'ye do? Pleasant party!" 
 she shrilled, and passed on, jerking her head like
 
 THE EYE CAPTURED 81 
 
 some foolish bird. Georgiana had advanced her 
 hand, but Lady Adela in her flutter had passed it 
 by. The poor girl felt deeply humiliated and 
 just then she saw the Duke come out of the long 
 window. He had not breakfasted, was not 
 masked, and was alone. Among the few un- 
 masked were this great man and Charles Lancelot, 
 an unelastic person, not lending himself readily to 
 disguises, distrusting them. She watched him now 
 as a refuge for her depressed thoughts; she saw 
 him look about from woman to woman, a longer 
 or shorter scrutiny as some turn of the head or 
 contour of the figure took his attention. She saw 
 him nod curtly to Charles, at hand, felt then his 
 eye upon herself, and saw him, to her confusion, 
 come straight towards her. She stood rooted, 
 felt herself tingle all over, felt her heart beat, but 
 watched, unable to move, fascinated to the spot. 
 She was masked still; but he came directly to her, 
 held out his two fingers and said, " Good morn- 
 ing, young lady. What, are they about to leave 
 you alone ? " He seemed as able to read thoughts 
 as to pierce masks. 
 
 " I 'm a nobody," said Georgiana. 
 
 " Everybody is something to somebody," he 
 said, and she felt the shaft of his keen eyes. 
 They were, she found, of an intensely bright blue, 
 the color of turquoise but with the transparency 
 of the sapphire added. Her own eyes were called
 
 82 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 blue, but were really gray in the iris, gray shot 
 with light and ringed with black. What ought to 
 have been white in her eyes was blue. This was 
 all of her that he could now see, except her beau- 
 tiful chin. 
 
 " Everybody is something to somebody," he 
 repeated, and then added, twinkling, " So now 
 you know, young lady." 
 
 " You are very kind," she told him, and con- 
 fessed to having felt stranded. 
 
 " Poooh! " he laughed at her, " that 's nothing 
 to what I can do. You shall feel as floated as 
 you please." He added, " I knew you at once." 
 
 She was really curious. " How did you know 
 me ? " she wanted to know. 
 
 He considered her calmly, most appreciatively, 
 as he answered, " I can't be taken in by masks. 
 They only hide the insignificant parts, the mouth, 
 the nose. A woman may have these any shape 
 and size you please, within reason. What you 
 know her by are the eyes, the shape of the head, 
 the way it is put on, and the figure. Most of all, 
 I believe, by the shape of the head and the way it 
 is put on the neck. That 's how I knew you. 
 You have a long neck, and a very pretty one. 
 Your head 's put on in the right way ; it 's in 
 the right place, and I 'm sure that your heart is. 
 And I like " He did n't add what he liked, but
 
 THE EYE CAPTURED 83 
 
 he looked it. Georgiana felt that she ought to 
 have worn a domino. 
 
 He began to talk to her about her affairs ; asked 
 of her people, of her marriage, of Charles. Her 
 marriage was dwelt upon: he asked questions 
 about it how many bridesmaids, how long a 
 honeymoon, where spent, and so on. He did not 
 seem interested in Charles, but owned that he was 
 diligent and might be useful. 
 
 " He ought to think himself lucky," he said, 
 " to have won your hand." She noticed two 
 things about this grandee first that he was fond 
 of saying things to which it was impossible to 
 reply; second, that he didn't seem to want any 
 reply. At the same time he said them in such 
 a way that they seemed natural. There was no 
 sense of paying compliments about them. If he 
 was gallant it was in a way of his own. 
 
 So on he went, and led her on to talk. She 
 found herself opening out, and in time discussing 
 matters of which he knew everything and she 
 little or nothing. But he listened, he considered 
 her arguments, met them. He paid her there the 
 greatest compliment a man of many affairs can 
 pay to a woman of none; he took her simply and 
 seriously. Why he did so was principally because 
 he was a man entirely without pretense him- 
 self, for all his power and ability, quite simple and
 
 84 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 serious. Bores put him to flight, fops made him 
 savage, witlings murderous. He was able to kill 
 with a snub. With Georgiana he was perfectly 
 charming; and he was charming because she 
 charmed him. She had charmed him from the 
 moment he saw her. He called her to himself a 
 little slim fairy, a little sylph; and to him she 
 was to be that (though he gave no thought to 
 the morrow less than she) for the rest of his 
 life. 
 
 He was with her for the better part of an hour, 
 and then the hoverers whom he had had the 
 power of keeping at a distance by a mere aversion 
 of the head took heart of grace from a study 
 of his looks and closed in upon him. But before 
 that happened Georgiana had unmasked, and he 
 was able to reassure himself that her mouth and 
 nose were by no means unreasonable. The nose 
 was straight and fine, the mouth that of an ador- 
 able child. Her round face enchanted him; but 
 he had often been enchanted, and neither lost his 
 head nor turned hers in the search for it. In the 
 face of the company he bowed over her hand and 
 touched it with his lips. 
 
 " Good-by, my dear. I 'm glad that we 're 
 friends." And then she fluttered away and 
 sought her brooding Charles. 
 
 " Let us go, Charles, please. I ought to be at 
 home."
 
 THE EYE CAPTURED 85 
 
 " My dear, I have been waiting for you. You 
 saw the Duke? " 
 
 " Yes, oh, yes. I must tell you."
 
 IX 
 
 CHARLES ON WIFELY DUTY 
 
 SHE told him everything as it occurred, neither 
 concealing her elation nor enhancing it. She 
 was more surprised than gratified; she treated the 
 whole thing as if it were a freak of fortune. 
 Charles listened gravely, without letting one symp- 
 tom of his mind be seen. 
 
 " He was extraordinarily kind to me," she con- 
 cluded, " and really I was able to talk to him 
 towards the end as if I had known him all my life. 
 But I shall never be able to understand why he 
 did it unless it was because he is interested in 
 you. And yet, you know, he said very little about 
 you." 
 
 Charles, severely wounded by this, did not move 
 a muscle of his face; but he inquired what the 
 Duke had, in fact, talked about. 
 
 " He seemed interested in me," she told him, 
 " and my opinions. Politics ! " She opened her 
 eyes wide, and laughed. " Really, he asked me 
 what I thought about politics. Of course, I told 
 him. He is the sort of man one has to obey. 
 And he was extraordinarily kind. He discussed 
 
 86
 
 CHARLES ON WIFELY DUTY 87 
 
 them with me." She did not continue on this 
 line, but broke off and chose another. " Charles, 
 he means to hold office. He says that the Re- 
 formers will go out and we come in but without 
 an election. He will have a majority against him 
 in the Commons, and govern with the House of 
 Lords." 
 
 Charles nodded. " Yes, yes, I knew that. 
 Did he express a wish did he hint that I might 
 find a seat? " 
 
 " No, he scarcely spoke about you. He said 
 that he knew that you worked very hard. He 
 said that you were a valuable yes, that was his 
 word a valuable official. That is a compli- 
 ment, from him." 
 
 " He is very kind," said Charles, who spoke for 
 once as he felt sourly, because he felt sourly. 
 
 But Georgiana resumed her speculations. 
 
 " He said that he knew me at once. But how 
 did he do that? He nodded to you first, because 
 I saw him do it. I saw him come in. And per- 
 haps the sight of you reminded him that you were 
 married and and but even then ! I was 
 masked, you know ! " 
 
 "Did you not ask him how he knew you?" 
 Charles asked, and awaited the answer more seri- 
 ously than his question implied. 
 
 " No, I can't say that I did, directly," she re- 
 plied. " I wondered, of course. I wondered
 
 88 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 aloud, I mean. He answered generally the 
 shape of my head, and such things. He said that 
 a mask only hid the insignificant parts." Her 
 eyes fell to wander over her pretty person, and 
 perhaps to wonder. Charles glanced at her unob- 
 served. 
 
 " And what did he think the insignificant 
 parts? " he desired to know. 
 
 She laughed, blushing a little. " The nose; the 
 mouth. He said that the way one's head was set 
 on one's neck was the most striking feature of 
 one's personality." More than that she could not 
 tell him, or did not. 
 
 Charles was quiet for some moments. Pres- 
 ently he said, looking carefully away from her, 
 " I am very much interested in what you tell me 
 naturally. I am, as you know, very much con- 
 cerned. My hopes of advancement are centered 
 in the Duke and my opportunities of usefulness 
 to my country will spring, if at all, from him. 
 His eye, it has been freely said, is upon me. I 
 don't hesitate to tell you so; it is right that you 
 should know all. May I not expect similar frank- 
 ness from my wife? I think so. It is not too 
 much to ask." 
 
 He spoke constrainedly, veiling (as she 
 thought) reproach. She leaned towards him. 
 
 " Dearest, don't put it like that," she said. 
 '' When have I not been open with you? I beg
 
 CHARLES ON WIFELY DUTY 89 
 
 you to tell me. The mere thought of it makes 
 me unhappy. Please to tell me what I have kept 
 from you." 
 
 He was careful to frame his answer. Yet the 
 man was galled in his pride. " Let me remind 
 you," he said, " that Mrs. Mayduke is acquainted 
 with my interest in the Duke, with my hopes from 
 him. Yet I have only once before met the Duke 
 in her house, until the other night when I pre- 
 sented him to you. Am I wrong in supposing that 
 you asked her to provide that opportunity? Is 
 it extraordinary if I wish to tell you that you have 
 done me a service? May I not thank you 
 for it?" 
 
 She had stared round-eyed not at him, but 
 away from him from the moment that she 
 caught the drift of this uncomfortable speech. 
 Unconsciously, perhaps, she was prepared for it, 
 not specifically, but by her general knowledge of 
 Charles. Her answer was not natural for her 
 nature was very simple. She answered dryly, 
 with a hard core in her voice. 
 
 ' You are wrong. I have never spoken to 
 Mrs. Mayduke about your affairs. I don't think 
 that I knew certainly I did not know from her 
 that the Duke was a friend of hers. I had no 
 notion he would be there that night." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my love," he said. " I 
 beg your pardon."
 
 9 o MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 Then she turned her looks upon him, quivering. 
 " And if I had spoken to her if I had asked her 
 to let you meet him why should you suppose 
 that I had done it?" Her indignation transfig- 
 ured her. She looked pale and tragic. 
 
 He was ashamed of himself, but could not 
 admit it. He took up her hand and kissed it. 
 
 " To serve me, my love. Pray don't think 
 harm of me." Her generosity flew to shield him. 
 
 " No, no," she said, " of course I don't. But 
 you puzzle me. I do wish to serve you it is 
 on my mind. But it seems that if I had served 
 you in this you would have been vexed with me." 
 
 " Never in the world," said Charles stoutly. 
 He kept her hand; but no more was said. She 
 dropped him at the Treasury and went on. 
 
 In the evening they dined together alone, with 
 no reference to the morning's entertainment. She 
 told him that Mrs. Mayduke had called upon her 
 in the afternoon. He bowed his head, but said 
 nothing a propos. He was by nature a deliberate 
 man, with a dim sense of the rhetorical art. He 
 had serious things to say to her by and by but 
 there must be due preparation an attuned audi- 
 ence, suspense, then opening music and then 
 the actor upon the scene. 
 
 Mrs. Mayduke, it may well be, had forestalled 
 him in the setting of his stage. She had certainly 
 ensured suspense in his auditory, if not played the
 
 CHARLES ON WIFELY DUTY 91 
 
 overture. She had swum into the little drawing- 
 room unannounced, had taken Georgiana by the 
 chin and kissed her roguishly. 
 
 " My dear ! " she had cried in her fat and know- 
 ing tones. "I congratulate you. A conquest! 
 I saw it all. Never was anything so marked. 
 He came on to the terrace, and went directly to 
 you. Now, what had you done? Nothing, I am 
 positive. Your mask was absolutely identical 
 with mine. Besides oh, preposterous! No, 
 you dear little thing. He knew you by instinct. 
 That is it instinct. His eye, you know ! His 
 eye is proverbial. Through a haystack! What 
 is a mask to him ? Well, well, well and who 's 
 to say he 's wrong? Not I, indeed. Infatuated, 
 they say! Believe me, I tell them, Monthermer 
 knows what he 's about. No one better. I still 
 call him Monthermer, you know. So old a 
 friend. He 's Monty still to his real intimates. 
 My dearest child, you bewitched him! " 
 
 All this with Georgiana's chin in her fat and 
 friendly fingers. 
 
 But Georgiana withdrew herself as soon as she 
 could. She did her best to laugh her friend off, 
 feeling that indignation was misplaced. 
 
 " He was extremely kind. Of course I was 
 proud. He may be very useful to Charles and 
 I have to think of that." 
 
 Mrs. Mayduke raised her hands. " Useful,
 
 92 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 my dear! Charles's fortune is made. He will 
 go further, let me tell you, than he can ever have 
 expected; though, to be sure, Charles has always 
 believed in his own star. So much so that I re- 
 member, when I offered to say a word for him 
 to the Duke Monthermer, as he was then he 
 refused me point-blank. Point-blank, my dear! 
 And when I think " here she clapped her hands 
 " that it was in my drawing-room you first met ! 
 I declare that I could go down on my knees. My 
 dear, I must positively kiss you again." Which 
 she did. 
 
 They sat together for intimate talk. Mrs. 
 Mayduke expounded the Duke. 
 
 " I Ve known him for years. He was a friend 
 of poor dear papa's. They were at school to- 
 gether at Eton, you know. Then he went out 
 to India, having married that most uncomfortable 
 woman, Eleanor Wishart; and papa died; and 
 then I married. When he came back, a famous 
 man and a hero, almost the first person he came 
 to see was myself. And it has always been so, 
 whatever he has been at government, politics, 
 diplomacy he has remained on the same footing 
 with me a dear, valued friend. But, mind you, 
 nothing more. No, no. We know each other 
 too well. I 'm far from saying he 's perfect. As 
 a husband, I know that he has been tried; but 
 there 's much to be said for her. My dear, he is
 
 CHARLES ON WIFELY DUTY 93 
 
 very fond of our society he likes women. 
 That must be confessed. He likes all kinds of 
 women everybody knows it, and he admits it 
 himself. You Ve no idea how frank he can be 
 oh, horrid ! But a good woman well, 
 there 's no saying what effect a good woman might 
 not have upon him. His guardian angel ! An- 
 gels, we know, have no sex, poor creatures. They 
 would be, as such, entirely useless in a case of the 
 sort. Monthermer I mean, of course, the 
 Duke despises men, though he uses them. He 
 adores women, and they may use him, I believe 
 within reason. I know what a friend he has been 
 to my Jack, and can guess what he might do for 
 one whom he admired as well as respected 
 which, mind you, has never been the case with me. 
 No, no." 
 
 Georgiana here, who had so far listened with 
 murmurs, and her eyes intent upon her fingers 
 twisting in her lap, interpolated a remark. She 
 said, " I don't quite understand you. I am sure 
 the Duke admires as well as respects you." Mrs. 
 Mayduke tossed her head. 
 
 " My dear, I 'm nearly his own age. He is 
 very fond of me. But admiration no indeed! 
 There has never been anything of the kind. And 
 I am not at all the sort of woman he notices in 
 that way." She observed her friend's eyes, saw 
 the iris spread, the pupils contract, and put up a
 
 94 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 fat hand. " Now, Georgiana, don't play the 
 prude. There 's absolutely no occasion and 
 too much depends upon you. Think of our dear 
 Charles. He must needs admire you extremely. 
 His eye is astonishing never at fault! And 
 with his experience. Well, well 1 " She did not 
 attempt to do justice to his experience, and per- 
 haps thereby did all the better. 
 
 " The last person of our sort," she presently 
 resumed, "who had any kind of effect what 
 one might call influence upon him was a Miss 
 Marischal. I don't know whether you ever met 
 her; Flora Marischal, who married young Lord 
 Bentingthorpe a very cold beauty, tall, a full 
 figure : your antithesis, my dear. He was prod- 
 igal to her family oh, prodigal ! Two commis- 
 sions in the cavalry, and something for one of the 
 others something colonial, but extremely satis- 
 factory. All the duties done by a deputy, who 
 lived there, and had quite a small salary ^ a mere 
 stipend. We used to call him the Curate, I re- 
 member. The climate killed him, of course; but 
 they got another for the same money. But that 
 was ages ago. Since her time well, he has 
 never been strongly attracted to any one. And 
 God knows God alone knows what a com- 
 fort you may not be to him, my dear and noble 
 friend. Georgie, a lonely life! My dear, you 
 may be his Egeria who knows ? . . . My
 
 CHARLES ON WIFELY DUTY 95 
 
 dear," she was at a loss " there 's no saying what 
 may not happen after this morning. I shall 
 strongly advise Charles to look out for a borough. 
 I hope you '11 do the same." 
 
 There was much more of the sort Mrs. 
 Mayduke was past mistress of nods and winks; but 
 finally she kissed herself away, and left Georgiana 
 pensive and perturbed, with glowing cheeks and 
 bright eyes, alone with her thoughts. 
 
 They were insurgent, her thoughts. No 
 woman, still less a young woman, least of all a 
 young woman who begins to suspect herself of 
 charm, can be offended to know of a man's admira- 
 tion. Her husband's is taken for granted, or her 
 lover's; but a stranger comes in with the added 
 force of his strangeness ; and when the postulant is 
 a great man, the greatest man in England, a hero, 
 the triumph is manifest, and the elation swal- 
 lows up everything but the responsibility. And 
 Georgiana, who was very simple, had no suspi- 
 cions whatever. The Duke's simplicity was as 
 plain to her, as hers to him, and as reassuring as 
 he found hers charming. This hero, then, could 
 detect her under disguise. Her person pleased 
 him ; he sought her, found her at once. It 's a 
 testimony to her perfect honesty that her first 
 proud thought had been, " I can tell Charles that 
 he thinks me pretty!" She could enhance her- 
 self, you see, in her Charles's eyes, and perhaps
 
 96 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 provoke from her Charles a similar admission on 
 his part. For Charles had never once told her 
 that she was a pretty woman. That was not his 
 way. He had assumed that among his many 
 assumptions. She herself had supposed herself 
 personable but not pretty. It was only lately 
 that she had begun to wonder. She had loved 
 good clothes; but her delight had been in them, 
 and not in herself as they displayed her. She 
 had no vanity at all; but certainly she was 
 pleased. 
 
 Then her responsibility; for that came washing 
 up like a seventh wave to engulf her gratification. 
 It sobered her excitement also. How far could 
 she serve Charles ? Surely, very far for she 
 believed in Charles. Within the gentle curve of 
 her bosom she nested this thought : that she would 
 mother her husband's future, and glean what she 
 could from this fair new prospect of hers. 
 
 Last came most sobering thought of all 
 her responsibility to him to the hero to this 
 puissant prince who had discerned her fair and 
 singled her out among the many fairer. Was it 
 possible that she could be what? "A com- 
 fort," said Mrs. Mayduke, and Egeria ! She, 
 Georgiana Strangways, nobody, a shred, a flutter- 
 ing scarf, to shelter England's greatest! Her 
 eyes were starry, her color was high. She pressed 
 her hand to her bosom, over her heart. Was it
 
 CHARLES ON WIFELY DUTY 97 
 
 possible she could help him? Comfort him? 
 Soothe him in his troubles? Oh, but woman 
 should thank God for such glory vouchsafed. 
 And that Georgiana very simply did. 
 
 She was restless until dinner time, but extremely 
 happy. She caught herself looking at herself, 
 smiling a little askance; she remarked the bright- 
 ness of her eyes, the heightening of her color. 
 Clearly color became her clearly her looks were 
 bettering. Pink must become her, since she had 
 been in pink that morning and he had remarked 
 her at once. But to-night she would wear white, 
 and perhaps her color Would Charles notice 
 that her color was improved? Probably not. 
 Poor dear Charles ! and now she could really help 
 him. 
 
 Charles did not notice either her gown or her 
 heightened charms; but he did observe that she 
 was vivacious. At the end of dinner, coming to 
 her in her drawing-room, he sat by her, and took 
 her hand. 
 
 " My Georgiana is happy," he said. " Her 
 party pleased her? " She thrilled to his kindness, 
 and snuggled her shoulder. 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course it pleased me. They were 
 he was so kind. It was extraordinary! " 
 
 u It was indeed extraordinary," said Charles, 
 with the blunt privilege of a husband and she
 
 98 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 noticed that with a little smile. " Everybody re- 
 marked it." 
 
 " Did you like my gown? " she asked him with 
 inconsequence, which startled him. 
 
 " It was very becoming. Pink always suits 
 you." She shook her head. 
 
 " No, not truly. I am too pale for that color." 
 So, artlessly she drew him on. He bent towards 
 her. 
 
 " My love, your color is high to-night. My 
 bride is happy." Then she put her face up to 
 him, looking happy indeed. He stooped and 
 kissed her; and while she leaned to him, her head 
 on his shoulder, she whispered to him, with gleam- 
 ing eyes of pride in her success, 
 
 " Shall I tell you what Mrs. Mayduke said to 
 me this afternoon?" 
 
 " Tell me, my own, pray." 
 
 She must needs tell him now, but she could not 
 look at him as she told. She watched her hand 
 which his still held. 
 
 "She said that he the Duke was very 
 much interested that it was plain he really liked 
 me. She told me that I might have a great influ- 
 ence that I might help him. I could hardly 
 believe it." 
 
 Insensibly Charles, as he heard her, relaxed his 
 embrace. You could hardly have noticed any- 
 thing. Put it that where he had held her before,
 
 CHARLES ON WIFELY DUTY 99 
 
 now it was within her power to uplift herself from 
 his shoulder. His arm was about her, but not to 
 hold her. His hand held hers, but not to retain 
 it. The suggestion, Mrs. Mayduke's, his old 
 friend's suggestion swept over his self-esteem with 
 a slight chill just to ruffle the surface. That 
 his wife, his chosen ally, his mate, should be an 
 ally of somebody else, should help somebody else 
 and should be happy in the thought happier, 
 mind you, or first of all happy, in the thought of 
 such helpfulness; well, that ruffled his self-esteem: 
 that made goose-flesh. Must it always be so? 
 Could no woman be found to give whole-hearted 
 loyalty to a man? Was his case, then, no better 
 than any other man's? He sighed, but she did 
 not hear him, occupied with her thoughts and won- 
 dering. 
 
 " It would be gratifying to believe Mrs. May- 
 duke," he said and did she notice the change 
 of tone? " Of course one knows the Duke. He 
 is partial to ladies' society. Naturally he has 
 never failed of it." 
 
 Georgiana was now sitting up in her seat, and 
 upon the clasp of her hand which he still main- 
 tained there was a slight strain. He continued: 
 
 " I should like, if you would allow me, to say 
 one thing to you, my love. After this morning 
 you will probably receive a good deal of attention 
 from the world, which so far has paid you but
 
 ioo MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 little. We shall be asked out to meet the Duke. 
 I fancy that so much may be predicted. I need 
 not tell my Georgiana how important that may be 
 to our fortunes, nor what part she may bear in 
 them. A word from the Duke ! based upon what 
 he knows of my capacity and fitness for duty 
 his eye, we have been told, is upon my work. But 
 I need say no more upon that head." Georgiana, 
 slightly chilled, assured him by a murmur that he 
 need not. He hastened on. 
 
 " The Duke's remarkable directness of state- 
 ment may perhaps disconcert you; his keenness of 
 observation need not. You have nothing to fear 
 from his scrutiny. But let me warn my dearest 
 wife of one thing. He has mixed in many socie- 
 ties and tasted of every experience which they have 
 to offer. Many of these, perhaps most of these, 
 will not appeal to you. Neglect them even 
 ignore them." 
 
 Georgiana opened her eyes. She was capable 
 at times of a dry comment. " Do you think that 
 the Duke is likely to put them before me? " she 
 asked, and Charles was confused. 
 
 " He is curiously blunt. Much of his success 
 in diplomacy may be traced to that. I need not 
 add that I shall always be by your side in case you 
 are puzzled " 
 
 Georgiana observed his perturbation, and for 
 the first time in her life with him criticised her
 
 CHARLES ON WIFELY DUTY 101 
 
 husband. She seemed to find him both hot and 
 cold. He was eager for her to improve this new 
 friendship, and reluctant. He was making a fuss 
 about nothing, and not making a fuss about some- 
 thing. They were at cross-purposes. 
 
 " Perhaps you would rather I saw very little of 
 him," she said, but not as if she expected him to 
 agree. Really, she said it to draw his protesta- 
 tions ; and she failed. He sat for some time with- 
 out answering, and she felt that his eyes were 
 upon her. He neither agreed with nor disclaimed 
 the suggestion. She was conscious of tension, 
 withdrew her hand from his, folded it within her 
 other, and waited. 
 
 The longer Charles delayed his answer, 'the 
 more difficult he seemed to find it. Then habit 
 asserted itself. When it came it was cold and 
 measured. 
 
 " I cannot think that you, of all women, would 
 disregard the interests of your husband which 
 are indeed your own. The Duke's friendship, 
 countenance, patronage why should I not say 
 it? would be of the utmost value. I might say 
 that you would confer a great benefit upon me : I 
 prefer to put it that it will be a mutual benefit. I 
 believe that, given the opportunity, I can serve the 
 Duke if I did not, I would not ask you to stir 
 a finger to help me." 
 
 He took up his book, with meaning, and set-
 
 102 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 tied himself down by the lamp. He usually read 
 late. 
 
 Georgiana sat thoughtful for a while, shading 
 her eyes with her thin hand. Then presently she 
 got up, kissed her husband lightly on the forehead 
 and went upstairs. As she left the drawing-room, 
 her hand on the door, she looked back. He was 
 reading, did not raise his eyes. She sighed, and 
 went her way. He had robbed her day of some 
 of its glory; but much remained. If she thought, 
 undressing, of Mrs. Mayduke's words rather than 
 of his, it is no wonder. But she did consider 
 whether cards and invitations would follow, as he 
 had predicted.
 
 X 
 
 THE DUKE OF DEVIZES 
 
 MY grandfather, who died at eighty-five 
 when I was sixteen, used to talk of " The 
 Marquis " and " The Duke " of his youth as if 
 they were two persons, whereas they were of 
 course but one. " Ah, my boy," he would say to 
 me, rubbing his cheery old hands together, " the 
 Marquis was what we used to call a Corinthian in 
 those days a patron of the Fancy and a great 
 hand at the cocks. I remember him on Crawley 
 Down sad days, bad days, my boy, happily over 
 and forgotten. But the Marquis was a gentle- 
 man, and the greatest gentleman in England 
 not a doubt about that." He alluded to Lord 
 Thomas Wake, you must know, who, himself the 
 son of a Marquis, was himself made a Marquis 
 for services of an indispensable kind, by the title 
 of Monthermer; and finally, when he had returned 
 in triumph from Cracow and was about to form 
 his famous Cabinet to quash the Reformers, Duke 
 of Devizes and a Knight of the Garter. Under 
 this proud name and degree he fought more than 
 one political Thermopylae, was beaten, but sur- 
 
 103
 
 104 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 vived, to be for twenty years more the greatest man 
 (not gentleman alone) in England; and as such my 
 grandfather would speak of him in another of his 
 wandering moods. " The Duke, my boy? Aye, 
 aye, I knew the Duke. I on my white cob riding 
 to the office, and he on his white barb between 
 Wake House and Downing Street we passed 
 each other every morning of our lives for nigh 
 upon twenty years. He came to know me by 
 sight, the greatest man in all England as he was. 
 By and by he 'd look for me, and see me coming. 
 He wore no glasses, mind you. And needed 
 none. And stiff he was like a ramrod, sir, and 
 high in the head and saluted me, sir, as if I 
 were his equal. For I always capped him, as we 
 all did. Then one spring morning when the lilac 
 was in flower, and the may, he reined up after 
 his salute, and waited for me, looking at me with 
 his eyes twinkling. ' You 're a punctual man, 
 sir; ' he said to me, * you 're as sharp to time as 
 I am,' said he. ' And I dare say, you are none 
 the worse for that.' I told him that I got my 
 clerks hard at it by half-past eight in the morning. 
 ' And so do I, by God,' he said; ' and they don't 
 like it, you know and they don't like me either. 
 They call me old Ironguts,' he said; * and what do 
 you suppose they call you ? ' I told him my name 
 and that I had every reason to believe that they 
 called me by it. And he kept his keen eyes on me
 
 THE DUKE OF DEVIZES 105 
 
 all the time I was speaking and after I had said my 
 say, and presently he says, * Do you believe that, 
 sir? Then, by God, you 're a better man than 
 I am; but you shall shake hands with me if you 
 will.' And I shook hands with the Duke, my 
 boy the greatest man In all England; and after 
 that day he never passed me without saying, 
 * Good morning to you, Mr. Hewlett,' nor I him 
 without my ' Good morning, your Grace.' That 
 was a man, sir," my grandfather added, " who 
 served three kings of England and a queen, and 
 served them, mind you, without bowing his head 
 too low. For he was a great gentleman as well 
 as a great man the greatest in England." 
 
 Thus, not once only but oftentimes, my grand- 
 father who, like his two heroes, really one and the 
 same man, was of the old school. How well my 
 Lord Marquis of Monthermer fought his cocks 
 or backed his champion, how carefully my Lord 
 Duke of Devizes may have measured his obei- 
 sances to the crowns he served, I have my grand- 
 father's word to go by; but of the cocks he set 
 a-spurring, or the men, of what other bows of the 
 head he may have made this man and gentle- 
 man of how he stood to his great, sparse world 
 or of what he made of the little, pullulating, sweat- 
 ing and groaning world below his horse-hoofs > 
 God may know, but not my grandfather. 
 
 God, who disposed this world in a wonderful
 
 io6 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 order, may have seen no harm in its rule-of-thumb 
 governance. Gentlemen must dine at eight, 
 though the masses, unsupped, are at grips with the 
 soldiery, though Peterloo at tea-time swims in 
 blood, and Bristol City goes down in smoke to 
 ruin gentlemen must dine at eight and go to 
 Lady Jersey's ball, or be seen in Lady Oxford's 
 box; and so also must the particular pay for the 
 general, and retail and wholesale balance accounts. 
 Of this great, trim and stiff-shouldered Duke of 
 Devizes there is more reckoning to be had than 
 can be compassed by the phrases he carried on 
 the King r s government; he was punctual at his 
 office; told the truth, never paltered with himself, 
 nor with the Crown, nor, " by God," with the 
 vulgar. Was he a man, as well as a gentlemen? 
 Had he bowels? A heart? Did he love any- 
 thing but duty? Did he know what duty was? 
 Was he happy? Did he make happy wife and 
 child, mistress, maid and man? Did he look upon 
 England as his chess-board, or Europe as his chess- 
 board? Were yeomen-freeholders his pawns, 
 churchmen his rooks, the landed his castles and 
 who, to be particular again, to be minute, who was 
 his queen? All these things came upon me one 
 day, and drove me to inquiry. This book is my 
 report. 
 
 I find that as Marquis of Monthermer, and as
 
 THE DUKE OF DEVIZES 107 
 
 Duke of Devizes and K. G., he was a gallant man, 
 as well as a hard one. In a coarse-pleasured age 
 he was most coarse, in an age where success was 
 the prerogative of health and high birth, he was 
 very successful. In affairs of state he did what he 
 intended, and if he got no thanks for what he did, 
 it is to be remembered that he had never looked 
 for them, and did not require any. In private life 
 he had never known ill-fortune. He was born in 
 the purple, and so could afford to take things as 
 they came. And they came purple, as you might 
 expect. Honor, power, dominion, respect, fear; 
 all these things, offered without asking and taken 
 without effusion. What else he got he got fairly, 
 paying the market price. He got what he 
 wanted, for instance, of women, paying for it 
 freely (not always in specie), and taking it as it 
 came; but I do not find that he got much joy out 
 of it, or that he wanted much joy. Let me con- 
 sider that closelier. In spite of himself, you may 
 say, love was not unknown to this hard-featured, 
 close-grained, plain-minded man: digging and 
 groping, you come to a quick spot deep within his 
 nature ; you like to think that you are face to face 
 with the infinitesimal soul (such as it is) of 
 Thomas Geoffry John, Duke of Devizes and K. G. 
 It is worth trying, at any rate; it is possible, after 
 all, that he had a soul, and that here, in the thin
 
 io8 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 hands of a woman, it has been casketed against the 
 tooth of time. Applying the usual tests, this is 
 my assay. 
 
 I explain his ascendency in the affairs of his 
 country in this way. He had no imagination and 
 no theory. Certain fixed ideas he had, which in 
 trie age when all ideas were in violent flux and 
 commotion served him for principles. He be- 
 lieved that the sovereign was appointed by nature 
 and secured by law to the possession of these 
 realms and appanages. He believed that under 
 him the aristocracy were agents of his will and 
 profit. He believed that every institution by 
 which, or in spite of which, England had become 
 great would continue to keep England great. He 
 believed in duty, and in absolute obedience. If 
 the King told him to form a government, he would 
 form one by all possible means; and if all possible 
 means failed, he would govern alone without col- 
 leagues. And in spite of failure, rebuff, defeat, 
 or ridicule he would continue to govern until the 
 King told him to stop. The people existed to be 
 governed, himself existed, under orders, to govern 
 them; and the King reigned. Now, with these 
 fixed ideas, with the army at his back, the depart- 
 ments under his eye, and the King in front of him, 
 the Duke of Devizes would have been willing 
 to direct the whole affair of the state from his seat 
 in the House of Lords or his standing desk at
 
 THE DUKE OF DEVIZES 109 
 
 Wake House or, for that matter, from the 
 bay window at White's. And very well the coun- 
 try would have fared, no doubt, but for the cir- 
 cumstance that the people disagreed with him. 
 The people had just found out that they were not 
 there to be governed; they had a mind to govern 
 themselves. They had convinced themselves of 
 that, they had convinced the majority of their 
 rulers; but they never convinced the Duke of 
 Devizes, whose shifts, on that account (since he 
 went on governing, under orders), were occasion- 
 ally comic. Not to him to him they were plain 
 common sense but to most of the people, and 
 in time to the King. When that time arrived, and 
 the King said his word, the Duke gave up the Seals 
 with the utmost cheerfulness and retired to his 
 pleasures and the routine of country life. But 
 before it came he nearly had his head broken and 
 knew it. He accepted that risk as part of the 
 business of statesmanship. 
 
 His strength, you see, actually lay in his want 
 of intelligence. He had a few ideas simply; the 
 rest of England had many ideas diffusely. While 
 his enemies were coordinating theirs he was apply- 
 ing his. And of course he was himself a strong 
 man never beaten, for he would not accept de- 
 feat; never tired; never out of heart; never out of 
 work; and seldom out of temper. He was uni- 
 versally respected, universally admired, yet less
 
 i io MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 beloved than many a less remarkable man. In 
 some women, in a few men his great qualities led 
 up to a sort of blind idolatry which showed his 
 deficiencies as love-worthy; but by the great ma- 
 jority he was treated as an institution. Most men 
 had the feeling for him which they have for the 
 House of Commons, the Church and the Bank of 
 England. They are old, they are weighty, they 
 are respectable, they are dull. You might go to 
 the poll for them, but not to the stake. They do 
 not fire the blood, stir the pulse, make the heart 
 beat. Nor did the Duke. Age, weight, respecta- 
 bility, efficiency he had; but he was cold-blooded, 
 and he ignored the people. He had no enthusi- 
 asms, or if he had them, kept them under double 
 lock; he had few affections, and those which he 
 had were not those which appeal to the popular 
 sentiment. His wife and he had a bowing ac- 
 quaintance; he was on terms of club friendship 
 with his sons, and used to write to his married 
 daughter (whose husband he despised) as " My 
 dear Lady Wendlebury." Even with the women 
 of his tenderer relationship and there were 
 many his attitude was that of cool companion- 
 ship so far as could be seen. The fact was, he 
 distrusted enthusiasm as other men distrust the 
 bottle. He had. a notion that he might very 
 easily make a fool of himself about a woman 
 and twice, at least, he did. Except on very rare
 
 THE DUKE OF DEVIZES in 
 
 occasions, when his sentiment overcame his cau- 
 tion, he held his mistresses at arms' length, and 
 got as little out of them as he gave. He was a 
 joyless man, as well as a griefless man bleakly 
 in the mean; a cold-blooded man; with sentiment 
 instead of emotion, and appetite instead of pas- 
 sion. Yet, as I say, once and again the secret pool 
 of his blood was stirred, and on the surge of its 
 wave he could be carried to fantastic lengths of 
 sacrifice. A strange personality as strange, 
 precisely, as any other human creature in this 
 world, but no stranger. If one single man among 
 the millions of us knew in and out one single other 
 man, he would find that he was not the unique phe- 
 nomenon he had always supposed himself. We 
 are all odd fishes, I believe ; and that 's why we 
 shall never be socialists. Our nature is in the 
 way. 
 
 Such was the Duke of Devizes, whose eye was 
 now upon the Lancelots, or one of them.
 
 XI 
 
 VAUXHALL 
 
 , it seemed, knew his world while 
 he contemned it. His prophecy came to 
 pass. He had told his Georgiana that, after the 
 Ogmore party, she would be taken up by the fash- 
 ionables; and so she was. Chariots blocked the 
 ways of Smith Square, great horses pawed the 
 road before her modest dwelling. Tall footmen 
 presented cards to the page-boy. Cards for 
 drums, balls, dinners and routs came in. The 
 thing was very real, it seemed; but Diana clinched 
 the matter. 
 
 Diana, Lady Hodges, though she brought her 
 husband up for the season with punctuality and 
 despatch, had not so far seen much of her younger 
 sister. She had made the mistake of neglecting 
 what she did not understand. Clarges Street and 
 Smith Square cannot live together, she had sup- 
 posed, or could not, until Berkeley Square showed 
 them how it could be done. But then Diana 
 proved that she was open-minded, and generous 
 also. She took her cue from Berkeley Square 
 without any elder-sister sort of fuss. Two days 
 
 112
 
 VAUXHALL 113 
 
 after the Ogmore breakfast her dashing landau 
 was at Georgiana's door, and herself hugging 
 Georgiana in the parlor. 
 
 " My word, you little demure hussy ! Is this 
 what your quiet ways bring you to ! The Duke, 
 my gracious ! It '11 be the King next and then 
 
 what will Lady C say? What on earth he 
 
 sees in you ! You little quiet thing! And so 
 you creep about, you mouse, and never a word to 
 anybody; and you peer sideways, and you peer 
 and peer ! The greatest man in England well, 
 well! Carnaby came home and told me. All 
 the clubs have it, my dear ! I have n't been into 
 a house since but what they were all buzz-buzz 
 with it. And I come in on a side wind, as you 
 may say. You '11 make me somebody. You '11 
 be the prop of your toppling family. Now I '11 
 confess to you, Georgie, I never expected it of you. 
 You were always something of a mystery to me. 
 You picked up Charles behind my back now 
 confess that you did. It was while I was being 
 married I was actually before the altar." Her 
 roving but very kindly eyes surveyed the mantel- 
 piece. " Bless me ! All London on pasteboard. 
 
 4 Duchess of C ; Duchess of N . Earl 
 
 and Countess of Portree; Countess of Morfa; 
 Countess Tibetot; Marchioness of Kesteven; 
 Mrs. Maynard what! you've Mrs. Maynard 
 at your feet? H'm. That's like the ex-Lady
 
 n 4 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 Mayoress to the new one. You dear little sly 
 thing, I must hug you again ! " 
 
 Georgiana took it all in very good part. She 
 and Diana had never been close friends; but much 
 is permitted to elder sisters and she was show- 
 ing herself generous. Georgiana had no other 
 means of knowing that all these grandees were to 
 Diana, Lady Hodges, as planets to a firefly except 
 Diana's own admissions quite freely made. The 
 news did not exalt her, but she was quite ready 
 to admit the excellence of it. All she could say 
 in reply to repeated ejaculations of wonder was: 
 " I don't know why he likes me. I can't think 
 how he knew me." Diana honestly did not know 
 either; but this was one of those cases where the 
 more you are astonished, the more you may be 
 pleased. 
 
 And then Diana came out with her proposal, 
 not at all ashamed to let it appear that she was 
 cultivating her little sister because she had become 
 a personage, and because the friendly offices of a 
 personage might be of use to herself. Sir Car- 
 naby had obtained tickets for the Accession Fete 
 at Vauxhall, which was to be to-day fortnight. 
 They had room in the coach for two more. 
 Would Georgie and Charles join them? The 
 Duke was sure to be there, if one could only find 
 him but the crowd would be prodigious. 
 Everybody said that the illuminations were to be
 
 
 G 
 
 u 
 
 " Is this what your quiet ways bring you to?"
 
 VAUXHALL 117 
 
 unexampled Diana supposed because it would 
 be the last time of celebrating the event. The 
 fireworks would be given three times. Georgiana 
 was quite willing : so the matter was arranged. 
 
 The great parties were attended, and Mrs. 
 Lancelot received unwonted attentions. High 
 ladies sat with her, patted her hand, kissed her at 
 parting; high gentlemen paid her compliments as 
 they circled or hovered about her chair. It was 
 the proper thing, it seemed, to assume that the 
 Duke was to be present at these assemblies, al- 
 though in point of fact he was not present at any 
 one of them. He was engaged, patently, upon 
 the country's affairs; for the Ministry was beaten 
 in the Lords upon a motion for Reform, and out 
 it must go. Out, in fact, it went, and on the very 
 day of the Vauxhall fete the Duke and his friends 
 had been down to Windsor to receive the seals. 
 Georgiana, following all this as best she could 
 from the Morning Post, from Charles, from her 
 friends, had no expectation of meeting him again, 
 and told herself that there was no reason on earth 
 why she should. " You 're a little nobody, my 
 dear " so she addressed herself in the glass as 
 she made ready for Vauxhall, " and he 's Eng- 
 land; so there 's no need for you to make yourself 
 pretty." But she did it. She made herself as 
 pretty as possible, in the light of another glass 
 than that upon her dressing-table, the light of a
 
 ii8 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 pair of keen, bright blue eyes critical, she felt, 
 but very friendly. Her underdress was of pale 
 blue, her tunic of spangled gauze. She wore a 
 white and gold turban with an aigrette, and 
 looked as much like a fairy queen, to him who 
 had eyes for fairies, as is convenient for any 
 young lady. Her eyes shone like black diamonds 
 (for they always looked black by lamplight), and 
 her color was that of a blush rose. To hide a 
 small spot on her cheek (and for no other reason 
 at all, she vowed) she wore a little patch. There 
 was nothing for her neck: she had very little 
 jewelry. Before she left the glass she just 
 spanned that slim neck with her two hands, sur- 
 veying herself, fingered the lace at her bosom and 
 considered, was she getting thin? Already? 
 
 " I don't think I 'm really very pretty. Charles 
 has never said so." Her eyes narrowed and 
 gleamed. She caught herself half-smiling, and 
 then she blushed. The thought that sent her 
 blood flying was, " But he knew me masked, and 
 came to me at once." Then, quickly, she blew 
 out the candles and went downstairs. Charles 
 was waiting for her at the foot of them with her 
 shawl. If he thought her pretty, he refrained 
 from saying so. The carriage was, of course, 
 late. They did n't start till half-past ten. 
 
 And then they had to drive back behind Pall 
 Mall, along Jermyn Street, into Piccadilly to win
 
 VAUXHALL 119 
 
 a place in the string of traffic all set for the same 
 place. The crush was great, the rate of progress 
 tedious. They were more than an hour going 
 through the Mall from St. James's to Queen 
 Anne's Gate and so towards the new bridge. 
 Charles was very silent, Sir Carnaby very jocose 
 about Georgiana's conquest. Sir Carnaby was a 
 heavy-handed man, and set Charles's teeth on 
 edge with every stroke ; but Georgiana laughed at 
 him. She was very happy in her new elevation, 
 not disposed to be critical. She liked enormously 
 to be liked, she found out, and was grateful to 
 anybody who liked her. But the unfortunate 
 Charles contrived to make the journey seem al- 
 most as long as it actually was : nobody like him 
 for stripping the nerves of their defenses. Diana, 
 forever fidgeting with her person, pulling up her 
 laces, patting her turban, folding and unfolding 
 her shawl; wondering how late they would be, 
 wondering who would be there, whether they 
 would have supper, how they ever would find the 
 carriage: poor, friendly, foolish Diana nearly 
 drove Charles mad with irritation which, when 
 Georgiana perceived it, brought back upon her 
 that sense of chill and disillusion he had provoked 
 in her before. So the slow progress began to be 
 irksome, and when, in the Bridge Road, they came 
 to a halt, it was proposed by the incurably adven- 
 turous Sir Carnaby that they should get out and
 
 120 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 walk to the gates. Charles was against it, but was 
 overruled. Georgiana was eager for it, Diana 
 for anything that she had not been doing. Sir 
 Carnaby was out first, and offered Georgiana his 
 arm. " Come along, Georgie, I '11 clear you a 
 way. We '11 give them a lead." He shouted a 
 great " Yoicks ! Hark for'ard ! " and got a cheer 
 from the crowd. Linkboys hailing him " my 
 lord " bounded about. He chose the two biggest 
 and off they set. Charles with Diana in charge 
 followed, with protest in every stiff line of him 
 but lost them in a dozen yards. Drifting with 
 the current, they came to the gates, where the 
 broad stream must narrow down to single file. 
 Never was seen such a surging mass of people. 
 Georgiana, now pale with alarm, was all eyes for 
 Charles. She was sure that he would be equally 
 anxious, and, if anxious, then annoyed. He was 
 always annoyed after he had been worried. 
 
