LIBRARY)
CALIFOMNM
I SAN WHO
JOKING APART
JOKING APART
BY THE
HON. MRS. DOWDALL
AUTHOR OP "THE BOOK OF MARTHA"
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
THE AUTHOR
LONDON
DUCKWORTH Gf CO
HENRIETTA ST. COVENT GARDEN
All rights reserved
Published 1914
TO
LUCIE RALEIGH
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I JOKING APART i
II CHINESE TORTURE 9
III THE MARRIAGE OF HENRY 25
IV THE SECOND SISTER'S HUSBAND 39
V WHY NOT REST ? 50
VI " WHAT THE DEVIL ? " CLUB 68
VII THE MYSTERIOUS MUNCHERS 82
VIII SHEER TEMPER 94
IX THE ROYAL VISIT in
X FIDELITY 124
XI THE RETURN OF THE BRIDE 136
XII JUST THE USUAL 153
XIII HOW NAUGHTY 168
XIV ELECTIONEERING 179
XV LETTERS OF GEORGINA BROWN 219
XVI LETTERS OF GEORGINA BROWN 240
XVII LETTERS OF GEORGINA BROWN 261
XVIII LETTERS OF GEORGINA BROWN 279
XIX LETTERS OF GEORGINA BROWN 298
XX LETTERS OF GEORGINA BROWN 315
CHAPTER I : "JOKING
APART "
JUST to show the sort of thing one has
to put up with in life, take the writing
of this book as an instance. It was
getting along splendidly. Chapter after
chapter was piled up ; the commonplaces of
everyday life lay delicately unclothed upon
the pages. All the neighbours everybody's
neighbours were there, pinned down like
butterflies ; their beauties and their bulgy
eyes and their great number of legs ready
for the inspection of the public. It is not
every one who is quick enough to get a good
look at butterflies and moths when they are
flitting about, so it is best to keep them
somewhere where we can get at them any
time we like.
But there was no difficulty in all this.
The trouble was with that section of the
public which wants a magnifying glass and
a dissecting implement before it can enjoy a
A I
pinned-out butterfly. Aunt Mary, who
takes a view altogether different from mine
on almost every subject, but who is really a
very sound woman and a good judge of what
people think, read through my manuscript
and said :
" But, my dear Martha, it is by no means
clear what it is all about."
This put me in a fever. If there is one
thing I dislike more than another it is to be
told that some-
thing I am in-
terested in is
" not clear."
"Well, it is
certainly not
thick,"! replied,
my poor mind
harking back,
as it nearly
always does, to some such homely matter as
the soup.
" Now that is an excellent example of
what I mean ! " Aunt Mary complained.
2
" I say that many things in your book are
not clear, and your mind at once flies off on
the word c clear,' and you imagine yourself
at table, with a greasy waiter leaning over
your shoulder holding a plate of kidney
puree in one hand and bouillon in the other.
You forget that you don't carry your audience
with you."
" You are not clear now, yourself," I said
with a certain pleasure. " Would you
please strain your criticism once more and
add a little bit more beef."
" Well, for instance, you never explain
where Millport is," she began. " You don't
say how you came there, nor what sort of
place it is."
" But everybody understands that," I
argued. " We all come to live in a place in
the same way ; by train, with furniture and
linen, and a list of things to be done when
we get there. In ninety-nine cases out of a
hundred we come because our husbands
have got a job in the place. Very few
people go to live anywhere for pleasure."
3
" I don't know anything about it," my
aunt admitted, " except that it is usual to
give some explanation. Writers generally
begin by describing the sun setting behind
the suburbs, or rising over the heart of the
city. They give the general lie of the streets
and the surrounding country. And if they
are talking about the provinces they usually
create an atmosphere of depression, and
domestic smells, and balked desires, just to
start off with."
" Will you write a description of my
home ? " I suggested. " Tell them that it is
a solid enough house, stucco in front and
bricks at the back ; a cat-run and some
laurel bushes facing the road, and a gardener
and another cat-run behind the house. In
the middle of the back cat-run there is a
tennis net and three seedy deck-chairs, one
of which supports a blonde authoress with
ill-defined features, the other an aunt with a
high forehead and ideals about literature ;
the third will shortly contain a husband who
will come home in about half an hour with
4
a pink evening paper. What is there in all
that to cheer a reader who is in the same
unfortunate position herself?"
<e Still, they like to know," said Aunt
Mary. The gentle persistence of these mild
women is what wrecks many homes, and
was, I suppose, at the bottom of a good deal
of martyrdom in the times of the Inquisition.
We were silent. I was a little ruffled and
bored, and Aunt Mary was planning a new
attack in nearly the same place.
" You don't describe your people, either,"
she began again presently, boring away. It
was like that bad moment when the dentist,
having fitted a new spike on to his steam
gimlet, says, " Now please, shall we go on ?
A little wider "
" You don't describe your people,"
averred Aunt Mary. "You talk of Mrs.
Beehive, and Reginald, and Polly, and the
Henrys, and the Spiccrs, but you don't give
their heights or their features or circum-
stances, nor even tell us what rooms they are
in when the conversations take place."
5
" But don't you see, dear," I explained,
" that if I did that the Henrys would prob-
ably get a job in Edinburgh or Sheffield. Or
Reginald and Polly might die, and their
places be rilled by a similar couple whose
names were Tom and Katie. Then Reginald
instead of having a fair moustache would
have a dark beard, and soon, and make all the
description wrong. It is much better to leave
them quite free to look different in different
towns. I believe if you think of all the great
names you know in literature you will find
that the make-up of most of them has been
left to