 Sir Carnaby, however, would n't hear of stop- 
 ping. To begin with, as he said, you could n't 
 stop when you were being pushed from behind. 
 These rascals would ride us down. No use call- 
 ing 'Ware hounds! to them. He could trust 
 Diana anywhere. She was a great-hearted girl, 
 a bit of blood. No, no, he and Georgie would 
 get on to the boxes. There they would wait, and 
 all well. So it was to be. They reached the 
 gates, showed their tickets, showed the others'
 
 VAUXHALL 121 
 
 tickets, and were in. By the light of the many 
 colored lanterns, so far as they could see, the 
 crowd extended. Away off behind the trees was 
 the glare of the great orchestra and the center- 
 piece. Now and again a rocket writhed hissing 
 up into the black and broke with a puff and rain 
 of stars. The press was very good-humored, of 
 every class known to London, higgledy-piggledy, 
 citizens and citizenesses, peers and their ladies, 
 fast young men, ladies of the class known as 
 Paphian. Sir Carnaby was enjoying himself, but 
 Georgiana, though interested, was nervous about 
 Charles, and could not. 
 
 Presently they met acquaintances of Sir Car- 
 naby. " Well met, well met ! Madam, your 
 servant. All the world and his wife ! Allow me 
 to present you to my charming sister-in-law. Mrs. 
 Damport, Mrs. Lancelot; Mr. Damport by 
 the Lord, Jack Damport, the very last man alive 
 I should have looked for would have been your- 
 self. And how 's Sherwood ? And how does the 
 hunt go? Oh, at Rothley, I can tell you, we have 
 some bitches " He was sincerely glad of his 
 friends; he had dined; he expanded. But the 
 crowd invaded him; a sudden rush scattered the 
 party, and Georgiana, lifted off her feet, was 
 driven onwards, alone. Like a leaf, flickering 
 along with its fellows on the stream of an autumn 
 gale, she went as she was carried.
 
 122 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 At first she had no fears. She regained her 
 feet, which seemed a great thing, and allowed her- 
 self to drift. One or two backward glances for 
 Sir Carnaby gave her admiring eyes not his 
 and warned her that she had better not repeat 
 them. So she was urged forward to the entry to 
 the great arena, and once inside that, with more 
 freedom at her command, she selected a shadowed 
 corner near the box-entrance where she could 
 await her party. There she stood, a little serious 
 figure pale now, with great watchful eyes and 
 her mouth folded into a bud a trick of hers 
 when she was preoccupied. 
 
 A jaunty creature in a high black stock white- 
 faced, greasy-haired, bold-eyed was presently 
 before her, hat in hand. His bows were pro- 
 found. " Miss, your servant. Permit me to in- 
 troduce myself Mr. Silver, Mr. Frank Silver, 
 well known at the Royal Exchange." 
 
 Georgiana stiffened herself. To bow or not to 
 bow ? Her head just moved. 
 
 Mr. Silver with a broad curve of his hand and 
 hat together swept into the lists another gentle- 
 man. 
 
 "My friend Mr. Bagshawe, Miss a good 
 fellow, though slightly yes, slightly Corin- 
 thian in disposition. A dancer, Miss very 
 light upon his toes. May I hope for the honor of
 
 VAUXHALL 123 
 
 handing you out? Mr. Bagshawe will speak for 
 himself." 
 
 Georgiana searched the shifting scene but in 
 vain. She tried an appeal. 
 
 " I am much obliged to you," she said. " I am 
 waiting for my party. Please to go away." 
 
 Mr. Silver exchanged glances with Mr. Bag- 
 shawe; deep called to deep. 
 
 " Jack, what say you ? Can we desert the 
 young lady? " 
 
 " Never, Frank, while Britons rule the waves." 
 Thus emboldened, Mr. Silver crooked his arm. 
 
 " Permit me, Miss, to escort you. Pray, oblige 
 me." Georgiana's blue eyes now glittered. 
 
 ' You are forgetting yourself. I have asked 
 you to leave me, and expect it." 
 
 " Come away, Frank; it 's a lady. You 're put- 
 ting yourself in the wrong." Thus Mr. Bag- 
 shawe; but his friend rushed upon his fate. 
 
 He advanced, all smirks; he was very near her. 
 She felt his hot breath and shrank back to the 
 wall. At that moment Mr. Silver felt himself 
 seized by the coat collar, and became helpless and 
 incoherent. 
 
 ' You dirty scoundrel out with you ! " Pro- 
 pelled from behind, Mr. Silver lost his footing 
 and his hat and was shot into the crowd. Mr. 
 Bagshawe disappeared. A very tall and broad-
 
 124 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 chested young man with a shock of tow-colored 
 hair above a fine forehead, a flushed and rather 
 scowling young man with a very red and full- 
 lipped mouth, but with a pair of fine gray eyes, 
 stood before her hat in hand. He was breathless 
 with excitement and could not for the life of him 
 speak. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Georgiana, her color 
 high. " It was most kind of you." 
 
 The young man bowed. " It was nothing I 
 wish I had been earlier to have spared you the 
 sight of such people," he said. Then he bowed 
 again and was gone. She saw him shouldering 
 his way through the crowd, his hat still in his hand. 
 While still looking after him she heard herself 
 called " Oh, my dear, I am so glad. What a 
 time it has been I " Diana's voice. She turned 
 quickly and was among her friends. There was 
 Diana with bright patches of color in her cheeks 
 there was Charles biting his lip. There, 
 flushed to a brick-red, but otherwise calm and 
 frostily smiling, was the Duke of Devizes. She 
 had seen him immediately and felt his appearance 
 natural. She was simply and sincerely proud of 
 him. Nobody else, she thought, would have ap- 
 peared so exactly and promptly. The gentleman 
 who had appeared still more exactly was forgotten. 
 
 He saved the situation, picked neatly oft it any 
 filaments of tragedy that may have been clinging,
 
 VAUXHALL 125] 
 
 to it. Two fingers to Georgiana : "What a 
 scene ! Bartholomew's Fair ! Mrs. Lancelot, 
 you would have renewed my youth if I had been a 
 minute earlier. But I am grateful to your hero. 
 Now let 's get out of this. I have a box, I be- 
 lieve." She thanked him with grateful eyes, 
 lightly accepted by his, which while they saw 
 everything, and were so understood by hers, ap- 
 peared to see nothing. 
 
 Charles was now at her side. " My dearest, 
 how terrible ! I am thankful we have found you. 
 If it had not been for the Duke's assistance we 
 could not have been here. Duke " and he 
 turned " let me thank you from my heart." 
 
 " For nothing, Lancelot. My luck holds, I see. 
 It is something to be known all over London. 
 Now, Lady Hodges, it 's your turn to be nervous. 
 Where 's your husband got to? " 
 
 Diana laughed. " On Carnaby's account ! 
 My dear lord, not in the least. Carnaby will be 
 dancing. We might go and look at him." 
 
 It ended in the same natural way. The Duke 
 gave Georgiana his arm and strolled away with 
 her, leaving the others to follow. No reference to 
 her adventure, no gallant speeches, no professions. 
 He began his quiet conversation where he had left 
 it at Ogmore House. He was " in," he told her, 
 for instance; had been at Windsor that very day. 
 The King had shed tears over him. " Tom, Tom,
 
 126 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 are you come to save me? Ah, my poor coun- 
 try I " The likes of that. The fellow drank like 
 a fish and distilled it quite naturally in tears. 
 Now he was going to await events, and see what 
 the other fellows could do. They had a majority 
 in the Commons true ; but he would beat them 
 in the Lords, and drive 'em to the country. He 
 didn't think that they could do it. If they 
 did ? Why, of course they 'd have to have it. 
 But they should fight for it. 
 
 When she was quieter, he became more per- 
 sonal. "Why do you come to these things? 
 You 're too fine, my dear. Why do / go ? Be- 
 cause I 'm not fine at all. I like to see 'em at 
 their beastly pleasures. I like to know all the 
 world and his wife. You see, I Ve got annealed. 
 I Ve been pretty hard hammered. But a girl of 
 your sort no, no." 
 
 She said that she thought it was going to be 
 amusing. " Well," said he, looking down with a 
 twinkle, " I '11 do my best for you. Now, let 's 
 observe our company and talk scandal about 'em. 
 Whom have we here? " He looked about in his 
 leisurely, cool and quizzing way, as if they had all 
 been marionettes jigging in a booth. 
 
 High and low, man or woman, he seemed to 
 know something of everybody. A woman passed, 
 escorted. " That 's Harriet Wilcox, that piece. 
 Not in your country at all. A rogue, with the
 
 VAUXHALL 127 
 
 waist of a wasp, and the tooth of a wasp, and the 
 temper too. The less we have to say about her, 
 the better. The beau she has with her is Nevern. 
 Fie Nevern they call him : his name 's Fyfield. I 
 knew his father, who served with me in India and 
 had two wives. Fine figure of a man. I 've 
 known him to eat raw peacock at a pinch. Fie 's 
 his son, a peacock too. Now, I know Harriet 
 well enough. She '11 skin that lad but we 
 won't talk about her. You and she don't match." 
 And so on a peer, Lord Torbolton; a peeress, 
 Lady Glentucket; a poet, one Tom Campbell, who 
 to her was the Tom Campbell; with him another 
 poet, a little merry obsequious man with a curly 
 wig and soft brown eyes who stopped, left his 
 companion, and came up tiptoe, hat against his 
 heart. " Another Tom Poet," said the Duke 
 sotto voce. " We '11 talk to this Tom. The 
 other 's an old bore." It was odd, how naturally 
 he dismissed a man as " old " who was ten years 
 younger than himself. 
 
 This second Tom could not be denied. His 
 bow, his smile, his friendly eyes ! " A fine night 
 to your Grace ! And an entirely fine night for 
 your lordship's good eyes! What a scene for a 
 statesman! Rest after your labors. Ah, now, 
 give my poor friends a turn of rest." 
 
 " How do, Mr. Moore," said his Grace, and 
 offered his fingers. Then, " Let me present you
 
 128 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 to Mrs. Lancelot, my friend and ally. A staunch 
 Tory, Mr. Moore." 
 
 Mr. Moore bowed himself to a right angle. 
 " The servant of Mrs. Lancelot, the humble serv- 
 ant. I had the honor of being at Lady A 's 
 
 two nights ago. I exchanged pleasant words with 
 your fortunate knight. A serious conversation 
 the daughter of the house, Lady Susan, is about 
 
 to make happy my friend Lord M . We 
 
 spoke, therefore, of Love and Hymen, a subject 
 of which I know much, having a dear Bessy at 
 home and he too is an expert, as well he may 
 be." 
 
 "What do you poets make of all this?" the 
 Duke asked him, and the little man raised his 
 hands and let them flack his sides. 
 
 " Quicquid agunt homines! My Lord Duke, 
 these are the stuff that you and I alike work with. 
 These fine fellows will be electors some day. 
 They have to be fed: they love, they breed, they 
 think" 
 
 " Do they, by gad? " said the Duke. " Then 
 you must feed 'em, I take it. That 's your call, 
 eh? Well, give 'em wholesome food, Mr. 
 Moore. Fudge is better for them than Miss 
 Lalla. What do you think of Lalla, Mrs. Lance- 
 lot?" 
 
 Georgiana laughed off the confusing question, 
 Mr. Moore helping her.
 
 VAUXHALL 129 
 
 " Not fair, not fair, my lord. But I '11 tell 
 Mrs. Lancelot this. My Bessy hides it when 
 some of her county visitors come." 
 
 " I think she 's quite right," said the Duke. 
 He dismissed the poet with a glance which nobody 
 else could have detected. 
 
 " Now I must be after Tom Campbell," said the 
 sharp-eyed little man. " A thousand pleasures at- 
 tend your Grace. Mrs. Lancelot, may I say au 
 revoirl " 
 
 " I hope so, indeed," she told him. 
 
 He hopped from one foot to the other, then 
 asked if he might call and pay his respects. " It 
 would be a real honor," he assured her. " I do 
 hope you '11 permit it." 
 
 She gave him a smile and her hand which he 
 fervently kissed. Then he skipped away. 
 
 " You Ve made a conquest of Tom," the Duke 
 said, as she again took his arm. " But you 're in 
 conquering vein, I see. Who was your hero ? 
 a fine young man to look at. He made short work 
 of your two rascals." 
 
 " I don't know in the least. I 'm very grateful 
 to him." She remembered him now: a hot and 
 fierce youth. His scowling brows haunted her. 
 
 4 Your husband 's coming to see me," thus he 
 broke her the news. And then she looked up 
 flushed and excited; and he saw her lip quiver. 
 " Don't thank me, my dear. He 's rather stiff,
 
 i 3 o MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 but he 's a worker, I know. I Ve found out a 
 good deal about him. He '11 do very well, if you 
 help him, I don't doubt." 
 
 " I ! " cried she, looking up into his face. He 
 laughed kindly. 
 
 " Yes, you. You Ve got keener eyes than he 
 has. He 's too anxious to get on. He does n't 
 see where he 's getting to. But you can see a line 
 
 and I '11 trust him to follow one. I would n't 
 trust you always. One of these days we shall 
 have you a little Jacobin. Never mind. We 're 
 going to be friendly. Now if I come to your 
 door some fine morning, I suppose you won't re- 
 fuse me ? Well, I shall come. I 'm old enough 
 to be your father, I daresay. Is that a bargain? 
 Very well. Now let 's find your man and his 
 party, and have some supper if they '11 give it us 
 
 and then we '11 tell Lancelot that he 's wanted. 
 Come along." 
 
 Her little hand on his arm told him what he 
 wanted to know. No happier feet than hers 
 tripped the gravel of Vauxhall beside a manly 
 pair. 
 
 Charles received his summons with a profound 
 inclination. " I shall be proud to wait upon your 
 Grace," he had said; and the Duke, " ten sharp." 
 That was all. Going home, Georgiana was very 
 ready to be stroked, and put out her hand as far 
 as she dared; but Charles did not notice it. Full
 
 VAUXHALL 131 
 
 of his future, he sat well back with folded arms 
 and peered out of window. 
 
 There was a block on the bridge, the first of 
 many, and Sir Carnaby pointed out one leaning 
 there, bare-headed, looking east. " See that 
 man ! " he said. " There 's a suicide cut and 
 ready." 
 
 As he spoke the ponderer turned and looked 
 into the carriage. " Second thoughts are best, 
 my young friend," said Sir Carnaby, as the horses 
 jerked them forward.
 
 XII 
 
 GERVASE POORE 
 
 THE young man on the bridge, one Gervase 
 Poore, was he who had rescued Georgiana 
 from her predicament in the gardens. He leaned 
 on the bridge at that late hour, and saw what Mr. 
 Wordsworth had not, who had done it on another 
 bridge, but at much the same unconscionable time. 
 Gervase Poore, like Mr. Wordsworth, was a poet, 
 and like Mr. Wordsworth was not read by his 
 generation. " Cockney School," said the Quarterly 
 and other reviewers, and let their whips crack over 
 his thin octavos. In his present vigil he saw not 
 the mighty heart of London, for he doubted its 
 having one ; but he watched rather the great clouds 
 roll out seawards, driven up on a wet wind from 
 the west. " These," said he, " are messengers of 
 the eternal and abiding things, at the gates of this 
 brothel and madhouse combined. Or, London is 
 like a great bird-cage. She, that innocent, gentle 
 and single-hearted, is fluttering in there along with 
 other millions. She can't get out She 's at the 
 mercy of any cold-eyed, rapacious brute who will 
 get her into a corner. God in Heaven! and she 
 
 132
 
 GERVASE POORE 133 
 
 is made of skyey tissue made dainty and per- 
 fect, to be a true man's mate." And then he 
 turned and, as chance would have it, saw the lady 
 of his new adoration. He saw her clearly, recog- 
 nizing instantly the turn of her head upon its slim 
 neck, the roundness of her cheek; he caught a 
 gleam of her liquid eye, fixed, it seemed, upon him 
 though Georgiana was innocent of his there- 
 abouts and had nothing of him in her mind. 
 
 Although he was a poet and an ardent lover of 
 women, having no conversation with man, whom 
 he despised as heartily as the Duke of Devizes 
 himself, or any other high Tory; yet he was an, 
 observer alike of what he loved and what he con- 
 demned. He was clerk to an attorney in Ser- 
 geant's Inn, and had it not been for the humors 
 which that trade enabled him to study must have 
 broken with his master years ago As it was, this 
 faculty of his of reading, judging and pigeon-hol- 
 ing mankind, combined with the theory and practice 
 of poesy, did contrive to keep him steady. Add 
 to what he made, a fifty pounds a year which was 
 what his father had left him, and you have all 
 that you need know about him for the moment. 
 
 He had gone to Vauxhall on this particular 
 evening to see women. His daily work showed 
 him none ; and women were entirely necessary to 
 his moral well-being. Don't misunderstand 
 Poore; he was not at all vicious. Far from that, 
 
 9
 
 i 3 4 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 any proposals in that direction would have hurt 
 him dreadfully. But the beauty of a woman to 
 him had a specific moral significance quite apart 
 from any which she may have had herself. 
 Beauty was holy to him; he said that if he was to 
 pray he must see beauty. And that meant women, 
 since Nature was denied to Londoners. 
 
 So it was that he saw Georgiana Lancelot, and 
 while he adored her, finding in her " his soul's pe- 
 culiar food," placed her at once. He knew her 
 sort, he said to himself. There was a woman so 
 innately pure that evil did not exist for her, could 
 not for lack of nutriment exist anywhere near her. 
 That was not one of your prudes by design, delib- 
 erately chaste, or chaste because chastity was an 
 ideal. This woman was chaste by nature and 
 would be so though she loved a hundred men or 
 sold herself to a hundred that loved her. He saw 
 her encounter, and saw that she was annoyed, but 
 not alarmed " for her virtue." He saw that it 
 was not conceivable to her that the fork-tongued, 
 goat-footed kind could assail her for base pur- 
 poses. Incapable of baseness, to her baseness 
 was not. He adored her, as one might the lucent 
 beauty of a star in heaven, or the cold young 
 moon in a sky of clear amber. And at first he was 
 not more troubled than she was. 
 
 But then, being now in fancy by her side, he was 
 made angry, and anon furious. That they who
 
 GERVASE POORE 135 
 
 were privileged to be about her should be insensi- 
 ble to her crystalline quality, that they should not 
 discern the God, shocked him to the soul. He felt 
 the blood surge up into his neck, his neck swell 
 which was a bad sign. Pushing a way through the 
 drifting line of people, he did what became him, 
 a Perseus without his Medusa head; and then, face 
 to face with his young goddess, was himself 
 turned to stone. Her clear and precise words of 
 gratitude left him dumb. It was right that she 
 should have nothing, or little, to say to the likes 
 of him; but there was a flatness, all the same, 
 about such an end to the adventure. He bowed 
 and fled the presence ; but gaining courage, stopped 
 on the other side of the arena, out of her sight, 
 and saw her with her friends about her. They 
 borrowed from her an enormous, overpowering 
 interest; they served about the Presence. He ab- 
 sorbed Diana, Charles, even whiskered Sir Car- 
 naby; and then among them he saw one who made 
 him hold his breath. So that was it! He knew 
 that erect, thin, little great man ; he knew all 
 London knew those quiet and cold blue eyes. 
 " So she 's shadowed by that old brute ! " The 
 sight of the man's possessory eye, of his propri- 
 etary greeting, turned him cold, then hot. He 
 found himself trembling, and, unable to bear the 
 discovery, pushed away. But Georgiana's slim 
 and delicate beauty, her carven face, haunted him
 
 136 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 wherever he turned. Vauxhall became a den of 
 thieves, a cage of vipers, and he had to leave it. 
 He did, and leaned on the bridge for an hour or 
 more, watching the cloud rack as it streamed up 
 from the west and with all its secrets of the great 
 open places hurried over London, urgent for the 
 sea. To him, poet, these vaporous masses were 
 informed with conscious life. They were winged 
 spirits, messengers, angels of mystery huge 
 beings shadowing, threatening, warning, inspiring 
 the minds of men, and why not indeed? How if 
 the pathetic fallacy be not fallacious? How if the 
 feelings we seem to lend to earth and sky be really 
 borrowed from them? Thus he would have 
 cried out, to whom the swift clouds were hiero- 
 phants. Under them now he brooded upon their 
 rune, and beside him, hardly shadowed now, 
 Georgiana stood, but a transfigured Georgiana, a 
 wide-eyed, ethereal creature, touched, she too, with 
 mystery. This, again, was the informed soul of 
 Georgiana, not that possessed, plumed and silken 
 lady of the Vauxhall lamps, but the essential 
 Georgiana. That exquisite being, it might be, 
 was subject to the chill-eyed duke, at the bidding 
 of other persons statesmen, politicians, bucks 
 and dandies. Be it so. He must be content to 
 have it so. The essence loomed apart from them, 
 close by his side. But now you will understand
 
 GERVASE POORE 137 
 
 why, under some insurgent bitter gust, he likened 
 London to a bird-cage, and saw Georgiana flutter- 
 ing shadowed within it. 
 
 The second glimpse which he had of her in 
 her carriage gave him better heart. The duke 
 was not there. Thank God for a moment of 
 respite ! The men with her looked honest. One 
 was, no doubt, her husband. He fancied, the 
 younger man, grave, with dark whiskers. That 
 he should understand her was not to be hoped; 
 but he looked a gentleman. He strode homeward 
 to his lodging in Clerkenwell with Georgiana as 
 clear before him as a head on a cameo. He glo- 
 ried in the possession, cherished and fostered it 
 all he knew. For many and many a day she made 
 his hours a waking glory. He triumphed in his 
 discovery; he heard music all about him. And 
 then he fell to upon a poem which was to get 
 him a hearing. " Nausithoe " it was, which has 
 since become known. 
 
 Nausithoe was a nymph of Proserpine's, flower- 
 gathering with her that fatal morning on Enna, 
 accompanying her, by prayer and entreaty, into 
 the Shades, serving her faithfully there. They 
 were bosom friends, those two, and might not be 
 separated, it seems. There, in the nether world, 
 she was beloved by, and fell herself to love, one 
 of the dead, a pale phantom of what once had
 
 138 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 been a true man. They loved, they wedded, and 
 an unsubstantial bliss was theirs, the very ecstasy 
 of the love-torment, never to be sated without 
 peace. All this, related in that supersenuous, 
 hot-house manner which acted upon Quarterly re- 
 viewers as red pepper upon a wound, may be read 
 in its place but he gets Georgiana prettily into 
 his octosyllabics. 
 
 She, bosom's mate, the delicate, 
 
 Child-faced, gray-eyed, of sober gait, 
 
 Of burning mind, of passion pent 
 
 To image-making, ever went 
 
 Where wonned her mistress; for those two 
 
 By the heart's grace together grew . . . 
 
 And then he hails her : 
 
 O thou meek 
 
 And gentle vision, let me tell 
 Thy beauties o'er I love so well: 
 Thy sweet low bosom's rise and fall, 
 Pulsing thy heart's clear madrigal, 
 Or how '.he blue beam from thine eyes 
 Imageth all love's urgencies; 
 Thy lips' frail fragrance, as of flowers 
 Remembered in penurious hours 
 Of winter exile; of thy brow, 
 Not written as thy breast of snow 
 With love's faint charact'ry, for his wing 
 Leaves not the heart long. Next I sing 
 Thy thin quick fingers in whose pleaching 
 Lieth all healing, all good teaching 
 For with them, touching discontent, 
 I know how thou art eloquent!
 
 GERVASE POORE 139 
 
 He reads her here, from the without to the 
 within, with remarkable vision; and throughout 
 the poem, though he knows nothing whatever 
 about her but what any man in the street might 
 see for himself, he never gets off the track which 
 she, in herself as she was, must needs have fol- 
 lowed. Himself we surmise in Endocles, the 
 ghostly lover. He has n't concerned himself to 
 be precise with Endocles, whose trouble really was 
 that he was only ghostly on paper. Poore was 
 far too human. But Nausithoe, so long as she re- 
 mained a lady in a book, was a safety-valve for 
 much dangerous vapor. 
 
 Meantime he contrived to see her again Nau- 
 sithoe in her sweet tenement of flesh and this 
 by a very simple means. He devoted his evening 
 hours to shadowing the Duke, guessing very well 
 that to whatso great house he went the fair victim 
 of his fancies would go also. It was not at all 
 difficult to find out the semi-public, quasi-official 
 engagements of so public a man; he had friends 
 to help him too. Having tracked him down, then, 
 to this house or that, he waited with the crowd 
 there always is at the doors, behind the ranked 
 footmen, until his lady should arrive or come out. 
 He failed the first night, for the Duke went to 
 dine with a royal Prince ; he failed the second, for 
 he went to a crib in Covent Garden to see a fight ; 
 but the third night he succeeded beyond his hopes,
 
 i 4 o MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 when his Grace went to Smith Square, and for a 
 few moments appeared at an open upper window 
 and stood there with Georgiana herself contem- 
 plating the starry heavens. She was then within 
 speaking distance of him. He heard her actual 
 voice, marked every little movement. Once she 
 laughed, low and musically. The Duke said lit- 
 tle, but looked (Poore judged) much. His car- 
 riage, waiting for him outside, took him off at 
 eleven. Soon after that Charles came to shut the 
 window, but she came up behind him, and put 
 her hand on his shoulder, and presently leaned her 
 cheek on her hand. Poore watched that beautiful 
 action in a transport, and was furious with the man 
 that he did not respond. But Charles held him- 
 self stiffly, and gazed into the night in silence. 
 She said a few words, looking upwards at him; 
 he answered in monosyllables formal and remote. 
 For that Poore cursed him. " The Jailer " he 
 called him, and in his bitterness, " The Eunuch 
 of the Door." It was easy, after that, to find 
 out that Mr. and Mrs. Lancelot lived in that 
 house far easier than to leave it. He did not 
 in fact leave it until he had seen Mrs. Lancelot 
 kiss her glum lord's shoulder and withdraw her 
 white-garbed presence from the window. Pres- 
 ently after, when he saw a light above and guessed 
 her disrobing, he lifted up his hands. " God keep
 
 GERVASE POORE 141 
 
 her safe from harm ! " he prayed, and went home 
 to Clerkenwell. 
 
 The tortured pair, Nausithoe and Endocles, 
 strained together in their empty rapture through 
 two fervent stanzas before Poore went to his pal- 
 let bed. After this, he was seldom far from 
 Georgiana's house after dark, and could have told 
 you where she went and whom met as well as The 
 Morning Post. 
 
 Sergeant's Inn claimed him by day. He could 
 not guess the progress of the Duke's affair. And 
 it 's well that he could not. 
 
 There is not much more to be said of him at 
 this moment. He was twenty-six years old by the 
 almanac, but hardly out of swaddling clothes by 
 the computation of London. He was about to 
 publish a volume of perfervid lyrics, and was 
 known already to Leigh Hunt, Tom Moore and 
 similar adventurers, successful and unsuccessful. 
 Leigh Hunt printed him now and then in The 
 Examiner, Tom lent him a guinea when he had 
 one, and really believed in his genius. He was his 
 own constant backer, and quite unmoved by the 
 neglect or apathy of those who read him and those 
 who did not. He was a violent reformer in pol- 
 itics, a born leader of lost causes. If Southey 
 could have been made uncomfortable or Coleridge 
 galvanized into mental activity by a revival of
 
 142 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 Pantisocracy, Gervase Poore would have been the 
 thaumaturge to have done it. He was probably 
 the only pantisocrat alive; but he was an out-and- 
 outer, prepared at a moment's notice to carry off 
 a man's wife and, he believed, to share her spir- 
 itual perfections with Tom or Dick. This, I say, 
 he firmly believed; but the fact of the matter is 
 that if ever an occidental was born to be despot 
 over a harem it was this young man. He adored 
 women but as a master; and it may well be 
 that they would accept him on no other terms. 
 But all this was pure theory, for he had known, so 
 far, practically nothing of them. 
 
 Pray don't imagine that this was a virtuous 
 youth any more than a vicious. He was not that, 
 as the northern world conceives virture. His al- 
 truism was skin-deep, or tongue-deep, or pen-deep, 
 if you like. In himself he was overbearing, pre- 
 sumptuous, impulsive and compulsive. He be- 
 lieved in himself and in nobody else; he believed 
 in the right of the conqueror to the spoils, and in 
 his own idea he was the conqueror. In the matter 
 of beauty which is the whole of the poet's 
 matter he had an eye for it, and a furious 
 instinct to possess what he saw. The two 
 things when they go together and with inso- 
 lence make a Byron; but in Gervase, who had 
 not the birthright of a Byron, they were tempered 
 by awe. A very beautiful thing intimidated him
 
 GERVASE POORE 143 
 
 while it drew him after it. He would not will- 
 ingly hurt any beautiful thing, but if, without 
 hurting it, he could have it have it he must and 
 would. And he had, perhaps unduly, the poet's 
 faculty of persuading himself that never, never, 
 never could he hurt the beautiful thing desired 
 
 in which persuasion, alas, he was very often 
 deceived, and it along with him. For he had the 
 tongue of an angel when he desired. Horrible 
 failure, horrible disenchantment, horrible wreck 
 impended and even came thundering down upon 
 the fair promise which he had won by his words 
 
 times and again this happened. But after the 
 dreadful affliction, and a time of blankness and 
 eclipse, he arose like a giant out of sleep, renewed 
 by contact with the earth, and saw, and persuaded, 
 and conquered again himself first, and then the 
 lovely thing desired. And so from age to age 
 he waxed, and each period was marked by a poem, 
 and each poem sounded a birth and a death. 
 
 With the form of some sulky young barbarian 
 of old, shock-headed, flushed, broad-shouldered 
 and of gleaming eyes, with the swift discernment 
 of an eagle and the ruthless dominion of some 
 king of the forest, with the tongue of an apostle, 
 and the pen of a prophet and the heart of a child 
 
 such was Gervase Poore.
 
 XIII 
 
 IF Charles Lancelot realized that he owed what 
 he had so long expected to his wife, he was 
 not the man to admit it, even to himself. His 
 self-esteem was of that sensitive quality that it 
 must at all costs be kept from the air. It is to 
 be suggested that at the back of his mind know- 
 ledge of the truth was lying like a bruise, whose 
 only hope of health lay in the feeling that if in- 
 deed it was so she had shown wifely duty by her 
 efforts. And although he had made clear to her 
 of what use she could be to him, and had been 
 over-anxious for her " influence " to begin, now 
 that it had indeed begun he could not bear to think 
 of it. The moment he had confided in her he 
 felt that he had betrayed himself, given himself 
 into her little hands; and at that moment after the 
 Ogmore breakfast, when she had made clear to 
 him that her " influence " had miraculously begun 
 to work, although he went on to improve the occa- 
 sion, it had been with a sinking of the spirits, and 
 with qualms which never disappeared, but struck 
 
 144
 
 REFLECTIONS OF CHARLES 145 
 
 suddenly at him like pangs at the heart. Such 
 was Charles Lancelot, who felt with a dreadful 
 certainty at the back of his brain that he was going 
 to be jealous of his patron. 
 
 Not a word of Georgiana had, naturally, been 
 said when he paid his visit to Wake House. He 
 had been ushered into the Duke's library by his 
 soft-footed man and had found the hero sunning 
 himself at the open window, erect, fully dressed, 
 unconscious of anything but the business immedi- 
 ately in hand. Two fingers for him: "Ha, 
 Lancelot, how do? " and then he had plunged 
 into the middle of the thing, as his custom was. 
 
 " I think that you and I can serve each other. 
 I Ve had a note from Bamfylde " that was the 
 Secretary to the Treasury. " He tells me all I 
 want to know. I 'm getting rid of Spendlove 
 not a scrap of use. The man has no method. 
 Besides that, he talks. I gave him six hundred a 
 year not to talk and he talks. I gave him a 
 horse, which he can't sit. Now, can you get into 
 the House ? What interest have you ? Can't old 
 Strangways do anything for you ? He 's your 
 father-in-law, I think?" That was the nearest 
 they got to Georgiana. 
 
 Charles said that Sir Peter's borough was occu- 
 pied by Sir Peter himself at present. He had 
 hopes of one of Lord Drem's that peer being 
 a connection of his mother's.
 
 i 4 6 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 The Duke knew Lord Drem. " Yes, he might 
 do it, I should say. Do you speak to him and 
 so will I. We shall want all the men we can get 
 if this damned scheme is to be countered. But 
 they '11 have it, you know. They 're bound to 
 have it. That 's what comes of putting ideas into 
 English heads. It takes the deuce's time to get 
 'em there ; but when you do, they root like couch- 
 grass, and before you know where you are they 're 
 part of the soil. I don't promise our people more 
 than a square fight. That they shall have. We 
 shan't stop in long, I fancy ; but we 're in now 
 and by God we '11 have a go at them." 
 
 Charles said that he had great hopes in the 
 English respect for property, which hitherto had 
 always, ultimately, prevailed. He would have 
 continued with his comfortable words, but the 
 Duke shook his head. " They shall have a fight 
 for it that 's all I can say at present. Then 
 there '11 be Catholic Emancipation to face. 
 That 's involved in the other damned thing. 
 Now, I 'd give 'em that if I had my way, but the 
 King won't hear of it. What possesses him about 
 it, I don't pretend to understand. Respect for his 
 father's memory? That's what he says, when 
 he 's at his last shift. It 's unfortunate to respect 
 your father's memory for one of the least respect- 
 able things he e.ver did that 's all I can say. 
 He let down Billy Pitt, you know made the
 
 'I think that you and I can serve each other"
 
 149 
 
 fellow out a liar. Damme, that 's not respectable, 
 to my way of thinking. No, no, the fellow 's got 
 something else in his head. He shies at the Cath- 
 olics Lord knows why." Charles listened re- 
 spectfully, not knowing then, what he was to find 
 out before long, that one of the chief uses to 
 which the Duke put his secretaries was to let off 
 his spleen against his principles and party into 
 their ears. The Duke was a Tory by inheritance ; 
 by conviction he was a despot. He loved work 
 and showed that he could do it. He had never 
 found anybody else who could do it half so well, 
 and he was very unwilling to let them try. He 
 could have got on perfectly well without a secre- 
 tary; but he wanted Charles, for reasons of his 
 own. 
 
 After a little more talk the bargain was struck. 
 Charles was to have six hundred a year, and begin 
 his work at once. He was to get into the House 
 as soon as he could the Duke thought that it 
 might be managed in the autumn " if Drem was 
 agreeable," and if " Drem's man " could be 
 bought up. He thought that a baronetcy ought 
 to do it. Directly Charles was in the House he 
 would be found a billet, with what appertained. 
 A man called Netherbow Lord Netherbow 
 was Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs, but he 
 was in the Lords, and they must have a Com- 
 moner. Why shouldn't Charles take that?
 
 1 50 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 Charles's eyes gleamed fiercely; he saw no reason 
 why he should not, but contented himself with 
 bowing his head. Well, we 'd see about all that 
 when the time came. That which had, at the 
 moment, to be made clear was what the Duke 
 wanted of his private secretary. It was done with 
 great precision. " You '11 be here every morning 
 at nine, and have everything cut and dried for me. 
 I ride at eight and am in by ten. At twelve I 
 ride again if I can. I take no luncheon, and go 
 down to the House at four. You '11 have to come 
 too, in case I want you which I almost certainly 
 shall. At eight I dine, whatever happens. Then 
 I 'm out. I get home before midnight, and then. 
 I clear up, and get the slate wiped for next day. 
 Now if I vary from that line of country I don't 
 like it. I've grown into it; it suits me; it will 
 be your business to see that I don't get out of it. 
 So long as I plug along in those ruts you may do 
 what you please, see whom you please, and tell 
 'em what you please. What I tell you you '11 
 write, and what you write I shall sign. I think 
 that 's all. On extraordinary occasions we shall 
 have to do extraordinary things ; but the less often 
 they come the better I shall be pleased, and the 
 quicker I get back into my jog-trot the better for 
 the pair of us. Good morning." Two fingers, a 
 sharp look, not unfriendly, a curt nod, and the 
 thing was done. Charles walked back to the
 
 REFLECTIONS OF CHARLES 151 
 
 Treasury for the last time as a clerk, and imparted 
 his news to his Georgiana in the evening. She 
 would have been more triumphant if he had. She 
 would have been on his knee, with her arm about 
 his neck, her cheek to his, or her lips, if such 
 things had been in order. But they were not in 
 order. They were inconceivable. The news was 
 given through an open door while Charles in his 
 room tied his neckcloth for a dinner party, and 
 Georgiana in hers was doing her hair. They 
 were, as usual, going into the high world, and 
 had been invited " to meet the Duke of Devizes," 
 the Prime Minister. And meet him they did; 
 and she sat next to the great man, who talked to 
 her through most of dinner. 
 
 Now began what you and I would call his infat- 
 uation for Georgiana, but what the London world 
 which knew him called otherwise. He so im- 
 pressed it that he was believed to pursue his fancy 
 of the moment as Sir Carnaby Hodges and per- 
 sons of the sort chased the fox, as it were by 
 prerogative of birth, as it were de race. Sir Car- 
 naby's pursuit was not called infatuation, but sport. 
 The Duke's taste for young and occasionally pretty 
 women (for by no means all his friends had been 
 outwardly fair) was not called so either, but gal- 
 lantry. To everybody who knew anything he was 
 notorious for gallantry. He was a man of quick 
 fancy, infinite zest; and what made him so at-
 
 152 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 tractive to women, his prestige apart, was the 
 entire absence of pretense about him, which 
 seemed irresistibly to imply sincerity. And no 
 doubt but he was sincere. He never paid compli- 
 ments, never flattered, never courted, as you may 
 say. If he thought a woman pretty, he told her 
 so without reserve. He had of course told 
 Georgiana that she was pretty. " Fact is, my 
 dear, that you 're an uncommonly pretty woman," 
 he had said. He had neither made her blush nor 
 her heart beat. She had no vanity, and did not 
 believe herself pretty for being told so; but his 
 way of saying it had helped her. It implied noth- 
 ing in the way of desire for her good opinion; it 
 implied nothing at all but what he believed to be 
 a fact. " The fact is, my dear, it 's an uncom- 
 monly fine day; " it had that kind of effect. 
 Georgiana, therefore, trusted him, as every other 
 woman, object of his attention, had done before 
 her. She really liked him, apart from the glory 
 of him, and in time came to understand that it 
 was honestly a comfort to him to have her ear 
 whenever he chose for it. She was very happy 
 when she came to understand that. That was flat- 
 tery indeed. That made her glow with pride. 
 And then it was such a comfort to feel that she 
 was helping Charles. She always hugged that to 
 her bosom. Sometimes she was pained that 
 Charles was so cold about it. But he had never
 
 REFLECTIONS OF CHARLES 153 
 
 been very warm, nor had she as yet any idea how 
 warm a man could be. Nobody so far had made 
 love to her unless you call profound bows, cer- 
 emonial attention to her needs or few words mak- 
 ing love which she certainly did not. Charles, 
 if he had had love for her, had assumed it made, 
 and assumed it accepted; the Duke (if he felt it) 
 concealed it. She had no evidence that there was 
 such a thing in the world, outside novels. And 
 the worth of novels, said she, which exalt marriage 
 to golden heights above the world, may be judged 
 by marriage as she had found it. A business part- 
 nership, a social arrangement. What deeper sig- 
 nificance it may have had, what private raptures, 
 were lost in her baby's grave. She had put such 
 wonder, along with her dreams, far from her. 
 She believed that she was getting old; but two 
 people knew that she was not. One was the 
 Duke, who saw her with increasing frequency by 
 day, the other Poore the poet, who seldom missed 
 her by night during this season of June and July, 
 while the malignant Whigs were holding the 
 House of Commons against the Government of 
 the day and starving the House of Lords of their 
 proper food which, as everybody knows, is the re- 
 jection of Whig measures. This they did by the 
 simple method of having no measures at all. But 
 she knew nothing of Mr. Poore and his night- 
 watches; and as for passion and gallantry, elopings
 
 154 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 and divorces and such like, she had an innocent 
 mind, and would have classed the whole lot to- 
 gether as disagreeable. 
 
 The clubs called Georgiana " the Duke's new 
 flame," and agreed that it was a neat-run thing 
 for Lancelot. He, at any rate, had got what he 
 wanted. " He 's been at it for years, I happen to 
 know," said the ousted Spendlove. " If I 'd had 
 a wife with eyes of that size I should n't be here." 
 Spendlove felt sore. 
 
 Hostesses took notice of her more slowly, but 
 as she gave herself no airs whatever, but on the 
 contrary was most prettily grateful for attentions, 
 she got off with very little scandalous comment. 
 How these things are done I don't pretend to say 
 but it is undoubted that from about the begin- 
 ning of July until the end of the session Georgiana 
 was not only asked to the dinner-parties which the 
 Duke had accepted, but was either taken down 
 by him (if they were small) or placed in his neigh- 
 borhood if they were big. Routs and assemblies 
 received her gladly and saw her attended by his 
 Grace as a matter of course. She went to Al- 
 mack's, and so did he. But he never danced, and 
 she would not. Charles, it is to be added, was 
 always present. If she got notes of invitation 
 which omitted Charles she always declined them. 
 And she had the further delicacy not to mention 
 them to him.
 
 REFLECTIONS OF CHARLES 155 
 
 All this meant that they saw very little of each 
 other out every night, home late Charles 
 away to the Duke's by nine in the morning. 
 What kind of a domestic life was this? Charles 
 assured himself frequently it was not what he had 
 sought in marriage and never once saw how in- 
 consistent he was, since it was precisely and liter- 
 ally what he had sought. Georgiana frankly 
 found it all much more amusing than she found 
 her own drawing-room with Charles in it, who had 
 at this time the air of silent disapproval of her 
 presences and absences alike. For if she chanced 
 to be out when he came in, he showed her evident 
 traces of suffering when she returned; and if she 
 were in he was unhappy that he could n't make her 
 happier, and showed that too. All this got on 
 her nerves, caused her to be fretful, and tempted 
 her to seek distraction outside. 
 
 I believe that the uncomfortable Charles suf- 
 fered more at this dawn of his public career than 
 he had ever conceived any human being could suf- 
 fer. And he suffered none the less because he rel- 
 ished his opening vistas, and he suffered without 
 renouncing any one of his ambitions now so well 
 within his reach. Everything that he had desired 
 seemed to be tumbling into his hands. He was 
 to be a member of Parliament before the autumn, 
 for Lord Drem's nominee was to retire with a 
 baronetcy. He would certainly hold office when
 
 i$6 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 he was returned; he was bowed to at the clubs, 
 elected over the heads of other candidates; his 
 opinion was asked; he went everywhere and knew 
 everything. The Duke had no secrets from him; 
 but yet he believed himself betrayed. Not in fact, 
 of course. It would have been inconceivable to 
 him to connect her with anything like a scandal 
 impossible to suppose, dangerous even to think of. 
 He respected himself; his security from tongues 
 was the breath of his nostrils. And it would be 
 false to say that he did not respect her also. He 
 did, and so far as he could love at all, he loved 
 Georgiana. But he was one of those Englishmen 
 who believe that venerable ceremonies involve 
 hearts and consciences. She was his by legal act, 
 by Church sanction, by her given word and his 
 acceptance. These laws of property are not 
 broken: that is, they are in some cases, but not 
 in his own. He was like any young, healthy 
 man you please who believes that people die, 
 without understanding that he too is one of such 
 people. 
 
 But Georgiana's favor in the Duke's eyes, while 
 it enhanced her in his own, seemed to make her 
 unattainable. I believe that at any given moment 
 of this time he prayed for a miracle, some angel 
 of the Lord with a flaming coal which, touching 
 his lips, might give him tongue to tell Georgiana 
 how much he loved her. Absurd, unhappy man,
 
 REFLECTIONS OF CHARLES 157 
 
 he believed that he loved her overwhelmingly now, 
 when he had found out that somebody else was 
 attracted by her. He used to go apart at some 
 great assembly or another, and with clenched 
 hands and drawn face agonize in secret. He 
 could not keep his eyes off her. He could not see 
 her surrounded by men as he must without 
 wild longing to snatch her out of all this splendor 
 of silk and jewels and uniforms, ribbons and stars, 
 snatch her away to some dark retreat, and there 
 clasp her to his heart and kiss her to death. He 
 believed that he would have done that, did not 
 at all understand that what he really loved, what 
 he really mourned as gone, was his love of her, 
 his possession of her love, and not his possession 
 of herself. He did not understand himself at 
 all; he was alarmed, fearing for his sanity, had 
 thoughts of consulting a physician. But so it was; 
 and then, when the miserable affair was over, and 
 he had her by his side in their carriage for she 
 had a carriage now when she, fresh and happy 
 from a little success, breathed and thrilled by 
 him, and he felt the touch of her arm, or even the 
 wooing of her dear affectionate hand, wretch that 
 he was, he was frozen, tongue and brain, heart and 
 every member, and must answer coldly, and feel 
 her retreat in disappointment. You may pity 
 Charles, who had not made himself, and could not 
 unmake; but you may well spare a little pity for
 
 158 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 her too, who only asked to be happy and to make 
 him happy. 
 
 She would have told him everything if he would 
 have let her, or if there had been anything to tell. 
 But there was not. It was so far the sim- 
 plest business in the world. Her new friend 
 had found out that she could listen, and so 
 he talked to her. Devizes was unapproach- 
 able by men, because he was born a despot 
 and had come into his despotry. He was 
 much clearer-sighted, had fewer illusions, and 
 much more decision than any man of his time in 
 England. That he saw, and that they felt. He 
 had no prejudices of the mind, though he was full 
 of instinctive prejudices, so to speak. But you 
 could not get the better of a man who had no 
 objection to a beating. It was nothing to him to 
 admit himself wrong. He would do it in public 
 or private without winking; but he would tell you 
 in the next breath that he intended to pursue that 
 very course if he could because he chose it 
 so. He could only so treat his fellow-men because 
 he had no opinion of them, and if he never con- 
 fided in one of them, it 's not because he wished to 
 conceal anything from them, but because he did n't 
 think they were worth either confidence or distrust. 
 That threw him much into the society of women, 
 to whom he was also attracted by their sex. He 
 had always had women friends, and had loved
 
 REFLECTIONS OF CHARLES 159 
 
 much. He was, probably, incapable of a single 
 and life-long attachment. He loved many women, 
 and in many ways. He did not, as yet, love 
 Georgiana, but he knew that he was about to love 
 her and there was no earthly hurry. 
 
 Her reticence and frugality had attracted him 
 from the first, as well as her beauty, which, though 
 it was very real, was not of that flaming and com- 
 pelling sort which anybody can see. It was quiet, 
 sub-radiant beauty, like that of a snowdrop in a 
 hedgerow. It needed discernment, and that he 
 had. Exactly what had drawn Gervase Poore, 
 the young man of virgin heart, had drawn this 
 aging man of ripe knowledge of many women. 
 A sweetly poised discretion, a delicate deliberation, 
 the view in her of something innately pure, a quiet 
 contentment with her heart's store, and a candor 
 like that of a mountain spring. Delicacy was im- 
 plied in every line and tone of her. She was no- 
 where redundant. Her color was faint, and so 
 was the thrust of her bosom. She was not tall, 
 she was not short; she was not bold, she was not 
 shy. She laughed rarely, said little but, by 
 George, she was a good listener ! That was what 
 the Duke said to anybody who chose to hear him. 
 He never concealed for a moment that he liked 
 to be with her, that she soothed him with her 
 fragrance of tea-roses, and kind eyes the color of 
 violets. What Gervase Poore would have said at
 
 160 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 this time may be read in " Nausithoe," which was 
 mounting stanza by stanza to more than respect- 
 able length. Later on, when her parsimony stung 
 him to madness, he was more reprehensible. 
 Some of his poems about her "To Propertius, 
 for his Lute," for instance pass the bounds, and 
 betray an irritation which may be natural in a fine 
 young man, but is not the less regrettable. 
 
 But the world was, as it still is, a gross feeder. 
 If the dish is unspiced, spice must be shaken in at 
 table. If innocence exists it is not our fault. 
 Here and there, already, " guilty relationships " 
 were read into what I have explained to be a very 
 simple affair. All that had happened so far was 
 that on most mornings in July the Duke, attended 
 by a groom, rode up to Georgiana's door at half- 
 past twelve. He knocked and was admitted with- 
 out question. He found her in her drawing-room, 
 either at embroidery or flower-painting, said, 
 " Good morning, my dear," and sat by her. Then 
 in his high-pitched, clear voice, in his dry, humor- 
 ous-querulous way he began to talk of this and 
 that of his correspondence, of his King, of his 
 party, of his duchess, of his sons or daughters 
 and she to incline her head to her work and her 
 ear to him. At times, when he paused, or asked 
 a question, she would lend him the unfaltering 
 glory of her eyes while she considered the problem 
 put to her. His own, which, though small, were
 
 REFLECTIONS OF CHARLES 161 
 
 of the brightest China blue, would in the mean- 
 time meet hers without a suspicion of under- 
 thought or an inquiry which was not that of pure 
 comradeship. She would revolve his question ac- 
 cording to her simple understanding; he would 
 either say, " I 'm glad you agree with me. 
 That 's just how I look at it. Damned impu- 
 dence, you know," or if he disagreed with her he 
 would quizz her. " You goose," he would call 
 her. "Don't you see what the fellow's at?" 
 The fellow might be the King, or his footman. 
 
 Georgiana had met the Duchess, had dined at 
 Wake House in state and semi-state, had met also 
 the two sons, that Lord Bernard whom Charles 
 supplanted, to his great relief, and the eldest who 
 was called Lord Warbridge, and followed the pro- 
 fession of arms. Each of these was older than 
 herself, and she liked them both. They had their 
 father's frankness and much of his simplicity. 
 Whatever they may have thought they were ex- 
 tremely pleasant about it. Lord Bernard went 
 so far as to say that she had done him a good 
 turn. " You Ve supplanted me, Mrs. Lancelot, 
 and I 'm sure I 'm very much obliged to you." 
 
 " I hope you are not accusing me," Georgiana 
 said. 
 
 " Lord bless you, no. I am only putting the 
 thing in a nutshell. Now I shall go my own way 
 and vote for the Whigs. While I was his secre-
 
 1 62 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 tary that would n't have done. I mean that it 
 would n't have done for me. I don't suppose that 
 he would have minded in the least." 
 
 Georgiana laughingly agreed, and Lord Ber- 
 nard shook his head as he repeated himself. 
 
 " You Ve made an honest man of me, Mrs. 
 Lancelot. I wish you could make Warbridge 
 one too." 
 
 " Thank you for nothing," cried the other 
 young lord. " There 's nothing the matter with 
 me. I 'd rather remain as I am, unless Mrs. 
 Lancelot will superintend in person." 
 
 " That would be very unpleasant," said Lord 
 Bernard. " Besides, she 's got the parent on her 
 hands just now." 
 
 " Really," Georgiana protested, " you make me 
 too responsible." 
 
 " You '11 do it, you '11 do it," he told her, and 
 Lord Warbridge added, " He '11 take it from you. 
 You '11 do him lots of good. I believe him to be 
 quite a wicked old gentleman." 
 
 All this was very amiable, and put her at her 
 ease. But she had very little to say to the Duch- 
 ess, or to get out of her a tall, remote, far- 
 gazing and very silent woman, who passed for 
 proud. She was not so, but she was very much 
 bored. She had never made the slightest attempt 
 to interfere with her duke's actions, nor he to en- 
 gage her affection. He had married her because
 
 REFLECTIONS OF CHARLES 163 
 
 he had undertaken the duty. He gave her fine 
 children and then washed his hands of her. But 
 they occupied the same house and met at dinner 
 when they had company otherwise they did not. 
 They never went to the same parties unless there 
 was a state affair toward. It was at one or two of 
 such ceremonials that she and Georgiana had been 
 together in the room, before the first invitation to 
 Wake House was despatched. No introduction 
 was made, but the Duchess knew all about the 
 Lancelots, and wished them no manner of harm. 
 Indeed, she liked Georgiana's looks, and told one 
 of her few friends that she did. " If I don't mis- 
 take," she had said, " Tom has got hold of a lady. 
 What he '11 do when he finds that out will be inter- 
 esting though I shan't see it." She believed 
 herself stricken with a mortal disease, and was 
 right; and she had the morbid habit of measuring 
 its advance, and calculating upon it. She added 
 after a moment. " But there will be something 
 more interesting still what she will do when she 
 finds Tom out." 
 
 "My dear, the Duke's fascinations !" her 
 friend had suggested; but the Duchess would have 
 none of them. 
 
 ' The girl has a head, a heart and a conscience," 
 said she. " Tom won't get any of them. He 
 flatters women, and few of them detect it. This 
 one will. He never touches a heart, because he
 
 1 64 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 has none of his own. As for conscience ! He 's 
 captured her imagination just now. She sees her- 
 self ministering to the hero, anointing his wounds, 
 and all the rest of it. By and by Tom and her 
 stick of a husband will let her slip through their 
 fingers, you '11 see. She and somebody else will 
 be soaring abreast while they are beating the 
 bushes." 
 
 A curious prophecy. But the Duchess had the 
 prevision of the departing. She knew that she 
 was a dying woman. 
 
 After it, she sent, of her own accord, an invi- 
 tation to the Lancelots to dine, and gave the Duke 
 ample warning through her secretary. She never 
 spoke to him if she could possibly help it. The 
 Duke advised Georgiana to accept it, " like a 
 shot." " She '11 be pleased, I may tell you, though 
 she '11 never say so. I don't suppose she '11 speak 
 two words to you ; but you '11 please her. She 
 likes you, I believe. And of course you '11 please 
 me. You know that." 
 
 " We will certainly accept, Duke," said Georgi- 
 ana.
 
 XIV 
 
 FRUITS OF VICTORY 
 
 THE Duchess, with " I told you so " as her 
 last word, died in November when Charles, 
 with Georgiana to help him, was prosecuting his 
 canvass in Huntingdonshire ; a canvass, as Augusta 
 Strangways said, which only needed a few electors 
 to make it perfect. There were in fact about five- 
 and-twenty freeholders, all tenants of the Drem 
 estate and all put in possession of their duties by 
 a letter from their lord. But Charles was a con- 
 scientious candidate, and too much of an official 
 to omit any rule of the game. So he canvassed, 
 and his ladies canvassed; so he made very dull 
 speeches to farmers and their hinds ; and when his 
 Whig rival came down in a coach and made the 
 best of a bad business Charles gave him a dinner 
 and made more speeches, in which he referred to 
 him as " my honorable and gallant opponent," in 
 his best House of Commons manner. In the very 
 middle of the fun a messenger came down riding 
 post with two letters, one to him, one to Georgi- 
 ana, both from the Duke. 
 
 Charles was summoned to him, point-blank. 
 165
 
 1 66 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 " Dear Charles, my wife is dead. Come up to 
 London and set me at liberty from a deal of hate- 
 ful business. D." Hers was longer, but no less 
 peremptory. Charles, aware that it had come 
 and conscious of its tenor, chose to ignore it. 
 
 He entered her bedroom, after knocking, where 
 she was dressing for dinner, his note in his hand. 
 He stood behind her where she sat with her hands 
 to her hair. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my love, for disturbing you 
 but my news is serious and important. I may 
 have to leave in a few minutes. The Duchess is 
 
 no more." 
 
 She turned her face to him and her candid eyes. 
 "I know," she said; "he has told me. I have 
 had a letter." 
 
 It was part of his dreary comedy to raise his 
 eyebrows. "You have heard also? Ah! She 
 was a sad sufferer. Poor woman ! And he must 
 feel it too after so many years. More than 
 thirty-five. A strange union want of sympathy 
 on both sides. Well! it's not for us to judge 
 them. I fear, however, that I must leave you." 
 
 She had now returned her face to the glass, and 
 was looking at herself as she spoke. She was 
 careful not to watch his reflection behind hers. 
 " He wants me to go to him. He thinks I can 
 be of use." 
 
 Lancelot had been prepared for that. He had
 
 FRUITS OF VICTORY 167 
 
 schooled himself for it. He answered coldly. 
 " It is not for me to advise. Naturally he would 
 wish it, and naturally you would go if it were 
 . . . but you will probably decide that in the 
 circumstances it would hardly be ... Perhaps in 
 a few days' time." It was true that Georgiana 
 had been prepared also. It is true that she had 
 felt, behind her desire to comfort her friend, that 
 she ought to wait some certain time. Neverthe- 
 less she was put out. 
 
 But she showed little sign of it. Her brow was 
 quite clear. " I am sorry. It would have been 
 natural to me to have gone with you. I should 
 have been quite ready. But I see that you would 
 rather not. I will write to him, of course, and 
 give you the letter." 
 
 This was not exactly what Charles wished. " I 
 fancied that your opinion would coincide with 
 mine. The Duchess had never been ... I 
 hoped you would see that " 
 
 She answered quietly but he could detect 
 asperity. " I see perfectly. I will write. Later 
 on I will propose myself if he still wants me. 
 Have you told the servants to pack your luggage ? 
 And the horse? You will ride, I suppose? " 
 
 " Certainly," he said, " I shall ride. Jonathan 
 can follow with my portmanteau. Riding post, I 
 shall be at Wake House before breakfast. I must 
 see Wheeler about the nomination and all must
 
 1 68 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 go as it may with me. I hardly think we can lose 
 the seat. Wheeler will explain that plain duty 
 calls me away." 
 
 She assured him that she would make all proper 
 arrangements with his agent. Then he left her, 
 and she immediately wrote her letter to the Duke. 
 It was delivered unsealed into his hands, but he 
 did not take advantage of his rights. In half an 
 hour more he was on the road, leaving her un- 
 kissed behind. 
 
 Augusta commented with her usual frankness 
 upon the events of the evening. " It seems to me 
 that you have two husbands, my dear. That must 
 be uncomfortable when they want you to do differ- 
 ent things." She added, " I suppose they always 
 would." 
 
 Georgiana, folding her thoughts within her 
 bosom, as it were, with her crossed arms and hands 
 clasped to her shoulders, pored into the fire. " I 
 sometimes think that I have none," she said. 
 Then a sigh escaped her, and she looked unhappy. 
 Augusta eyed her narrowly. 
 
 " If baby had lived," she said, " you would n't 
 have cared." 
 
 She raised her brows, but not her head. " Per- 
 haps not. It is getting rather difficult. I have 
 done my best." 
 
 "For Charles?" cried her sister. "I should 
 think so. I suppose Charles is very proud."
 
 FRUITS OF VICTORY 169 
 
 Georgiana gloomed. " He won't talk. He 
 won't tell me anything. He never has." 
 
 " He can't, I believe," Augusta said. " That 's 
 dreadful for him." 
 
 Georgiana, herself more often tongue-tied than 
 not, expanded a little now. " The Duke wants 
 me. I shall go as soon as I can. He has a 
 right to me if I can help him." 
 
 Augusta wondered. " A right to you ! Well, 
 perhaps any man who wants one has a right. But 
 will Charles like it?" 
 
 " Charles told me to be kind to him from the 
 very first. He wanted it extremely. He was 
 always talking about it." 
 
 " Yes, yes," Augusta said. " But what did he 
 mean by * kind '? And what do you mean by it? 
 And what does the Duke mean? Have you 
 thought of all this, darling? Supposing that you 
 all meant different things? I know what poets 
 mean by it," she added rather shrewdly. 
 
 " The Duke is very fond of me, of course," 
 Georgiana reflected (but aloud). "I can't help 
 seeing it. He likes to talk to me. It has got to 
 be necessary to him. And when he can't talk he 
 writes. He writes every week, a sort of journal. 
 But I assure you 
 
 " Don't assure me, dearest. Assure Charles." 
 
 " Charles is most unreasonable. He is always 
 saying that he trusts me and then not doing it."
 
 1 7 o MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 " I am sure that Charles trusts you, darling." 
 
 " I should believe that," Georgiana said, " if he 
 did n't talk so much about it." 
 
 "Why doesn't Charles resign?" asked the 
 really very simple Augusta. 
 
 " Because he does n't want to, my dear," an- 
 swered Georgiana, no less simply. " He is con- 
 sumed by ambition. It 's the breath of his life." 
 There was a pause between the sisters. " Poor 
 Charles ! " It was the wife who spoke. " It 's 
 so hopeless. He will never be more than an 
 official." 
 
 " Is it not early to predict? " Augusta objected. 
 " You see, he has only just ceased to be one." 
 Georgiana, white and vehement, replied, 
 
 " He has n't ceased. He never will cease. 
 Do you think that an ambition can be gratified by 
 help from others? He fixed his eye on the Duke 
 from the beginning. And when the Duke saw me 
 and liked me he fixed his eye on me." She 
 drooped now; from a quivering shaft fired by the 
 flames she sank to ash as her fire died down. 
 " Poor Charles ! I would do anything in the 
 world but it is quite hopeless." 
 
 Augusta peered, shadowing her face from the 
 fire with her hand. " Are you still in love with 
 Charles?" But Georgiana, whose eyes were 
 closed, did not answer. Augusta was so dread- 
 fully direct.
 
 FRUITS OF VICTORY 171 
 
 Charles Lancelot, Esquire, was duly returned 
 for the borough of Saint Lo by a sufficient major- 
 ity, and then Georgiana went to London. He 
 received her with affection and thanked her for 
 the help she had been. The Duke was at Wake 
 House, quite composed, he thought, but alone. 
 The ladies (his two married daughters) had been 
 gone about a week. Lord Warbridge was at 
 Mortimer Revel, Lord Bernard in Paris, Lord 
 Henry had returned to Oxford. The Duke 
 talked of going up to Knottingley, a place of his 
 in the North. It would be necessary for Charles 
 to be on the road between that and London pretty 
 regularly up to the opening of the session. By 
 the by, he had a note for Georgiana from the 
 Duke. 
 
 He slowly produced it from his breast pocket. 
 Now she had been in the house since five. They 
 dined at seven, and it was now a quarter to eight. 
 She was annoyed, but said nothing. The note was 
 sealed. The Duke had treated Charles like a 
 messenger. 
 
 Georgiana broke, and read. It was very short. 
 " So you are here at last. Look for me at noon 
 as usual. D." Her head was bent over it, the 
 paper fluttered in her thin fingers long after she 
 had mastered it. She looked at it while she 
 thought. Should she or should she not show it to 
 Charles? If she did, it would look as if he had a
 
 172 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 right to her letters ; if she did not he would be hurt. 
 And then had he not a right? Very candid 
 with herself always, she thought that he had. So 
 she got up and brought it over to him. She put it 
 in his hands and stood while he read it. 
 
 " You see what he says? " 
 
 " Yes, I see, my love." 
 
 Her irritation, which had been rising since the 
 delivery of the note, now broke out against his 
 impassivity. 
 
 ' You can see that he is not happy. You can 
 see that I have not been kind to him. I ought to 
 have come up sooner. I wish you would be frank 
 with me." 
 
 He made no answer. She continued. 
 
 " He has been a good friend to us. He has 
 done exactly what you always told me you desired 
 him to do. How far I myself have had any share 
 in it you are able to judge. I did not seek his ac- 
 quaintance. It was you who presented him. I 
 have always done what you wished and I do 
 think I have succeeded. If I am any comfort to 
 him I am proud to be so. I am certainly proud 
 of his friendship. But for some reason or another 
 the moment you got what you wished for from 
 him you began to grudge our acquaintance. It 
 would have been better if you had not introduced 
 him to me if you are to be made unhappy by it." 
 
 Then he protested, but feebly. " I assure you
 
 FRUITS OF VICTORY 173 
 
 that I am not unhappy. I cannot be surprised that 
 he enjoys your society, seeing that I discovered, 
 long before he did, how enjoyable it was." 
 
 " If you really think me enjoyable," she re- 
 torted with some heat, " it would be more agree- 
 able to me if you sometimes revealed your 
 thought." 
 
 " My love, my love," said the poor gentleman, 
 " you are saying terrible things to me." 
 
 " They are more painful to me to feel than they 
 can be to you to hear," she replied. " You act as 
 if you thought I was doing you a wrong. You 
 know quite well that I am not." He rose and 
 paced the floor, his hands knotted behind his back. 
 
 " You mistake me, I assure you, dearest. 
 Wrong and you are not conceivable partners. Let 
 us not discuss these things. They are painful to 
 us both. I have always admitted the service 
 which your attraction for the Duke " 
 
 She stopped him. " I beg you not to consider 
 me as a lure. You introduced him to me; he 
 finds pleasure in my society, and I am proud to be 
 his friend. I don't think that you realize what 
 you are suggesting when you talk of my attractive- 
 ness." 
 
 He was greatly disturbed. " You persist in 
 misunderstanding me. You are very unfair. 
 Let us stop this discussion." He took her hand. 
 " Georgiana, dearest wife, let us not wrangle over
 
 174 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 this painful matter " But she snatched her 
 hand away. 
 
 " Painful!" she said. "Why should it be 
 painful? Here is a friend of yours and of mine 
 in trouble. He writes that he is coming to see me, 
 and I tell you that I blame myself for not having 
 gone to him earlier and you talk of painful mat- 
 ters! You show me by that what your feelings 
 are. Let me ask you fairly, Do you wish me to 
 refuse to see him when he comes? " 
 
 " No, no, my love no, no. God knows that 
 I do not." 
 
 God knew what He knew. Yet if Charles 
 could have said yes to his wife's question, and by 
 so doing not have laid the ax to the root of his 
 career, he would, I believe, have said it. But I 
 don't know. Self-esteem is a kittle thing. By 
 saying yes he would have confessed to his fears, 
 and by confessing to his fears he would have re- 
 vealed them to himself. That he dared not do. 
 
 The evening ended in silence. Each of them 
 read. But Georgiana wrote a note to the Duke 
 and gave it to the footman to put in the post. At 
 ten o'clock she kissed Charles on the forehead and 
 retired. Directly she was gone he put down his 
 book and began to pace the room. He was alone 
 with himself. He stood for some moments irres- 
 olute, looking at her miniature, which stood on 
 the mantel-shelf. It showed her in a high-waisted
 
 FRUITS OF VICTORY 175 
 
 white gown, and he read into it her divine far- 
 gazing eyes, her late beautiful vehemence, and 
 that forth-right direction, that unerring candor 
 which he both dreaded and adored. A wave of 
 great longing came over him, and from the mo- 
 ment that he hid his face in his arm he knew what 
 he would do. When he raised himself again he 
 was a beaten man. He looked up at his watch. 
 He might go up now. He did. He stood for 
 some heart-beating moments at her door, then 
 knocked softly. She replied at once. He opened 
 and went in.
 
 BOOK II 
 EGERIA'S DISTRACTIONS
 
 BOOK II 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 EQUIVOCAL ESTABLISHMENT 
 
 IN the late spring and summer of 1 8 and on- 
 wards for two seasons or more, among the 
 walkers in the Row between ten and twelve there 
 would be few fine days when you would not have 
 seen the sharp, close-buttoned form of the Duke 
 of Devizes, and upon his arm the small hand of 
 her who was known as his Egerla, by the mali- 
 cious as his Aspasia. He the ruddy and she the 
 pale, he the precise of eye and she the thoughtful, 
 they were the remarked of all, as much for their 
 fame as for their solitary habit. For though uni- 
 versally saluted, though his forefinger was forever 
 at the brim of his hat, and her inclinations of the 
 head as frequent and more gracious, they stopped 
 for nobody, and spoke to nobody, but paced their 
 allotted number of times to and fro under the elms 
 about the Achilles statue and then, at an exact 
 hour, crossed the road and were understood to re- 
 turn to Wake House. Monsieur de Talleyrand, 
 
 179
 
 i8o MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 who knew what this sort of thing meant as well as 
 anybody in Europe, who was often in Mrs. Lance- 
 lot's drawing-room at Wake House, and never 
 failed to kiss her hand at a ball, met them daily 
 upon their constitutional, but never intruded him- 
 self. Lord Petersham, fearfully scarfed, Sir 
 Lumley Skeffington, nested deep in whiskers, and 
 Poodle Byng, were among the walkers. Lord 
 Drem, a fine red-whiskered dandy, who admired 
 her enormously, and said so, and Pink Mordaunt, 
 fat and exquisite, who adored her and pretended 
 that he did n't, were two other frequenters of the 
 Row, and contented themselves, like the rest of the 
 world, with salutations from afar. Lord Drem 
 said that, with his cousin Miss Chambre, who 
 had never married, she was the most loveworthy 
 woman he had ever known ; but Hermia Chambre 
 was all afire, he said (though never for him) 
 and Georgiana Lancelot was ice to the world. 
 Nobody seriously thought that she could love the 
 Puke, though his feelings were undisguised, and 
 it was supposed that she was kind to him. If 
 she was not kind, then the menage at Wake 
 House was scarcely conceivable. For, said the 
 gossips, she and Charles Lancelot had not much 
 more than a bowing acquaintance in any case; 
 and if the Duke was at arm's-length on that ac- 
 count, then you had the case of a young and beau- 
 tiful woman deeply loved by two men, neither of
 
 EQUIVOCAL ESTABLISHMENT 181 
 
 whom could come at her. It was a clear case, 
 said old Talleyrand, for a tertium quid. Such an 
 one was believed to exist; but so far he existed a 
 priori, or was living on air for he had never 
 been seen. Air too was apparently the lady's 
 food: she ate hardly anything else, and certainly 
 she was very thin. Noticeably so; yet none de- 
 nied her beauty and a slim grace exquisitely ex- 
 pressed by her clothes. It was a day when clothes 
 outlined the figure, a day for slim women, a day 
 for Mrs. Lancelot, whose figure was likened to 
 the warmth of an early spring morning, suggestive 
 of beauty rather than expressive of it, wraith-like, 
 ethereal, with a latent warmth tenderly veiled. 
 Respected, admired, not loved, she was something 
 of a mystery or she would have been if the 
 tone of her constant companion could have sup- 
 ported mystery. 
 
 She and her husband had now been inmates of 
 Wake House for a year; but it had taken a year 
 from the date of the Duchess's death to get them 
 there. This was not the Duke's fault, who had 
 broached the notion the first morning he called 
 upon her after his bereavement a morning 
 when she, moved by genuine pity and affection, 
 had allowed him to put hands upon her, to put his 
 arm about her, and had suffered his lips upon her 
 brow. The tears had been in her eyes it had 
 been a melting moment. " My dear, you Ve been
 
 1 82 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 an angel to me ; and now you shall be my guardian 
 angel." That was how the Duke had put it 
 moved as none had ever seen him but her. She 
 had leaned to him, half embraced, and her head 
 had rested on his shoulder as she listened to his 
 hint; but then she had quietly withdrawn herself, 
 and he had not been able to get her so tender again. 
 Without an apparent effort on her part, and in 
 spite of every effort he could make, short of de- 
 liberate wooing (which she had the skill to pre- 
 vent), she had resumed their old footing of 
 intimacy without a grain of passion, and then she 
 had explained that " for reason good " she could 
 not consider any such matter as change of lodging 
 yet awhile. " I shall see you nearly every day," 
 she told him, " and when you open your house 
 again you shall invite us, if you please. But I 
 can't come and look after you yet, dear friend. I 
 am quite clear about that." 
 
 " I suppose Charles won't have it," the Duke 
 had said, with his usual directness. " Charles, let 
 me tell you, is an ass. He don't know me 
 and that's no wonder; but he don't know you 
 either and that beats cock-fighting." But he 
 had made no further effort to persuade her. 
 " Have your own way, my dear; I believe you 're 
 happier so. But I 'm a pig-headed fellow, you 
 know. I've got you in my head if nowhere 
 else and it would want an operation to get you
 
 EQUIVOCAL ESTABLISHMENT 183 
 
 out again. You don't want that, I hope? You 
 don't want me trepanned? Very good, then be 
 so kind as to tell your servant to let me in when 
 I call." 
 
 So it ended for the time, and he served a year 
 of probation faithfully. There were lapses, of 
 course. The flesh raged. He told her that he 
 was n't meant to be a monk, and gave her to 
 understand how little of one he was. But he 
 hardly missed a day of her company, and toward 
 the end of his year of mourning, visitors to Wake 
 House expected to see her as certainly as their 
 host. 
 
 At the end of a full year to a day the 
 Lancelots moved into their new quarters, without 
 any audible murmurs from Charles, who, consid- 
 ering he was now principal secretary and as good 
 as promised a lordship of the Treasury, could not 
 really say very much. The Lancelots occupied 
 a wing of the great house, with their own dining 
 and drawing-room, a boudoir for her overlooking 
 the park, a library for him, two bedrooms with 
 dressing-rooms, a maid's room and " the usual 
 offices." It was very comfortable. One thing 
 Charles noticed, but as his wont was, said nothing. 
 In Smith Square they had never given up their 
 original habit of the nuptial couch. Here that 
 had been provided against, and naturally by her. 
 Now, how had this been arranged? To whom
 
 1 84 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 had she expressed the wish? Had she, indeed, 
 expressed it at all, or was it possible that the 
 Duke ? Was it a coup de main? Here were 
 questions for a husband. 
 
 Whatever it was, whoever had decreed, it was 
 accepted and adhered to. When Augusta, who 
 was now married to a Mr. Fitzowen, came to 
 visit her sister, the young couple were guests of 
 the Duke, and there was no question of shifting 
 quarters within the Lancelot appartement. There 
 was room and to spare in that huge house. 
 Charles, after his wont, suffered acutely, but said 
 nothing. He dared not face a rebuff; he dared 
 not touch upon the subject; but he hovered about 
 it and about, and loved her for the first time in 
 his life, or thought that he did. He was out- 
 raged; his sense of property, sense of law were 
 offended. He felt deprived, abandoned, and 
 chilly to the winds of the world. Feeling so, he 
 looked desperately back to the days when with- 
 out falter or question she had been his; he cen- 
 tered his affections there and longed unutterably 
 to prove her what she had been then. If this was 
 love, he felt it without a doubt, and the prick of it 
 was so sharp that he lost all sense of the resent- 
 ment which a man might naturally feel whose 
 wife, without consultation, alters domestic ar- 
 rangements which the law of England sanctions 
 and defends. A little vehemence would have
 
 EQUIVOCAL ESTABLISHMENT 185 
 
 helped him; if he had thundered, he would have 
 cleared the air. But he could not do that. 
 Ruthless critic of himself, his greatest torment 
 would have been that he had placed himself at the 
 mercy of that merciless judge, that he had ad- 
 mitted to himself that his wife was doing him a 
 wrong. And then he ran the gamut of feeling; 
 first offended, then memory-stricken, now he be- 
 gan to desire her possession, and so conceal his 
 desire, first of all, from himself. The miserable 
 Charles! 
 
 The fact very simply was that Georgiana 
 had by now discovered two things: that she did 
 not love and never had loved her husband, and 
 that the Duke was in love with her. Now the 
 Duke in love was a different person from Charles 
 in love. Charles in love expected everything and 
 offered nothing. It would have been inconceiv- 
 able to Charles that he, after marriage, should 
 court his wife. Such a derogation from the mar- 
 ital rights would have opened a wound in his self- 
 esteem which would have bled forever. He 
 would have died of a decline. He would have 
 seen himself despicable, and that would have 
 slain him a kind of suicide. For to his sort it 
 does n't matter how many people see the dero- 
 gation; it is enough that you see it yourself; and 
 to do that one pair of eyes will make you a look- 
 ing-glass. But the Duke was another kind of
 
 1 86 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 lover. He could bide his time, he could deny him- 
 self anything for the beloved, but not to see that 
 which he longed for given elsewhere. She had 
 known from the very first that her relations with 
 Charles must change if she were to go into Wake 
 House. Then why did she go thither? My be- 
 lief is that she went partly because she wanted to 
 the idea of being at hand to look after this no- 
 ble and true friend captivated her imagination ; and 
 secondly, I believe that she had already found 
 Charles as a lover insupportable. It may be that 
 she had begun to have ideas of her own on that 
 matter. I have no means of knowing, but those 
 are my suggestions. 
 
 She knew now, at any rate, that Charles loved 
 her. That showed an advance in her realizations. 
 It could be told, to one who had eyes to read, by a 
 thousand little signs. But she thanked him for 
 nothing, for she was clear-sighted enough also to 
 see that it had never been in him to do so until 
 she had ceased to need him; that what he loved 
 really was himself bereaved. Here she was un- 
 fair, for Charles had always loved her after his 
 complacent fashion, and loved her no more nor 
 no less now than then though expressing his 
 love according to what he got in return. When 
 he got abundance from her he went his way at 
 ease; now that he got little he hugged his lean 
 sides and shivered in the cold. But however that
 
 EQUIVOCAL ESTABLISHMENT 187 
 
 may be, she had nothing for him but wifely atten- 
 tions, which were his to a punctilio. 
 
 Hers was an equivocal position, even for an 
 age when equivoque was winked at. Nobody 
 could have supported it better. Things were said 
 to her, in all good intent, which, if she had under- 
 stood the art of the leer, might have made her 
 heart stand still. Petitions were made for her 
 " influence " " A word to the Duke, dear Mrs. 
 Lancelot ! a word from you ! " Her simplicity 
 saved her, and her eyes remained perfectly clear 
 of sight. She was not so much indifferent to the 
 world's opinion as ignorant of it, incapable of 
 seeing it. 
 
 Was she happy or not? I think she was one 
 of those women trained to duty to whom happi- 
 ness means contentment and ease of mind. Hap- 
 piness in the sense of ecstasy, of conscious 
 communion with the spirit of Life, had never 
 fallen her way. To most women that comes by 
 love, and she had never loved. Charles Lancelot 
 came a-wooing before she was out of the nursery, 
 and we have seen how assumptions ruled. He 
 had assumed himself desirable, she had assumed 
 herself desired. Then duty stepped in with the 
 command, "Desire him who desires thee; love 
 him, honor, obey." The Duke came next a 
 god out of a clear sky, with friendship proffered. 
 Duty said, " My dear, accept it gratefully. He,
 
 i88 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 the world-famous, selects you, the little unknown. 
 See how you will advance your husband; see what 
 a glory to yourself! " She gave his Grace all that 
 she had to give all that she had not given over 
 to Charles, and that included, although she knew it 
 not, a portion of her heart. Loyalty she gave 
 him, admiration, and the tender thought which all 
 women can give, a portion to each, to everybody 
 who comes to them with love. He, the trench- 
 ant, conquering male, with his clear eye and his 
 blunt appraisement, wanted more than compan- 
 ionship, and on one occasion showed it her. 
 Practically, on one occasion only. There came a 
 day it was when she had been in Wake House 
 a month or two when she met her danger face 
 to face and braved it. (Nobody knew, least of 
 all Charles, how neatly and how exquisitely she 
 triumphed.) 
 
 It was Sunday evening; the lamp was lit, and 
 she was at her desk letter-writing. The Duke 
 came in; nodded greetings passed between the 
 pair of friends. He went over to the fire and 
 stood with his back to it, warming himself, look- 
 ing curiously, sharply at her, with brows knitted 
 over his blue eyes. She was conscious of his 
 glance, looked up guardedly once or twice from 
 her paper and found it still upon her. She ig- 
 nored it as long as she could, and showed nothing 
 of her mind. Her quill whistled on its way; she
 
 EQUIVOCAL ESTABLISHMENT 189 
 
 finished, sealed and directed. Finally, she had to 
 face him. 
 
 " Why do you look at me so hard? " she asked 
 him, smiling and inclined to blush. He continued 
 his scrutiny, smiling. 
 
 " Do I offend you ? It 's difficult to see any- 
 thing else in this room." 
 
 She looked about. It was all very pretty: an 
 oval room in white, with panels of pale blue silk. 
 " I should have thought there were many better 
 things to see. It 's sweetly pretty. I love my 
 
 room." 
 
 " Glad you like it, my dear." 
 
 " Of course I like it. You did it for me, to 
 begin with." 
 
 " Bless you! " he scoffed, nodding his head in 
 mock scorn. " How many tomfooleries would 
 I not have uttered to get you here! But you 
 were very difficult." She appealed. 
 
 " Oh, no, Duke, really I was not." 
 
 " Oh, but you were, missy. You hummed and 
 ha'ed. Now Charles was all agog." 
 
 She knew this to be very untrue. " Agog " 
 was not the word for either of them. She rose 
 and came slowly to the fire under that other 
 fire of his keen eyes. Her effort was to divert 
 the current by degrees to do so without seem- 
 ing effort. 
 
 " I have always wanted to ask you Is
 
 190 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 Charles, are we of any real use to you? You 
 have done so much for us." But finesse is of lit- 
 tle avail when your foe uses the broadsword. 
 
 " My child," said the Duke, " look at me." 
 
 She did her best maintained it for some sec- 
 onds. Then what she saw beat her. 
 
 " Don't you know that I 'm an old fool about 
 you hey? Don't you know that I'd cut my 
 hand off if that would serve you? Don't you 
 know what kind of a woman I know you to be? 
 Do you think I Ve had to do with many Good 
 Lord! with any such before? How old are 
 you?" 
 
 She told him, " Twenty-five." She was very 
 much disturbed. 
 
 " Well," said he, " I 'm thirty-two years more 
 than that, but I love you like a boy of your own 
 age." And then he took her in his arms. 
 
 Lying there, close held, her forehead fanned 
 by his fierce breath, she began her struggle. She 
 fought stilly, without passion, without' urgent en- 
 treaty, for her soul. 
 
 " Don't be unkind to me. Don't hurt me." 
 He heard her say that. He pressed her closer. 
 
 " My own ! Give me your lips." 
 
 She looked up at him. Her eyes were full. 
 " Ah, my friend, don't ask it." He released her 
 instantly.
 
 EQUIVOCAL ESTABLISHMENT 191 
 
 " Do you mean that I was too rough with you? 
 Then I 'm a brute. Did I actually hurt you? " 
 
 " Oh, no, no not that. Not in that way." 
 
 " What was it then? Out with it." 
 
 " You hurt -^- you were hurting my 
 thoughts." 
 
 "Your thoughts, child?" She had the lapel 
 of his coat in her hand, and watched her fingers 
 playing upon it. 
 
 " My thoughts of you, I meant. I had such 
 fine thoughts. You were hurting them. That 
 was what I meant." 
 
 He smiled, but rather grimly. " Ho ! I see. 
 The ideal ! I had my knife into that, had I ? " 
 
 Her brows arched high. She nodded her head 
 many times, sadly, before she whispered " Yes." 
 The Duke bent himself to and fro before the fire. 
 
 " Don't be offended with me, dear friend," she 
 pleaded. " You see, I could n't be here if I 
 thought if you felt like that about me. That 
 would be wrong. You like me, I know; but you 
 like me as I am. You don't want to make me 
 unlike myself." 
 
 " Like me, for instance," he said. 
 
 She waved that away. " Believe me, that I 
 value your friendship " 
 
 " My love, say. Let 's have it all out, my 
 dear."
 
 192 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 " Well whatever it may be, I value it above 
 everything else. But " and now she looked 
 him straight in the face " but I don't feel like 
 that about you, and I ought not to. Will you 
 forgive me for saying so ? " 
 
 He frowned, was much put out for a minute, 
 then he cleared his voice and said, " Give me 
 your hand, Georgie." 
 
 She did without hesitation. He kissed it long, 
 and still held it. 
 
 " You 're a little angel, my dear. I won't for- 
 get this, and I promise that you shan't remember 
 it. I '11 get myself in hand again. I can, you 
 know and by God I Ve done it before 
 more times than you might suppose. Don't give 
 me up because I Ve got a devil inside me. Give 
 me the office, and I '11 knock his ugly sconce for 
 him. But, bless my soul! if you threw over a 
 man because of his devils, you 'd have nothing 
 left but a nunnery. Now I 'm going to beg your 
 pardon, and you 're going to forgive me, and 
 we '11 be friends again. Is that it? " 
 
 "Of course," she said; and then by a natural 
 revulsion jumped into his arms and kissed him. 
 That he received exactly as her grandfather 
 might. To her, at least, he was a very honest 
 man. He lost none of her admiration, and did 
 not for a moment suppose that he had. 
 
 Since then he had been all that she wished;
 
 EQUIVOCAL ESTABLISHMENT 193 
 
 but examining her own heart in various spare 
 moments after this scene, she wondered why she 
 did not love him, and whether she was capable of 
 loving anybody.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 NAUSITHOE AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 THE ways of poets are past finding out, and 
 arguing with them is idle; otherwise one 
 would have been interested to know how Gervase 
 Poore found time to follow the practice of the 
 law to the advantage of his master's clients, to 
 inform himself so perfectly into the habits of 
 Mrs. Lancelot and her two cavaliers, and to com- 
 pose the numbers which make up Nausithoe and 
 Other Poems. Not only did he do so, but he 
 found them a publisher by the friendly services of 
 Mr. Thomas Moore, and received a reasonable 
 attention from the reviews, and, in all, the sum 
 of twenty pounds. 
 
 His talents were admitted, his perfervidum 
 ingenium; but he was reproached for an undue 
 warmth of expression, for a lusciousness of epi- 
 thet. A critic said that he treated women as if 
 they were fruit; another that his collected hero- 
 ines were like odalisques within book-covers. 
 Even his friend Mr. Moore reproved him. 
 " You 're too warm, my boy. They '11 take it 
 from, me, but they won't take it from you." 
 
 194
 
 NAUSITHOfi 195 
 
 " Because you make them cry, the women 
 are on your side," Poore grumbled. 
 
 " I '11 not deny it," said Tom. " You '11 never 
 get 'em by scolding. Besides a plague ! 
 Aren't they darlings?" 
 
 " I have no notion," Gervase answered. " I 
 only know one and she 's a darling, if you 
 will." 
 
 "And do you want to scold her, young man? 
 You make her cry that way, but she '11 owe you 
 no thanks for that." 
 
 " She shall never cry when I Ve got her," said 
 Poore. " She won't have time." 
 
 Mr. Moore looked at him quizzingly, and 
 wagged his plump forefinger. " I believe you 're 
 something of a Turk, young Poore. I shall set 
 Bessy at you for your soul's health. Now, 
 when will you come down to Wilts and see my 
 Bessy? Proud she'll be and we'll have a 
 great night. Maybe I '11 get his Lordship in to 
 supper. You '11 enjoy him." 
 
 " I shall quarrel with him. No lords for 
 me, Tom. I 'm not an easy drinker. I get too 
 hot." 
 
 Tom ran through the thin green quarto, sup- 
 ping sweets as he went. Nausithoe was a little 
 long for him; and he owned he had no taste 
 for phantoms. " To set the dear girl cuddling 
 with a mist-wraith ! It 's too bad of ye, Poore.
 
 196 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 But ye Ve no conscience then at all. ' The little 
 slim thing, gossamer-light ' a pretty line, a trip- 
 ping, pretty rhythm. It 's better than my ana- 
 paests, and be d d to you. I could never hit off 
 octo-syllables. Here we are again: 
 
 She, bosom's mate, the delicate, 
 
 Child-faced, gray-eyed, of sober gait, 
 
 Of burning mind, of passion pent 
 
 To image-making, ever went 
 
 Where wonned her mistress; for those two 
 
 By the heart's grace together grew. 
 
 Young man, your authority for giving the Lady 
 Proserpine a bedfellow?" 
 
 " Callimachus, Tom," said Poore before he 
 drank. 
 
 " I overlooked the bard. I can't contradict 
 ye being a poor Grecian. But she 's a darling, 
 this Nausithoe. 
 
 O thou meek 
 
 And gentle vision, let me tell 
 Thy beauties o'er I Ve loved so well. . . . 
 
 And bedad, so you do, you rogue." Then he 
 ran on: 
 
 Thy sweet low bosom's rise and fall, 
 Pulsing the heart's clear madrigal, 
 Or how the blue beam from thine eyes 
 Imageth all love's urgencies; 
 Thy lip's frail fragrance. . . .
 
 NAUSITHOE 197 
 
 Tu-tu-tu ! This is a very pictorial piece, and I '11 
 warrant her true to sample. Now who 'd she be? 
 Do I know her? Is there any more of her, after 
 old Endocles has hugged her into a rheumatiz 
 ugh ! You Ve no heart, me boy. You 're no 
 lover." 
 
 " I love her beyond music, Tom. She 's every- 
 where in that book and I 'm going to send it 
 to her and tell her so, too." 
 
 Tom was turning over the pages. " She '11 take 
 it kindly, if she 's as you make her out. Is she 
 here, too? What's this? What's this? 
 
 The thin Coan vest 
 
 Folding that tremulous bosom, learn to sing 
 Treasure more ample, treasury more deft. . . . 
 
 Fie, Gervase Poore! They call me Anacreon, 
 but they '11 call you Propertius. Have you seen 
 her, then, in a Coan vest? You Ve had your 
 bonnes fortunes." 
 
 This Poore accepted with a grin. His friend 
 ran sparkling on to the end. Then he declaimed : 
 
 With what black juices wrung from Thessaly 
 
 He stained thee, lute, with what of myrrh and nard 
 
 She steeped thee; whatso thou hast learned of rite 
 
 Mutter'd by witches' fire come, where no fard 
 
 Can thicken thy delight, 
 
 Nor unguents make more bright mystery, 
 
 Nor unguents make more bright 
 Her face, her eyes, her body, in my sight!
 
 198 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 Boy, you Ve venom. You can bite. What had 
 she done to you? " 
 
 Poore was scowling. " Never you mind, Tom. 
 I was in a rage, I admit. Sir, I howled, I tore 
 my hair. But I felt better for it and I should 
 have cut it out but that it 's so d d good. And 
 she won't understand it, bless her pure heart 1 " 
 
 Tom shook his head. " She will do that. 
 She '11 understand it. She '11 have it by heart." 
 ' That," said Poore, " is how she 's got to 
 have me by hook or by crook." 
 
 " Leda 's a good subject " The elder was 
 back in the volume. " I thought of it myself 
 but I shirked it. Married man, my boy; and I 
 read Bessy every line. Make that rule when you 
 set up house with Nausithoe, or Cynthia no, 
 no, she 's not a Cynthia, I '11 swear; for you 're 
 an honest boy for all your mountings but I 
 like your Leda, saving one bit that 's too free. 
 Upon my Pegasus, too free. I should never have 
 dared. You end well you can do that. You 
 prove yourself so. Any one can begin but 
 to end, ah! Now how long were you getting 
 that? 
 
 The swan that dies in music, other ware 
 (O lucent stream that mirrors swan for swan!) 
 For mating hath and mastery. Leda knew it 
 (The swan's wife!) for in time an egg she bare 
 Down by the sedges where her love began, 
 Twi-yolkt of perfect woman, perfect man
 
 NAUSITHOE 199 
 
 Helen so rare imperfect man must rue it; 
 
 And as the sweet spring ran 
 
 She nested them, and he watched by her there. 
 
 " I got it in Piccadilly whole laid it like 
 an egg." 
 
 "A polished egg eh? Keats couldn't have 
 done that, the sweet fellow. He liked proverbial 
 endings ran sententious as he drooped. What 
 is it? ' Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' tum-ti-tum. 
 Yes, that 's a way. But I like yours . . . 
 Here 's another: 
 
 " Oreithyia, by the North Wind carried 
 To stormy Thrace, think you of how you tarried 
 And let him woo and wed? Ah, no, for now 
 He's kissed all Athens from my open brow. 
 I am the Wind's wife, wooed and won and married. 
 
 And you can put things with fine simplicity, my 
 boy. Above, ye say 
 
 " She bore him twins, 
 Zethes and Calais, in a rock-bound place. 
 
 I like that; I know that's good. The most of 
 us are too fond of confectionery . . . But 
 you put your lady in queer conjunctions, truly. 
 Here she is married to the North-east Wind. 
 Worse than her ghost ! What '11 they leave for 
 you, my lad? And what '11 you be to her? " 
 " I '11 be everything to her, or nothing," said 
 
 Poore, who seemed serenely positive about it. 
 13
 
 200 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 Next his friend must know the lady, and after 
 some pressing, finding out that she was of the 
 great world, he was like a hound on a good scent 
 and swept all the coverts in London till he found 
 her. So he presently did with a whoop ! and a 
 " Tear him to pieces ! " 
 
 Poore was now red and angry. " I '11 trouble 
 you to speak with all respect of Mrs. Lancelot, 
 Mr. Moore." The little Irishman laughed till 
 he cried. 
 
 " Pooh for you, Mr. Poore. Your name may 
 rhyme with mine, but yourself won't reason with 
 me on those terms. Respect! And how should 
 I not respect a charming lady, friend of so great 
 a man as the Duke?" 
 
 " It 's not for that I should ask you to respect 
 her but for this, Tom, for this." He banged 
 with his fist. " That, being his friend, inmate of 
 his house with her dolly-stick husband, she re- 
 mains beyond reproach, ineffably pure and holy." 
 
 " In a Coan vest, I think? " said Tom Moore 
 quietly. 
 
 " She could wear less than that, and remain as 
 she is. When Aphrodite came shining from the 
 foam, do you think she gave shameful thoughts? 
 Only to the shamed already." 
 
 Tom, who was arguing in the air, and only a 
 strict moralist on paper, and then only occasion- 
 ally, was now centered upon a much more inter-
 
 NAUSITHOE 201 
 
 esting point. He loved to intervene. Could he 
 serve his young friend? 
 
 " Listen here, my boy. I love you and will 
 do you a turn if I can. Now what do you say? 
 I am on visiting terms I could make my bow 
 to her any day of the week or to the Duke, 
 begad. His two fingers (and he gives no more 
 to the grandest in the land) are mine when I 
 want 'em. Now what do you say? Shall I ask 
 leave to present you? Shall I do that? " 
 
 The young man frowned over the proposal 
 and chewed his cheek. Then he tossed back his 
 cloud of hair. " I '11 not go to her like that 
 I '11 do it my own way. Thank ye kindly, Tom, 
 but I 'm minded to take her by storm." 
 
 " How '11 ye do that, my boy? You're not 
 Jove that I know of. Don't be absurd now, but 
 buy yourself a pair of white kids and I '11 take 
 ye to the ball." 
 
 " Oh, I '11 go to the ball with you, Tom, and 
 shift for myself. I '11 not refuse a card for 
 the ball. And I '11 tell you what you shall do 
 for me you 're a kind little man, Tom, and 
 the best friend I Ve got, I do believe. You shall 
 take her Nausithoe and she shall read it. What 
 do you say? " 
 
 " I say," cried Tom, " that you Ve the 
 damnedest impudence of anybody out of Ireland, 
 and I Ve a good mind to throw this pint-pot at
 
 202 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 ye. But I '11 do it, I '11 do it. I 'm an impudent 
 rascal myself and that 's how I get even with 
 the aristocracy. For I know I 'm as good as any 
 of 'em in my heart of hearts, d' ye see ? by reason 
 of me genius." 
 
 " And so you are, Tom," said Poore, folding 
 his arms. " You and I will never bow the knee 
 but to two things Brain and Beauty." 
 
 " And brawn," Tom shouted, " and brawn, me 
 little gamester! Brain, Brawn and Beauty!" 
 At that moment he felt himself to be ten feet 
 high and a very conqueror. 
 
 The tavern filled, and Mr. Moore, who was 
 about to make his bow to a great lady and feared 
 to foul his fine feathers with tobacco smoke, was 
 in haste to depart. Poore accompanied him into 
 the street. It was raining and the young man 
 had no great-coat. " Let me take ye in me 
 cabriolet," said Tom. " It '11 not be much out 
 of me way. I 'm going to Holland House but 
 I 'm your man as far as Tibbald's Road." 
 
 " I 'm not going there, Tom not for a long 
 spell." 
 
 "Where are ye for then, bad boy?" 
 
 Poore said seriously, " I think that she dines at 
 
 Lady B 's in Arlington Street. I Ve lost her 
 
 entry, thanks to you." 
 
 " Me dear boy me dear boy! " 
 
 " Not a bit, Tom. You Ve done me a sight of
 
 NAUSITHOE 203 
 
 good. But you shall put me down in Piccadilly 
 and I shall see her sortie. She '11 be going to 
 some great house or another afterwards, poor 
 dear. She 's looking very worn. She grows thin, 
 you know." He spoke in a hushed down voice. 
 " Tom, I saw her collar-bones the other night, 
 and they cut me to the quick." 
 
 " The devil they did," said Tom. 
 
 " She 's not fed, my man, she 's not fed. It 's 
 monstrous she 's being starved. I must stop 
 it, you know." He groaned, threw up his head, 
 then his arms, invoking the sky. " The rain 
 comes down like tears. Nature pities us the 
 generous goddess. O God, Tom, O God cry 
 with me, O God I 'm bleeding for her." 
 
 " Me dear boy, me dear boy " Tom 
 Moore had tears in his eyes. " And ye might as 
 well be crying for the hidden moon. Here 's the 
 shay. In with you." 
 
 Jogging over the cobbles the kind little Irish- 
 man kept his hand on the knee of his perverse 
 friend and poured out his advice like water. 
 " Now do be guided by me, Gervase; the road you 
 take leads right to Bedlam. You Ve a gift, you Ve 
 a fire, you Ve a sincerity you mean what you 
 say, and you don't care a curse for the reviewers. 
 You may be a great man, Gervase. Think of 
 that now. And you throw it all to the winds for 
 the sake of a little slip of a woman not so high as
 
 204 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 your shoulder. And she with two husbands al- 
 ready ! O madness, madness ! Quern deus vult 
 perdere, bedad! What can be the end of it? 
 let me ask you ; kindly think it over, and I '11 be 
 obliged to ye. D'ye know Lancelot? 'T is not 
 a man, 't is an icehouse. D' ye know me friend 
 the Duke? 'T is not a man, 't is a raging volcano. 
 It 's between fire and snow she is, the little slim 
 thing, as ye call her, prettily enough oh, 
 you Ve the words in ye and the music of 'um. 
 And where do you step in, unless ye can souse the 
 Duke with melted Lancelot? Is it that you are 
 after? God's my life, Gervase, it'll be murder 
 you '11 be making, bloody murder ! Ah, now, let 
 the woman alone. Make a wrench of ut, me 
 boy. Come with me to Sloperton and see my 
 Bessy, and play with the children. Make your 
 pomes to their good little hearts. Why, why, 
 it's madness! An attorney's clerk, and the 
 Duke's flame! Poet be jiggered. They don't 
 know 'um in the Morning Post. ' Mr. Poore, 
 who is, we believe, an attorney, yesterday ran 
 
 away with Mrs. L 1. Gretna is the supposed 
 
 destination of the retiring couple.' That 's how 
 ye '11 be pilloried, young man." Gervase, his hat 
 over his brows, had little to say; but God, it 
 seems, had not given him his square jaw for noth- 
 ing. At the White Horse Cellars he thrust his 
 head out of the coach and stopped the driver.
 
 NAUSITHOE 205 
 
 Then he jumped out, but not before he had wrung 
 his friend's hand. 
 
 " God bless you, Tom. You are the best little 
 man in breeches that ever I met. Take her her 
 book and tell her that her lover wrote it with his 
 blood. I '11 see you again, please God, before 
 you go to the west. Good night, my friend, good 
 night." And he was gone. Tom slapped his 
 knees, pulled up the window, and away. Quern 
 deus vult perdere, indeed! 
 
 The grudged of the gods crossed Piccadilly 
 and entered Arlington Street, where the carriages 
 were already lined. They coiled down Bennet 
 Street into Saint James's, and the. block on the 
 pavement was dense about the awning. Link- 
 boys stood there restless, the footmen were lined 
 up, and behind them a dingy crowd, wet, steam- 
 ing and sour-smelling. Gervase insinuated his 
 broad person by degrees into the midst, pulled 
 his hat further over his brows and waited. The 
 guests were departing already. Great names 
 were bawled out into the street, and at every one 
 a footman detached himself from his company, 
 and a link-boy, eager for a copper, flew shrieking 
 the name. A Royal Highness, muzzy with drink, 
 came first with a cloud of witnesses about him: 
 men talking loudly, half-contemptuous of their 
 convoy, half-elated at the rank of him. Dow- 
 agers with daughters, uniformed officers, two Rus-
 
 206 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 sian grandees in sables and great head-dresses, 
 two pretty women in diamonds and feathers es- 
 corted by a purple-faced peer, some young men 
 in long cloaks who pushed a way through the 
 spectators. One of Jthem butted into Gervase 
 with a " Give way, my man " ; but Gervase gave 
 him the benefit of his shoulder without a word, 
 and jerked the dandy's hat off. " D your eyes, 
 you booby! Don't you know a gentleman?" 
 " D your own, I do," was the reply, which the 
 bystanders approved with jeers. The injured ex- 
 quisite stood with his friends, meditating attack, 
 but Gervase had turned his back, for " The Duke 
 of Devizes' carriage ! " was being shouted from 
 the house; and " The Duke 's coming look out 
 for the Duke ! " was bandied among the people. 
 
 Gervase, working his jaw, waited without a 
 breath. His eyes were fixed upon the lighted in- 
 terior. She was coming. He saw the eyes of 
 the footmen turned towards the stairs. Then he 
 saw her plain. 
 
 She came out on the arm of the Duke, whose 
 white head was bare. He looked straight before 
 him, carrying his head stiffly, and talked in his 
 high complaining way. " I told the fellow that 
 I could do nothing for him. Not in my county 
 had n't served with me or anybody I cared a snap 
 of the fingers " She was looking pale and pre- 
 occupied, was not listening: that he saw at once.
 
 NAUSITHOE 207 
 
 White plumes danced above her small head, and 
 a glittering band of gold brocade held them, 
 wound closely about her hair. She was cloaked, 
 but he could see her neck a line of pearls round 
 her throat, and then whiteness, and the gleam of 
 her skin. Ah, but she was thin, this guarded 
 goddess of his ! Her eyes were anxious how 
 large, how deeply blue! She turned her head 
 his way. Vague wonder showed, vague suffering. 
 It seemed to him that he and she gazed long at 
 each other. His own strong color fainted, the 
 mist came over his eyes, his lips moved; and the 
 blood pumped up from his heart beat at the walls 
 of his veins. She passed by; he could see her no 
 longer. He ground his teeth together then and 
 stiffened himself, clenching his fists. By God, by 
 God, but he could take her now And then, 
 at the words, behind her and her escort, he saw 
 Charles Lancelot come, tall and cold, with trouble 
 on his brow. The husband and the lover, be- 
 setting her behind and before. What had they 
 been doing with her in there? Where were they 
 taking her now, these two? To what infamy? 
 What would they do with her when they had her 
 behind those great doors of Wake House, 
 that opened in the midst like the two jaws of 
 Behemoth, and shut upon her and hid her from 
 him? Infamy, infamy! What a life for this 
 lovely, hapless woman with an ice-gripped hus-
 
 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 band and a strident, monstrous old lover, who 
 lived shamelessly and laughed at himself for it! 
 Did God live, and love His world, and this fairest 
 of His creatures, and suffer such things to be? 
 Was he, Poore the poet, to be execrated if he 
 snatched her from this, and they, forsooth, to be 
 honored for shackling her by'the ankle and hoard- 
 ing her for their vile or sinister purpose? If he 
 kissed the light back into those glorious eyes, if 
 he warmed those paling lips, if he renewed that 
 fading form, if he gave her the power of loving 
 would that be a sin ? Monstrous to suppose 
 it, blasphemy against God, when they froze and 
 stared her cold. 
 
 He heard cheers for " The Duke " as the great 
 horses sprang forward. He saw the footmen 
 swaying behind janissaries, eunuchs of the 
 door. He raised his fist, and from between 
 clenched teeth cried curses upon these pashas who 
 sat upon the prone bodies of Englishmen and fed 
 on delicate flesh.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 SHE READS OF HERSELF 
 
 was upon her conscience, and her 
 V_>( conscience fretted at her nerves. It 's no 
 wonder she was getting thin. She was twenty- 
 six years old, had been six years married, and 
 four years a wife. Her only child had been born 
 dead, and by her own act she was 'to have no 
 other. And Charles, while he resented it deeply, 
 made no overt advances to her. She discovered 
 that she knew nothing about Charles. It was 
 that which made her pity him. He had become 
 a stranger, would have to woo her again, but 
 must do so, she knew, fruitlessly, and would not, 
 as a matter of fact, do so at all. If Charles 
 missed his spring, he could not spring again. She 
 felt that in various signs. He was now become 
 outrageously polite: that was a sure sign in 
 Charles. He had always been polite, but was 
 now outrageously so. The business of this tore 
 her to pieces and threatened her control of her- 
 self. When he sprang up from whatever he 
 was doing to open the door for her, she could 
 *4 209
 
 210 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 have stormed at him a white storm it would 
 have been, for he made her go quite cold. Yet 
 she dared not hint at her distress, for it would 
 have made him worse. He was so inarticulate, 
 this unhappy man. To rob him of his form and 
 ceremony would be to make him dumb. 
 
 He had always been silent, discussing few in- 
 timacies with her. His manner of dealing with 
 such things had been by discoursing round about 
 them. He had made homilies, and she had lis- 
 tened, ticking off the heads, that she might get 
 them by heart. Now he avoided all such mat- 
 ters: their consequence, or their futility, it 
 seemed, intimidated him. 
 
 But, while he was thus abstinent from reality, 
 he became profuse in small talk. He gave her 
 details of public life veriest gossip which 
 sickened her of politics, and (if he could only 
 have known it) threw her more often, for mere 
 breathing-room, into the Duke's society. For the 
 Duke looked on politics as a game to keep the 
 groundlings busy while he, and perhaps a couple 
 more, kept the King's government in running or- 
 der. The Duke's mind may not have been of a 
 high caliber certainly he was no idealist; but 
 it had a large outlook. Charles saw pin-points, 
 loved minutiae. Georgiana, who, like all women, 
 was attentive to detail, like all women despised it 
 in a man.
 
 SHE READS OF HERSELF 211 
 
 She had hitherto accepted the tory formulae, as 
 Charles displayed them, without a question. Un- 
 der the Duke's influence she now began to dismiss 
 them as of little account. Property, upon which 
 the opposition to reform really depended, was 
 sacred in the eyes of the Charleses; if you could 
 take a man's borough or vote, you might take his 
 land, or his wife. Robbery, sacrilege, the door 
 open to Anarchy ! So cried Charles. The Duke, 
 however, admitted that you could take anything 
 from anybody if you could get it. His imme- 
 diate business was to see that you could not get 
 it. Meantime, there was the State, the body poli- 
 tic; which was a complicated machine running in 
 conjunction with other European machines, or in 
 opposition to them. Now, said he, this old ma- 
 chine has been got into a groove which suits it, 
 which suits the mechanics, and does not hinder 
 the great complexus of which it is a part. Europe 
 understands us, and we Europe. We can get 
 along with few rubs. But if you change the 
 House of Commons you will have to make new 
 grooves which will take time ; and not only 
 that, but while you are making them your machine 
 will be running eccentrically, running amok, jos- 
 tling among other, stable bodies, colliding in so 
 many words, as he put it, this country will be at 
 the mercy of any other which happens to have 
 its affairs in order. That would n't at all suit the
 
 212 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 man who wishes to dine, in decent comfort, at 
 eight o'clock every night. Therefore it must be 
 stopped. 
 
 Here at least was a practical view of politics, 
 and Georgiana, who had not the least suspicion 
 that she was an idealist, jumped at it and spread 
 it out like butter upon the hard biscuit of Charles's 
 catering. It was capable of infinite extension, of 
 course. She neither knew that, nor that it was 
 the merest opportunism. She did not see that the 
 Duke was the greatest Anarch in England, keep- 
 ing the rest of us from Anarchy that he might so 
 remain in peace and quietness. The advantage 
 of his political philosophy to her was that, when 
 the time came, she was able to shed it, like a 
 shawl, by a jerk of the shoulders. 
 
 The Duke, plain man that he was, desired her, 
 and showed it. But he had himself very well in 
 hand, and was quite content to wait her conven- 
 ience. She wouldn't couldn't stand much 
 more of Charles, he judged. Meantime Charles 
 was useful and she had something for him; 
 not much, but something. He was able to be her 
 constant companion, her benefactor, her husband's 
 patron, to talk to her extremely intimately of his 
 affairs, to show her nevertheless by every look 
 that he coveted possession of her and her charms 
 and with all that, to claim nothing she did not 
 choose to give him. He got all the pleasure out
 
 SHE READS OF HERSELF 213 
 
 of all this that was to be had; and it was a good 
 deal. 
 
 She gave him her hand, she gave him her 
 cheek. She saw no harm in that. But she was 
 able, by some unconscious hold upon him which 
 was quite out of her recognition, to keep him 
 there. After that one occasion when he had 
 failed of an assault, he refrained from attempting 
 her by any such means. But he talked his 
 frankness ought, perhaps, to have appalled her; 
 but it did not. It interested her; she never replied 
 to it in its own kind; but she listened. So far in 
 her life, she had been a listener. She had listened 
 to her family, to Charles, now to the Duke. 
 None of them had ever stirred her into action. 
 
 But she was not a statue; she was become a 
 woman; and the soul cannot thrive on listening; 
 and if the soul grows thin, so does the body. She 
 was now in her twenty-sixth year, a grave and 
 guarded little person, serious and pale, with eyes 
 so large and thoughtful that you might have sup- 
 posed all the cares of the state to be upon her mind 
 and conscience arid that the Duke was enabled to 
 carry them so lightly because she had allowed him 
 to put them there. She said of herself, ruefully, 
 that she was growing a dowdy; but Gervase Poore, 
 who had quick eyes, thought that he knew better. 
 To him she was the perfection of delicate and 
 hesitating charm. The tremulous wonder of a
 
 214 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 spring morning was a favorite image with him; 
 the first flutter of the light, the pensive gray and 
 violet of quiet evenings. 
 
 One of his similes for her was the Hidden Rose, 
 the frail, coy flower of the June hedgerow: 
 
 More than those 
 
 Enfranchised beauties her perfection shows 
 
 Like a concealed rose, 
 
 But to the thickets where she lieth close. 
 
 This will do for a poet; but she was shocked 
 at herself sometimes. 
 
 The fact was that she was starved. She was a 
 woman of warm imagination, of generous im- 
 pulse. She would live, as all good women live, by 
 giving. She would give the breast; but she had 
 no milk. For that she must be fed. Her body 
 was starved by her starving soul. Gervase had 
 often raged and torn at his hair as he sat in his 
 dark lodging picturing her life. He was wonder- 
 fully accurate. He saw her with her husband at 
 hand, busy with her own vague thoughts while he 
 prated of this and that nothingness. He saw her 
 with her cynical old lover, listening while he re- 
 vealed to her his mind and busy again with her 
 pondered judgments. He saw her in her crowded 
 and brilliant world, quietly beautiful among the 
 flaunting, shrill women, dressed exquisitely, a 
 thing of wonderful art anything but herself. 
 Deep in his heart he had her as she really was, a
 
 SHE READS OF HERSELF 215 
 
 fairy-child, an elfin thing, at one with the loveliest 
 of Nature's world, which is so little our world 
 that the squirrel knows it more, and serves it 
 better than the wisest of us. Gradually as he 
 agonized, his strength of purpose grew to take 
 her out of all this, and set her free. " Cage-bird, 
 cage-bird, I will open the door ! " he sang. But 
 to do that needed craft and a savoir faire which 
 he was far from possessing. He bought himself 
 a dress-coat against the Wake House ball, for 
 which his good friend Tom had promised him a 
 card. Towards this adventure he set his eyes, on 
 it he brooded day and night. It grew portentous, 
 waxing as he waned. As the time drew near his 
 heart was like to fail him, so charged with fate 
 did it now loom. 
 
 And the card came. " The Duke of Devizes 
 requests the honor of Mr. Poore's company at 
 
 Wake House Piccadilly on K at nine 
 
 o'clock." It had come; and the name of Mr. 
 Poore was filled in by Mrs. Lancelot. Her pen 
 had traced the words. He kept it for the rest of 
 his life. 
 
 Mr. Moore, whose social instinct was so re- 
 markable, had long before this paid his court to 
 the new star. He had called upon her in Smith 
 Square. He called again when she was installed 
 in Wake House; and now, the ball in prospect, 
 actually foretold in the Morning Post, he called
 
 216 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 once more. In his hand as he made his bow was 
 a thin quarto volume. He found the Duke with 
 her. 
 
 " Fair lady, I 'm a fortunate man! Duke, your 
 humble servant." 
 
 "How do, Moore?" said the Duke, with one 
 finger for the visitor. He did not like the little 
 poet, but had he been his bosom friend he would 
 have had no other greeting. The fact is, the Duke 
 liked nobody. He had no natural benevolence. 
 He could love, we know; but that's a different 
 thing. In his ordinary acquaintance he liked or 
 disliked the things which people did. Above all 
 he disliked a fuss; and Mr. Moore could not walk 
 across a room without that. He felt himself in 
 action, and could only be certain that he had made 
 an effect when he had set everybody else making 
 one. 
 
 The poet, however, made much of his finger. 
 " Radiant, my lord! I am newly from the coun- 
 try, Lord Lansdowne having given me a seat in 
 his carriage, and Holland House open to me for 
 as long as I please. That great lady would have 
 it so, and it was n't for me to deny her ! " He 
 turned to his hostess. " But yourself, fair lady? 
 I need not ask if you are well. You are always 
 well, as becomes one favored by the Graces. 
 Now, lest you should accuse me that I come to 
 your shrine empty-handed, let me unburden my-
 
 SHE READS OF HERSELF 217 
 
 self. Mrs. Lancelot, you have made a poet im- 
 mortal ! " He tapped the thin volume. " You 
 are here, let me tell you, in a multitude of dis- 
 guises." 
 
 She flushed with pleasure, opened her eyes 
 wide; she laughed a little. The Duke watched 
 her eyes narrow, and glimmer like stars. 
 
 " Really! Am I in that book? Poetry! Oh, 
 do let me see. Nobody has ever written poems 
 about me." 
 
 The Duke snorted. "Poems, my dear! Lit- 
 tle you know I I Ve written dozens ! " 
 
 She turned to him mischievous. 
 ' Your poems ! In blue-books ! I don't like 
 the binding." 
 
 "Match your blue stockings," said the Duke; 
 but Tom protested. 
 
 " Fie, fie, your Grace. Mrs. Lancelot has no 
 such pretensions. She wears her colors in her 
 eyes. But let me show you the volume." 
 
 " Give it me, please." She took it eagerly, 
 opened, bent her head and began to read in the 
 middle. 
 
 "Your own, Moore?" the Duke asked. 
 
 " Never in the world I " cried Tom. " To be- 
 gin with, it 's too high doctrine for me, seeing 
 I 'm turned forty, with wife and bairns at home. 
 This is a positive young rhymester flying at great 
 game. And when he don't hymn our fair friend,
 
 218 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 't is all nymphs and goddesses ' all growing 
 naked in the open air'! Ay! and a pretty turn 
 he has at a couplet, the rogue ! But a sad heretic, 
 you know. He snaps his fingers at prosody. 
 Base is the slave that scans, says he! And I say, 
 That is mighty fine, me boy, but if they can't read 
 ye they won't buy ye ; and me friend John Murray 
 will visit you with his displeasure." 
 
 Georgiana looked up, composedly. Whatever 
 she may have read, she showed nothing. 
 
 " Whose is this book? Is it really intended for 
 me?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly, ma'am. The young rascal 's 
 inscribed it." 
 
 She hastened to look at the fly-leaf, read her 
 name and the author's. " It is very odd. Who 
 is Gervase Poore? I have never heard of him, 
 and certainly never met him." 
 
 Tom looked waggish. " It seems that you 
 have. Do you like his rhymes? Have you hit 
 upon Nausithoe? " 
 
 She looked doubtful. " I think I shall like 
 some of it I don't know. I shall read it. But 
 you say that I have met him. When was that? 
 Long ago ? " 
 
 " Some years ago," she was told. " Carry your 
 memory back. Were you ever at Vauxhall Gar- 
 dens at a fete? " 
 
 She thought, then started, and looked quickly.
 
 "He snaps his fingers at prosody.'
 
 SHE READS OF HERSELF 221 
 
 ' Yes, yes, I was. I met you there." She turned 
 to the Duke. ' You must remember it. We were 
 with Di and Carnaby, and I was lost and you 
 all found me. That was let me think three 
 years ago ! At least ! " Then she turned her 
 eager face to the poet, eager yet serious. u Is 
 Gervase Poore the young man the gentleman 
 who was so kind as to help me? " Tom nodded 
 and smiled at her. She explained quickly to the 
 Duke, who took it all as a matter of course. 
 
 " I lost them, you know, and stood by the en- 
 trance to the boxes, to wait until they came. Two 
 horrible, rude persons came up, and began to talk 
 to me. I was very uncomfortable, and did n't 
 know what to do and then this Mr. Poore 
 flashed in between us like a hurricane, and 
 knocked one of the men down. I hardly saw him, 
 before he was gone again. I just thanked him. 
 But I remember him perfectly. He looked very 
 wild" 
 
 " He is very wild, ma'am," said Tom, nodding 
 again. 
 
 " Seems able to use his hands though," the 
 Duke proposed. 
 
 Georgiana illuminated him. " He was very 
 tall and square-shouldered. High-colored, had 
 blue eyes. Bright blue they were. His hair was 
 very fair. How extraordinary! How very ex- 
 traordinary ! But I think it 's very kind of him.
 
 222 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 I shall write him a little letter. Don't you think 
 I ought to? " That was to the Duke, who simply 
 said, " Yes, I think you ought. You '11 make him 
 the happiest poet in Grub Street." 
 
 " 'T will be a saintly act," said Tom, " but I '11 
 go further. I '11 ask you to let him wait upon 
 you. He is a charming youth, and me very good 
 friend." 
 
 She made an effort to conceal her interest in 
 the poet who had belauded her in print. She was 
 very simple: she liked to be liked. 
 
 " Pray let him come. I shall be glad to see 
 him. I can thank him for his book and " 
 
 " And his fisticuffs," the Duke added. " They 
 were probably the more timely gift." 
 
 " Despise not the poet's mind," Tom said. 
 " This is a good poet, though I don't say that 
 he 's always very reliable. 'T is a full jug, your 
 Grace sees, and apt to spill over." 
 
 " Froths a bit too, eh ? " the Duke enquired. 
 " I '11 tell you what, Georgey," he added sud- 
 denly. " You shall have him to the ball." Then 
 he turned to Moore and asked, " Has he got a 
 coat, think you ? " 
 
 " My lord," replied Tom, " he has a first-class 
 coat, as I happen to know, for I saw it on him, 
 and know where it came from. 'T is a handsome 
 coat on a handsome person. He '11 do you no 
 discredit."
 
 SHE READS OF HERSELF 223 
 
 " It 's to be hoped that he '11 do his tailor none. 
 But that 's not our affair. Will you have him, 
 Georgie? " 
 
 She beamed her thanks. " I should like him to 
 come of all things. That is so nice of you. I '11 
 put a card in with my note." She went to her 
 desk and wrote. 
 
 While she was thus engaged Charles came in, 
 saw the visitor, and advanced with formal cour- 
 tesy. " Evening, Charles," from his Grace. 
 " Ha, Lancelot, me friend," from the poet, who 
 presumed somewhat in such an address, and 
 showed perhaps a shade of patronage to the hus- 
 band of Egeria. The husband, at least, was sensi- 
 tive to it, and grew very cold. 
 
 But the poet dashed in with the volume, the 
 author, the past rencontre at Vauxhall, and the 
 future preparing " through the courtesy of me 
 noble friend." Charles was respectful to such a 
 gracious act, but a little dry. Georgiana, busy 
 with her note, heard everything, and felt irritated. 
 Her warmth cooled, her pleasure was dashed. 
 She sealed the letter and rose to give it to the 
 poet. " Please give this to Mr. Poore when you 
 see him. You won't of course make it a burden 
 to your conscience. There is no hurry." 
 
 "Ah, ma'am," cried he, "but he'll tear it 
 out of me the moment I 'm clear of the door- 
 step."
 
 224 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 "Why, is he on the doorstep?" the Duke 
 asked. " Let 's ask him up. Charles, did you 
 see a broad-shouldered poet by the railings?" 
 
 " No, indeed," said Charles. " It was dark, 
 and I was preoccupied." 
 
 " So 's he, it appears," the Duke chuckled. 
 " So 's Georgie here. We are all getting pre- 
 occupied. The rogue 's been writing odes to her 
 eyebrows." 
 
 "Indeed?" Charles said, and looked at his 
 wife, as if to see, Tom afterwards told Gervase, 
 whether her eyebrows were very fine. They were, 
 in fact, the most beautiful pair of penciled arcs 
 you ever saw. So at least Gervase said. 
 
 Tom took his leave of the lady and tiptoed 
 to the door. His coach, he said, awaited him to 
 take him to Kensington. Georgiana put Nausi- 
 thoe into her desk and locked it in. 
 
 Charles made no allusion to it or its writer. 
 He dined early and went down to the House. 
 His wife went out to two parties, met the Duke at 
 the second of them and came back in his company 
 to her empty apartment. He left her there, as 
 the custom had now become, with a pressed hand 
 and a kissed cheek. He never did more than that, 
 but the evident fact that he desired more was a 
 daily excitement. Sometimes, it is true, he ex- 
 claimed, half humorously, upon her prudery. 
 " Oh, you 're a stiff little lady I 'Pon my soul, I
 
 SHE READS OF HERSELF 225 
 
 never met such a stickler in my life. Not a foot 
 inside the door after eleven o'clock! " 
 
 She smiled meekly, deprecating his mockery. 
 " Dear friend, don't tease me. I 'm very tired. 
 And you know what I try to do." 
 
 1 You don't love me a scrap, my dear. And 
 you try to pretend that you do. That 's your diffi- 
 culty." 
 
 She shook her head, still smiling " No, no, 
 you are wrong. You know that I like to be with 
 you. You are so wonderfully good to me. It is 
 beautiful, how good you are to me. You are my 
 best friend. You know I 'm not ungrateful. 
 Oh ! " and she was urgent here, " Oh, do believe 
 me!" 
 
 That brought him up short. His arm would be 
 round her. " Yes, yes, I was teasing you, as you 
 said. My pretty one, I 'm an old ruffian. Good 
 night. Off with you to bed." 
 
 That sort of thing did occur now and again; 
 but not upon this occasion, when her noble lover 
 contented himself with a kiss of her fingers. 
 
 She took Nausithoe to bed with her, uncon- 
 scious that she had been, half an hour earlier, 
 under the burning eye of her author. Much of 
 it she found exceedingly romantic, some of it 
 rather shocking. The title poem made her won- 
 der. There was no doubting its high seriousness. 
 Whoever this unfortunate lady may have been,
 
 226 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 loved by a ghost and finding in his ghostly em- 
 braces her strange sad comfort, the poet was in 
 deadly earnest. He approached his task in the 
 traditional manner, by invocations: 
 
 Queen of the shadows, aid thou me 
 Telling of fond Nausithoe, 
 Thy bosom's friend, who for thy sake 
 Gave up the life we live awake 
 And lived the dream life. . . . 
 
 And after Proserpine he turns to a greater god- 
 dess: 
 
 Thee, too, O Lady of the South, 
 Uranian Kypris, I invoke, 
 Lady of starry space, and stroke 
 Of splendid wing, in whose strong wake 
 Stream they who, filled with thee, forsake 
 The clinging clots of earth, and rise 
 Lover and loved to thy pure skies, 
 To thy blue ream. . . . 
 
 This made her heart beat. Do lovers stream 
 in the wake of Venus Urania? Alas, she had 
 never so streamed! 
 
 She read on. This of Nausithoe, " bosom's 
 mate " of Proserpine. 
 
 the delicate, 
 
 Child-faced, gray-eyed, of sober gait, 
 Of burning mind, of passion pent 
 To image-making. . . . 
 
 Who was this child-faced woman, whose pas- 
 sion driven into narrow confines drove her to se-
 
 SHE READS OF HERSELF 227 
 
 cret imagings of love and lovers? She felt her 
 cheeks tingle. Was it possible that this broad- 
 shouldered wild rescuer, in one flash of his hot 
 eyes had read into the very deeps of her? Was 
 she then Nausithoe, embraced by a ghost? If 
 she was, then what could be made of 
 
 O thou meek 
 
 And gentle vision, let me tell 
 Thy beauties o'er I love so well ? 
 
 Charged with foreknowledge, reasoning a -priori, 
 she could now read her own charms in the poet's 
 eyes. He seemed to adore what she was accus- 
 tomed to deprecate. There was comfort for her 
 in such flattery. If he loved her because she was 
 grave and cold; if he loved her shy form, the 
 pallor of her lips, her thin fingers why, then 
 they were loveworthy ! She raised her eyes tim- 
 idly to the glass and saw herself there anew 
 desired, desirable, not obscure, but, rather, too 
 rarely beautiful to be discerned. If she smiled at 
 such high praise and she caught herself at it 
 there was no mockery of the poet in her smile. 
 
 All this preface made the story which followed 
 upon it of absorbing interest. 
 
 Ah, love, ah, maiden delicate, 
 How shall be told thy bitter fate? 
 Remembered joy, Nausithoe! 
 
 A strange and poignant tale, wherein she could 
 not but read herself, as one who was 
 
 15
 
 228 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 as all sweet women are, 
 Prudes till love calls them, and then fierce 
 for getting or spending. 
 
 She read on and read all. The thought possessed 
 her, filled her with unquiet, made her hot with 
 thought, cold with fear, made her eager, made her 
 shamefast; made her wonder, made her long 
 to know more of this poet who seemed to know 
 all of her, and to be so sure. 
 
 In the rest she was conscious of anti-climax; 
 though it must be owned that she hunted, it is 
 certain that she could n't find any possible refer- 
 ence to herself. Which of these ladies could she 
 be? Was she Myrtilla who said the Lord's 
 Prayer backwards at dawn and conjured up a 
 Faun who made love to her ? Was she Aglae the 
 wood-wife? Was she Cynthia? Cynthia shocked 
 her, who " fed on groans," whose " love and hate 
 alike were dreadful, long, insatiate." Had she 
 that in her allure to torture a poet? Had she 
 then tortured Mr. Poore? She wished that he 
 had contented himself with Nausithoe. It was 
 finally as Nausithoe that she went late to sleep.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE WAKE HOUSE BALL 
 
 TO this brilliant affair, where all that was no- 
 ble in London was assembled before him, 
 Gervase Poore the unknown and the truculent 
 chose to come late. He found it easy to explain 
 to himself why he did so. But little Tom, his 
 friend, the pink of good-nature, who came for 
 him even unto Clerkenwell, and found him writ- 
 ing, in his shirt and breeches, could not see it. 
 
 " Odds 's my life, Gervase, have ye forgotten 
 the ball?" Tom, dapper in his black smalls, silk 
 stockings and pumps, his ruffled shirt, brooch and 
 oiled hair, looked like the fairy godfather of Cin- 
 derella's brother in the raftered and candle-lit 
 garret. The writer looked up. 
 
 " I Ve got her, my lovely dear! I Ve got her 
 here. Listen, you pomander-box ! " And he 
 read 
 
 Seeing your love 
 
 Sets me apart as one to whom joy can come never, 
 Yet made glorious as one 
 Who stands filled with the light of the sun 
 (Since I behold the mercies I may not claim) 
 I will raise immortal your name. 
 
 229
 
 230 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 " The devil you will ! " muttered Tom, who 
 heartily believed it. 
 
 All that you are, 
 
 All that God hath recessed and treasured in you 
 
 The hint of you in the Spring, 
 
 Your glancing carriage, your voice's ring, 
 
 Your starry face and the fragile rose of your lips, 
 
 Your eyes' sapphirine blue; 
 
 All your pure soul, 
 
 Keen and wondering, true and eager as flame, 
 
 Your sober thought and your pride 
 
 To nurse the passion you hold and hide 
 
 The spirit of all that is lovely and void of blame 
 
 I will figure the whole. 
 
 He looked up, flushed, and frowning. 
 
 " Mighty fine, Gervase," said his friend, and 
 meant it " but you '11 figure very poorly at 
 Wake House at this rate. Whatever else you 
 figure, you won't figure there." 
 
 " I am coming, Tom, you may be sure. But 
 I 'm taking this with me, and so must finish, d' ye 
 see?" 
 
 " What good will the stuff be to ye at Wake 
 House, ye gossoon? " cried Tom. 
 
 " I 'm going to read it to her," he was told. 
 
 For answer to this he received a long stare. 
 Tom was entirely serious: he admired no more; 
 he was alarmed, even shocked. But he had to 
 admit the young man's force. " By God," he said 
 finally, " I believe ye '11 do it."
 
 THE WAKE HOUSE BALL 231 
 
 And then he collected himself. " The Lord 
 be your friend, Gervase Poore, for you '11 be need- 
 ing a bigger man than me. But seeing that such 
 audaciousness is your intent, I have no scruples 
 in leaving you to find your way into the castle. 
 So I '11 take myself on." 
 
 " Good-by, Tom, good-by," said Poore, jump- 
 ing up to clasp his friend. " God bless you for 
 the kindest heart in England. It was like you to 
 come " 
 
 " And it 's like you to refuse, me poor boy," 
 said Tom. " Advice is wasted on ye, I know 
 yet I have it in me heart to " 
 
 " Tom, Tom, I know what you want to say. 
 Now see here, my dear. I am going into this 
 headlong just as I did before. You remember 
 Vauxhall? She cowered there, my beautiful! 
 against the wall shivering at the mere breath 
 of those goat-footed devils. Tom, she cowers 
 yet. Man men Circe's herd are snarling 
 about her, licking their lips. A morsel I A mor- 
 sel ! A morsel for a moment's lechery 1 O God ! 
 Do you say the age of Pan is over? Do you say 
 Pan is dead? Why, man, every woman is a 
 hunted nymph. Every man is a satyr. She must 
 be plucked out of this to flower in the open, 
 God bless her! To unfold in the sun! God 
 made this world to be a garden and what have
 
 232 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 we made of it? Half a camp and half a lupa- 
 nar ! " He wrung his friend's hand. Tom went 
 sobered away. . . . 
 
 When Gervase arrived it was past eleven 
 o'clock. The tall footmen had relaxed their 
 rigidity and lounged in the hall. Gervase strode 
 through them. Divested of his cloak, he climbed 
 the stair, which was broad and marble, and fol- 
 lowing the sound of music, unannounced entered 
 the first of the rooms. It was very full. It blazed 
 with light. Uniforms, stars, blue ribbons 
 abounded. Plumed ladies, diamonds, a thick and 
 scented air, a continuous chattering sound of 
 voices, talking vivaciously of nothing, laughing 
 shrilly and foolishly all this he marked as he 
 stood calm in the doorway, hunting down face 
 after face. He knew no one. Charles Lancelot 
 was, in fact, there, prim-faced, whiskered and tall; 
 but Gervase knew nothing about him. He looked 
 for Georgiana with a beating heart, but without 
 conviction. It was only the idea that she might 
 be there which made his heart beat. Had she 
 been, he was sure that he would have been certi- 
 fied by his familiar. 
 
 Next, he sought the Duke, whose face and 
 trim figure were common property. Last, Tom 
 Moore his generous friend. No, there was 
 no man. Through the door at the further end 
 he saw pass and repass, drifting like showered
 
 THE WAKE HOUSE BALL 233 
 
 leaves in a wind, the dancers. He would look 
 for her there, and shouldered his way through to 
 the grouped nobility with no more ceremony 
 than if they had been Dick and Harry, Bill and 
 Jack round the orchestra at Vauxhall. He was 
 maladroit, unceremonious. Manners he had none, 
 but shoulders he had, and great inches, and a fine 
 head. He was flushed deeply, his bright blue eyes 
 burned, his brows scowled. He was much ob- 
 served and "Who the devil's that?" came 
 from more than one mouth. But he looked at 
 nobody, asked no pardons, named no permissions, 
 and reached his doorway. 
 
 The great ball-room, lit by some thousand wax 
 candles, dazzled him for a moment. He was 
 conscious only of white and scarlet drifting and 
 swirling by; of the slipping of countless feet, of 
 the swish-swish of silk. By and by he began to 
 distinguish, and was then conscious of profound 
 moral revolt. He was aware of white forms of 
 women, bare-breasted, who seemed aswoon as 
 they were wafted about their bosoms crushed 
 against the men who held them, their heads 
 averted, their eyes half-closed, their lips parted. 
 Hither and thither, round and round they were 
 swept by their captors whose faces were fierce, 
 high-colored, bright-eyed; who triumphed, who 
 laughed and tossed their heads; who capered and 
 leaped. To every prancing satyr his bound
 
 234 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 nymph; what Maenad revel could be wilder than 
 this? And she, his goddess, was one of these! 
 He felt that the blood in his heart, insurgent, 
 flowed up and filled his eyes. The white field 
 swam all red. He saw no more; but closed down 
 his eyelids and prayed to the Unknown God 
 and a vision came over him of a quiet valley, 
 wooded slopes to the margin of a slow-winding 
 broad river; of swallows in a golden evening light, 
 and afar off the tinkle of sheep bells. There on 
 a greensward he saw his lady stand, " the little 
 slim thing" in a white gown. She looked down 
 the valley, shading her eyes from the sun. The 
 sun sank, the shadows lengthened. 
 
 Night gathers, and the crow 
 Takes wing to the murky wood. . . . 
 
 Soon all was in one level, shadowless light. And 
 there she stood, smiling with lips and eyes, and 
 held out her hand for him to take. Together 
 they turned and walked by the river. There was 
 no need for speech. 
 
 The music brayed and pounded; the swoon- 
 ing, caught-up women drifted about. Fine young 
 men stamped their feet as they capered, and 
 Gervase stood at the door prophesying in his 
 dreams. 
 
 He came to himself with a start. She was not 
 here, could not be in this very hell. There were
 
 THE WAKE HOUSE BALL 235 
 
 rooms beyond, he saw, and he would go. Moving, 
 he suddenly brought up short in collision. 
 " Mercy on us, 't is Gervase ! " His cheerful 
 friend, breathless and triumphant, his arm still 
 lightly upon the waist of his partner, beamed upon 
 him. 
 
 " Ye nearly drove me to perdition, Gervase. 
 Permit me to present you Me young friend 
 Mr. Poore, the famous poet. The Lady Geral- 
 dine O'Meara." 
 
 A fair lady bowed sweetly, and Gervase, only 
 half recovered, inclined his fine head. 
 
 It was Tom who did the talking, for the Lady 
 Geraldine had nothing to say, and Poore did not 
 even look at her. She, on the other hand, freely 
 admired him. Meantime Tom chattered and 
 glowed. " A fine sight, Gervase ! * And bright 
 the lamps shone o'er fair women and brave 
 men I ' 'T was Byron said it. Me poor friend, 
 me poor dead friend. What a hand at a pen 
 he had a mad thing entirely. He used it as 
 a sword, and cut figures out of his heart with it. 
 Lady Geraldine, did ye ever see Byron now? 
 Me friend, Mr. Poore here, has the scowl of 
 him." Lady Geraldine smiled kindly and shook 
 her head. She had no conversation. But conver- 
 sation was not required of any of Mr. Moore's 
 acquaintance. " The Duchess of Richmond of 
 that occasion," he ran on, " was a little woman
 
 236 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 with a very bright eye. Our noble host here told 
 me that she carried it off superbly, superbly; his 
 own word. ' Let the music go on,' she said; ' for 
 God's sake, let us behave ourselves.' And she 
 got 'em all out of the place, and kept the thing 
 going until five o'clock in the morning. And they 
 heard the cannon as they went home by daylight 
 and the troops were pouring out all the time. 
 Wonderful, wonderful ! Gervase, have you made 
 your bow? Well, a word in your ear you'll 
 find your Cynthia in the little drawing-room, two 
 rooms away. She don't dance, you must know. 
 Lady Geraldine, shall we have another turn? 
 You will ? You are the soul of gallantry, and I 'm 
 not the man to deny myself." He waved his 
 gloved hand, engaged the lady and bounced her 
 away. Gervase pushed through the throng. 
 
 From the next doorway, where he stood with 
 his back to the dancers, he saw her. She was two 
 rooms away; but he saw her immediately, and 
 held his breath. For a moment, for the first mo- 
 ment of his life he knew despair. He felt him- 
 self stultified, awake at last to the world as it was. 
 She looked, he thought, like a Bacchante. Lady 
 Hamilton must have looked like that. If this was 
 what they had made of her, then God did not live 
 and reign. 
 
 A numbness took him, as he felt his heart go 
 cold within him, cold and dead. It had the weight
 
 THE WAKE HOUSE BALL 237 
 
 of a dead thing, and seemed to be dragging him 
 down. 
 
 Mrs. Lancelot half sat on the edge of a table 
 and swung her foot. Her dress, which was thin, 
 close and clinging, was dragged up a little to ease 
 her knee, and as her foot swung forward her 
 stocking was revealed to some distance. Nobody 
 of those about her could be aware of it, but Ger- 
 vase at his distance away could not but see it. 
 The attitude, the action, entirely innocent and 
 unconscious as they were, wore for him a shocking 
 air. They were of a piece with the rest. This 
 young hermit of Clerkenwell was mortally 
 wounded. 
 
 And as if she did what she should not, to him 
 her attire was abhorrent her attire and the ab- 
 scence of it. Her dress was, in fact, becoming 
 in its daring. It was of thin silk, of a dull Pom- 
 peian red, deeply hemmed and fringed with gold. 
 In her hair she wore a gold wreath. The gown 
 clung to her and revealed her form, thin, but ex- 
 quisitely proportioned to her slender build. It 
 was low in the neck and showed freely half her 
 bosom. But its color took what little she had 
 clean away. She looked almost wan. And in 
 this ivory pale face, her large eyes burned black, 
 and her lips, which she had perhaps colored, 
 looked scarlet. She was happy, or excited; for 
 her eyes laughed, and her teeth flashed. She was
 
 238 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 surrounded by a demilune of six or seven men of 
 various ages and among them, conspicuous by 
 his white head, square strong face, erect carriage 
 and air of authority, was the Duke of Devizes, 
 with the blue ribbon and star of his order. An- 
 other gartered grandee was there also; and there 
 were young men about her, splendid, groomed 
 creatures, one of whom with great vivacity was 
 paying her open court. And his " little slim 
 thing " sat swinging her foot, painted and pow- 
 dered, and listened and thrilled at the flattery. 
 Bought and sold like a Circassian O Christ! 
 
 Gervase clenched his teeth, clenched his fists, 
 and as if, like the God he invoked, he was about 
 to scourge the money-changers out of the temple, 
 he pushed directly forward to his business. 
 
 A few strides brought him within range, and 
 then she saw him. Not only did she see him, and 
 know him at once, but she saw that he was dis- 
 turbed, and on her account, that he was about to 
 visit his displeasure upon her, that she, somehow, 
 deserved it, and that it became her at least, to 
 meet it more than half way. All these feelings, 
 half formed, rising like figures out of mist and 
 sinking back again, were within her in the few 
 seconds she had to spare. Her sparkle and wax- 
 light glitter left her; her face looked tragic in its 
 pale vacuity; her eyes loomed. She slid off the 
 table on which she was airily perched and ad-
 
 THE WAKE HOUSE BALL 239 
 
 vanced immediately to meet Gervase. The men 
 about her sprang aside to give her place. All 
 observed the oncomer, the Duke curiously, after 
 his manner. 
 
 Of course it may have been charity on her part, 
 pure benevolence; recognizing him, she may have 
 guessed that he was unfriended and seen that he 
 was disturbed. It may have been so, but I doubt 
 it. Her own feelings of detected unworthiness can- 
 not be gainsaid, her own acceptance of his reason- 
 able displeasure, her own readiness to be chastened. 
 As for him, he was so possessed by his passion that 
 he had no coherent thought apart from it. 
 
 She held out her hand and greeted him by 
 name. "Mr. Poore?" He did not see the 
 hand; his eyes were fixed upon her own, intently, 
 piercing, as she felt, to the soul. But he muttered 
 something, seemed rather to be stemming a tor- 
 rent of words with his mouth than framing their 
 utterance ; she caught, " I must speak to you 
 not here this hateful place let us go let 
 us go " Without a word she took command. 
 " Yes, of course. Give me your arm, please." 
 She put her hand within it as she spoke, and 
 urged him gently away. As they went out of the 
 doorway she turned, nodding and smiling, to the 
 Duke, keenly observant of her. He bowed. 
 Then she hurried her steps, almost running by the 
 side of her fierce escort.
 
 EXTRAORDINARY CONVERSATION 
 
 SOME prevision of the crisis in her soul's af- 
 fairs must have prompted her to the bold step 
 she took, when she guided the burning and irresist- 
 ible progress of the poet to her own drawing-room 
 in this great house. Neither of them had spoken 
 throughout the transit; that is, their lips had 
 framed no words. But messages flew between 
 them without a word spoken her soul said to 
 his, " Ah, I know what you have to say to me ! 
 I know, I know that you love me. What am I 
 to do? You have a wisdom not of this world 
 where all my schooling has been. Teach me, 
 teach me ; I will learn." And from him came the 
 stern admonition, " You ! What have you to do 
 in this horde of japing satyrs? Are you Circe, to 
 make men swine? Do you play with hyenas, 
 apes, and jackals? What has your nature to do 
 with these? " And hers cried, " Teach me, teach 
 me ! " and his, touched with pity, replied, " The 
 way is hard for you." 
 
 In her room she sat and looked at her hands, 
 as one twisted round and about a ring upon a 
 
 240
 
 POORE TO THE POINT 241 
 
 finger of the other. He, with his arms folded, 
 stood frowning above her, breathing fast, trying 
 to bring his heart back into its stride, as with the 
 rein one schools a galloping horse. Her own 
 emotion was insistent, but her social instinct was 
 awake, and it was she, under the guiding of that, 
 who first broke the beating silence. 
 
 ' You came very late. I expected to see you 
 earlier." 
 
 " I came when I could. I was writing." 
 
 " Ah ! Another poem ? Your poems are beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 " It was you who made them so." 
 
 " I can't think that. Your poetry is a part of 
 yourself." 
 
 " It was in me ; but you called it out. There 
 is nothing in my book which is not of you." 
 
 She was in command by this time, felt that she 
 could smile at his foolishness. 
 
 " I don't think I can realize that. Was ' Leda ' 
 about me? " 
 
 " No, of course not. But those things are 
 nothing. They were done long ago." 
 
 " I should n't like to think that I inspired them." 
 
 " You did not. I spoke of what was good." 
 
 " Of ' Nausithoe ' ? " 
 
 * Yes. That is you. That is your life a 
 life in shadow, clasping, clasped by, a shadow. A 
 life of unreality."
 
 242 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 "I was sure that you did not approve that 
 you were displeased. What right have you to be 
 pleased or displeased with my life? " 
 
 " The right that one who loves you has to be 
 pleased or displeased with what pleases or dis- 
 pleases you. You are not happy, you know your 
 life to be vain " 
 
 She lifted up her head quickly. She was 
 flushed. " Ah, you must not say that. You have 
 no possible right. And it is not true. I have my 
 duties to perform. I believe that I do them. 
 They are not, perhaps, in your world but they 
 are very real. You are unjust to me." 
 
 It was one of those moments when the soul 
 must have its way; and perhaps Poore was one of 
 those persons who can say without offense what 
 others can never approach; one of those persons 
 absolutely serious and occupied with the affair of 
 the moment. 
 
 He said and she was not offended " You 
 have also a duty to yourself. Unless you per- 
 form it, you are maimed, and cannot avail to any- 
 body. Two men love you, but you love neither. 
 How can a woman avail unless she love? It 
 is her whole nature. It is her function. With- 
 out it she is a phantom, an empty vase. Lovely 
 you are, but you are empty. Fill yourself. 
 Love." 
 
 She was not offended, but she was very troubled.
 
 POORE TO THE POINT 243 
 
 She faltered and made to look up at him. Then 
 she found that she could not do it. 
 
 " What do you know of me?" she asked of 
 her fingers. 
 
 " Everything," said Poore. " I have seen you 
 countless times since I saw you first. I think that 
 for three years, whenever you have been in Lon- 
 don, I have seen you every night of the week." 
 
 " I don't understand that is not possible 
 I have never seen you." 
 
 " You have looked full upon me sometimes, but 
 you have not seen me. I have seen you." 
 
 Curiosity was now awake. She forgot her 
 bashfulness. "When have you seen me? 
 Where?" 
 
 " I have seen you at your parties. I have seen 
 you go in and come out. I have stood with the 
 outcasts at the doors and waited for you. In rain, 
 snow, sleet, and slush on hot summer nights, in 
 fog and mist, I have been there. Sometimes you 
 have been to two, sometimes to three great houses. 
 I have followed you by scent, I believe. You 
 have a fragrance which I could follow over the 
 world. I have heard you speak a word here, 
 a word there. I have heard you laugh, and have 
 wept to hear you for the laughter was thin, 
 from the head and not the heart. I know the 
 turns of your head, the glances of your eyes I 
 tell you that I know everything about you. You 
 
 16
 
 244 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 are not yet born. If you have a soul it 'resides not 
 in your lovely body, but hovers on the outside, 
 seeking an entry, beating with its hands at the 
 door of your heart. You are the slave of your 
 circumstance you cannot do otherwise than be 
 so because you do not know of your servitude. 
 You know neither your powers nor your rights. 
 The one could demand the other, and exact them. 
 But you drift, a phantom loving not at all, 
 loved phantom-wise. Two men love you, I say, 
 but you can satisfy neither. Two men? How 
 many more love your delicate, your exquisite per- 
 son? But one man loves your soul, that lovely 
 winged thing fluttering without you, a-cold, trying 
 to get in." 
 
 She sat immovable under this wild apostrophe, 
 immovable as to the limbs; but her short-rising 
 breast and little involuntary starts and tremors 
 betrayed her. She did not raise her eyes for one 
 moment. Her lips moved, and she said, scarcely 
 above a whisper, " You must not say so. You 
 must not love me. You have no right " 
 
 "No right?" asked he. "Do you deny me 
 the right to live? And how can I live but by 
 love? And how can I help loving what I see so 
 excellently loveworthy? That which I adore in 
 you was not sold with the rest. Men do not chaf- 
 fer the light of the sun, or the west wind that 
 blows over pasture fields, or the rain that
 
 POORE TO THE POINT 245 
 
 washes the flanks of the hills. They fence in the 
 mountains and call them theirs; but the wind blow- 
 eth where it listeth ; and blows from you to me 
 and in that air I live and have my being. Do you 
 deny me that? " 
 
 She would not. " No, no that would be ab- 
 surd. But I am nobody. You cannot love me 
 without " 
 
 "Credentials? Applying with all forms ob- 
 served to your proprietors? No, I can't do that. 
 But I tell you that I know you all. I have access 
 to that in you which the world sees nothing of. 
 For at least I am a real man. I dare to love 
 Nausithoe really, and they, shadows ! as shad- 
 ows." 
 
 He spoke in deadly earnest, with a cold inten- 
 sity rather terrible. Nothing but his obvious sin- 
 cerity could have excused him in her eyes in 
 the clear light of that she understood him, ac- 
 cepted him, and believed him. She did not speak 
 for some moments, but sat turning her ring about 
 on her finger, not displeased, rather pleased in 
 fact, conscious of a certain elation at being the 
 chosen of so singular a person, conscious also of 
 having been recaptured by the genius of Nausi- 
 thoe. That was an elation of the kind which the 
 Duke's notice had afforded her long ago, was per- 
 haps no more, but was certainly no less. Added 
 to that, she was conscious of trouble. His vehe-
 
 246 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 mence disturbed her. She did not understand 
 him, yet she felt that his passion for her was not 
 of the kind which the Duke, say, professed. The 
 Duke, she fancied, had of her what he was enti- 
 tled to have, and anything more that he desired 
 of her was not lawful, and not pleasant. She 
 knew that the Duke's relations with women had 
 not been generally very pleasant. But this young 
 man's passion was different. There was perhaps 
 some sanction for his professions. He had in- 
 sight: she felt that he knew her knew her bet- 
 ter than either of the men with whom she lived 
 better than either of them ever could know her. 
 He knew, for instance, that she needed love. Ah, 
 how did he know that, when until she read his 
 poem she had not known it herself? Positively, 
 she found it out from his assertion of it as a fact. 
 Love! Love! Not to be loved, but to love. 
 There was her need. She was hungry. She was 
 starved. Well, if this young man, uncompromis- 
 ing, fierce, abrupt, bad-mannered if he were to 
 love her, might she not love him? She turned it 
 awfully in her mind. It was a glowing speculation 
 there no more than that. And she had a sus- 
 picion that if she did come to love him, he would 
 be extraordinarily tender to her: and then she 
 had another, that if she did come to love him, she 
 could make him happy. Her eyes were wide and 
 unblinking as she pondered these things.
 
 POORE TO THE POINT 247 
 
 She it was, nevertheless, who broke the silence; 
 for Poore, having said what he had, said no more, 
 but stood with his elbow on the mantelpiece, look- 
 ing down at her and scowling manfully. 
 
 She said, " You have told me very strange 
 things. I don't know what to answer. I ought 
 to be angry, but I am not. I am sure that you 
 mean what you say, or believe that you do. I 
 don't wish to be unreasonable, and I hope that 
 you will not be. What shall you say if I ask you 
 not to watch me come and go to parties? " 
 
 He replied without moving. " If you insist, I 
 shall have to obey you. But you will be making 
 things hard for me. Reflect. I shan't see you 
 at all on those terms." 
 
 "Won't you come here?" she asked him. 
 " Should you refuse if I ? " 
 
 He raised his eyebrows. " This is the Duke's 
 house, I suppose? " 
 
 " No," said she, " this is my husband's house." 
 
 " I dislike your husband more than I can say," 
 he told her. She was very patient with him. 
 
 " That is not very polite of you. He has done 
 you no harm." 
 
 " No," he said, " but he has done you untold 
 harm. He has married you, used you, and now 
 resents it. ' It ! ' He does worse. He resents 
 you. He is wounded, he is jealous. Do you call 
 such a man a lover ? He loves himself."
 
 248 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 " Hush, please. I cannot hear you. My hus- 
 band is very good to me. He respects me." 
 
 " I deny that," said Poore. " He respects him- 
 self far too much. He does n't even know what he 
 has done amiss." 
 
 She did not ask him what that was because 
 she knew. Womanlike, she turned to safer top- 
 ics safer because they affected him personally, 
 and would therefore draw him off Charles. 
 
 " About your vigils," she cried. " Will you 
 give them up? " 
 
 He was silent until she lifted her head and 
 looked her appeal into his eyes. 
 
 " Don't ask me that," he said then. " I have 
 no other means of seeing you. And if I see you 
 now after to-night perhaps you will some- 
 times recognize me." He waited. " Do you 
 think that you will? " 
 
 She smiled faintly, nodded her head very 
 slightly. " Perhaps." She grew more positive. 
 " Yes, I think that I shall. But I shall hate to 
 think of you there with those wretched peo- 
 ple." 
 
 " Ah," he said. " They are not so wretched as 
 the people in this great house. At least they can 
 afford to be real. The people here as I see 
 them " She suddenly touched him by a look. 
 Her eyes, full of anxiety, reached his. 
 
 " I hear my husband coming. I shall present
 
 POORE TO THE POINT 249 
 
 you to him," she said quickly. " Please be kind to 
 me," he read in her look. 
 
 " I will do anything in the world for you," he 
 told her. 
 
 Charles entered. His eyes made no sign. He 
 came sedately to where she sat. 
 
 ' The Duke has been asking for you, my dear. 
 I had no notion where you were ; but he suggested 
 that you were here." 
 
 " Let me introduce Mr. Poore to you," she 
 said. " This is my husband, Mr. Poore." 
 
 Charles was courteous, held out his hand. " I 
 am pleased to make your acquaintance. Your 
 poems have merit." 
 
 Poore accepted the greeting. " Thank you. 
 It is kind of you to say so." He turned to Geor- 
 giana. 
 
 " I have kept you from your affairs. That 's 
 bad. You have been more than kind to me." 
 
 She denied that. " No indeed. You have 
 interested me very much. I hope you will come 
 to see us before we leave town." 
 
 He bowed stiffly. She got up and took his arm. 
 " Let us go back. You must be presented to the 
 Duke." 
 
 Charles said, " The Duke will be charmed. 
 He is in the library, my dear." He opened the 
 door for her. 
 
 She asked him, " Don't you come with us? "
 
 250 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 " No, I have work to do, I fear. Besides I am 
 out of my element in a ballroom." 
 
 " So then must I be," she laughed. " For I 
 never dance, as you know." Charles bowed to 
 her. 
 
 " My dear, you would grace any room you 
 entered. I think, if you will permit, I will say 
 good night." She gave him her hand, and he 
 kissed it. He bowed to Poore, who bent his 
 head. 
 
 The Duke, in the library with a few people, 
 gave Poore his usual allowance of fingers. " How 
 do, how do. You 're a monopolist, I see. So am 
 I, and that 's where you and I shall quarrel." 
 
 " I hope not," said Gervase. 
 
 " You 're a heavy-weight, I judge. Nine stun 
 six is about my figure. I Ve a good wind, Mr. 
 Poore. But I don't write poetry. Now let me 
 tell you this. I thought yours devilish good in 
 places. I used to read Propertius when I was a 
 lad. I thought you had him very neatly. * Nau- 
 sithoe * I don't care for, though Mrs. Lancelot 
 here gave it some tears, I believe. What 's your 
 profession, Mr. Poore?" 
 
 " I am a lawyer," said Gervase. The Duke 
 approved. 
 
 " That 's a healthy trade. That needs preci- 
 sion. It won't teach you rhyming, but it will
 
 POORE TO THE POINT 251 
 
 teach you the advantage of definite statement. 
 You have to know what you want in the law." 
 
 " I think that I have learned that," said Ger- 
 vase. Georgiana agreed with him. She watched 
 him now and then, caught a glimpse of him in side- 
 long flashes of her eyes which were very bright 
 and approved of him. The Duke seemed to 
 have observed her animation, for v he commented 
 upon it. 
 
 " What 's Mr. Poore been telling you ? Pleas- 
 ant things, I suspect." 
 
 " Very pleasant," said Georgiana. 
 
 The great man nodded his head quite amiably, 
 then turned to the approval of the poet. 
 
 " It was you, I believe, who forestalled every 
 one of us in Mrs. Lancelot's rescue. It was at 
 Vauxhall, if I am right. You have an arm which 
 I envy you but you were prompt when we were 
 not." 
 
 " I happened to be there," said Gervase. 
 " That was my good fortune." 
 
 " You rescued her from very unpleasant com- 
 panions." 
 
 " I should always be ready for that." 
 
 " Of course. But we may hope that she won't 
 need such strenuous championship." 
 
 " I hope that also." 
 
 Georgiana felt the implication in his words, 
 and shifted the ground.
 
 252 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 " Tell me of your book," she said. " Have 
 the reviewers been kind to you? " 
 
 Gervase smoothed his brow. " I think not very 
 kind. I have the misfortune to live in London. 
 They call me a Cockney poet, and think they have 
 said all. They impute politics." 
 
 She laughed. " I don't read politics in your 
 poetry." 
 
 ' There is nothing of it unless a wish to see 
 men free be political." The Duke glanced at him. 
 
 " We don't talk so much of freedom here, Mr. 
 Poore, as of duty." 
 
 " That," said Gervase, " seems to me the chief 
 duty." 
 
 " Your Nausithoe used her freedom in a strange 
 way." That was from the Duke. 
 
 " She never had any, according to me," Gervase 
 said. " She was a slave from the beginning 
 the slave of assumptions." 
 
 Georgiana, with bright eyes, defended herself. 
 
 " I don't read that. Nausithoe chose to go 
 down to Hades with Proserpine." 
 
 " Proserpine," said Gervase, his eyes full upon 
 her, " assumed that she would go. She took it 
 for granted, and Nausithoe accepted it. She had 
 no soul. She was not born." 
 
 " According to you," said the Duke dryly, " the 
 poor lady never was." 
 
 " The poem is unfinished, my lord," Gervase re-
 
 POORE TO THE POINT 253 
 
 plied. " It is my intention to show her gaining of 
 her soul." Georgiana had nothing to say to this 
 delicate topic, and the Duke, who had now had 
 enough of Mr. Poore, turned to her with others in 
 which the young man could have no part. Had 
 
 she seen Lady A ? She ought to be spoken 
 
 with. And would Georgiana go to the D s' 
 ball on the 27th? He had promised to look in. 
 Gervase, who stood his ground uneasily, and 
 not for long, took his leave stiffly, hiding but ill 
 the despair that was in him. She noticed that, 
 and was rather more empressee than her wont was. 
 Her eyes sought his, and saw the storm in them. 
 Before that she was powerless, and only anxious 
 that he should go. Their looks met; but she was 
 very guarded. He could read nothing in her 
 which betokened the slightest consciousness of 
 what had so lately passed between them. " Good 
 God! " he cried in his bitterness; " is it possible 
 that she is heartless? A few moments ago, and 
 she heard me tell her of my love. She sat and let 
 the words beat upon her; she sat a Danae to the 
 rain. But she was moved ; her bosom was unquiet ; 
 her eyes felt the light. And now she can meet 
 me hardily and dismiss me and my business. I 
 am nothing my gospel an incident in the night's 
 doings! What can be made of such women as 
 this ? O God, my beloved ! without a soul ! " He 
 went desperately into the night.
 
 VI 
 
 THE SOUL OF GEORGIANA 
 
 THE Duke, who saw most things, was very 
 curious, and had to be satisfied. She told 
 him much; he guessed the remainder. 
 
 " The youth is in love with you," he told her ; 
 and added, " I don't wonder. Now, you may be 
 very valuable to him. I should have him here if I 
 were you. Let him pour himself out into your 
 lap. Then you can whip him up into some kind of 
 a shape and put him all back into his case again. 
 He 's rather in the rough, you know." 
 
 Georgiana listened and smiled at her tolerant 
 friend. He encouraged her. 
 
 " I shan't be jealous. That 's not my way. 
 But I don't answer for Charles. You may scare 
 poor Charles." 
 
 She bent her head. " I must n't do that. It 
 will make him unhappy." 
 
 " My dear child," said the Duke dryly, " with 
 three pretenders, you must make somebody un- 
 happy. The great thing is that it 's not you. 
 Now, as a rule, you '11 find that when men and 
 
 254
 
 THE SOUL OF GEORGIANA 255 
 
 women get involved in a common venture, it 's the 
 men who come off best. So it will be here if we 
 don't take care. You good little soul! " and he 
 bent over her chair, " I take my oath that you 
 shan't get scratched by me. But I don't answer 
 for Charles." 
 
 No more could she answer for that stately 
 sufferer. " I '11 tell you what, Georgie," the Duke 
 said, " I '11 talk to Master Charles for you, if 
 you like." 
 
 She looked up quickly, rather scared. " Oh! " 
 she said, " what shall you say to him? " 
 
 " Tell him that he 's a donkey," said the Duke, 
 " and that if he 's not careful he '11 be a rogue 
 donkey. What do you say? " 
 
 She appealed, smiling still. He understood her 
 long gaze, but maliciously made her speak. 
 
 "Well, missy?" 
 
 " I would rather you said nothing. You can't 
 help him, or me either. Pray don't speak of it." 
 
 " Oh, naturally I will not, if you don't relish 
 the idea." 
 
 She assured him, " I don't relish it at all." He 
 patted her shoulder. 
 
 " Then no more about it. Let us return to 
 our poet, who may be sublime, but between you 
 and me is a cub. I see you at a useful work an 
 act of mercy: giving wisdom to the simple." He 
 stopped, then added, " I shan't be jealous," and
 
 256 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 waited to enjoy her blush which he did. " Ask 
 him here, my dear," he said then. 
 
 She shook her head. " He won't come." 
 
 "Ho! won't he though? You try him." 
 
 " Really, he won't. He 's very proud." 
 
 " What 's he proud of? I '11 bet you my cocked 
 hat he won't be too proud to come here." 
 
 But she was positive, nodding positive. ' Yes. 
 He says that this is your house which of course 
 it is." 
 
 " Which of course it is n't. However, assum- 
 ing the house to be mine, I still don't follow 
 him." 
 
 " Oh," said she, looking up, " he does n't ap- 
 prove of you." 
 
 The Duke took that simply. " He 's quite right 
 there, though I don't know that it 's any business 
 of his. Nor do I see Bless me, what a gos- 
 soon it is! I '11 trouble you for the counts of his 
 indictment." 
 
 " He thinks," said Georgiana, " that you are not 
 real." 
 
 " Pish ! He must do better than that." 
 
 " He calls you a phantom." 
 
 " Upon my soul," said the Duke, looking at his 
 legs, " that 's the last thing I am." He gave her 
 a very keen look, which she felt not daring to 
 receive it full through the top of her head. 
 " And he calls you Nausithoe, I suppose? "
 
 THE SOUL OF GEORGIANA 257 
 
 She did not answer. " What do you say to 
 that, Mrs. Georgie? " 
 
 She replied murmurously, " I don't think you 're 
 a phantom." 
 
 " I should think you did n't," he chuckled* 
 " You know me better than that; you 're not 
 Nausithoe for any default of mine. And he won't 
 think so either, by and by, when he begins to " 
 A movement of hers stopped him. " Never mind, 
 my dear. You don't love me, I know, and I 'm a 
 philosophical fellow, though they have made me a 
 peer. I take what I can get and am grateful to 
 you." 
 
 She took his hand suddenly and kissed it. " You 
 are very kind to me, Duke." He patted her cheek, 
 then stooped and kissed her without protest. He 
 looked at his watch. 
 
 " I must go down to the House. My fellow- 
 phantom has been there these two hours. Where 
 am I dining? In your company? " 
 
 " No," she told him, " Charles and I are dining 
 here. Mr. Croker is coming, and you refused to 
 meet him don't you remember? " 
 
 ' Yes, yes. Not even for your bright eyes ! 
 Do you go out afterwards?" 
 
 " Oh, I suppose we do. Shall I look? " 
 
 She went to her desk and perused her diary. 
 ' Yes, we are at the Sufflecks'. Shall you come? " 
 
 " Certainly I shall if you are to be there. Tom
 
 258 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 Moore will sing, I suppose, and have all the 
 women weeping. Not you." 
 
 " No, I shan't weep. I '11 ask Mr. Moore 
 about the poet." 
 
 " The other poet. Your poet. Yes, yes. 
 ... I like that youth, you know. He thinks 
 I 'm a phantom? " 
 
 " He said you were a murderer too." 
 " So I am," said the Duke. " God knows ! " 
 Then he went away, and left her to herself and 
 her thoughts. 
 
 They were long, but vague vaguely pleasur- 
 able, vaguely despondent. She did not under- 
 stand whither she was floating now, in what cur- 
 rent, in what company in the tideway. Pleasure 
 came to her, a stirring of the pulse, a flutter of 
 the heart, as she thought of Gervase who, for love 
 of her, chance-caught, had for three years waited 
 for her with outcasts at the doors of great houses; 
 who for love of her had heard sweet and wild 
 music ; who for love of her spoke boldly as, surely, 
 man had never spoken to woman before, at a 
 first meeting. Was it not extraordinary that she 
 should have won such love as she had his, 
 flashed into his heart at one blow, in one moment, 
 and the Duke's, almost the same in origin? What 
 did this mean? What had she done? What was 
 she? What could she do in return? What had 
 she left to give? Gratitude and that was all.
 
 THE SOUL OF GEORGIANA 259 
 
 No, not all. She gave the Duke more than 
 that. When all was said, it had cost her some- 
 thing to take this position with him in the eyes of 
 the world those judging eyes askance which it 
 gave her, withal it smiled and bowed before her. 
 And, to be perfectly honest with herself, this had 
 not been done solely to advance Charles. No, no, 
 that was not true. And now came the question 
 ought she to tell Charles as much? 
 
 She was not only very conscientious, she was 
 very tender-hearted, and could not bear to see 
 him suffer. Now, anxious as he had been for the 
 friendship between his wife and his patron to ripen 
 to his own advantage, he suffered atrociously under 
 it, and, she judged, would give the world to undo 
 what had been done. Some of it, she told herself, 
 could never be undone. Never, nevermore, could 
 she go back to Charles as she had come to him as 
 a bride. Never, never. But short of that she 
 would do anything for him and spare him suffering 
 by any assurance he pleased. Such assurance 
 must come from her, however. If the Duke had 
 spoken to him things would have been made worse ; 
 that was why she had begged him to say nothing. 
 And if she herself said anything, she did n't know 
 what might not be the outcome. Charles was 
 so made that it was torture to him to speak of 
 intimate matters. He had never in all their 
 wedded life so spoken to her. He was a born 
 17
 
 260 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 prude. She, on the other hand, was not. She was 
 naturally direct in outlook, direct in apprehension, 
 direct in expression. She was essentially simple, 
 innocent-minded, and honest. He was complex, 
 really prurient, and expression made him shame- 
 faced. She was very undecided what she ought to 
 do. 
 
 One thing was clear. Nothing to him of 
 Gervase Poore. So long as the poet did not come 
 to the house that would be easy, and the unhappy 
 Charles need know nothing. And she decided, 
 on other grounds, that she should not ask Gervase 
 to Wake House. She wanted to see if he stood 
 on the watch for her comings and goings; she 
 wanted to see him, if he did so stand; she wanted 
 him to see her; she wanted to greet him with the 
 eyes. She smiled to herself half shrewdly, half 
 ashamed, as she faced and acknowledged these 
 desires. Tribute! Yes, and sweet tribute. She 
 had been married five years, and had come to 
 the understanding of her charms. She was at 
 a dangerous age; and she found danger sweet. 
 
 After dinner, when she and Charles drove up 
 to the Sufflecks' in Berkeley Square, she was con- 
 scious of heart-beats. She saw, by leaning side- 
 ways, the crowd about the doors, and her excite- 
 ment grew. Immediately she was on the strip of 
 baize she was aware of Gervase. He was in the 
 front rank, bare-headed, and seemed to tower
 
 THE SOUL OF GEORGIANA 261 
 
 above her. She dared, however, to lift her eyes, 
 to encounter and to hold his. She felt that she 
 spoke with hers; but knew that his said nothing. 
 She was conscious of loss, of a sinking heart; 
 thought that he was vexed with her. It was true, 
 she was late, and he must have been there for at 
 least an hour oh, how could she tell him of her 
 dinner-party and of the insufferable length of Mr. 
 Croker's anecdotes! The door shut upon her, 
 and left him outside. She wished that she could 
 turn back, open the door again, speak to him, 
 tell him how sorry she was. Then she went up- 
 stairs, with her face schooled to company, and 
 shook hands with a Lady Laura, who had been a 
 beauty, and with Mr. Suffleck, who had not. 
 
 The rooms were full and very hot; the people 
 chattered like starlings in September. To chatter 
 also was now become so much of a habit that she 
 could think behind her speeches. Think she did, 
 piercingly, with a heart full of generous pity and 
 of high admiration at once for her watching lover. 
 She had, you observe, accepted that assumption of 
 his; and we know that she had been the victim 
 of assumptions. But this particular assumption 
 must be put down to his manner of statement. 
 He had been very positive, but very literal also. 
 
 Mr. Moore was there, sang to his own playing 
 and had, as the Duke had foretold, rivers of tears 
 at his feet. Lady Laura herself, fine woman
 
 262 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 every foot of her, heaved and sobbed unfeignedly. 
 Georgiana did not cry, but was moved to confide 
 somewhat to the tender care of so sweet a minstrel. 
 This, after her manner, she did not do. She dis- 
 trusted her impulses while she found food for the 
 imagination in fostering them. 
 
 It was, however, easy to get speech with Tom, 
 whose romantic habit consisted with a good deal 
 of shrewd practice. Tom knew very well that the 
 Duke had no liking for him. His court to the 
 Duke's favorite was, therefore, assiduous while, 
 recognizing her charm, it was also sincere. He 
 did not know her well, did not perhaps know 
 more than her superficies; but that delighted him. 
 Her " sweet baby face," her eyes' deep blue, her 
 Greek mouth, her straight brow he exchanged 
 raptures on these topics with any man. Upon 
 her approach he made her most welcome and 
 himself gave her the opening she sought. 
 
 " So I pleased ye, with me penny whistle ! 
 Mrs. Lancelot, I 'm a proud man. Contented 
 entirely I And it comes from your kind lips with 
 all the more balm seeing that I was the means of 
 submittting to your notice, ma'am, a very organ 
 of sound the other day. Me young friend Ger- 
 vase, to wit. Me dear lady, the boy 's a string 
 band compared with meself. A string band he 
 is, with himself the drum-major at the head of ut.
 
 THE SOUL OF GEORGIANA 263 
 
 Now what did ye think of Gervase? Let us 
 sit and exchange ideas." 
 
 Nothing could have suited her better. She 
 wished to know all there was to be known of 
 Gervase. 
 
 Tom told her his history. Son of a gentleman, 
 one Captain Christopher Poore, an East India 
 Company's man, and of a foreign lady (French, he 
 believed) , name unknown to him. She, a widow, 
 lived in retirement upon a narrow pension in 
 Dulwich, Gervase was her only child. Educated at 
 Christ's Hospital, where he was always in trouble 
 for fighting with all and sundry ; articled at 
 eighteen to an attorney ; was now a clerk on a small 
 salary, and not at all likely to do well with the law. 
 He had, besides, an income of fifty pounds a year 
 from the funds. Tom shook his head over the 
 boy's future. He was too stiff, too unaccom- 
 modating to succeed in Grub Street. He would 
 look at nothing but what he chose, and treated a 
 publisher as if he were a dog. He was very 
 ambitious, very opinionated, very arrogant but 
 very lovable. " At least," said he, " I love him. 
 He despises me, I don't doubt, calls me a time- 
 server and the like of that. But he 's got a noble 
 heart, Mrs. Lancelot, a generous heart. He 's on 
 fire for truth and beauty; he sees the high things 
 and follows them ; I see 'em, God forgive me, and
 
 264 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 don't. After an hour or two of Gervase's conver- 
 sation I feel as if I had had a day on the mountains 
 worn out, ma'am, but cleansed healthily 
 tired. He spares himself nothing, and he spares 
 his friend nothing. He claims all you have, but 
 he gives you all. There are no bounds to him 
 'tis the most exorbitant, unconscionable, avari- 
 cious young prodigal you ever saw! " 
 
 She absorbed all this seriously. It fell in with 
 her own fancies about Gervase. She had been 
 very sensible of his vehemence. But as to his 
 poetry she desired to know something. Tom 
 thought that he was a true poet and might be a 
 great one. " He 's not a minstrel, you must 
 know, ma'am, but a bard. His music is a solemn 
 music; his ideas are for chanting. He sees life 
 as a procession not as a pastoral a sweep 
 onwards to high destinies, not as a sunny pasture 
 where lambs can skip. Love to him is an invoca- 
 tion to a mystery. There should be neither tears 
 nor laughter it 's a great business. I can see 
 him possessed by it, robing for it in white gar- 
 ments; he would take the sacrament before he 
 kissed his mistress. Would n't dare else. You 
 knew he was a Catholic? No? Ah, but he is 
 though, and I would n't be the priest that con- 
 fessed him. He 'd scold the poor man into an 
 ague before he 'd let him give the good words. 
 . . . He 's a great man in the rough, is Gervase.
 
 THE SOUL OF GEORGIANA 265 
 
 Do you know what he 's at now? The Song of 
 Roland, no less. He 's at it night and day 
 and marches the pavement chanting Roland and 
 Oliver, and Aude the fair. Did you ever read the 
 pome, Mrs. Lancelot? 'Tis fine, free moving, 
 bloody stuff. But that 's only a piece of what he 's 
 at. He 's got Charlemagne at the back of his 
 head. Will make an epic of him! And Aude 
 the fair! 'Tis my belief he '11 make a lovely lady 
 of her." 
 
 Mrs. Lancelot was interested. Her eyes shone. 
 "Who was Aude the fair?" she asked. Tom 
 twinkled. 
 
 " 'Twas the beloved of Roland, fair lady. You 
 must get our young friend to give you a taste 
 of her quality. I declare that I 'm at her feet 
 meself." 
 
 Mrs. Lancelot was very much interested. 
 
 Going away, she had the arm of the Duke, 
 and Charles, as usual, brought up the rear. It 
 was so late that she had not expected to see 
 Gervase; yet there he was, impending over her 
 like a cliff. Her heart gave a leap and she felt 
 giddy but she knew that she was glad, knew 
 that she was proud, knew that she was grateful. 
 
 Fate led her so close to him as almost to touch 
 his cloak with her own. She dared not look up, 
 but passed under his gaze as a bird under the
 
 266 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 shadow of a kite, and flitted into the carriage as 
 if it had been a furze bush. She felt her eyelids 
 flicker as she passed him. From her place of 
 safety she peered out. He stood there looking 
 after her, not moving from the place. She had a 
 fear that he might not have seen her perhaps, that 
 he would wait on and on till they put the lights 
 out and took up the carpet. If he did that, she 
 thought, what sort of passion would take him 
 home to Clerkenwell ! Alas, no staves of 
 Roland and Aude the fair would drive his foot- 
 steps ! The thought tormented her. 
 
 She endured a fortnight or more of this curious 
 and heart-probing experience. Sometimes he was 
 not at his post, and then she was unhappy; 
 mostly he was, and then she was uneasy. Some- 
 times she dared to exchange a long glance with 
 him, sometimes she tried to let him see that she 
 was grateful for the tribute, sometimes that she 
 was pained at his pain. She could charge her eyes 
 with appeal, with thank you, with Non sum digna, 
 with " Yesterday I looked for you," but she 
 could get no answer. She could not even be sure 
 that he saw her at all. He looked at her, it 's 
 true, fully at her, but without implication, and 
 without recognition. He looked at her as a statue 
 looks at its beholder, to comprehend the whole, 
 but not to discover. It was impossible to take of-
 
 THE SOUL OF GEORGIANA 267 
 
 fense; there was no obtrusion: impossible to get 
 comfort; there was no acknowledgment. 
 
 Her imagination, naturally ardent, was fired, 
 became acutely inflamed. His life, his dreams, 
 his music, his sufferings swept before her in a 
 series of vivid pictures. She came soon to under- 
 stand that this nightly strain could not be endured 
 by her, but by him could be indefinitely endured. 
 She felt herself weakening, and knew him very 
 strong. Then she had a curious discovery. She 
 knew perfectly well, one morning when she woke, 
 that she would have to end it. 
 
 End it she did, by writing him a letter to the 
 care of his publishers. Hesitating between the 
 proper " Dear Sir," and the sincerer " Dear Mr. 
 Poore," she finally began without address. She 
 asked him to call upon her, naming an hour and 
 day, and signed herself plainly without protesta- 
 tions of service.
 
 HE replied that he could not come on the day 
 named, nor on any day but Sunday, until 
 eight o'clock in the evening; an awkward hour. 
 But he expressed no anxiety one way or another 
 as to whether he should come or not, and she had 
 to fit him in on her own desire. She did it by 
 throwing over a dinner engagement and leaving 
 Charles to go alone. Charles was unsuspicious, 
 but the Duke, who also had to be told, looked 
 humorously at her, with twinkling eyes. He said 
 nothing, however. She wrote to Gervase again, 
 naming day and suitable hour. He replied that 
 he would be there. 
 
 She was very nervous and expected to find the 
 preliminaries difficult; but he was evidently one 
 of those to whom there are none; one of those 
 who live, whether solitary or in company, in 
 permanent crisis; who import their neighbors 
 bodily into the midst of what scene they may be 
 enacting at the moment. So it was now. It was 
 as if he had been awaiting her, regaling himself 
 
 with fervent soliloquy, which he continued upon 
 
 268
 
 THE CROWN 269 
 
 her entry with only a slight change of direction 
 addressing it now to her instead of to the auditory. 
 The man-servant announced him, and she half rose 
 at the name; rose fully as he came in, advanced, 
 and held out her hand. She had dined early and 
 was not in full dress, had modified her toilet simply 
 but withal carefully. As he came to her she saw 
 the crisis in his eyes. 
 
 " There 's mystery about your clothes," he told 
 her immediately. " I have never seen you before 
 except dressed for a ball. You are still beautiful, 
 but you are not more human. I think that you 
 are more remote the nearer one gets to you. You 
 are only half human. You have a fairy progenitor 
 somewhere. Morgan le Fay, perhaps, or Vivien, 
 who lured Merlin into an oak-tree with hopes of 
 love, and shut him in there, closing up the gnarly 
 bark till his voice sounded muffled, and his groan- 
 ing like the wind about the house on winter 
 nights. Have you a heart? Kindness you have, 
 I know: the fairy people are kind. They indulge 
 themselves so. It is as pleasant for them to do 
 kindness as it is for us. But they have no needs 
 as we have. They want nothing but what they 
 can take; they never want to give. That is our 
 great need, to give and not to take. To me now 
 my need makes me cry out. I want to give of 
 my very virtue to feel it well out of me, to feel 
 pouf! but what am I saying? But you have
 
 270 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 no such grief. You smile faintly, wisely; you 
 absorb me with your great eyes ; and not me only, 
 but whomsoever they light upon. It seems to 
 me that no man can look on you without desire. 
 You hurt me, you trouble me, you drain me of 
 my force. I was happy before 1 saw you now 
 I waste in effort to reach you. But you are out 
 of reach." 
 
 This was what he had made out of her in the 
 course of his vigils, and this he gave her while she 
 stood, trembling slightly, fluttering rather faintly 
 before him, as a white moth discovered by the 
 light stands motionless but for a quiver of her 
 wings. 
 
 Her dismay gave place to a disappointment so 
 sharp as to fill her eyes with tears. All her an- 
 ticipations had been pleasurable. She had en- 
 joyed every moment of them the little mysti- 
 fications she had had to employ, to Charles, to 
 the Duke the letter-writing ; then the prepara- 
 tion new flowers for the room, coquetry at the 
 toilet table her excitement as the hour ap- 
 proached, and then and then this cloud- 
 burst. Her lip trembled, she could not check her 
 tears. He saw them at first unmoved. 
 
 She stammered, " You are unkind. What have 
 I done? Oh, you are unjust to me! " 
 
 He was soon moved he came to her side 
 but she motioned him away.
 
 THE CROWN 271 
 
 " It is abominable, what you say to me. What 
 have I done to you? Nothing. I had never 
 seen you since that evening at Vauxhall and 
 you charge me with draining you ! What do you 
 mean? I wish you would leave me it is abom- 
 inable." 
 
 " Yes, I. will leave you," he said coldly. " It 
 will be better." 
 
 He bowed to her and turned away. In a flash 
 she saw that if he went he would resume his 
 attendance at doors, and she knew that she could 
 not bear it. She held out her hands, and called 
 to him. 
 
 " Mr. Poore " He turned, saw her, went 
 swiftly back, took both her hands, and knelt at 
 her knees. He hid his face in her hands. " O 
 God, I am a villain ! O God, forgive me ! " 
 
 She may be excused for thinking it was her 
 forgiveness he sought. " Of course I forgive you. 
 Please to get up. You distress me and dis- 
 tress yourself. Please to get up." 
 
 He rose, but still held her hands. He looked 
 earnestly at her, and she saw through her full eyes 
 that his eyes were full. " I did n't know what I 
 was saying. I was full of trouble. I have been 
 beside myself. But you will forgive me." 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes," she assured him. " Indeed I 
 will. I want you to be happy " 
 
 " The thought of you makes me happy," he told
 
 272 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 her. " When I am well, the thought of your 
 beauty fills me with joy. You make music wher- 
 ever you go, like the fair lady of the nursery 
 rime. For your beauty is vocal to me I hear 
 it as well as see it. Yours is a tranquil beauty 
 it seldom disturbs me. It has the serenity of 
 Greece. I think of you as the embodiment of 
 that divine air which Sophocles and Phidias 
 breathed, and exhaled in music and in marble 
 form." 
 
 He was contradicting himself, but seemed not 
 to realize it. Nor did she. She glowed under his 
 praises as she had cowered when he reproached 
 her. 
 
 " Before I saw you," he went on, " I wandered 
 uncertain of my purpose. Clouded forms floated 
 across my field I had nothing clear before me. 
 Then you were revealed. I knew then immedi- 
 ately what I was called upon to do. To hymn 
 you to declare you to men that was my mis- 
 sion. Well, I am about it. I am full of proj- 
 ects they crowd upon me. I will write of you 
 what was never yet written of a woman. A poet 
 promised that before; but I'll better him. Let 
 me talk to you about these things But you 
 have forgiven me?" 
 
 Oh, yes, yes, she had forgiven him. He kissed 
 both her hands before he let them fall. She sat 
 and he at her feet.
 
 THE CROWN 273 
 
 He had his face between his hands, his elbows 
 on his knees, and talked, and talked in a stream. 
 It was an age of talkers, but she had never heard 
 such talk as this. 
 
 Love was patent, unashamed. He not only as- 
 sumed her acceptance of his homage, but her ap- 
 proval of it. 
 
 And she did approve. She accepted him and 
 it on his own terms, as she had accepted Charles 
 and the Duke on theirs; but there was a differ- 
 ence. With Charles she had followed the lines 
 of duty; with the Duke flattery had led her; 
 with Gervase it was enthusiasm for his tribute. 
 It came to be very near enthusiasm for him. She 
 hung upon his words, she hung over him with 
 infinite tenderness, smiling gently down upon him 
 where he sat by her knees on a footstool, and in 
 her eyes, and veiling him from clear sight, was a 
 mist of tears. How beautiful, how very beautiful 
 were his words, his thoughts; how noble the 
 thinker; how happy she ! She felt as if she sailed 
 high in air. His words were like strong wings 
 which lifted her level with him and carried her 
 safely as they oared the deep. He made her 
 bosom sink and swell fast, he made her tears fall 
 down upon it ; he made her heart beat. 
 
 " Ah, but you and I together could face a world 
 in arms you and I together. That is what I 
 dream of. I see the place I see every detail.
 
 274 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 I could tell you what we shall do from hour to 
 hour. I am certain, as I kneel here before you, 
 that all this will come to pass." Then he ended, 
 and, 
 
 " Oh," she sobbed, " Oh, if this were true ! " 
 and then he turned to her, upon his knees, and 
 clasped her hands. 
 
 " Beloved, it is true it ij true it is the one 
 real thing in life at this moment. It is true be- 
 cause we know it, each of us. For once the cage 
 doors are open and our hearts are brethren. My 
 dear love, I love you and I read love in your 
 tender eyes. Ah, you love me, you love me ! Is 
 it not so ? Tell me speak to me look at 
 me." 
 
 She looked for a second through her tears 
 she turned away her face to hide her blushing 
 but she moved her head, and in a moment she was 
 caught in his arms. He kissed her fiercely and 
 long; his lips held hers and drew the soul out of 
 her body. They clung together, kissing, and then 
 he suddenly let her go, and hid his face in her lap. 
 Stooping over him, as a mother over her son, she 
 put her hand on his head, and let her tears come 
 as they would. 
 
 Presently he looked up and talked to her of 
 the new world. " A great life is begun from this 
 moment. You and I are born whole and one into 
 the world. Plato's allegory is in a fair way to
 
 THE CROWN 275 
 
 be realized, for the two hemispheres are to be 
 made one a thing which does not happen once in 
 ten thousand years. Observe exactly what has 
 taken place. That which has been a fact for three 
 years a fact of my being, is now a fact of yours. 
 My love is inseparable from yours, for it is con- 
 fessed and accepted; yours from mine, for it is 
 acknowledged and received. Now I can leave 
 you for as long as you please, for my faith in you 
 is absolute. You go your way, I go mine about 
 this grubby town ; but between us, wheresoever we 
 fare, there stretches a golden thread, unbreakable, 
 upon which, through which, run words, throbs of 
 the heart, urgencies, cries of spirit to spirit; so 
 we talk, see each other, kiss, clasp each other, as 
 now we have. I shall go about my work triumph- 
 ing; all England shall hear my song of songs; 
 you go your sweet ways, ministering here and 
 there, testifying so to the grace bestowed; raying 
 forth in your beauty and grace the miracle which 
 has been wrought in your heart. Don't think me 
 arrogant if I say that your love for me will trans- 
 figure you, or that mine for you is a thing to en- 
 hance you, make you rarer and more sweet. It is 
 good for you to love, and good to be loved. So, 
 of course, it is with me. Other men love you, 
 you say? No, don't shake your lovely head. I 
 know that you don't say so. I have no jealousy 
 of them I am not so mean. I wish you to be 
 
 18
 
 276 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 loved; I wish all England knew how loveworthy 
 you are. And it shall, it shall. But their love is 
 not to you as mine, because it is no part of you. 
 Mine is absorbed in your nature. Henceforth 
 they who love you must love me too for you 
 have received me as a sacrament in the touching 
 of our lips. Now I am in you, and you in me." 
 Once more she received him into her arms, once 
 more received his ardent kisses; and then she 
 rested so, with his head upon her bosom. 
 
 By and by, finding her voice, she asked him as 
 a kindness to her to cease his nightly watchings at 
 house-doors. " Of course," he said, " they cease. 
 I shall see you more often and better. For we 
 must meet. We shall have so much to say to 
 each other. It is essential that we meet often 
 every day, if possible. Indeed, every hour will 
 be wasted in which we do not meet." 
 
 She laughed merrily she was ridiculously 
 happy, and felt it ridiculous. " Oh, how foolish 
 you are ! Oh, how sweetly foolish ! It hurts me 
 to laugh at you, but how can I help it? My 
 dearest boy, how can we meet? Do be serious. 
 I think you must be mad. Why, you have your 
 office to begin with and I have Charles and the 
 Duke to look after, poor dears. And then I have 
 to go to stupid parties, and sit at long dinners, 
 and write notes, and read notes, and see dress- 
 makers and very soon to go into the country.
 
 THE CROWN 277, 
 
 No, no, we must be very sensible over this, and 
 you must be very good. Now promise me that 
 you will." 
 
 He heard her quietly, and sat up, crossing his 
 legs like a Turk, and frowning hard. " I give up 
 my office, of course." 
 
 At this she raised an outcry. u Never in the 
 world ! Why, you 'd be ruined. That 's not to 
 be thought of." 
 
 " It has been thought of," he said. " Indeed, 
 it 's as good as done. I spoke to Mr. Metcalfe 
 about it to-day. He agreed with me that I should 
 never make an attorney; and I'm sure I never 
 shall." 
 
 She was sobered. " Oh, my dear, this is very 
 serious. Do you assure me that you must " 
 
 " I assure you, my dearest, that I was never 
 more serious. Poetry is henceforward the occupa- 
 tion of my life poetry and you." 
 
 " Ah ! " she began to say, but he took her hand 
 and looked up into her face. 
 
 " My dear one, my dear one, do you doubt my 
 powers? Never do that. I have found myself, 
 my strength. I know what I can do. And you 
 see, I shall be able to see you much more fre- 
 quently now than ever before. This day week I 
 shall be a free man." 
 
 She was afraid, of course; but he had his way 
 of talking her over which was not all talking,
 
 278 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 though done with the lips. She promised to see 
 him when she could; had no clearer promise to 
 make nor did he ask it of her. Arrangements 
 were to be left to her, he said. Whatever she 
 found good would be good and so forth. 
 
 With that, or the sequels of that, he left her, 
 the glad and confident young man, stooping from 
 his height to catch her to his breast, stroking her 
 face as she nestled in his arms, bending down to 
 whisper his tender words of love and adoration of 
 her quiet beauty, until she felt her brain spin with 
 the wonder and strength of them and of him. 
 Finally he tore himself away, looked at her, held 
 her again long in his arms, kissed her near to 
 swooning, and swept out of the room and out of 
 the house. She saw him stride down Piccadilly, 
 but he did not look up. 
 
 She would have been thrilled to hear of his last 
 act before he left the region. Near Down Street 
 a poor painted thing, a wisp of frippery and sor- 
 row, stopped him with her preposterous proposal. 
 She was half-hearted, she faltered, for she had re- 
 marked his haste. But Gervase, who always did 
 the incalculable thing, stopped and took her by the 
 arm. 
 
 "I must tell somebody and why not you? 
 What you ask me is absurd, and I '11 tell you why. 
 I am to be the happiest as I am already the proud- 
 est man in the world. I love, I am loved; is not
 
 THE CROWN 279 
 
 that enough? Happy O God!" He threw 
 his head up to the stars, and laughed aloud. " But 
 you you are not going to be happy. No, no. 
 But it shan't be my fault." He plunged for a 
 coin. *' Live honest, my dear, this night, and pray 
 for me by a clean pillow." He gave her a crown- 
 piece and flashed on his way. She thought him a 
 god, burst out crying, kissed the coin, and held 
 out her arms after him in the dark.
 
 VIII 
 
 FIRST FRUITS 
 
 IT did not need the Duke's perspicacity to dis- 
 cover the preoccupations of his Egeria dur- 
 ing the remainder of the season. The facts that 
 her attentiveness to his claims was redoubled, and 
 that more tenderness was employed in his service 
 were of themselves enough to convince him. He 
 was touched to see how she hovered over him, 
 how she lingered in her farewells at temporary 
 separations; for if she left him for half a day or 
 a couple of hours she bade him good-by, and of- 
 fered him her smooth cheek. He was very much 
 touched; but he divined the cause, and even got 
 satisfaction out of it. Strange, chill-blooded, well- 
 balanced voluptuary that he was, where his ap- 
 petite was not concerned, he could be as senti- 
 mental as any esthetic philosopher you please ; and 
 it is a fact that he promised himself distinct and 
 precise enjoyment out of the spectacle of Georgi- 
 ana deep in the bath of her first affair of the heart. 
 Something that he had said to her a few days 
 after the appearance of " Nausithoe " might have 
 enlightened her, but did not. It was made plain 
 
 280
 
 FIRST FRUITS 281 
 
 that he had read the work. It was lying on her 
 table, and he picked it up. " A queer fish, the 
 poet," said he; " but a keen-sighted dog too. Do 
 you see the hang of it all? " 
 
 She had thought so. " Yes, I suppose so. I 
 understand it, if you mean that." 
 
 " ' Remember'd joy, Nausithoe 1 ' " he quoted, 
 and ran on for a few lines. " Now what a thing 
 for a woman that is to have ' remember'd joy ' 
 to fall back upon." 
 
 She bent over her needlework, glowed over it 
 with a keen intensity of vision, and her brows 
 knitted. He watched her for a while, then went 
 on. 
 
 " I 'm no poet myself, but I must say that your 
 man 's got a thought into this thing. How many 
 women have phantom lovers! Thousands, by 
 George, thousands ! Now, Georgie, mark this. 
 No man has a phantom mistress. Never, never! 
 That 's certain. But when we are out to-night 
 wherever it may be I '11 undertake to show you 
 the women with phantom partners husbands or 
 lovers, it 's all one." He looked at her again 
 sharply. " And sometimes, my dear, they have 
 both, and get nothing but emptiness out of either." 
 
 Her head was deeply bent, her chin close to her 
 bosom. But she looked up presently, and fixed 
 him fully with her serious blue eyes. " They 
 know no better," she said, " and feel no need."
 
 282 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 To that he countered, " But if they do, and 
 when they do what then? " 
 
 Her outlook was dreary. " They have to learn 
 to accept consequences. They are better at pay- 
 ing their debts than men are." 
 
 " My dear," he said gently, " I would help you 
 if I could." She shook her head, smiling kindly 
 at him with her good eyes. 
 
 " You can't. There 's nothing to be done. I 
 have my ghosts, and like Nausithoe must content 
 myself. I can dream, you know." 
 
 He turned to the window. " You can't live 
 on dreams," he told her. Yet that was precisely 
 what this least dreamy of men was himself doing. 
 
 But just at this time (without the least suspicion 
 on her part that he saw anything) he had begun to 
 see his Nausithoe in a fair way to have a lover of 
 flesh and blood. This would be no dreamer, he 
 warranted. He was not by any means sure how if 
 would prove, but he fancied that she would finally 
 claim more than a shade. He had to face that, 
 and get what comfort for himself he could out of 
 it. Whatever was to happen to her, he thought, 
 she would get some flesh on her dear bones, some 
 blood into her worn cheeks, and a dewier touch of 
 magic in her eyes. All that, said he, was surely to 
 the good! Georgiana, he thought, would dazzle 
 the world, as she had dazzled him already, 
 when the Fairy Godmother touched her so with the
 
 FIRST FRUITS 283 
 
 wand. The upshot interested him vastly; he saw 
 nothing but satisfaction to come out of it. As 
 for himself, he was (I have affirmed) either a sen- 
 sualist or a sentimentalist; but never both at once. 
 Georgiana had him on the latter side, though there 
 had been a time when it might have been other- 
 wise. But he knew very well the worth of a 
 woman's No, and that moment of tensity, when, 
 held in his arms, still, quivering with her passion 
 for honor, she had fought him for her soul, had 
 been for him the moment of the most absolute 
 defeat he had ever had. He knew himself. He 
 knew her. She was as safe now with him as one 
 of his daughters, and a thousand times more dear. 
 Moreover and here you have the man she 
 would never stint him of his dues, never fail him : 
 that he knew. Bocca baciata non perde ventura. 
 He observed, with a twinkle, that since her happi- 
 ness had brimmed over so that she actually 
 flitted singing about the house, and could be 
 heard singing to herself as he stood outside the 
 door he observed, I say, that she was more 
 effusive with him; was freer with her endear- 
 ments, her touchings, and laying-on of hands, of- 
 fered her kisses more beneficently, received his 
 own more gladly, was less on her guard, more 
 her natural, warm-hearted self; and that even with 
 the glum Charles she was on better terms. She 
 rallied Charles; she quizzed him; she made him
 
 284 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 talk, was less on edge with his punctilio, took him 
 and his troubles far less tragically. When he was 
 not abroad, he dined with the pair at least twice 
 a week. Her new gaiety, her new freedom were 
 noticeable. You would have said that Charles 
 himself must have remarked them. At this rate, 
 said the Duke to himself, we shall have her burst- 
 ing her bodices. All seemed pure gain to this 
 singular statesman. 
 
 As for Georgiana herself, she floated betwixt 
 Earth and Heaven, in a state so woven of light 
 and music that the acts of benevolence she did to 
 those about her were little more to her, doing 
 them, than assurances that she still waked and 
 lived among men. She touched men, as it were, 
 to be safe, and sure of safety, as children touch 
 wood in the garden game. But a great elation 
 was upon her, a universal charity. This latest 
 assumption she had suffered was of a divinity. 
 She looked down from her skyey throne benev- 
 olently upon all the groping world, and to give 
 every denizen what he desired seemed to her not 
 only charitable but reasonable, and only danger- 
 ous because so frankly selfish on her part. It hurt 
 her, when she thought of it, to realize that every- 
 body was not as happy as she. Danger to her 
 from humored men! How could there be dan- 
 ger to a woman marked by Gervase for his own 
 by kisses?
 
 FIRST FRUITS 285 
 
 It was not that she was merely loved. She 
 had been loved before, and was loved now, by two 
 men. It was not that she loved and could lavish 
 her treasure. It was that, loving, she was be- 
 loved by him whom she adored. That uplifted 
 her, that mutuality. There was confidence as 
 well as partnership. From the first moment of 
 surrender she had been sure of herself; but when 
 he came to seek her in the ballroom she had been 
 sure of him. 
 
 Remembered joy, Nausithoe! Score it up 
 against the lean years. 
 
 Her kindness to Charles, as good as a comedy 
 to the Duke, watching it and chuckling, sprang 
 not only from that benevolence which her own 
 well-being excited in her; it was prompted also 
 by the feeling of safety. She had given her heart 
 to Gervase, and had no thought what was done 
 with the rest of her. Charles might have de- 
 manded what he would of her, and have had it 
 too, without any harm done that she could have 
 seen. So she was kind to him, and even cruelly 
 kind; she drew him out, poked fun at him, took 
 his arm sometimes, let her hand stay upon his 
 shoulder, flattered the poor man, for moments, 
 out of his depression. Only for moments, of 
 course; for Charles was that sort of man who 
 could not be happy in Naples, because he had not 
 been to Rome. The bitter seed remained in his
 
 286 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 cup that so many years had passed when she had 
 not been so kind to him as she was now, and that 
 the years when she had been kinder had gone for 
 ever. But for her, at least, it was a great thing. 
 She was no longer afraid to be with him in the 
 evenings; in fact she welcomed the rare event 
 because she could talk to him about Gervase with 
 perfect comfort. He had no jealousy of Gervase ; 
 she had found that out. All his suspicions were 
 of the Duke. 
 
 He read " Nausithoe," and they discussed it. 
 Charles considered poetry as an elegant trifling. 
 Gervase's future was a frequent topic. Charles 
 considered that his opinions would be a fatal bar 
 to his advancement by the road of politics. He 
 knew nothing of any other road. He asked once, 
 Could not Georgiana employ him as secretary? 
 She allowed herself to bathe in the golden thought, 
 lay, as it were, and let it sleep into her but 
 laughingly excused herself. 
 
 Once or twice, perhaps, she had the poet to 
 dinner when Charles was there; but the dinners 
 were not successful. Gervase was so bored by 
 the good man that he became alarmed for his own 
 state of mind. He found himself shivering like a 
 man in a fever. He did not mean to be rude 
 naturally, he was blunt but not discourteous; but 
 Charles had the effect upon him of stirring him to 
 impotent rage. He wanted to break up Charles;
 
 FIRST FRUITS 287 
 
 he was consumed with the desire to cut him some- 
 where and discover real blood; to shock him into 
 a human cry; to take him unawares and find a 
 man under the smooth vellum. Charles, he said, 
 made him feel like the Tempter of our Lord. 
 He would have flown with him to the Cross of 
 St. Paul's, to show him the kingdoms of the world 
 and the glory of them, but that he would most 
 certainly have thrown him over the parapet, to be 
 satisfied by that violent proof that this being, who 
 did not seem to live, could die. After dinner, 
 when his host had gone to the House of Commons, 
 Gervase would stalk the drawing-room and rave. 
 Charles's urbane, constant, monumental dullness 
 made him incoherent. He denied him virtue, 
 unless a jelly-fish had virtue; he denied him at- 
 tributes. He could only be judged by the ab- 
 sence of attributes. He was the Everlasting 
 Nay; he was like the Mosaic Commandments, 
 which told you what you should not do, but gave 
 no hint of what you should. 
 
 When the Duke was present things went much 
 better. Gervase disapproved of the Duke, but 
 respected his strong mediocrity. The Duke was 
 common-sense incarnate: by that nothing what- 
 ever could be done, but all could be maintained. 
 The Duke was the journeyman of the state, who 
 kept the parts oiled, and had the grace of being 
 able to laugh at the work he did without ceasing
 
 288 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 to do it. And an autocrat, he said, was ten 
 thousand times better than an official. An official 
 goes by rules which cannot fit any case at all 
 since every case varies from every other case. A 
 despot goes by will, which can be modified by 
 other wills, and swayed by living considerations. 
 He and the Duke, in fact, amused each other. 
 His handling of Reform that burning topic 
 as a thing too obvious to be worth discussion was 
 a continued delight to Reform's stout opponent. 
 To Charles it was extremely offensive. " Get it, 
 get it, by all manner of means," the Duke used to 
 say; " raise the country, and you '11 have it. But 
 if you break the law I shall put you in jail." 
 " Your Grace talks of the law of England as if it 
 was the Law of God." " So it is, young man, 
 while the King lives and reigns." " The Lord's 
 Anointed ! " cried Gervase in a fume. " The 
 Lord's Anointed," said the Duke with plain 
 gravity. What are you to do with a man who 
 says plumply that he believes the King to be the 
 Lord's Anointed? In its way that is a sublime 
 belief. So is that which says that the earth is 
 flat. Gervase was not at all intolerant of opin- 
 ion. What he abominated was the absence of 
 opinion. 
 
 But he would take nothing of the Duke in the 
 way of hospitality or bounty. He would dine in 
 his company, at Georgiana's table, but not at
 
 G 
 
 15
 
 FIRST FRUITS 291 
 
 his own. And he would take no office at his 
 hands. 
 
 Meanwhile, during one golden, perfect month 
 reigned the summer of Mrs. Lancelot's life. The 
 halcyon time, they called it afterwards, from a 
 poem of Gervase's which described her coming out 
 to him in the early morning, in her close blue 
 gown: 
 
 When like a halcyon in his bronze of blue 
 Forthward she flashed 
 
 it begins and has her fast. Reading herself in 
 this and other of his pieces was like looking at 
 herself in a magic glass and seeing all her familiar 
 features enhanced and burning bright. Was this 
 the face? Was this lovely and glorious image 
 Georgiana Lancelot's? She might have fallen in 
 love with herself, urged by him to the state of 
 Narcissus; but she knew that he was deceived, 
 and loved him the more for it. O Gervase, O 
 fierce lover, O poet, was it possible that he had 
 loved her so long, and she had never known it? 
 What glory for her, what constancy in him ! 
 
 She took a pride in herself which she had 
 never had before. Her dress, her ornaments, the 
 manner of her hair became a delight. Admiration 
 in the world was so much tribute to the discern- 
 ment of Gervase, who had seen her fair and sung
 
 292 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 her divine long before the world had known her 
 so. This was very unjust to the Duke of Devizes, 
 to say nothing of Charles; but she could not give 
 by halves to one who gave her all. She not only 
 tended her person; she was concerned for her mind 
 too. She read in all her spare hours, and followed 
 breathlessly in his meteor wake. The time they 
 actually spent together was almost nothing by the 
 clock; but they wasted none of it. From the mo- 
 ment when she fell into his arms the assumption, 
 the chief of many, was made. She believed ev- 
 erything, took everything for granted, and so did 
 he. Their confidences were as complete as their 
 confidence. He had nothing to conceal, and she 
 concealed nothing even of that which she 
 should. But it was a test of loyalty, and an enor- 
 mous comfort. He hated to be told of her wooing 
 and marrying; but he must have it all. She told 
 him of the death of her baby, not accusing Charles. 
 That he did for himself; he accused him bitterly. 
 It added vitriol to his scorn of the man with which 
 one day to bite him. By the clock they met per- 
 haps for three hours a week; every two days he 
 wrote to her or sent her a poem. But full pos- 
 session lasted from sight to sight. There was not 
 a moment of the day when she was not filled with 
 the sense of Gervase; not a moment when, in the 
 midst of some crowded assembly, she could not 
 shut her eyes and see him see him, hear his
 
 FIRST FRUITS 293 
 
 voice, feel his kisses. She triumphed in her pen- 
 ury which gave her such strength as this. Posi- 
 tively she believed herself more certain of him 
 when he was not with her than when he was. 
 
 For Gervase, of course, was an exorbitant lover. 
 Entirely careless of the world's opinion, he was 
 as delicate as a weathercock to the lightest flicker 
 in the breath of hers. His claim upon her 
 once she had owned to her love was limitless. 
 He arrogated every right and she felt that, and 
 dreaded the hour when he should become ex- 
 plicit. She understood that what would satisfy 
 her would not him. That was the swinging sword 
 overhead which made her joy so fearful and so 
 intense. It made her eyes wistful, and her mouth 
 avid for the kisses of his mouth, lest the day should 
 come soon when she would have to decide whether 
 she could have them or not. She was conscious, 
 therefore, of a feverishness in their intercourse, 
 which he took from her, without realizing what it 
 meant. 
 
 But he had his better times, when he was, 
 surely, the most delightful companion in the 
 world. He had a strong sense of humor, and col- 
 ored with it everything he touched. His eye for 
 likenesses was extraordinary. Men strutted and 
 peered in birds; birds flapped along the pavements 
 like men. He made up stories as they walked of 
 all the people they met romances in which cross- 
 19
 
 294 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 ing-sweepers and orange-women, whiskered foot- 
 men and stout clergymen, and nursemaids, 
 potboys, dandies, and deuce-knows-who were the 
 victims or avengers of terrific love affairs. He 
 was as quick to tears as to laughter, a fiery enthu- 
 siast for beauty, courage, swiftness, truth, and sim- 
 plicity. He was without any sort of self-con- 
 sciousness careless in his dress and in what 
 he did. But he never did anything of which 
 an honest man might be ashamed, and did the 
 business in hand with such perfect sincerity that 
 there could be no sting in it due from any 
 one with the power to wound him. 
 
 Two things in the world he hated : dullness and 
 affectation. All other things he was ready to 
 love; but next to women he thought trees the 
 most glorious work of the Creator, and was sure 
 that they had souls. He went out with Georgiana 
 once to see a review of troops in Hyde Park and 
 looked at the trees the whole time. He would 
 talk of nothing else. The splendid immobility of 
 them, their plain kinship with what is permanent, 
 essential and abiding in the universe, showed men, 
 he said, like lice. From this ruling he excepted 
 women, however, who to him were not human. 
 But here, as elsewhere, it was impossible to know 
 whether he was serious or not; for he had a way 
 of stating his most preposterous inventions in a 
 plain voice, as when he alleged that the Archbishop
 
 FIRST FRUITS 295 
 
 of York had silver soles to his feet owing to an 
 
 accident at birth, and that Lord J y drove 
 
 out daily in his curricle accompanied by eagles as 
 supporters. There 's no doubt he believed these 
 fables at the time. On the other hand, he flamed 
 forth as the paradoxes of an Irish orator some of 
 his dearest convictions. It was good to hear him 
 upon Reform with the Duke good for all but 
 Charles, who regarded the status quo as of high 
 moral value and not as a convenience to business. 
 But, after all, he had come into the world to 
 be a poet, and such he was from the tissues. He 
 breathed poetry, thought in its terms, lived and 
 loved in and by it. Ideas were things to him, 
 and things had appearance because they were ideas. 
 This put him counter to the rest of the world, 
 in the which opposition even Georgiana found 
 herself more than once. Even when he clasped 
 her, kissed her, adored her, she felt that what he 
 so loved might quite easily have been a tree or 
 a sunlit cloud. He admitted that in quieter mo- 
 ments, and added that she might equally well have 
 been Goodness, Temperance, Justice, or Fortitude ; 
 for such were real to him because they could be ex- 
 pressed in beauty. There threatened and she 
 felt it a time when the discrepancy between 
 what he thought her and what she knew that she 
 was must yawn and sever them ; but he said No to 
 that. Before ever that gulf could be reached she
 
 296 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 would be his, one with him, in flesh as well as in 
 spirit. Not yet, at his fiercest, had he urged that 
 completion of their love; but every stave of the 
 poem which composed their intercourse implied 
 that, and her courage fainted when she thought of 
 the time when this forking of ways must be met. 
 
 For the one vital difference between their na- 
 tures was this, that Gervase believed passion to be 
 a divine urgency, and she that it might well be of 
 the devil.
 
 THIS halcyon time ended perforce with the 
 days of parliament. The prorogation came 
 in the third week of August, and then the great 
 world flitted, leaving London empty, and Gervase 
 in it, gnashing his teeth. ,*. 
 
 The Lancelots were going first to Thorntree, 
 later to join the Duke in a round of visits. Ger- 
 vase now had actually to face separation from 
 his mistress. An open invitation from the Duke 
 was at his service, but he would not have it. 
 
 He met her the night before her departure, 
 and faced it in his worst mood. 
 
 " This is horrible," he said, having her in his 
 arms; and his words in contrast with his embrace 
 seemed to her most dreadful. " For a silly custom 
 you suffer me to be divorced. We belong to each 
 other by the most sacred of ties. What I After 
 what has passed between us vows of the lips, 
 oaths of the eyes, chrism of the heart you think 
 we are not one ! But we are one nothing 
 ought to separate us. And you go from me with 
 one man, and then court the company of another 
 
 297
 
 298 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 and I, your true husband, am left here. Oh, 
 my adored, it is monstrous monstrous ! But 
 you submit it is that which kills me you sub- 
 mit to a servitude. You don't rebel; you don't 
 even desire to rebel. You fold your hands, bow 
 your head, and this foul machine Juggernaut 
 brown with old blood, and slippery with new 
 drives over you. You lift up your eyes, you sigh, 
 ' Blessed be the Lord our God ! ' and the wheels 
 crush your bright body into the dust ! Death and 
 Despair! " 
 
 She soothed him with voice and hand; she 
 anointed him with her eyes, with her lips; she 
 reasoned with him but he would hardly 
 listen. 
 
 " No, no," he said. " You have given me your 
 heart, and thereby I have all I have all. 
 Those others have no rights. If you were to say 
 to Lancelot, ' I cannot come with you. I have 
 affairs in town,' what could he say? What could 
 he do?" 
 
 " Dearest," she said, smiling sadly enough, " he 
 could ask, * What are your affairs? ' 
 
 " Then," said he, " you could tell him what they 
 were. I will tell him myself, if you like. It is 
 time." 
 
 What was there to say but " Dearest! " what 
 to do but to kiss the preposterous creature? 
 
 He arrogated to himself absolute disposal of her
 
 WOUNDS IN THE OPEN 299 
 
 heart, time, and person. He set no bounds to the 
 charter which, as he said, she had sealed on his lips 
 with hers. The heart had spoken. What did 
 that involve? What inference must be drawn? 
 Why, every consequence every inference. All 
 was his, that being his. How could the body do, 
 without sin, that which the heart would not? He 
 raised his hand to heaven above her head. " By 
 all honor, all truth, all reason, all justice, you are 
 mine. And they tear us apart you and me ! 
 Let God hear me this is iniquity." 
 
 He would have carried her off then and there 
 he made it a grievance that she gently denied 
 him. Yet (probably) if she had consented, he 
 would have denied himself. Such was Gervase, a 
 true poet, and a preposterous young man. 
 
 He seemed to draw her soul shuddering out 
 from her lips, he strained her to him until she 
 gasped with pain but he went out in a tempest 
 of resentment gave her a dreadful night, and 
 himself one of delirium and next morning she 
 received six sheets (there was no reason why they 
 should not have been twelve) full of contrition, 
 vows, promises of amendment. With that in her 
 bosom she set out for Gloucestershire. 
 
 He wrote to her every day his letters franked 
 (absurdly enough) with the flowing script and 
 style " Devizes." With no less incongruity (with
 
 300 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 more perhaps and she felt it) her replies bore 
 the name " Charles Lancelot." 
 
 Every letter he sent her was in truth a poem, 
 written with his heart's blood. She felt a dread- 
 ful reality beneath the impossible ascriptions he 
 gave her, and a dreadful certainty that life and 
 death were now involved in their common busi- 
 ness. So real was the strange world in the which 
 every word he wrote he dipped her the deeper that 
 the life of her old home her father's county 
 duties, her mother's airs of county lady, Diana's 
 flirtations, and Augusta's nursery seemed like 
 comic opera. She sat, a bored or scared spectator, 
 absorbed in her own tragic affair; she spoke at 
 random, loved to be by herself. The daily post 
 was her bidding-bell, which summoned her one 
 more stage upon the fateful journey she was 
 going. 
 
 Gervase was an inexorable lover. There was 
 no escape from him. He waxed under the ardor 
 of his own mood, as if warming himself at his own 
 fire, until his whole being was incandescent. His 
 words seemed to have dripped hissing to the pa- 
 per, to have burned themselves there. She could 
 almost read them through their cover, and 
 wondered sometimes how the wax could hold them, 
 and not melt. She could not by any means cope 
 with them though they affected her dreadfully. 
 She used to sit trembling with them in her lap, pale
 
 .WOUNDS IN THE OPEN 301 
 
 and trembling ; then with a long sigh she would go 
 about her duties such as they were, and when she 
 was recovered would write a guarded reply. If 
 she had answered, as he writ, in the heat, God 
 knows what she might not have said. She had 
 not tongues naturally, and all her instinct was to- 
 wards compromise. Alas, her temperance was 
 a stumbling-block to him. The tide of his passion 
 boiled and swirled round against it; rose, topped 
 it, carried it away and rushed forward, heaving, 
 to the sea a sea to which it was carrying her 
 too. And, half fainting, she knew it and, half 
 fainting, was glad and unutterably happy. But 
 the night, the desperate, inexorable, leaden-footed 
 night brought her, at least, counsel, if not sleep 
 and she began the battle again. 
 
 For she was absolutely clear in her own mind of 
 two things that she loved him entirely, and that 
 she must not yield. It was impossible to her to 
 deny either proposition. They were self-evident. 
 It is a marvel that one at least of them was not 
 evident to all the world. But so far, only one 
 person knew it (and he was at Marston Mortimer 
 entertaining a Royal Duke, whom Georgiana had 
 excused herself from meeting, on grounds too 
 plain to be refused) ; and one person suspected 
 Gussy, her younger sister. The loyal, unhappy, 
 frost-bitten Charles knew nothing. All his jeal- 
 ous eyes were for another, who, fine man, was per-
 
 302 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 fectly negligible. He should have turned on the 
 Duke hopeful eyes, if he had known the truth 
 all his hopes were really there. 
 
 So August wore through, and in September the 
 Lancelots left Thorntree and proceeded to pay 
 visits, mapping out a progress which should take 
 them through the West into Sussex, where the 
 Duke expected them. 
 
 Letters pursued her wherever she went, and had 
 to be answered. Charles's ducal bag saved her 
 from many prying eyes and Charles himself 
 never dreamed of looking at her correspondence. 
 Such a deed would have been impossible to him 
 not from any clear motive of honor, but because 
 the act of prying would have admitted to himself 
 that he was jealous; and his self-esteem could not 
 have supported such an avowal. Queer are the 
 motives which prompt the actions of us men ! 
 
 But, in the pressure of her private cares, poor 
 Charles could make no headway. His complete 
 ignorance of them gave him an insignificance in 
 her eyes which was actually offensive. He belit- 
 tled himself; she felt sometimes as if she were 
 dragging him after her like a bramble at her skirt; 
 at other times (under Gervase's spell) as if it were 
 he who dragged, and she who felt the scorch of 
 the fetter. He was a continual reminder to her 
 of irksome duty; she could hardly bring herself
 
 WOUNDS IN THE OPEN 303 
 
 to be civil to him, so much he fretted her nerves. 
 Luckily for her, every house she went to was full 
 of company. She plunged into the fussy triviali- 
 ties of the life, chattered, laughed, listened to 
 bores. By such means, for moments at a time, 
 she drowned in shrill noise the wailing in her heart. 
 If Gervase could have seen her, flushed, glitter- 
 ing thing that she was, he would have denied her 
 a heart at all. 
 
 Lady B 's party, which a diarist, already 
 
 quoted, has hit off for us, was the last she joined 
 before going to Marston. There she met the 
 Duke, and with him was to go on to his house. 
 She was the most courted, but the most elusive 
 guest ; for the Duke and politics claimed her. Pol- 
 itics were gathering to a head. February, it was 
 supposed, or May at latest, would see the Reform 
 Bill before the Lords and what was the party to 
 do? It was no secret that the King wanted the 
 Ministry out. He had quarreled with nearly 
 every member of it, and was beginning to distrust 
 the Duke. Correspondence flowed upon him. 
 The library tables brimmed with it, and from 
 Windsor every day came a note by a special mes- 
 senger, requiring some sort of answer. Charles 
 was in high fettle. He loved such detail, and 
 could forget his troubles in it. Georgiana found it 
 very difficult to be interested, and the Duke was 
 unaffectedly bored. He had been overjoyed to
 
 304 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 see her again had ridden out half-a-dozen miles 
 to meet her. He had her to himself both before 
 and after dinner ; scolded her for her thinness, for 
 her pale cheeks met pleasantly, not seriously, 
 and did not press for explanations. He asked 
 after " her poet," was told that she " heard from 
 him," nodded and pretended that nothing was hap- 
 pening. 
 
 But much was happening; in fact, the out- 
 rageous young man, after a day or two of silence, 
 came to Bagington, hovered on the outskirts 
 the thickets of the park and what not and pres- 
 ently contrived to make his presence known to 
 Georgiana. Between joy at his nearness, terror 
 at his daring, and fear of eyes the poor lady 
 nearly succumbed. 
 
 The note was brought to her by her maid 
 when she was dressing. An hour was named 
 " to-morrow at eleven " by a certain great tree 
 in the park. It might as well have been on the 
 lawn before the morning-room windows. She 
 in desperation she was like a trapped mouse 
 burned it and made no reply. The morrow must 
 provide for the things of itself. She had too much 
 on her hands for this night a great dinner in a 
 house full of people. 
 
 The diarist remarked her pallor, and remarked 
 upon it to her husband. " Lancelot, your wife
 
 WOUNDS IN THE OPEN 305 
 
 works too hard. She looks as if she saw ghosts." 
 Nausithoe's fate leaped into Charles's mind; he 
 made formal answer. 
 
 The racket of the interminable evening passed 
 over. Talk, and the fictitious interest which is 
 necessary to it, and can be feigned, filled it. You 
 have to be a very great man indeed to be able to 
 be silent at such a party. Such was the Duke. 
 He stood, most of the time after dinner, stiff, 
 looking straight before him, but Georgiana, whom 
 he honestly loved, was always within his field of 
 vision. He knew that she was disturbed, though 
 so great was her self-command that nobody else 
 knew it at all. 
 
 Her agitation was due to the knowledge of 
 Gervase so near her, and yet so entirely out of her 
 reach. Her eyes, wandering, vaguely searching, 
 sometimes fixed themselves upon the windows, 
 rested there, straining, staring, as if to see through 
 them, through the dark, through the mist. She 
 felt certain that he was there. This made her 
 shiver, left her trembling. 
 
 She went to bed, but did not dare look out 
 into the night. She had a feeling that he would 
 call her. And if he did, she knew that she would 
 
 go- 
 
 And how she longed to go, ached to go, she 
 
 dared not reveal to herself.
 
 306 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 A hasty two words passed with the Duke at 
 candle-lighting time " Georgie, you are upset. 
 What's the matter?" 
 
 " Nothing, nothing I 'm tired, I think. 
 There 's so much talking. We are always talking, 
 are n't we? Is n't it extraordinary? " 
 
 " I don't talk. I watch you." 
 
 She was petulant. " Please don't do that. I 
 feel it sometimes. It troubles me. You seldom 
 do that." 
 
 " You shall be obeyed. But I know that some- 
 thing is going on which you don't like." 
 
 She made no answer. All he could add was, 
 " If I can be of use to you in anything don't 
 fail to let me know. To fail in that would be 
 failing me indeed." 
 
 She succeeded in looking at him. " No," she 
 said, " I won't fail you, Duke." He kissed her 
 hand and left her. She shrouded herself in the 
 dark, and lay half the night listening, trembling, 
 glowing at the thought that he was there, that she 
 should see him to-morrow. 
 
 In spite of the suffering he had caused her, 
 the actual sight of her lover assured him a smooth 
 face and a bright-eyed welcome. There was 
 added, to enhance the effect, real admiration of 
 his daring. Gervase was certainly incalculable, 
 splendidly out of the ruck of men. She came
 
 WOUNDS IN THE OPEN 307 
 
 to him, then, rosy, sparkling, with welcoming warm 
 lips " Oh, my dearest, how wicked of you ! " 
 but how she loved him for his wickedness! 
 " How could you do it? " Why, what else could 
 he have done? "Indeed, I love you beyond 
 words but you terrify me." 
 
 His first answer was to enfold her in his arms, 
 his next to be the most reasonable man alive. 
 
 " It would have been impossible feeling as I 
 do to have kept away from you any longer. 
 There is a breaking-point to every strain. Let- 
 ters! How can they express you? Or poetry? 
 How can you write poetry in the midst of stress? 
 The stress must have passed; the mood must be 
 tranquil. I have n't composed a line since I left 
 you six weeks ago." 
 
 She flashed him a radiant look. "No poems! 
 And your letters I " 
 
 He ignored these burning odes. " I had to 
 write, for mere life. But enough. That is over 
 now that I have you. Don't ask me how I have 
 lived or where. I don't know. For that mat- 
 ter, twopence a week or whatever it may be gives 
 you a narrow range. I believe I am in debt to my 
 landlady. I 'm not certain. She will tell you. 
 . . . Oh, I suppose I have been nourished, as far 
 as that goes. Bread is not dear just now. . . . 
 But the bread of the soul is dear, my angel I am
 
 308 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 starving in the soul. It 's not reasonable to ask 
 me to live like this. It 's bad for me, and bad 
 for you." 
 
 She clung to him, nestled in his arms. All her 
 own troubles were put away, to succor him in his. 
 Far more real as they were, she ignored them. 
 " My dear one, my dear one, I know how dreadful 
 it must be for you. But what can I do ? I would 
 give the world up to make you happy " 
 
 " It would make you happy, my angel, or I 
 know nothing of women least of all women, of 
 you. Ah, what a life we could make it, you and 
 I! What a life!" 
 
 She quivered she could not trust her voice. 
 For her powers of vivid dreaming were as great 
 as his, though he had expression and she none. 
 
 He went on " I see it, I see it all. You and 
 I, wholly one, as we are now in part in this 
 maimed life, in rat-traps. You in a trap I in 
 a trap running round and round ' I can't get 
 out ! I can't get out ! ' Oh, horrible slavery I 
 And what adds mockery to horror is that we can 
 get out." He strained her in his arms. " My 
 adored one, we can get out immediately. We can 
 ge.t out at this moment. Oh, you must see it. 
 Tell me shall it be?" 
 
 She faltered, stared. Her lips parted, the 
 lower lip fell. " Oh, Gervase, what do you 
 mean? "
 
 Come, my beloved, come
 
 WOUNDS IN THE OPEN 311 
 
 His words scorched her. " Fly, fly, fly fly 
 with me ! We will go now and forever. You 
 shall leave these hard, bitter men these glitter- 
 ing sepulchers of lies and vanity and sham. You 
 shall come with me to Italy, my soul you and 
 I will be the only real persons in the whole world 
 live life to the full the mind, the heart, the 
 soul, the body, all intensely alive quivering with 
 life and light. Come, my beloved, come this 
 moment come." 
 
 She was dreadfully frightened: her eyes were 
 enormous, her mouth all drawn together to a 
 mere bud. " Oh, my dearest, I could n't do that. 
 Don't ask me that. Oh, no, no, no ! " 
 
 He pressed her the closer, storming down her 
 refusals. " But I do, I do, because I must." 
 
 She shut her eyes ; she turned ashy white. This 
 was the hour of fate. She had no strength to 
 speak, but her lips framed the " No, no," unmis- 
 takably. 
 
 " You cannot? You refuse? I am to go?" 
 
 Desperate, poor soul, she nodded her head. 
 He released her. He was as hard as iron, and 
 as cold. 
 
 " Then the thing is over. I go. You have 
 the right you are to choose. For all that you 
 have given me, I bless your name. For all that 
 you are and must be I give thanks to God." 
 
 He turned and left her. She was deadly calm
 
 312 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 white and fixed. Her eyes burned black, her 
 lips were close, and colorless. With him, it 
 seemed, went all that warmth which could give 
 her color. He might have drained all her blood 
 out and taken it with him in a bottle. She did 
 not move, could not speak; but she looked after 
 him so long as she could see anything then 
 began to rock to and fro. She put out her hands 
 to steady herself, to balance on them as a bird 
 on his wings, or a rope-dancer on his bending 
 pole. Then she came to herself, saw her desola- 
 tion, threw her arm against the tree for support, 
 and, leaning her face into the crook of it, sobbed 
 convulsively, and broke down. There she re- 
 mained until she felt a hand upon her shoulder, 
 and heard the Duke's voice. 
 
 He had been riding in the park, with only a 
 groom. He had ordered it to be so. Cantering 
 easily over the turf, his eye had caught sight of 
 a tall man in black striding bareheaded towards 
 the carriage-drive and lodge gate. " Oho! " He 
 swept the horizon with eyes like a wind- 
 hover's. Then he turned to his groom. " I 
 shall get off, and walk up to the house. Take 
 my horse, and go straight to the stables." He 
 dismounted and led his horse to the man, put the 
 reins in his hand. " That 's your way," he told 
 him, and pointed it out. It led him to the drive,
 
 WOUNDS IN THE OPEN 313 
 
 well above the point where Gervase would cut 
 into it on his tangent, directly away from where 
 he saw the weeping Georgiana. 
 
 The man obeyed him and trotted off with the 
 pair of animals. The Duke walked briskly over 
 the grass. 
 
 Georgiana at his " My poor child, why did n't 
 you tell me of your troubles? Come and cry on 
 my shoulder " obeyed him. He soothed her as 
 a mother would a child unhappy.
 
 X 
 
 LOCAL REMEDY 
 
 SHE took his arm, the drooping child that she 
 seemed, beaten almost to a shade, and was 
 grateful to him for his silence. He said nothing 
 at all, but patted her hand from time to time, 
 and when she was recovered, devoted himself 
 to her for the rest of the way with a simplicity 
 which was highly honorable to him. He told her 
 stories, cracked jokes, rallied her got her into 
 a more rational mood. 
 
 Charles had seen them coming from the library 
 windows. There he sat with his despatch-boxes 
 and secretaries, immersed in business, but with his 
 brain on fire. He was suffering damnable things. 
 His pale face and hollow cheeks, his lantern jaws 
 and great burning black eyes showed it. But he 
 possessed infinite capacities of endurance it 
 seemed. And so, sighing, he compressed his lips 
 and turned to his business. When the Duke came 
 into the room he was received with his junior's 
 usual urbane deference. 
 
 Lancelot was in this extraordinary position 
 that, really loving his wife, and desperately
 
 LOCAL REMEDY 315 
 
 jealous of the Duke's position with regard to her, 
 he was incapable of hating the Duke. He ad- 
 mired his parts and respected them, he adored his 
 greatness as much as ever he had, and saw no 
 career so attractive as that of being at his right 
 hand, and, if need were, of falling by his side in 
 the Armageddon to come. For Charles believed, 
 as the Duke certainly did, that the struggle for 
 Reform meant death to the old order in Eng- 
 land, and that the aristocracy must die in their 
 ranks, even as the French nobility had done in 
 the Terror. 
 
 But there was another side to Charles. He 
 was a morbid man, a sensitive man, but a just one. 
 He could not deny to himself that he had desired 
 this friendship, and had done his best to procure it 
 for his own ends. He had hoped that Georg- 
 iana would attract the Duke, had invited it. Now 
 that it was done, how could he, in common justice, 
 blame her or her lover? He knew that he could 
 not. Lover as he was, he must go on loving, and 
 see his beloved give herself to his patron. He 
 could be nothing but agonized but he could not 
 cease loving either of the guilty ones. 
 
 For guilty they must be. For what other con- 
 ceivable reason had she separated herself? For 
 what other reason had they gone into Wake 
 House? There could be none. He had been 
 betrayed by the two persons whom he loved best
 
 316 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 in the world and yet he went on loving them 
 both. Was ever such a position held by a man 
 of honor before? 
 
 He was a man of honor. He would have 
 died sooner than injure his wife, and would spend 
 his last ounce of blood in the Duke's service. 
 Really, though he was in torment, he admitted the 
 Duke's right as that of a Lord of the Earth, as 
 that of a being superior to the ties and liens of 
 human kind to take what naturally fell to him. 
 Had it been his own right hand, he would have 
 given it. It was his heart which his master now 
 required and he must have it. A loyaller soul 
 than Lancelot's did not exist in this world. 
 
 He viewed his own act now not as incon- 
 ceivable folly, not as a thing to be ashamed of 
 as a sacrifice to this loyal admiration for a great 
 man. He had offered up his ewe lamb to his 
 master's needs and that his master had bene- 
 fited by it was a kind of consolation. So it might 
 console a victim, like Iphigenia, that by her blood 
 a fate was averted, and in her dying eyes you 
 might have seen a faint spark of thanksgiving. 
 
 The Duke came into the room in his usual 
 brisk and cool manner. " Georgie 's overdone," 
 he said. " I found her in the park. There 's 
 nothing much amiss; but I have persuaded her to 
 lie down. You 'd better go up to her presently
 
 LOCAL REMEDY 317 
 
 but don't ask questions. Don't bother her. 
 She 's been strained, I think, with all this fuss." 
 
 Charles had started up. " If you will excuse 
 me, I '11 go to her now." 
 
 " As you please. She '11 hardly have had time 
 to compose herself. But as you please." 
 
 Charles bent again to his work. " I have put 
 aside these letters for you to see. There seems 
 some' doubt as to whether we can count upon 
 Lords Cantacute and Milsom. Milsom wishes to 
 make his undertaking conditional as you '11 
 see." 
 
 " D n him, does he though? " said the Duke, 
 and sat to his letters. 
 
 He read, pished, pshawed, dictated half-a- 
 dozen short replies to half-a-dozen inordinately 
 long communications, then said, " Charles, go up 
 to her. Treat her kindly but I 've no busi- 
 ness to say that. You always do. I need n't 
 tell you what I think of her." He looked up sud- 
 denly. " God bless you, Charles," and held out 
 his hand. 
 
 Charles Lancelot took a short breath strug- 
 gled as if on the point of speaking, but resigned 
 the effort. He grasped the Duke's hand and left 
 the room. 
 
 He sped upstairs and knocked at his wife's 
 door. The blinds were down, but he made out
 
 318 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 her slim figure crouched on the bed. He came 
 to her on tiptoe, stooped over her, and touched 
 her hair with his hand. " My love, I am dis- 
 tressed " he began, but she stopped him. 
 
 " Don't be unhappy," she said. " I shall be 
 better directly. I have a bad headache. The sun 
 was very hot this morning. I think it struck me. 
 The Duke was very kind." Then she put out her 
 hand, " And so are you. You always are." 
 That was literally what the Duke had said. It 
 stabbed him. 
 
 But he took and held her hand; he could 
 hardly see her through his misty eyes. All his 
 soul strained towards her. Then suddenly he 
 knelt by the bed and kissed her hand. " I am 
 ever yours, my dearest ever, ever yours." She 
 heard him, she understood him in part, but his 
 words had no conviction for her. 
 
 " Oh, you are very good to me ! " she said. 
 " Perhaps I can go to sleep. I don't know. 
 You won't be surprised if I don't come down to 
 luncheon, will you? Make my apologies, and tell 
 them I don't want anything." 
 
 Charles was now on his feet. His emotions 
 were under cover again. " Certainly, my love. 
 I '11 call again later in the day. I do trust that 
 you will sleep." 
 
 " I don't know that I can. I hope I can." She 
 looked up at him. " Thank you for coming to
 
 LOCAL REMEDY 319 
 
 me," she said, and nearly undid him. He 
 choked his sob strangled it at birth, then 
 stooped over and kissed her forehead. She knew 
 a sudden change of mood, or read in him some- 
 thing which she had never read before. She 
 looked up sideways at him, then turned about and 
 put her arm round his neck. She felt him shiver. 
 For a moment she clung to him like a frightened 
 child. If he had stayed with her all might yet 
 have been well with him ; but the poor fool did not 
 know that. His habit of repressing himself crept 
 over him again. " I pray that you may sleep," 
 was what he said, and then he left her. 
 
 When he was gone she lay wide awake in a 
 reverie that was not disagreeable, because it was 
 perfectly vague. A faint aroma of tenderness 
 seemed to float over her. Gervase and his wild 
 love-making were far from her. She seemed 
 hardly to miss him. Charles had loved her 
 Charles had been kind to her again! Perhaps 
 she had just begun to learn Charles all the im- 
 plications of his severe conduct were to be dis- 
 covered. Could that be true? Did Charles love 
 her? 
 
 It was very odd that Gervase was so little in 
 her thoughts. She whipped her mind back to the 
 park to the trees and the burnt white acres of 
 grass, to the buzzing of insects and the puffs of
 
 320 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 hot wind. Then she saw him again with his 
 fierce inspired face his tragic mask and gray 
 eyes which seemed to flame. She felt his arms, 
 his breath, his kisses. Her brain swam, the room 
 spun round. At the back of her mind she heard, 
 like a bell on a rock at sea, the Everlasting Nay. 
 " Lawlessness is not for thee no more of that. 
 Seek thy happiness in the Mean. Husband and 
 child, husband and child. Seek them, seek them, 
 seek them." 
 
 As one navigating swift rivers of water between 
 shoals, she listened to that warning bell, and took 
 comfort in it. Charles gained. With the strong 
 sounds in her ear she fell asleep. 
 
 Downstairs Charles was with the Duke. Their 
 positions were strangely reversed. Charles, who 
 should have been accuser, was accusing himself. 
 The Duke, who should have been defendant, was 
 judge and jury. The Duke sat upright at the 
 table, drumming his fingers lightly. Charles, 
 with bent head and hands locked closely behind 
 him, walked the floor. 
 
 He had begun by formal excuses of his imperti- 
 nence. " I feel that I abuse your friendship, if I 
 may call it that, by intruding my personal affairs 
 upon you. Believe me, nothing but their pressure 
 could persuade me " 
 
 " Go on, Charles." That, according to the
 
 LOCAL REMEDY 321 
 
 Duke, should be sufficient encouragement to any 
 man born. But it was not enough for Charles. 
 
 " It is very difficult, you know. I may seem 
 to be criticizing one whom it would be persump- 
 tuous in me " 
 
 " Do you mean me, pray? My dear friend, 
 you may say what you please of me. But I 
 thought you were going to talk about your 
 wife." 
 
 " I confess to that. I am disturbed about her, 
 and have been for some time. Probably you 
 know that I have lost her confidence I don't 
 know whether she may have told you " 
 
 The Duke blinked. " She never speaks of you 
 to me; but I have eyes in my head." 
 
 " She has been unlike herself of late. She has 
 had alternating moods, now up, now down. But 
 I have not felt able to invite that which there has 
 been no disposition to concede. I am venturing 
 to appeal, therefore, to you. It is humiliating, 
 you must allow; but I feel that I ought to be 
 humiliated " 
 
 "Pish!" said the Duke. "That's a d d 
 foolish sort of feeling for any man to have. Let 
 me get to the bottom of this. You think that 
 Georgte 's in love with me, I take it. Well, I can 
 settle that for you in two words. She is not. I 
 know that by the best evidence in the world." 
 
 Charles dropped his lower jaw, and seemed un-
 
 322 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 able to pick it up again. He looked grotesquely 
 helpless. 
 
 " Let me tell you this, my friend," the Duke 
 went on and in such a way that he seemed to be 
 accusing his accuser when he ought to have been 
 defending himself. " I have been head over heels 
 in love with her ever since I saw her. Make no 
 mistake about that. I am still, and expect I al- 
 ways shall be. She 's very fond of me she ad- 
 mits that; but for all the good she can do to my 
 complaint I might be her grandfather. Now, 
 I '11 tell you this. I have made love to her in my 
 day, as I have to other women. But she 's not 
 like other women. She put me in my place. She 
 would n't have anything to say to me. She did it, 
 upon my soul, in the neatest way I ever heard tell 
 of. It was a great scene. Without a word of 
 indignation, without a lot of talk about virtue 
 (which they never mean), without a tear, or a 
 flashing eye, or a colored cheek, she did it. And 
 I let her be. She beat me hollow. And the mo- 
 ment she 'd done it she jumped up with her arms 
 about my neck and gave me a kiss. God bless 
 her; she 's all gold. And I Ve never made love 
 to her from that day to this. And that was two 
 years ago. Now, I '11 tell you another thing, my 
 young friend." 
 
 He had just lifted his admonishing forefinger, 
 when Charles lifted his bruised head.
 
 LOCAL REMEDY 323 
 
 " One moment, please. You have told me 
 what I had imagined. I have never doubted my 
 wife's honor. You have confirmed my beliefs 
 and I am deeply obliged to you. But I must 
 make my confession. I earnestly desired her ac- 
 quaintance with you I sought to begin it, I 
 cherished its beginnings for my own advantage. 
 I admonished her God forgive me to make 
 the most of it. I " 
 
 " You might have spared yourself the trouble, 
 my dear Charles," said the Duke. " She had me 
 in a net the very first time I saw her the little 
 witch-wife that she is. So you made her a lure? 
 To catch me? My dear Charles, I 'm very glad 
 you succeeded. I 'm very much obliged to you. 
 She 's been an enormous happiness to me and 
 you 're the best aide I ever had. I '11 add this. 
 If you made her a friend of me she made me a 
 friend of yours. I ask no better." 
 
 Charles was much moved. " I cannot suffi- 
 ciently thank you, Duke." 
 
 " Don't thank me, my friend," he was told. 
 " You Ve only yourself to thank. Do you take 
 me for a fool? Do you suppose that I should 
 have employed you because I loved your wife? 
 You never made a greater mistake than that if 
 so it be. Why, man, do me justice for common 
 sense. I Ve got the business of this d d 
 blundering old country to do. I can't afford jobs
 
 324 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 on a pretty woman's account. No, no. Leave 
 all that to the Duke of York. You might as well 
 ask me to say that you threw your wife at my 
 head for the sake of 1200 a year." 
 
 " As God lives," said Charles, " that is untrue. 
 It has been the aim of my life to serve under 
 you." 
 
 " I think that very true. You 're a gentleman, 
 Charles, though you 're not much of a hand with 
 women. Now let me tell you something. If you 
 don't make love to your wife, somebody else will, 
 so sure as you were born. That 's common rea- 
 son. But I '11 add to that, that it won't be me. 
 No, no. She won't have me." He rose. " I 
 tell you that I 'm in love with her. She 's an 
 angel. By nature she 's as bright as the sun on 
 a fine May morning; and she 's as good for a man 
 as that, every bit. She 's too good for me, I 
 know and she 's probably too good for you. 
 But she '11 follow the law, you '11 find. You trust 
 her and so do I. But it 's common justice that 
 we should make her happy between us the 
 barest justice. We owe her that. Damme, sir, 
 if two men can't make a woman happy between 
 'em, they ought to be sent to jail ! " 
 
 Charles turned away his face; but the Duke 
 did not misinterpret the action. He went on. 
 
 " She 's young, and full of health, and great- 
 spirited, and full of pretty thoughts and fancies
 
 LOCAL REMEDY 325 
 
 which we can only guess at grope after. Give 
 her her fling, my dear fellow. She '11 come back. 
 Trust her, enjoy the sight of her, laugh with her, 
 
 revel in her grace. By God, I Ve had to teach 
 myself that. And I've done it! I wish her 
 happy and happy she shall be, for me, though 
 she run away with the first tinker's brat who 
 makes eyes at her. Bless you, she won't do it. 
 She '11 think of it put her pretty head sideways 
 
 show the mischief spark in her eye but 
 she '11 stick to you and the law. You trust her. 
 And for God's sake, no sour looks. Be ready for 
 her when she comes. Damn it, Charles, she 's 
 worth it. I can do it so can you. Let 's be 
 decent men about all this. I '11 tell you this. 
 There could be no better news for me than that 
 you and she were together again " 
 
 He was a blunt man, this Duke of Devizes, 
 and captain of old England (an England that died 
 with him). He went further than I do in his 
 particulars. But Charles wrung his offered hand 
 
 and then, by some innate feeling of respect 
 for what was respectable kissed it. The Duke 
 disliked that. 
 
 " Now let 's get to work with these damned 
 letters," he said. He always swore when he was 
 moved like a partridge on the defense, kicking 
 up dust.
 
 BOOK III 
 LOVE IN A MIST
 
 THE DUKE AT THE HELM 
 
 WHEN Georgiana returned to town, whither 
 she went directly from the B s', she 
 
 found a canto of apologetics from Gervase, and 
 within two hours of her arrival had him weeping 
 on his knees, with his face upon hers. This 
 young man was always in extremis extreme of 
 daring, extreme of self-humiliation, extreme of 
 bliss or extreme of misery: you could never get 
 him to perch amidships. He did not ask her for 
 forgiveness, he extenuated nothing, he held to all 
 that he had said as the only possible course for 
 true lovers; but he was aghast at his own induracy 
 and at the accursed fate which drove him to cause 
 her suffering and while he bewailed all this, 
 he foresaw that it was to continue. That was why 
 he wept. " Oh, my Saint, my Saint," he mur- 
 mured between his sobs, " Oh, my Rose of Dawn ! 
 and this misery must go on. There 's no remedy 
 we are stricken wounded, we run about 
 showing our wounds. We ask for pity, and get 
 
 329
 
 330 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 cold looks. We say to ourselves, Can it be that 
 men, that women, fed on the same milk, crowned 
 with the same hope, conscious of the same destiny, 
 can see us bleed and have no compassion? Alas, 
 my beloved and we are not allowed to die ! " 
 So he ran on, blowing into flame his own fire, and 
 she sat with her hand in his hair, looking down 
 upon him with divine gentleness, and a swelling 
 heart, in the midst of which was a pain which 
 seemed vocal, seemed to wail. 
 
 Her eyes were wide and had no tears. The 
 case was beyond her tears; for she knew that 
 he was right and that she could not help him. 
 Nothing could be more certain to her than that 
 she adored this fierce, hot-headed young man. 
 She gloried in his genius, she took more pride 
 in his discerning devotion than in all the tribute 
 of the Duke's, in all the heady incense which 
 floated up to her from that greatness on its knees. 
 For she was able to discriminate. She knew very 
 well that the Duke's greatness was not of the 
 mind, and that the Duke's love for her did not 
 proceed from the mind, was not of the soul at 
 all. Gervase loved her body, she saw, because it 
 informed her soul; Gervase desired it so ardently 
 because by it alone he could unite his soul with 
 hers. She and he were severed hemispheres. 
 Yes, he was fatally right. There was no pos- 
 sible happiness now for them short of union.
 
 THE DUKE AT THE HELM 33! 
 
 Hard-eyed, envisaging the dreary scene of their 
 torment, she sat and watched him. 
 
 But Gervase must be nourished, and hope was 
 his food. If she could give him none, he must 
 forage for himself; and even as he lay his mind 
 ranged abroad, casting about for shreds of com- 
 fort. Of the suddenest he lifted his head and 
 gazing, smiling into her woebegone face, he put 
 his hands upon her shoulders. " You and I, my 
 saint, have at least this certainty, that we cannot 
 face, or think of, separation. Tortured we must 
 be, but together. Is it not so? " 
 
 She could not speak, or take her eyes from 
 him; she nodded her head. He embroidered the 
 theme. He drank thirstily the slightest motion 
 of her head. " They can never keep us apart. 
 I don't know that they will try. That is hope- 
 less." 
 
 She shook her head, still looking at him. " No, 
 no, not now. I should die. You are all to me." 
 He adored her motions; his pity for her dreari- 
 ness was a sort of rapture. Gazing each at the 
 other, speechless, they thrilled as they neared; 
 then their lips met and held together and then 
 the ice about her heart broke up, and she fell aban- 
 doned into his arms and sobbed her heart out. 
 Thus she awoke his manhood; he became the calm 
 marshal of events, once more the arbiter of des- 
 tiny. He sought not the impossible, resumed his
 
 332 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 old place of her sweet familiar, the one being on 
 earth with whom she could be absolutely herself; 
 and every sign that she gave him of her renewing 
 ease was the call for one assurance the more that 
 she might resume it. Their leave-taking was pro- 
 longed and tender. He claimed nothing that she 
 could not give him, and clasping her to his heart 
 proclaimed himself aloud the blessed of God. " I 
 have your heart, I have your heart and soul! 
 What is it to me that your divine body is with- 
 held for a season? Let Nature have her mighty 
 way with us two. Good-night, my sweet Queen, 
 I go to write of you as a poet should." And so 
 he left her and so for many days, on every 
 one of which they held this kind of intercourse, 
 he met and parted from her. For Georgiana he 
 was at his best in these chastened and serene 
 moods wherein all that was fine in him, his im- 
 aginative chivalry, his humor, his unfailing tact 
 and resource, had full scope. Tragic, fiercely ani- 
 mal, cold by reason of some secret wound, bitter, 
 scoffing, arrogant, intolerant she loved him in 
 every guise, but never so much as when she could 
 read the justification of her entire confidence in 
 his friendly and affectionate eyes. He was writ- 
 ing of her freely, as he told her, at this time 
 and all was well with him for the moment. All 
 went indifferent well, in fact, throughout the 
 winter. There were few resumptions of that
 
 THE DUKE AT THE HELM 333 
 
 clamative, devouring mood of his, in which it 
 seemed certain that he must eat her up and 
 such as there were, were momentary. No; he 
 was writing, and all was well. 
 
 If all was well with him, it was well with her, 
 and Charles got the benefit of that. Since her 
 return to London she had been able to be charm- 
 ing to Charles. And he too, though harassed by 
 his work, was in a good mood. Knowing nothing 
 of Gervase, having no eyes for him, he had been 
 much comforted -by the Duke's frankness. He 
 was still jealous whenever he saw the pair to- 
 gether; but his imagination was quieted. He did 
 not leave the house with dreadful suspicion; he 
 did not return to it with a sinking heart. If he 
 had had time to envisage deliberately the state 
 of his own case he would have found it pretty 
 desperate. Georgiana was too friendly by half 
 too cool in her friendliness. He had very 
 little knowledge of women, but enough to see that 
 if a woman can afford to be friendly with you it 
 is because she knows that you can't expect any- 
 thing else of her. But he was too busy to think 
 of all this and besides that, he was of a cold 
 temperament and did not burn for the renewal of 
 his rights. So long as his sense of property was 
 not outraged by evidence, he did not need imme- 
 diate possession. 
 
 And really he was very busy. Parliament had
 
 334 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 resumed in November, had adjourned for a few 
 days at Christmas, had met again early in the New 
 Year, and was hatching a yeasty kind of an egg, 
 it seemed, which (if it should burst of its ferment) 
 might well blow the Duke and his friends out of 
 office. Which, in fact, it did in February. Beaten 
 over and over again in the Commons, the night 
 came when he had to walk out of his own house 
 in the face of certain defeat. That was what he 
 did, and faced a Westminster Yard hoarse with 
 injuries, filled with white and mocking faces, 
 bristling with uplifted threatening fists. Stones 
 were flying too, and the soldiery sent for. With 
 Charles at his side, and a few more of his friends, 
 the little great man stood coolly watching the 
 stormy human sea. 
 
 He did not move a muscle of his face. His 
 eyes were bright and unblinking. " By Gad, they 
 don't love us just now. Time we were out of 
 this," was what he said; and then, folding his 
 cloak about him, he stepped coolly off the steps 
 and made a way for himself. It was exactly as if 
 a man dropped off a jetty into a swirling flood 
 of water, to a certain death. Charles was behind 
 him, undisguisedly anxious, not of the same heroic 
 breed. It was not so much that he feared death, 
 as that he cowered before hatred. Oddly 
 enough, though he was the last man in the world
 
 THE DUKE AT THE HELM 3351 
 
 to court popularity, that was in fact the very breath 
 of his nostrils. To realize, as now he must, the 
 loathing in which his king of men was held was 
 terrible to him. "Down with the b y tyrant! 
 Down with Privilege ! To Hell with the Duke ! " 
 Charles shuddered to hear. If he had had his 
 wits about him, he would have taken comfort 
 from the evident truth that fear was mingled with 
 their hate. They saw that the man was beaten, 
 but dreaded to gloat over that lest he should 
 rise again on some third day. And positively, 
 though they hovered about him, grinning their 
 rage and desire, not a finger was laid upon him. 
 They cursed him, they called for three groans, 
 and one groan more; they reviled him with foul 
 language and fouler implication. " Go to your 
 women, you adulterer!" Charles heard with a 
 mortal chill at the heart; and, " Into your seraglio, 
 old Turk." The Duke was fabled to be of Turk- 
 ish instincts as indeed he was. 
 
 The little great man took it very coolly, and 
 reached Wake House in capital spirits. " Well, 
 Charles, that 's all over. I must go to Windsor 
 to-morrow or Friday. Plague take the rascal 
 that he keeps his bed down there. Why the deuce 
 can't he lie-in in town, like a gentleman? Now 
 we must go and tell Georgie the news. We '11 
 give her a holiday after this, Charles by Gad
 
 336 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 we will. She 's been out of sorts this long while." 
 Then they went into the house, and sought Georgi- 
 ana in her drawing-room. 
 
 She was out, however, at a party, and came in 
 some half an hour later, fully acquainted with the 
 news. She came in, with high color and bright 
 eyes, and went straight up to the Duke. " Is all 
 well? You are not hurt? Either of you?" 
 This was well meant, but rather unfortunate. The 
 fact was she had not identified Charles with the 
 disaster. The poor wretch felt that. 
 
 The Duke took her hands and gave her a 
 kiss on the forehead. " All well, Georgie. No 
 bones broken and no hearts, I hope. Charles 
 was with me." 
 
 She turned immediately to her husband. 
 "Wasn't it very alarming?" 
 
 He did his best. " No, my dear, no. The 
 Duke was their master. It was extraordinary and 
 very fine. Nobody knew me, I fancy." 
 
 She returned to the Duke. " Lord Alvanley 
 came in and told me about it. I tried to get 
 away, but they assured me that it was n't safe. 
 Luckily I had an escort." 
 
 The Duke blinked; the corners of his mouth 
 twitched. He knew who this escort was 
 Charles neither knew nor cared. 
 
 They discussed the offshoots of the affair in 
 the leisurely, detached manner of those who have
 
 THE DUKE AT THE HELM 337 
 
 their conduct in their own hands. The popular 
 tumult was taken as a factor of the problem, but 
 almost as a negligible one. The Duke had never 
 got out of the way of considering men as so much 
 stuff, to use or discard as the moment chose. To 
 him the country meant the King, and government 
 the King's pleasure or convenience. For one or 
 both of these you might have to use the mob, 
 either by drilling them in battalions or scattering 
 them with the musketry of already formed bat- 
 talions: beyond that he was unable to consider 
 them seriously. They were ignorant, they were 
 blackguardly, they were at the mercy of dema- 
 gogues whom he detested. He could not hate 
 the mob, and scoffed at fear of it. Charles re- 
 garded the populace rather more closely. He 
 considered it as the material of votes; and again 
 he had the incurable belief of an official that it was 
 a flock for his shepherding. Views, in a mob, 
 were not to be thought of. His attitude was that 
 of a clergyman who rises from his after-dinner 
 port to minister at evening prayer, and to preach 
 the virtues of strict temperance. In the present 
 conjuncture, however, it was clear to both these 
 politicians that resignation must follow. The Duke 
 went by the temper of the House, meaning that of 
 the Lords, Charles by the temper of the people as 
 inflamed by the House of Commons. But 
 Charles, the faithful shepherd, was troubled about
 
 338 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 the future, while the Duke looked only to the holi- 
 day ahead. 
 
 He broached it to his Egeria. " Italy, my 
 dear, is the end of this. I think we '11 give our- 
 selves a trip. What do you say to Florence, 
 Rome, back to Venice across the Alps to Basle; 
 home by the Rhine? Now don't you think that 
 worth a little mob-law? " 
 
 He was somewhat chilled to observe the frank 
 dismay with which she received it. She stared, 
 turned pale, faltered at the lips. 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, " oh, I had no idea. Really, I 
 don't know whether But if you would like it, of 
 course " For the moment she had not been 
 able to command herself, and when she could do 
 it, and even feign enthusiasm jumping to meet 
 his, it was too late. He had seen everything in 
 a moment. Poor girl! she could not bear the 
 thought of separation from her poet. The Duke 
 was touched. It was pathetic her dismay; but 
 the summoning of her thin garrison at his com- 
 mand to stand at attention, at the salute, late, 
 faltering, shaking at the knees that was a heart- 
 rending spectacle. 
 
 He felt magnanimous, he beamed at her. 
 " Yes, Georgie, we '11 go," he said. " We '11 make 
 up a party of us. There '11 be you, and me, and 
 Charles. And how would it be to take Caroline 
 Gunner and your poet, eh ? "
 
 THE DUKE AT THE HELM 339 
 
 He saw the flood of color, he saw her eyes 
 flutter and dilate. He saw her fight for breath, 
 watching her bosom. He determined that it 
 should be. 
 
 Charles inquired. " Who is your poet, my 
 dear? Do I know him?" He knew him, of 
 course, perfectly well but Charles was Charles. 
 
 She was able to say, " Oh, yes, quite well. He 
 calls Mr. Poore my poet. But I don't know 
 whether Mr. Poore could leave his work." 
 
 " He '11 take it with him," said the Duke with 
 a chuckle. " Reams of it." 
 
 Charles affected interest. " Does Mr. Poore 
 follow the profession of poet? And does that 
 advantage him in foreign travel? " 
 
 " It 's his raw material," said the Duke. 
 " ' Childe Harold ' should have taught you that 
 much." 
 
 Charles objected. " Lord Byron was a man of 
 means and abundant leisure, Duke. This gentle- 
 man may be both, no doubt, but in that case, 
 probably, I should have heard of him." 
 
 " Oh, you '11 hear of him one of these days," 
 said the Duke. " Won't he, Georgie? " 
 
 Georgiana could now command herself. " I 
 certainly think so myself. Mr. Poore has genius. 
 It would be a great chance for him." 
 
 " Then by Gad he shall have his chance," said 
 the Duke. " He shall come as my guest."
 
 340 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 Gcorglana turned away, and it was Charles 
 who praised his Grace's generosity; but she felt it 
 deeply, and knew that she would have an oppor- 
 tunity of repaying it as he would wish to be re- 
 paid. She had by this time found out in what 
 queer channels his savor of her ran. But for the 
 present she put out of mind her duties of debtor 
 to creditor all her thoughts hummed and sang 
 of the joy of telling her lover what was in store 
 for them both. Italy and Gervase! Those two 
 who should be inseparables, never yet united. And 
 she would see Italy dawn in Gervase's eyes, and 
 catch the first sound of his singing, when he, like 
 a young Memnon, shrilled with that morning 
 glory! And then she caught a sight of herself by 
 prevision, hand in hand with him, straying through 
 the breaking landscape, spying for the first flow- 
 ers, kissing the golden buds. And then she felt 
 herself in his eager arms, and grew hot, and had 
 the mist upon her eyes. With those misty, happy 
 eyes she thanked her great friend, urging her 
 face towards him as she wished him good-night; 
 "Oh, you are kind to me," she whispered; and 
 he smiled keenly at her, and would have kissed 
 her, but that Charles was there. " Good-night, my 
 dear I'll see you happy yet," contented him. 
 He could wait for his payment until to-morrow 
 his payment, such as it was I
 
 THE DUKE AT THE HELM 341 
 
 It ought to have been and largely was 
 that he sent her dancing to bed dancing, and 
 singing messages to Gervase, to whom, through 
 walls, over roofs anad chimney-pots, she kissed 
 her hand a dozen times before she blew out her 
 candle. 
 
 In the morning, having paid her dues, she told 
 him what was in store. He took it gravely, al- 
 most as a right; but he held her long and closely 
 in his arms.
 
 II 
 
 ITALY AND THE LOVERS 
 
 A DUKE cannot travel simply, if he would; 
 and our duke would have maintained (and 
 been right in maintaining) that, traveling as he 
 did, he used to the utmost the simplicity proper 
 to dukes. A traveling carriage with four horses, 
 accordingly, conveyed the party; another, with 
 two horses, the servants Georgiana's maid, 
 Lady Caroline's, the Duke's body-servant, courier 
 and lackey; finally, a groom on horseback had 
 charge of two led animals in case any of the gen- 
 tlemen should wish to ride. The Duke rode, in 
 fact, for his allotted number of hours in each day; 
 Charles Lancelot rode for hours on end; Gervase 
 never, but sat with Georgiana in the .carriage, or 
 strode by wild paths alone, taking short cuts over 
 mountain, plain, by river and thicket as the mood 
 took him. Later on the journey he used to be- 
 guile his mistress into companionship on these ad- 
 ventures ; but she was not equipped for them, nor 
 prepared, and seldom went far. So now the 
 reader has material for picturing the dusty, jolting 
 apparatus which dragged across the length of 
 
 342
 
 ITALY AND THE LOVERS 343 
 
 France, clattering and sliding through the cobbled 
 streets of Meaux and Compiegne, Nevers and 
 Avignon, through the wooded ways of Fontaine- 
 bleau, by the great rivers, the airy slopes, the 
 long white vistas of road, into the drab and burnt 
 hill country of Province. Throughout the jour- 
 ney, and so onwards into Italy, the Duke never 
 varied in any one particular his habits of home. 
 He rose at seven and breakfasted on tea and toast. 
 He worked with Charles at the papers and letters 
 which pursued him until ten. He rode till 
 twelve, sat with Georgiana till two, lunched, had 
 his nap, worked or read till it was dark, conversed 
 at large with his friends, dined at eight, expected 
 to be amused until ten and to bed on the stroke. 
 The retinue, the two coaches, the guests, the inn- 
 keepers and their hinds were all subservient to 
 this routine, which suited him and was strictly 
 maintained. 
 
 Georgiana with gentle humor did her full 
 share of its upkeep, Lady Caroline saw it all as a 
 matter of course: a healthy, fresh-colored young 
 woman with straw-colored hair and quantities of 
 it, she had all the tact with which her caste is 
 born, and that intense instinct for smoothness of 
 life which is its most distinctive quality, and ac- 
 counts for its strength and weakness at once. She 
 had left a husband and children at home and 
 spoke of them with affectionate interest frequently,
 
 344 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 but without enthusiasm. Charles Lancelot, of 
 course, ministered like a priest of the altar but 
 Gervase fumed and raged. Incredible servitude 
 of this absurd gentleman ! he would cry who by 
 a nod of the head could shake himself free of his 
 degrading habits, but, instead, settled his neck 
 deeper into the yoke, and paid through the nose 
 that it might be chained the faster to his old 
 shoulders. There were, according to him, but 
 two ways to travel : one for the family the holy 
 way; one for the pair. As for the first, the 
 pattern was to be seen in the Flight into Egypt. 
 " If you were indeed mine, my soul, and if you 
 had given me the pledge of the sacrament without 
 which no woman has her seal of election I 
 would take you into Italy, meek and riding upon an 
 ass, your child and mine upon your lap. I would 
 walk beside you, cheering the way. No road 
 would be too long, no labor too rough for 
 every step would be taken in joy, and every rock 
 removed would be a work of love. Oh, the 
 happy, long days oh, the nights of rest in your 
 holy arms ! " What would she say to this but, 
 " Ah, my dearest ! " or how reply but by nestling 
 into his arms? 
 
 The second way was that of free companions 
 companions errant, not yet approved for the high 
 estate of parentage. Here the noble walked 
 breast to breast, with no thought but in present
 
 ITALY AND THE LOVERS 345 
 
 joy, with no gear but love in the heart. These 
 were the prime essentials out of which the others 
 secondary but very real would engender 
 themselves. Song would flow unbidden from the 
 lips, zest would follow on an appointed round 
 zest for sleep after toil, zest for toil after 
 sleep, zest for the fruits of love calm, confidence 
 and peace of mind ; and from them zest for love 
 again. " Put beside these necessaries this 
 bread and this wine of life the Duke's car- 
 riage, lackeys, hamper of state, and you see to 
 what the poor man has come. And we ! ah, 
 faint-hearted ones, what are we doing with two 
 carriages, nine horses, and a horde of camp-fol- 
 lowers ? " What could she do but wonder and 
 admire? 
 
 She defended her exalted friend, speaking 
 warmly of his benevolence and greatness of soul, 
 and it is only fair to both of them to say that the 
 Duke defended himself with ability when Gervase 
 attacked him to his face, which he by no means 
 scrupled to do. An odd thing is that the pair 
 got on excellently well. They sparred, but ap- 
 preciated one another, and each found the in- 
 herent simplicity which each had a bond. The 
 Duke, of course, had his way. Not even Ger- 
 vase, born a mutineer, could dispute it. Indeed, he 
 found himself ministering like one of the house- 
 hold, and within a few days would have expected,
 
 346 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 with all the rest of them, the Heavens to rain blood 
 if the soup was not on table at eight o'clock in the 
 evening. But the young poet liked the man of 
 great affairs, talked to him freely, rated him 
 soundly, on politics, on morals, scorned his opin- 
 ions of art and letters, and took the drubbings he 
 frequently got in very good part. On one subject 
 they understood each other without a word said. 
 Gervase was an inordinate lover, no doubt, but he 
 had discernment, and was quick to realize the 
 exact state of the case between the Duke and 
 the lady of his heart. " He knows the length 
 of his tether; he gets his pleasure of her in the 
 contemplation of her. He 's a better lover than 
 I am. That, indeed, is as near perfection as a 
 lover who is not loved can go." And the Duke, 
 who watched him with his bright, hawk's eyes, 
 saw nothing to disapprove in the ardent ways of 
 this young man with his favorite. He spoke very 
 frankly of the situation to Lady Caroline Gunner. 
 " Don't you suppose that that pair is in Puy de 
 Dome with us. Not a bit of it. They are in 
 the Elysian Fields, hand in hand, with the as- 
 phodel brushing their knees." 
 
 Lady Caroline nodded. " One sees it, of 
 course; It's rather flagrant, don't you think? 
 But very innocent, I 'm sure. What does Mr. 
 Lancelot think about it? " 
 
 " He does n't think about it and I 'm not go-
 
 ITALY AND THE LOVERS 347 
 
 ing to let him begin. I like Charles : he 's use- 
 ful to me. But he 's no use in the world to her. 
 I told him once that I was in love with his wife, 
 and that there 'd be the devil in it if we could n't 
 make her happy between us. Of course, he 
 could n't deny that." 
 
 " I don't suppose he could," Lady Caroline 
 agreed; "but I don't suppose, either, that he 
 cared about it." 
 
 " You can't tell with Charles," said the Duke, 
 u he 's so damned sophisticated. He '11 never talk, 
 for fear of letting himself know what he thinks of 
 himself." There he had Charles to the life. 
 
 Lady Caroline felt it incumbent upon her to 
 protest ever so slightly. " I do think they are 
 rather flagrant, as I said before. Simplicity is all 
 very well, and I like it. But he kisses her handl 
 But they can't keep their eyes off each other ! It 's 
 very beautiful, I know but is it perfectly de- 
 cent?" 
 
 The Duke shrugged, then rubbed his chin. 
 
 " I never was a very decent man, myself," he 
 said, " but I often think that the most indecent 
 thing in the world is a pair of br , let me say, 
 shutters. And Tartufe was the worst black- 
 guard ever put on the stage. Good God, Caroline, 
 if you and I can't live in the Age of Gold, we 
 wish we could, I expect. I know that I do, at all 
 events." Eight o'clock struck; his Grace was
 
 348 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 served; his Grace went in to dinner, immaculately 
 dressed. The guests followed; but Georgiana 
 turned down the collar of Gervase's coat before 
 they entered the dining-room. He wore it so as a 
 protest, he cried out. She put her hand over his 
 mouth. 
 
 There remains to be considered Charles; 
 Charles, that son of Misfortune, Charles with his 
 assumptions, the enigma of this tale. One gets 
 him best, I think, by a roundabout way, looking 
 at him as a part of one of the pictures which 
 Georgiana shared in daily. Each picture con- 
 tained a pair of figures, with characteristic group- 
 ing for there may be seen in one or another 
 the cheerful buxomness of Lady Caroline Gunner 
 with her smoothed fair hair, her ample bosom, 
 and everlasting crochet needles. In the first pic- 
 ture, then, sits Georgiana with a book on her knee, 
 opened but not read, while the Duke, standing by 
 her, stiff as a ramrod, close-buttoned and high- 
 stocked, speaks over her head, kindly, incisive, des- 
 perately frank. In the second she reads deeply, 
 and pinches her lip; near by is Charles, also 
 sitting, not reading, not speaking, shading his 
 tired eyes with his hand. I believe that he 
 has schooled himself not to think in these rare 
 times of relaxation. So at any rate he will 
 sit for an hour or more until Georgiana sighs, 
 looks up from her book, and asks him the hour.
 
 ITALY AND THE LOVERS 349 
 
 He gets out his watch, fixes his glasses, and 
 tells her. She rises slowly, thinks she will go to 
 bed, hopes that it will be fine to-morrow, that the 
 horses will be rested. He echoes all these aspira- 
 tions with his " Yes, indeed, my love," or, " Ah, 
 to be sure that is important." She comes to 
 him, stoops, kisses his forehead, and leaves him. 
 He sits on for another spell, not moving, shading 
 his eyes from the light. 
 
 In the third picture, which the warm southern 
 night shrouds in violet, Gervase has her close in 
 his arms. Her face is as pale as her gown, her 
 eyes are as bright as the great wet stars. She is 
 tiptoe to be nearer to him, and her lips drink of 
 his. There is never a third to this picture, though 
 Gervase would care nothing if there were. 
 
 Charles, the harassed gentleman, had no sus- 
 picion of Gervase, and thought little about him. 
 He disapproved of him, root and branch, found 
 his nerves on edge very frequently, had nothing 
 to say to him, or of him, and nothing to learn. 
 He was no longer jealous of his patron and friend; 
 even he with all his morbid sensibilities could have 
 had no ground for such doubts after the conversa- 
 tion of the previous autumn. At the present mo- 
 ment his despair of himself, of his power of be- 
 ing to his wife what he had alas for him 
 assumed too readily he once had been and must
 
 350 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 always be, had settled into a deep and persistent 
 melancholy from which his routine-work only 
 could rouse him. At his desk he was the alert 
 and vigilant official he had always been; the mo- 
 ment he left it he became what you have seen 
 him in the picture. He had his small talk, his 
 elaborate locutions, his fund of anecdote to veil 
 himself withal in company. Alone with the Duke 
 he was affable, courteous and resourceful. Lady 
 Caroline liked him exceedingly and never found 
 him dull: but that was because she talked nine- 
 teen to the dozen herself. With Georgiana, and 
 with her only, he was frozen into numb silence. 
 She was a perpetual reproach to him; she wit- 
 nessed to his conscience damning evidence against 
 him. " Here," she seemed to cry out, " in my 
 heart is the man who won me; I know what he 
 was, what he told me, what I believed. And 
 there sitting glum and speechless yonder is 
 the changeling who claims me now. I cry the 
 mercy of the Court." What Court, thought he 
 in his ruth, could deny it her? He felt, poor 
 wretch, like a convict before her, and like a con- 
 vict despicable for his failure in crime, rather than 
 for his crime. Why, he had had the love of 
 this woman! She had admired him, worked for 
 him ! He had been the only man in her horizon 
 and now ! And now he could not open his 
 mouth to her. He went before her hangdog,
 
 cowed, a cur. His courage was gone. In his 
 heart he knew that he could never cope with her 
 again. The conviction which had agonized him 
 before now turned him to despondency. 
 
 But in the great affair of life the affair of 
 mating there 's no allowance made. Either you 
 can or you can't, and there 's an end. The Duke 
 was sorry for Charles and called him " poor 
 devil." He might have been sorry for himself 
 too, but was not. Gervase, on the other hand, 
 abhorred the poor man, and called him jelly-fish. 
 He roundly declared that he would infinitely 
 rather see Lancelot fiercely the lover of his wife, 
 than know her legally in the power of such a 
 lump of protoplasm as he showed himself to the 
 world. Observers and there were two at least 
 expected that the day must come which between 
 Lancelot and Poore would be a day of reckoning. 
 
 But the train of carriages and horses and bag- 
 gage wagons straggled across France, carrying 
 with it well concealed from the natives its private 
 concerns, presenting only the bold English front, 
 with its royal disregard of money and calm ac- 
 ceptance of the best that money can do, which 
 in any other nation than ours would seem to in- 
 dicate madness. They observed Monseigneur 
 riding his roan beside the great berline in which 
 sat the ladies of his family, the one so large and
 
 352 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 placid who smiled and bowed to right and left as 
 her needles flew, the other slim, elegant and pale, 
 whose eagerness was concealed, whose beauty was 
 of so rare and fragile a type. They saw Charles 
 riding beside his chief and supposed him for what 
 he was; but what did they make of Gervase, that 
 wild, broad-shouldered young giant of the flushed 
 face and tumble of pale hair forever flying over 
 his eyes, forever tossed back? Those who saw 
 him with the frail lady had no difficulty at all, 
 but to them among whom he strode, flaming- 
 eyed, muttering to himself, to whose children he 
 stooped to lift them to his shoulder, to whose dogs 
 he was friendly in a foreign tongue, he was an 
 unrelated apparition. A tutor? A musician? 
 Perchance a poet? Did Monseigneur then 
 nourish a poet? To hymn the deeds of Mon- 
 seigneur? To amuse the idle hours of his ladies? 
 Ah, gaf the English might do stranger things than 
 that. 
 
 Sometimes he persuaded Georgiana to walk 
 with him: he would very seldom sit in the car- 
 riage, for Lady Caroline bored him to outrage. 
 The, poor lady's optimism seemed to him the most 
 arrogant thing he had ever dreamed of. He 
 called it her ointment, and declared that she 
 rolled in it every morning before breakfast. But 
 Georgiana lived before the day of Oread-ladies 
 and soon tired, though she felt that she could
 
 ITALY AND THE LOVERS 353 
 
 fly if he would but hold her hand. He took her 
 on a wild adventure in Province, lost the way, 
 and had her out amongst rocks and box bushes 
 till far into the night. It was luckily warm and 
 still, and she thought it the most glorious experi- 
 ence she had ever had. But the Duke was very 
 cross and Charles out scouring the countryside until 
 near midnight. Lady Caroline said that it was 
 the first time she had ever seen Mr. Poore at a 
 loss for words; but it is to be remembered that 
 she had not heard him with Georgiana. 
 
 They reached Italy in mid-April, traveled by 
 the famous sea-road, and were in Florence by 
 May. Here the Duke had hired a Medici villa 
 and kept great state. The poet was kept from 
 his beloved and grew restive. Whereupon 
 Georgiana lost flesh and showed her collar-bones.
 
 Ill 
 
 GENIUS LOCI 
 
 GERVASE declared that he felt the entry into 
 Italy by some subtle stirring of the blood, 
 which changed his human vesture and reduced 
 him from the state of civilized, black-coated man 
 to that infinitely finer thing, the unsophisticated 
 child of Nature. Whether that were so or not 
 and Georgiana believed it to be true whether 
 he could ever have been considered civilized in 
 our ordinary understanding of civic being, cer- 
 tain it is that from Genoa onwards he ceased to 
 accept the Duke's hospitality. When the party 
 was settled at the Villa Medicea on the bosky 
 slopes of Fiesole, he was understood to be occupy- 
 ing a cave in the woods which hide the Mensola 
 from vulgar eyes. He never appeared in com- 
 pany at the Villa; he was seldom seen by any of 
 the inhabitants of it; his rare visits to them were 
 of the nature of monitions of storm. He stalked 
 about the shrubberies, scowling, with folded arms; 
 he lectured Lady Caroline upon the frivolity of 
 her pursuits, not as loving whom he chastened by 
 
 354
 
 GENIUS LOCI 355 
 
 any means, but using the language of lofty in- 
 dignation, becoming, no doubt, to a god, but un- 
 acceptable by the daughter of a marquis and wife 
 of a baron from the son of a half-pay officer. The 
 Duke was very much amused, and sought still 
 more diversion in drawing the young man out; but 
 Gervase would have none of his dry comments. 
 Gervase regarded him just now as the jailer of 
 Georgiana, and had him in horror. He told his 
 perplexed mistress that her name should be more 
 properly Susanna. u I shudder," he said, " I 
 burn for your shame, that you should be here 
 maintained here to feed the eyes of these hor- 
 rible persons. And beyond your prison walls, 
 outside this madhouse of a villa, is Italy, baring 
 her warm breasts, holding open her generous arms 
 to shelter you and me." What could she do but 
 stare pitifully with her great eyes at the gilded 
 gateways of the Medicea, and long for the milk 
 of the breasts of Italy? 
 
 He was there morning and evening in the 
 cypress alleys of the garden, or among the smoky 
 olives of the podere where the tulips and purple 
 anemones washed her feet as she walked girdled 
 with his arm. For she came out to him soon after 
 dawn and stayed with him until the sun was high, 
 and there were few of the close star-strewn nights 
 when she had to content herself with long looks 
 and whispered words from the balcony of her
 
 356 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 chamber. Gervase, who had taken only too kindly 
 to Italy, was all for a ladder of rope; but the 
 thought revolted her, and she forbade it. " Not 
 here, my dearest, not here ! I dare not I feel 
 that it would be horrible. It would be treach- 
 ery." He groaned and protested that it was 
 plain duty, on the contrary. Treachery! He 
 blazed out at the word. " Ah, but you seek to 
 make me a traitor to God." 
 
 "To God, dear heart!" she faltered; and he 
 held to it. 
 
 " To no less a one. Love is the highest pas- 
 sion we have, and the noblest. It is our in- 
 heritance from on high, and leads us directly back 
 to the heights. Many are called, few chosen. 
 But you and I, my soul, you and I have felt the 
 call. How dare we deny our vocation? What 
 earthly convention, what miserable badge of our 
 degradation can be suffered to hold us back? 
 You talk of treachery and I say, God keep us 
 from treachery ! " 
 
 " The man has marked you," he said again 
 referring, if you please, to Charles. " The man 
 has marked you for his as drovers brand their 
 cattle, or punch the ears of their ponies. To my 
 mind that is so horrible a fact that fire from 
 Heaven can scarcely burn it out. What vainer 
 thing could the people imagine than that man 
 should have property in woman, in that vase of
 
 GENIUS LOCI 357 
 
 election towards which all holiness in man must 
 tend if it would live? It is as if you were to 
 plunge a flower in sugar and expect it to be filmy 
 and graciously open-hearted, fragrant and fresh 
 as once it was, before the devastating hand was 
 laid upon it. Will men never understand that 
 their kingdom is not of this world, nor women 
 either?" He covered his eyes. "I worship in 
 you the dear spirit of God. I would not dare to 
 touch you if I did not believe that I, and I alone, 
 had been chosen from the beginning for your 
 mate." And then he took her. " Mated we are, 
 my heart, in a nobler world than this, a world 
 where dukes are not, nor Treasury officials, but 
 free spirits roaming at large upon their everlasting 
 commerce of contemplation, ecstasy, noble rage: 
 divine business where passion is seen for what it 
 really is, the Godlike energy driving us forth to 
 our work of creation. For we too, my soul, are 
 gods, and it is ours to seek beauty and to make 
 it. Nothing should hinder us from that it is 
 our only justification for being here at all. We 
 wrong God, stultify Him, make Him a fool, if 
 we falter and draw back." And then his hot 
 whispering smote at her ears " Ah, my love, 
 come come soon, deny me not 1 " And what 
 could she do but shiver when, having torn herself 
 from him, she returned into the great splendid 
 house and found Charles at one end of the room,
 
 358 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 shading his eyes with his hand, while he perused 
 state papers or some foolish sheet of news of 
 things already done? Or what was she to think 
 of the Duke impatient for his bed, yawning 
 through a game of piquet with Lady Caroline? 
 Gervase had driven home his doctrine: these 
 things were less than nothing, vainer than the bub- 
 bles of scum which froth upon a pond. 
 
 She lived, poor lady, a double life in these 
 days. Every morning after her secret communi- 
 cation with her lover, she received a letter in 
 which the words seemed to scald her heart as she 
 read them. Every day she had a sonnet; every 
 night she saw, if she could not speak with, him. 
 Unmarked by herself her aspect towards the 
 common life of every-day Inanity changed. She 
 dwelt apart, if not like the star he proclaimed her, 
 then like an alien from the common lot. But as 
 her self-command was infinitely above that of 
 Gervase, as that of any woman is above that of 
 any man, she went through the duties of her place 
 with a quiet courage which should have made her 
 lover love her more but, instead, shocked him 
 into 4 silence. It often happened that what she 
 had driven herself to do in public with all her 
 nerve, she had to undo for his peace of mind 
 with a reinforcement (brought up somehow) of 
 nerve. So she was forever dressing up her soul 
 for the vulgar and stripping it again to show her
 
 GENIUS LOCI 359 
 
 secret spouse that all was well with her beauty, and 
 that the flame upon the altar of her heart burned 
 clear behind the trappings and weeds. And then 
 
 to the masquerade anew 1 Her endurance was 
 wonderful, but the breaking-point could not be far. 
 The spell of Italy, the soft invitation to surrender 
 with which its mild blue skies, its radiance, its 
 fecund heat wooed her every sense ; and its tribute 
 to beauty at every street corner, in every cloister, 
 over every shrine; its sanction to passion, its idol- 
 atry of love (as indeed what Gervase preached it) 
 
 against all this, and with her heart alight, with 
 her body quivering for caresses, her lips athirst, 
 her eyes never yet filled against all this, what 
 could she do? Now she dallied with the thought. 
 It was possible, yes, it was possible that the perfect 
 life could be lived here and soon. Not now 
 oh, not now but soon ! 
 
 Gervase, for his part, saw nothing for it but to 
 take her away, and the sooner the better. His 
 case was this that here was a young and beauti- 
 ful creature being starved to death of the proper 
 food of all of us. Now starvation may be acqui- 
 esced in where there is necessity, as there is when 
 no food can be had. You do not then call Nature 
 murderess, but you say the gods so decree. But 
 if the food is there, are you a robber if you take 
 the famished to where it is? The idea is absurd. 
 In this case Georgiana was starving and Gervase 
 23
 
 360 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 could feed her, he and no other. It seemed to him 
 his plain duty. To accomplish it, therefore, to 
 save her soul alive, he had to do violence to his re- 
 spect for her gentleness; he had to insist, to harp, 
 to overbear. Also he must keep his eyes open for 
 opportunity and he did. 
 
 The Duke's party was to leave Florence in the 
 middle of May and betake itself to a castle in the 
 Apennines where the summer heats would be tem- 
 pered by breezes. From thence he thought the 
 deed might be done. Complete visionary as he 
 was, he had no definite idea in his head. He sup- 
 posed that they would go by night, and would go 
 north. Lake Garda struck him by its name, and 
 its association with Catullus. He would read the 
 poet to her there. He had no expectation of be- 
 ing followed, but in any case would not dream of 
 concealing their whereabouts. If the Duke came 
 after them he should have to use reason and fore- 
 saw himself successful ; if Lancelot, he should know 
 how to deal. Indignation would help him there; 
 for of the two men, if the Duke made him fume, 
 Lancelot outraged his moral sense as a blasphemer 
 of the holiest. Lancelot represented the abom- 
 inable law by which a girl, having been cajoled into 
 a union with a man, hateful in its very essence, 
 could be compelled by the prestige of custom to 
 yield to him when her experience and growing 
 sense told her heart that it was horrible. The
 
 GENIUS LOCI 361 
 
 Duke at least had won her mature regard but 
 as he had and could have nothing else, one could 
 treat him more gently. There was no reason why 
 the Duke should not continue in her friendship or 
 supply any need to her which she lacked should 
 there be any. But he smiled as he thought of that, 
 and judged that there would be none. He was a 
 confident young man in most things, but in nothing 
 more absolutely confident than in his possession 
 of Georgiana's heart and mind. 
 
 For the future he took no thought at all. 
 Whether Georgiana had money of her own or not, 
 whether, if she had any, it was in her own dis- 
 posal; how far his own resources could be 
 stretched; by what means one was to live without 
 an income of these things not a shadow of con- 
 cern. Literally he confined his preparations to 
 supplying the material of the only pictures which 
 he saw in front of him. He saw a tall machic- 
 olated wall, trees on one side of it, a long white 
 road on the other, fading into a far distance of 
 clouds and mountain peaks. At a point of place 
 stood a carriage, at a point of time Georgiana 
 came tiptoe through the gate, and fell with sighs 
 into his arms. He cheered her with kisses her 
 lips were cold and high words which brought 
 the love into her eyes; he helped her in, sat beside 
 her; she clung to him, hid her face. The whip 
 cracked, the horses flew; together they looked for-
 
 362 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 ward, and presently saw the dawn steal up over 
 the edge of the world. The sun shone upon his 
 beloved, appeased, asleep in his arms. And their 
 life together, as he foresaw it, was to be one long 
 vigil, and one great fruition, a miracle of grace 
 perpetually awaited and infallibly vouchsafed. 
 He saw nothing else; and if obstacles had been 
 pointed out to him would have laughed them to 
 scorn. This is not very curious, perhaps; but 
 what is curious is that if he could have kept 
 himself, or been kept by his genius, at this high 
 pitch all or any obstacles would have been scorn- 
 worthy. 
 
 To him, with his fiery intellect and ungoverned 
 emotions, love was a furious possession. He 
 himself became a chariot in the holding of a god. 
 He shook under his driver as a man in a fever; 
 he drove now this way, now that, now high, now 
 low but always straight to the mark. He was 
 capable of the wildest flights, of the most incon- 
 gruous labors. There was no summit of human 
 activity to which he could not have attained. He 
 could have been prime minister with ease, have 
 led armies across Europe, have managed the Bank 
 of England. These were his times of exaltation, 
 when he was irresistible. But there were others, 
 when he was momentarily emptied of his tenant, 
 and could do nothing could neither write, nor 
 speak, nor make love. A lethargy lay upon him ;
 
 The sun to him was dark, and silent was the moon.
 
 GENIUS LOCI 365 
 
 his eye lacked luster, his hue was leaden, his blood 
 seemed mud. The sun to him was dark, and 
 silent was the moon; vast and unheaving, barely 
 quivering he lay, until his demon returned from 
 coursing abroad. 
 
 Such violent alternations made Georgiana no 
 fatter. Poor soul, she must agonize in either case. 
 With all the mind, she had not the vitality to cope 
 with him. Half-heartedly she panted after him 
 when he led her sweeping through the sky; she 
 exhausted herself in efforts to put spirit into him 
 when he lay, an inert mass, by her knees. She 
 herself, seated by her nature gently in the mean, 
 could neither realize his elation nor fall into his 
 despair. She could have smiled to herself when 
 he addressed her as a supernatural being, if she 
 had not been too much frightened. Alas, she 
 suspected that she was loved by yet another phan- 
 tom, the victim of new and huge assumptions. 
 He was of the fairy kind, this new spirit, incalcu- 
 lable, wayward, and possibly as ruthless as any of 
 his race. Her charity was abounding; her love 
 and consideration for him inexhaustible; but it is 
 the fact that although he could be more tender 
 than any woman, he could also be merciless upon 
 occasion, condemning with one tremendous sweep 
 of the hand her life, her conscience, her convincing 
 duties. It meant everything in the world to her, 
 this love of his ; but deep in her heart she had the
 
 3 66 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 conviction that it could not last. Such wild com- 
 merce was not for her. 
 
 And yet the assumption was made, and she was 
 to suffer it to take its course, and gather her up 
 in the whirlwind to be made by its beating wings. 
 In moments of perplexity she looked wistfully to 
 the Duke. Would he give her counsel? Dare 
 she ask it of him ? But she always shook her head. 
 It would be disloyal to Gervase, as implying dis- 
 trust. She must tread her way alone. 
 
 Of Charles she thought scarcely at all. There 
 was no room in her heart for more than one at a 
 time, and that poor gentleman had never made 
 himself at home there. 
 
 So the time drew near when the great Assump- 
 tion was to be made.
 
 IV 
 
 FONTEMAGRA 
 
 THE Castle of Fontemagra, with the chest- 
 nut woods and the cascade of the Magra 
 for which it is famous, is in the Lunigiana and 
 commands a magnificent western prospect. The 
 bay of Spezzia lies below it; but so deeply below 
 that you would suppose a stone's throw would 
 give you a splash of white in the blue for your 
 pains. The domains cover two hills the Magra 
 upon its short course runs between. The roads 
 fork from a crucifix about a mile below the Castle: 
 one goes to Chiavari and so to France; the other 
 into Lombardy. The house itself is very fine 
 a medieval fortress, which Delia Spina defended 
 against Castruccio, and where a later and more 
 fortunate Castruccio, the Corsican, Bonaparte (as 
 the Duke always called him, to Gervase Poore's 
 dismay and disgust) , stayed more than once during 
 the Italian campaign; a medieval fortress with 
 later additions, Renaissance, post-Renaissance, and 
 frank eighteenth-century imitation pasteboard. 
 The reception rooms should be measured by the 
 acre; the bedrooms would each contain a family. 
 
 367
 
 368 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 For those who like the Italian style of garden, an 
 art for the stonemason rather than the gardener, I 
 don't know that Fontemagra could be beaten. 
 The way down from the great terrace to the fork 
 in the road, for example (not the carriageway, 
 which goes in enormous spirals of half a mile each, 
 but the footway), is constructed in a series of 
 broad flights of steps relieved by vast amphithea- 
 ters of marble balustrades and statues, backed by 
 cut ilex hedges twenty feet high. There are per- 
 haps eight or a dozen of these grandiose resting- 
 places; to them alternately the steps converge, 
 from them alternately dilate. More magnificent 
 approach to a stately building can hardly be im- 
 agined. From the midmost of them a broad walk 
 leads you to the Cascade of the Magra, whose roar 
 in times of flood can be heard from every room in 
 the castle a thousand feet above it. 
 
 The Devizes party installed itself in this 
 princely habitation in May, intending to ^pend 
 the summer, and brave out the summer heats. It 
 was understood that the Duke intended to devote 
 his leisure to the preparation of his memoirs, and 
 that Charles Lancelot was to give his mind to 
 them. The honest man took the understanding 
 with that seriousness which was his whole justifica- 
 tion. Georgiana would have been much inter- 
 ested, but for the urgency of her own affairs.
 
 FONTEMAGRA 369 
 
 Lady Caroline had just gone home to her family, 
 and Gervase stalked the woods, coming and going 
 fitfully. At the end of May he disappeared 
 altogether. Georgiana, it was supposed, knew 
 where he was. As a fact, she heard from him daily. 
 During the first week in June, by which time the 
 military routine which was essential to the Duke's 
 well-being had been completely established, she 
 hardly left him for an hour in the day. She said 
 very little to him nothing indeed of her affairs; 
 but seemed ill at ease if she was away from him, 
 and to like when they were together to take his 
 arm, or give him her hand to hold. He noticed it, 
 of course; he watched her closely, even expected 
 momently that she would confide in him; but she 
 never did that. It was on the tip of his tongue 
 to provoke her to break her silence he judged 
 it would be easy; but two considerations, one sen- 
 timental and one sensual, checked him. It seemed 
 to him a brutality to explore her heart; and this 
 clinging affection gave him extreme pleasure. Its 
 very dumbness excited him; its flattery appealed to 
 his imagination, just as the touch of her stirred his 
 sense. It was like the unexpected attentions of a 
 child given to one who is childless and too much 
 aware of it. The days went slowly, the woods in- 
 vited her, Gervase, he knew, could not be far off ; 
 but yet she would not leave him. She brought 
 him his morning tea and toast with her own hands,
 
 370 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 sat with him while he took it; was ready for him 
 when he took his walk up and down the terrace, 
 in the still hours, misty with promise, before the 
 sun came streaming over the mountain tops and 
 bade the world be still, left him then only for 
 Charles and the memoirs; rode with him in the 
 woods at noon; read him into the siesta mood after 
 luncheon, and even sat with him while he slept. 
 In the afternoon she prepared his notes for the 
 evening's work with Charles; dressed herself next 
 as he would have her for dinner; played piquet 
 with him after that, and then read to him until 
 it was time for bed. Dull days, and he knew that 
 for her they must be dull, with her heart elsewhere, 
 and her senses young and tingling. Under her 
 gentle ministry of two years, he was relaxing 
 quietly into old age and felt it ; but he could not 
 deny himself this use of her; and afterwards he 
 had to live upon the memory of it. She allowed 
 him, indeed, as much as he now wished to have ; she 
 had schooled him well. He fondled her, and she 
 seemed to wish it; he kissed her cheek night 
 and morning, and at other times she invited 
 his kisses. She gave no signs of being bored; he 
 fancied that she might have been so if she had 
 not been with him. She seemed not to miss the 
 fiery talk, the daring imagery, the hardy probing 
 of mysteries earthly and heavenly with which Ger- 
 vase Poore made her hours fly. In short, during
 
 FONTEMAGRA 371 
 
 this one week all her womanly defenses were laid 
 aside : she stood to him almost exactly as the young 
 wife of an old man might be well content to stand 
 privy to him, at his full discretion; and as such 
 he took her, and was able to justify her confidence. 
 With Charles, her husband under the law, she 
 was precisely the opposite of all this. She kept 
 away from him as much as she could. This, too, 
 the Duke observed. She almost shunned him. 
 He wondered whether this had a physical or 
 a moral cause. Physical, he thought, when he 
 noticed that she had ceased to give him her 
 cheek; moral, he thought, when he once caught 
 the direction of her eyes, fixed upon the unfortu- 
 nate man with a kind of penetrating pity, which 
 forgave him and justified her to herself in one and 
 the same keen shaft. During this week the Duke 
 supposed (when he reviewed it afterwards) that 
 she and Charles had hardly exchanged three sen- 
 tences. Good God ! he cried to himself, what she 
 must have suffered and what he ! It was this 
 thought above all others which made him take the 
 line that he did in what was to follow. 
 
 She was very far from finding the days dull, 
 passed as they seemed to be in the routine of 
 trivial detail. Probably she had never lived so 
 fast or traveled so far in the whole course of her 
 life. .Wings had grown upon her unawares; they
 
 372 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 lifted her spirit to soar. She could contemplate 
 her own body far below her performing its little 
 functions. Compassion and not compunction sent 
 that to the Duke's, and bid it cherish him while it 
 was possible; the pity of a creature freed for fel- 
 low-prisoners left behind. She saw nothing of 
 her lover and strong deliverer; did not, presently, 
 hear from him. Everything had been arranged; 
 her hour was fixed. What need of written words, 
 of assurances of the eye, of the arms, of touching 
 lips, when their spirits could meet in the blue 
 when all night long, while their limbs lay supine, 
 side by side they could stream through the upper 
 air, and thread their swift way in and out of the 
 star-scattered fields of space? Dimly and halt- 
 ingly as she figured these truths, she lived them 
 intensely; and as her hour drew near her spirits 
 rose, and it seemed to her that she was become so 
 light that her feet would scarcely keep on the 
 ground, and sometimes, coming downstairs, she 
 grew frightened and gripped at the banisters for a 
 hold on herself. 
 
 All her pity, all her care, was for the Duke. It 
 was not that she abhorred Charles, but that now 
 he shocked her. He stood for everything that 
 was squalid in life as she now saw it. There was 
 a greatness and a potential freedom about the 
 Duke; but Charles was not only a galley-slave, 
 chained to a bench and an oar but preferred it
 
 FONTEMAGRA 373 
 
 so. He had assumed intolerably, and now that 
 she was making a greater Assumption than he 
 could dream of she saw his for what they were 
 worth. Not only she had no pity for Charles, 
 but she had a sort of disapproval of him. She 
 kept aloof from him lest some of his tarnish 
 some breath should light upon her shining new 
 wings. In all this she was outrageously unfair, 
 to him and to herself; but women of imagination, 
 in love for the first time in their lives, are not hu- 
 man beings, but winged spirits. They are of the 
 company of the nymphs and fairies beautiful, 
 swift to seek, single-minded, ruthless in purpose, 
 happy only in activity; they belong to the rest of 
 nature, are non-moral and divine. They, with the 
 rest of nature, are of the infinite, because they are 
 non-social, and have no need to make rules for 
 their protection. They need no protection; nor 
 do any of us, until we lose our wings. Then, run- 
 ning to our pathetic fallacy, we cry upon the cru- 
 elty of fate. In this we are, of course, absurd; for 
 you cannot at the same time admire the splendor 
 of the storm and hide yourself from it with an 
 umbrella. 
 
 The morning of the 7th of June opened with 
 mist, and unfolded by mid-day to all the fer- 
 vor of the sun. The leaves winked in the heat, 
 the air seemed liquid and alive; there was
 
 374 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 no sound but the shrilling of the cicala, or of the 
 lizard rustling dry on the wall. It was too hot to 
 ride. About the darkened house, nevertheless, 
 Georgiana flitted in white like a slim moth. She 
 was pale, large-eyed, and very restless. She 
 hovered about her friend, watching him with in- 
 tensely deep-seeing eyes, with lips upon which a 
 smile, vague and uninformed, flickered and played 
 and flashed like summer lightning. He was very 
 much aware of it. Once he caught her, looked at 
 her in a way which seemed to challenge her secret. 
 She allowed it, flushed and glowed. He saw, or 
 thought he saw, her eyes grow hot. ' You witch," 
 he said, " you fairy Mab, where are your wits 
 hatching mischief? " 
 
 She narrowed her eyes to gleams of dark blue. 
 " Far from here far away," she said, rather 
 breathlessly. He felt her heart beat as he held 
 her. u By the Lord," he said, " I believe you are 
 going to play me a trick." She looked away over 
 the dark length of the room, considering. " Who 
 knows?" she said. And then she turned herself 
 in his arm and looked, not up at him, but at the 
 pin in his cravat. She lifted her hand to it, and 
 turned it as she spoke. " Whatever I do, what- 
 ever I am, or become, don't forget that I have 
 loved you as much as I could, and have been proud 
 to be loved by you." He held her closely. " No, 
 no, my child, I shan't forget. We Ve been great
 
 FONTEMAGRA 375 
 
 friends. I never had a greater. You 've been 
 more to me than wife and child." Then he kissed 
 her forehead. 
 
 She was still thoughtful, and stirred in his arms, 
 her hand and her eyes still busy with the cameo 
 pin. " I like to hear you say that you won't for- 
 get. And in your case I believe it. That is much 
 more than merely being flattered, you know. I 
 wish to believe it and I do." He looked at her 
 and (hought her still a child. She was a mere 
 slip of a thing, like a wand of some willowy tree, 
 which his arm might hold. He knew her not for 
 him, knew that she never had been ; but he felt him- 
 self growing to dote by reason of the spell of her 
 body's beauty and young strength; and he let her 
 go. "You fairy," he said, "you fairy-wife. 
 When I am under your spell you can do as you 
 please with me." 
 
 He saw the gleam of laughing mischief in her 
 eyes. " Don't tempt me," she said, " to prove my 
 power." He pinched her chin. 
 
 " On the contrary, my dear, I '11 have a shot at 
 proving mine. You shall put on your best gown 
 to-night. I want to see you while the fit is on 
 you to look well. You shift and veer like a 
 weathercock. But the wind is fair from the west 
 to-day. Who knows? To-morrow you may be 
 playing the nun, or droop like a molting hen- 
 pheasant 1 "
 
 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 She blushed hotly, looked down, and smiled, 
 then shook her head. " Not to-morrow certainly. 
 I believe, never again." 
 
 He gave her a sharp scrutiny. " You feel so 
 sure?" She returned it 
 
 " I feel perfectly sure." 
 
 " I wish that I did, Georgie," he said dryly. 
 " Remember, I 'm your backer through everything 
 but sometimes I have qualms." 
 
 She gave him her hand then, and while he held 
 it said earnestly, " Have none. And don't forget 
 that nothing will ever make any difference between 
 us. Nothing in the world." 
 
 He kissed the little thin hand. " I am sure of 
 it. But I 'm not the only one, you know." He 
 jerked his head towards the library. He saw her 
 frown. For a perceptible pause of time she had 
 no answer. Then she said, " I can't live like this. 
 There 's a point beyond which I can't go. It 's 
 too much. It 's not fair it 's not reasonable. 
 I Ve tried everything." She shook her head 
 fiercely as if to get a thought out of it. " Don't 
 let us talk talking is so vain." 
 
 She closed her eyes, and when she opened them 
 showed him a new clear light as of a spring morn- 
 ing before the sun. " You want me to look pretty 
 to-night? Well, I will. What shall I wear? 
 You shall dress me."
 
 FONTEMAGRA 377 
 
 " By George, I wish you meant that! " he said. 
 She laughed. 
 
 " I mean, of course, by order. Martha will be 
 aide-de-camp." 
 
 He named the gown, he named the head-dress, 
 the very jewels she was to wear. They had been 
 his gift. She promised, and was about to go, but 
 suddenly experienced a great access of tenderness, 
 and leaned towards him. " Dear, kind, trusty 
 friend ! " she said, and put her hands on his 
 shoulders. He took her in his arms and held her 
 there. Her tears were not far off, but she held 
 them back. They kissed; she released herself 
 and went to her room. 
 
 At dinner her high spirits were maintained. 
 She was pledged by him, and pledged him again; 
 she talked to Charles, laughed at him in a friendly, 
 easy way, and had more to say for herself at that 
 one meal than she had had for a week before. 
 There was about her all the adorable child she had 
 the power of being at will a playful tenderness, 
 a wooing charm, an innocent malice which had no 
 sting. After dinner she was much quieter, but 
 never depressed or silent. She played out the 
 Duke's piquet, and afterwards read to him and 
 Charles, while he nodded and pretended that he 
 did not, and the other sat glooming over his 
 
 thoughts. 
 
 24
 
 378 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 At ten o'clock she rose and put her book away. 
 " I have read enough. Now I am going. Good- 
 night." They both stood up, and there followed 
 that which they afterwards found memorable. 
 She went to Charles, put a hand lightly on his 
 shoulder, and leaned her cheek to him. " Good- 
 night, Charles," she said. Then to the Duke she 
 gave her hand, which he held. 
 
 " Good-night, Duke." Her manner was cool, 
 entirely different from that of a few hours before. 
 
 He took her as she chose. " Good-night, my 
 lady. Sleep well." 
 
 She raised her brows; her eyes looked scared, 
 but there was a play in them too. " Ah ! Who 
 knows? Perhaps I shan't sleep a wink." And 
 then, as he looked at her, she suddenly put up her 
 face to him, and he kissed her fairly. 
 
 Upon that she tripped away, but standing at 
 the door, looked back, smiled, and kissed her 
 hand. Within an hour she had left the house 
 nothing with her and was with her lover. 
 Even as the two men sat in the library she must 
 have flitted by them along the terrace, and had 
 one been out and about, in that luminous Italian 
 night, never quite dark, one could have seen her 
 white descent down the ghostly broad steps, from 
 terrace to terrace until she was engulfed in the 
 blue depths of the woods. 
 
 At the small gate into the road was Gervase
 
 FONTEMAGRA 379 
 
 cloaked, and carrying a cloak. The moment she 
 appeared he strode forward, and threw this over 
 her. " My Saint come to me from Heaven! " 
 he said; and, "Quick, love, I am burning."
 
 V 
 
 GERVASE'S TEETH 
 
 HE took her to a village called Ronciglione, 
 above Rapallo, on a slope of the vine- 
 bright hills which overhang the sea; and there 
 he set up for her a school of love, and taught 
 her the mysteries of it. He encompassed her with 
 all the wild observance which youth and genius 
 ever pay to beauty and gentleness. She was both 
 pliant and enthusiastic. They lived out a dream 
 of the Golden Age; whether it was to last, 
 whether it could last they knew not, neither 
 stayed to inquire. They were nymph and faun, 
 the everlasting shepherd and shepherdess, Daph- 
 nis and Chloe of old. Bread and milk, cherries 
 and kisses were their food; fern-fronds made their 
 bed; wood-doves called them betimes in the morn- 
 ing; poetry was their talk. All her former life 
 floated off like the mists of night before such a 
 dawn as this. It was gone like a feverish dream. 
 She grew rosy, her eyes were like stars. She 
 sighed sometimes and clung to him in a moment's 
 anguish that she had no words wherewith to ex- 
 press her joy. 
 
 380
 
 GERVASE'S TEETH 381 
 
 He had had a moment of worldly wisdom in 
 which he wrote a letter to Lancelot. He wrote 
 very shortly, from Rapallo. " I have her safely 
 here, where she may have for the first time rea- 
 sonable life, health, and a knowledge of essential 
 truth. I am to be heard of from the parish priest 
 of this place. If you come you shall see me, hear 
 me and be heard. Her you shall never see again, 
 God helping." 
 
 That punctilio observed, he dismissed Charles 
 and the rest of the world from his mind, and 
 betook himself and his beloved to the heights, 
 there to the study and practice of poetry as it 
 might be lived. He had not mentioned to her 
 the fact of his writing, and was satisfied that she 
 had no desire to communicate with the Duke. He 
 waited serenely for the appearance of Charles, 
 of which, sooner or later, he had no doubt. 
 
 A week or ten days passed, and then he knew 
 that the hour was come. He was with his mis- 
 tress under the olive trees upon the headland, 
 in the afternoon. She lay asleep in his arms, 
 her cheek against his breast. He saw afar two 
 horsemen riding the sea-road into Rapallo, with 
 a third behind them ; he saw them without heart- 
 beats, with a slight quickening only of the pulse. 
 He looked down at his blessed burden. She slept 
 deeply, her lashes brushing the round of her cheek. 
 Her beautiful lips were apart, the sleek, adorable
 
 382 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 curve of the upper showed a faint smile. " She 
 shall have her sleep out, God bless her. I can 
 give her an hour." 
 
 She. took less than that, stirred in his arms, and 
 showed to his scrutiny one bright eye, and the 
 smile of one rested and wholly at peace. 
 
 "You have dreamed, my soul?" 
 
 " Yes, of you." 
 
 " I have been watching you. I saw a smile 
 creep over you, like sun over the hills." 
 
 " That was because you looked at me." 
 
 " Please God you shall always smile when I 
 look at you." 
 
 " How can I help it? Your looks tell me that 
 you still love me." 
 
 " I shall love you forever." 
 
 She sighed. " Oh, I pray for that! I hardly 
 dare believe it." 
 
 " Take it for granted, sweetheart." 
 
 " No, no, no. I will never take anything of 
 yours for granted. I shall be grateful for every- 
 thing you do for me, great or small." 
 
 He drew her upwards till she was within range 
 of his lips, and began to kiss her. Very soon he 
 drew her kisses again, and they knew the heights 
 and depths of their passion. 
 
 Then, holding her close, he said, " My life, 
 you shall leave me now. I have a little work to
 
 GERVASE'S TEETH 383 
 
 do alone. Will you go into the house and wait 
 till I come?" 
 
 She wondered. " Of course I will, dearest, if 
 you wish it. I may n't stay with you? " 
 
 " I had rather you did n't. I shall be the 
 quicker done if I am alone. I shall come to you 
 in a few minutes with all done. Then you shall 
 kiss me and say that I have done well." 
 
 She saw that he was serious; perhaps even she 
 guessed his meaning. She allowed herself a mo- 
 ment's play. " Perhaps you will have done ill, 
 though. What then?" 
 
 " You will kiss me all the same. But however 
 it goes I shall report you everything." 
 
 " Can I stay here? Or walk about? Must I 
 shut myself in? " 
 
 " No, of course not. I would ask you to stop 
 with me, but that I can do what I want to more 
 freely alone. And I want to know where you are 
 in case I should have to find you at a moment's 
 
 notice." 
 
 She puzzled. " You are mysterious, my poet. 
 But I am sure you are not upon poetry just now. 
 And I am not to be told? " 
 
 Then he caught her to his heart. "Yes, yes, 
 my love, you shall be told. I thought that I 
 could keep it from you. I thought that you 
 might keep your dreams. No, I '11 tell you.
 
 384 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 Lancelot and the Duke are in Rapallo. They 
 are coming to see me. Do you wish to be with 
 me?" 
 
 She looked very serious, and thought. She 
 shivered a little and sat plucking at the grass. 
 " No," she said presently, " I don't want to see 
 them. Go to them, dearest. I '11 wait for you 
 in the house." She got up and left him, without 
 a kiss. He watched her go, then went down to- 
 wards the sea. 
 
 At the bend of the rough road he saw them com- 
 ing. There was a parapet there which held it 
 up over the abyss. Below that a slim thread of 
 water poured, amid a riot of leaf and fern. Upon 
 it in the shade the Duke sat to rest, while Lance- 
 lot, tall and severely elegant, stood looking up- 
 wards. Gervase came swinging down the road, 
 buttoning his coat across his chest. He was bare- 
 headed, his hair flashed golden in the sun. He 
 had the flushed face and hot blue eyes of the Sun- 
 God. Charles saw him, and said to the Duke, 
 " Here 's our man." The Duke stood up. 
 " That's the fellow." 
 
 Gervase stopped at a ten-foot distance and 
 bowed. " Gentlemen, I have come to meet you," 
 he said, and waited. 
 
 Charles was pale, and his dark eyes burned in 
 his head. 
 
 u I have come, sir, for my unhappy, my mis-
 
 GERVASE'S TEETH 385 
 
 guided wife. When she is restored to me you 
 and I must have our reckoning." 
 
 ' We shall reckon now and at once," said Ger- 
 vase. " I tell you fairly I have told you al- 
 ready you will never get her while I am left 
 alive. Misguided you may call her, but unhappy, 
 no. She is happy now, for the first time in her 
 life." 
 
 " It is at the cost of her honor and mine if she 
 imagines herself so. It is at the cost of every 
 tie " Charles began. Gervase sprang into the 
 breach in his ranks. 
 
 " It is at the cost of every fetter you have 
 fastened upon her. She is a free woman, her soul 
 is her own. She is no slave now. Your traffic 
 is over. How dare you talk doubtfully of her 
 honor, knowing so little of it, having none of your 
 own?" 
 
 " Softly, young man," said the Duke here, but 
 Gervase faced him in turn. 
 
 " My lord," he said, " this is no business of 
 yours. You are here, I conceive, as the witness of 
 your friend in what he presently proposes. You 
 shall have your work to do when we come to that. 
 But I am going to give this gentleman something 
 to fight about." 
 
 " You are quite right," said the Duke, " and I 
 beg your pardon." 
 
 Gervase turned to Charles. " I have the ordi-
 
 3 86 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 nary perceptions of a man, sharpened by my love 
 for her whose confidence you have abused. I 
 know the miserable history of your marriage. 
 She never loved you. How should she, seeing 
 that before you claimed her she had known noth- 
 ing of men? But you took her affections for 
 granted; you thought that she would do what 
 you call her duty. You claimed her from her 
 parents, and expected to have her heart thrown 
 in. You fool, and you might have had it if you 
 had been able to forget yourself for half an hour 
 a day; and you might have kept it if you had 
 known that a woman was not a thing to be bought, 
 like a horse or a piece of furniture. But no! 
 You cling to the law the law which was de- 
 vised by horrible old men who used women as cat- 
 tle as brood mares, who could be put to draft 
 work when not with young; who disposed of them 
 as property. And under that law which says, 
 Covet not a man's house, covet not his wife, nor 
 his ox, you shelter yourself, forsooth! You snug 
 rascal, what of her own soul? What of her free 
 will, of her clear eyes, of her judgment, of her 
 character? Are these of no account in the bargain? 
 If they are not, you are a trafficker, neither more 
 nor less; you buy cheap in the market-place; but 
 if they are, and if they were of account when you 
 took her, it was your plain business to approve 
 yourself to her, to justify the confidence of her
 
 GERVASE'S TEETH 387 
 
 youth. It was your simple duty to implant love 
 in her heart, since even you, I suppose, can under- 
 stand that without love no woman can become so. 
 Well and what did you do? How did you 
 justify your assumption of her in her innocence? 
 What did you do to bring love to flower in her 
 heart? 
 
 4 You ! I '11 tell you what you did. You as- 
 sumed the rights of a husband not of a lover, 
 which you have never been; but of a husband. 
 You said, I have taken a wife as an incident of 
 my career. I will work abroad and she at home, 
 that I may make a name for myself. Why, you 
 assume everything! You assume the necessity of 
 your career and I give it you; but you assume 
 the necessity of her part in it and that you 
 shan't have. Pray, is a career the prerogative of 
 the male? May it not be that your business 
 should be to serve her, rather? Not only is that 
 possible, but I tell you that Jt is certain. She has 
 a plain right to be served by any man who has 
 the grace to see that she is a vase of piety, a 
 fountain of honor and truth, a living symbol of 
 the beauty of God in Heaven. But such things 
 as these you are incapable of seeing. You are 
 a woman-user. 
 
 " What did you then ? You worked all day 
 long at your sordid affairs of money-getting, sta- 
 tion-making. You left her alone without your con-
 
 3 88 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 fidence, without interests or the means of getting 
 them; and when you returned to her, it was not 
 to serve her, but to take your ease. To relax 
 your efforts of the day, you assumed your right 
 to be dull. Not only so, but that you might be 
 duller it was her business, said you, to be cheer- 
 ful. Pray, what scope for cheer had she, boxed 
 in your house with you for a partner? What busi- 
 ness had you to be dull with so lovely a being at 
 your side? How dared you assume a right to 
 be served by such as she is, a messenger from 
 the sky, an angel from Heaven? How dared 
 you sink in your dullness, and pretend in the same 
 breath that you loved ? You love ! Do you 
 know what love is? Do you know that it is a 
 high ecstasy of wonder and service? You say 
 that you love ; but love raises a man on wings 
 and you sank. You sank deeper and deeper in 
 dullness, and you expected her to share your dull- 
 ness'. How dared you expect that of her ? How 
 pretend to love her and make her your drudge? 
 Pooh, sir, it was yourself that you loved, and al- 
 ways have. There is respect in love, and a pas- 
 sion to give, and give, and never be done with 
 giving. Love is a noble rage to beggar yourself 
 for the beloved. It is a noble fire to excel that 
 the beloved may have glory. You have never 
 loved any but yourself. You took her for your 
 convenience, and used her for your needs.
 
 GERVASE'S TEETH 389 
 
 " Fie upon you, there is worse to come." His 
 eyes blazed in his head. He took some steps for- 
 ward and raised his hand to drive in the blows 
 of his word. ' You used her vilely; for your pur- 
 poses you made her your lure. You traded her 
 beauty, her youth and grace, her purity, her di- 
 vine attributes. You sent her abroad that she 
 might attract this man's looks " he swept the 
 Duke into the parley " that so he might con- 
 sider your advancement as a means to his own. 
 You knew his character, you knew his ways; you 
 schooled her in this horrible traffic; you became 
 a hirer; you followed what, examined candidly, is 
 the most shameful trade known to this world 
 and I '11 say no more about it. Employed in this 
 ghastly business I found her, and knew her for 
 what she was. I adored her, I saw God and all 
 Heaven in her eyes; I thought of her night and 
 day, and prepared to serve her. And I have. I 
 have opened her eyes to truth, her heart to love, 
 her soul to the all-pervading God. She is free, 
 she is happy, she is hopeful of all good things. 
 She will be a mother, she will love her children, 
 and they will love her. The world, which has 
 passed her by, will be the richer of her; for I will 
 take care that all men know what a glory and 
 miracle she is. It was Dante's boast that he would 
 report of his beloved things which had never been 
 written of women. That also will I do. I will
 
 390 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 school the world in the knowledge and love of 
 grace and purity and truth as they are manifested 
 in her. I am a singer, I believe. I shall never 
 sing of any but her - and my whole life shall 
 be a song of praise and thanksgiving. For not 
 only with my lips will I show her radiance, but 
 in every act of mine done in her honor. 
 
 " I have done, sir. Now you may have your 
 pleasure of me." He folded his arms over his 
 chest, which heaved with his tide of rage. He 
 bent his head as a man who expects, looking up- 
 wards from under his brows at his enemy. 
 
 But Charles had nothing to say at present. He 
 had listened with amazement to the torrent of 
 words. He had expected nothing of the kind 
 from the man whom he looked upon as the traitor; 
 but here was himself put on his defense. He 
 was never a ready speaker. 
 
 " I shall not attempt to answer your attack," he 
 said presently. " You deal in abusive terms. I 
 cannot follow you. I demand of you the satisfac- 
 tion which one man owes to another. If you will 
 give me the name of your friend, his Grace here 
 will undertake what may be necessary. I have 
 listened to you long, and to little purpose, that 
 I see." 
 
 " I have no friend in the place, as you may 
 easily understand," Gervase replied; " nor do I see 
 the harm of any little irregularity in this game of
 
 GERVASE'S TEETH 391 
 
 homicide. You can shoot me at once, if you 
 please. I have no weapon, it is true ; but if I had 
 one I should n't use it, so I don't think that need 
 hinder you. If you please to lend me one of 
 yours, I will hold it to give you a countenance. 
 But let it be understood beforehand that you offer 
 no molestation to your wife." 
 
 " I give you no undertaking whatever," said 
 Charles. 
 
 " In that case," Gervase said, " I decline to meet 
 you until I have bestowed her in safety." 
 
 The Duke interposed. " Now, Mr. Poore, 
 perhaps you '11 listen to me. You stopped me 
 before and properly; but since then you've 
 brought me into the affair, and you can't stop me 
 again. Allow me to point out to you in the first 
 place that you have abused my hospitality." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my lord," said Gervase. 
 " I was not a guest of yours." 
 
 " That 's a quibble, my man. You would never 
 have been here if I had not asked you." 
 
 " Nor would Mrs. Lancelot, my lord," said 
 Gervase. 
 
 , " Next," said the Duke, " while you profess to 
 serve this lady whom you have tempted from her 
 home, you have done her a very bad turn among 
 her friends. You don't suppose that these things 
 are to be done without scandal eh? " 
 
 Gervase, metaphorically, flew at his throat.
 
 392 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 "Scandal, my lord? Who are you to consider 
 scandal when you have set it buzzing about her 
 like flies for the last two years? Do you know 
 what has been said of her by the rascals of the 
 gutter? Maybe you do not; but I who have 
 stood at the doors of your great houses for the 
 mere glimpse of her passing, I know too well. 
 Do you know what your own associates say? 
 You must needs know that. Condemn me if 
 you will, but not where you are in a worse con- 
 demnation than I. For you took her into your 
 house, with that wretched man over there trail- 
 ing behind her, consenting for the sake of his 
 worldly profit, and made the thing hideous. But 
 I take her out of these seraglios and get her into 
 the -clean air. For the sake of eternal welfare 
 and honor, it may be necessary to endure a little 
 foul usage from a world of satyrs and swine, since 
 unhappily among such our lot is cast; but it will 
 be over before she sees England again; and mean- 
 time she can be happy in the possession of her 
 free soul here, in this noble country where 
 all are free as she shall be." 
 
 The Duke took snuff, and considered his reply. 
 ' You are a forcible reasoner, Mr. Poore," he 
 said presently, but not before he had taken a turn 
 or two up and down the road. " You can put 
 your case. Damn it, man, I 'm not above con- 
 fessing that a good deal of what you have said
 
 GERVASE'S TEETH 393 
 
 hits me hard. I 'm old enough to say so, but 
 I '11 add this for myself, that I intended that dear 
 friend no harm at all, and that I don't believe 
 I have done her any. Mind you, also, the stuff 
 I take her to be of is yours and mine too. I think 
 she is of our human clay, not so tarnishable as 
 the rare crystal of your imagination. She 's a 
 beloved woman, but she 's a woman to me, and 
 dear because she 's a woman rather than an angel. 
 But then you 're a poet and I 'm a man of the 
 world. Now, mere scandal I can afford to over- 
 look, as you say that you can, for reason good. 
 I don't hear very much of it I 'm too much 
 occupied with other matters and don't pay any 
 regard to that which I do overhear. Perhaps, 
 if I had kept the company you report yourself 
 as keeping, I should have disliked the form in 
 which it was put but I don't know. I 'm not 
 squeamish, and I Ve a notion that hard words hurt 
 nobody, least of all one who was, as she, above 
 reproach. God bless her, she did n't hear any of 
 it so far as I know. That 's all I wish to say." 
 He considered further, and then came nearer. 
 " Now, Mr. Poore, I hope you don't suspect me 
 of evil designs. I '11 tell you this much, that long 
 before you came upon her scene she had made me 
 incapable of that. When she is willing to see 
 me I shall be more than ready. You may tell 
 her that with my love, the love of a man who 
 i
 
 394 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 has derived more comfort than he deserves from 
 her companionship. There 's my last word, but 
 I 'm not the most concerned. I don't advise my 
 friend here to fight you, and I don't think he will. 
 But you shall hear." The Duke nodded his head, 
 touched the brim of his hat. " Good-day to you, 
 Mr. Poore," he said, and turned to descend the 
 hill; but Gervase went after him. 
 
 " My lord, I beg one moment of you." The 
 Duke stopped to listen. 
 
 " You have spoken," said the young man, 
 " kindly and handsomely. I am much obliged to 
 you. Be sure that your message shall be faith- 
 fully delivered." 
 
 The Duke nodded. " I am sure," he said. 
 Gervase hovered he was very red and hot. 
 
 " By God in Heaven, Duke, you may trust her 
 with me." The moment was emotional, and the 
 Duke disliked nothing so much. He lifted his 
 head sharply, his cold eyes flamed. 
 
 " Why, you young donkey, do you suppose 
 you 'd have been alive at this moment if I had not 
 believed in you? By Gad, sir, I 'd have shot you 
 like a rat in a pigsty. Good-day to you." With 
 that he marched down the hill, leaving Charles in 
 the lurch. But he did not intend Charles to fight, 
 and assumed that Charles, therefore, would not 
 fight.
 
 GERVASE'S TEETH 395 
 
 And rightly. There was no fight in Charles. 
 Throughout the passage between the two lovers of 
 his wife he had stood with head sunk into his 
 breast. Now that one of them had left him he 
 awaited the other, and as he returned lifted up his 
 colorless face and turned him his faded eyes. 
 He could hardly speak above a whisper, and was 
 forced, against his House-of-Commons, Treasury 
 manner, to emphasize every sentence with a jerk of 
 the hand. It added to the sense of effort, and was 
 painful to behold. 
 
 He said while the young man heard him with 
 distress " Mr. Poore, you have said harsh things 
 to me, and I have not answered them. I cannot 
 answer them, for I believe that most of them are 
 very true." 
 
 Gervase, touched to generosity in a moment, 
 would have stopped him, and did indeed extend his 
 hands in deprecation of his recent attack. But 
 Charles only hurried on. 
 
 " You cannot have known how true your words 
 were, for if you had they would have been still 
 more terrible more unanswerable still. Mr. 
 Poore, I am moved to confess to you that the 
 death of her child lies at my door." 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " cried Gervase. 
 
 " But it is so. She overtaxed her strength when 
 her health could not afford it when all that she
 
 396 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 had was called for. She did that to serve me 
 as she thought, and as I thought. God help me to 
 forgiveness I am a sinful man." 
 
 He changed his tone, having mastered his emo- 
 tion. Then he continued more quietly. ' You 
 have convinced me that I have used her ill 
 Yes, yes ! " And here his voice broke altogether, 
 and he had to turn away his head. Gervase made 
 a movement of the hands to stay him, but Charles 
 recovered. " Yes, yes, loving her as I did, and 
 do, I loved myself more, and have served my- 
 self worst of all. So far you have convinced 
 me but not that I do not love her. Ah, Mr. 
 Poore, I can convince you that I love her de- 
 votedly." Inspired by his feeling, he came to 
 the poet with his arms extended as if he would 
 take his pair of hands. " Desiring now her wel- 
 fare above all things, seeking only to satisfy the 
 call of her heart, of her nature, and of her con- 
 science, I resign my claims to her I resign her 
 care to you. So far as I am concerned with 
 fity perpetual prayers for her happiness she is 
 free. She shall be free altogether, by legal 
 means, so soon as may be she and her fortune." 
 
 " No, no," said Gervase. " She will never 
 touch it. I can say no more now. You have 
 put me at your feet." 
 
 " Say nothing to her of me," said Charles. 
 " Let her forget me as soon as she may. I would
 
 GERVASE'S TEETH 397 
 
 ask her forgiveness but that I know I have it, 
 and desire above all things now that the past 
 may be as dead to her. For her sake, I hope 
 we may never meet again." 
 
 " She is here she is close at hand," Gervase 
 told him, now in a state in which he too would 
 have renounced everything that he had gained. 
 " She will see you, if you " 
 
 " God forbid," said Charles. " I charge you 
 with her welfare. I will do nothing to impair 
 it. So soon as I am in England I will put mat- 
 ters in train. She shall be free to be your wife 
 entirely free. You shall hear from me." 
 
 Gervase stood with folded arms, unable to look 
 up. Charles nervously took off his gloves and 
 slipped a ring from his finger. 
 
 " When I was married," he said, " I gave my- 
 self this ring upon my wedding day. It was 
 to remind myself of my duty which, you tell 
 me (and I acknowledge), I too soon forgot. Ac- 
 cept it from me. I don't ask you to wear it, but 
 to keep it. You will not refuse." 
 
 " I will not refuse," said Gervase. " I take it 
 as a sign that you trust me." 
 
 The ring was handed over. Charles touched 
 his hat, turned and walked down the hill. Ger- 
 vase stood motionless, staring at the sea. There, 
 as it grew dusk, Georgiana found him. She came 
 behind him softly and touched his arm. He
 
 398 MRS. LANCELOT 
 
 turned, looked at her wildly. She implored, with 
 eyes and moving lips. He gave a cry, and clasped 
 her to his heart. " By God, by God, my Saint, 
 I shall love you on my knees ! " 
 
 THE END
 
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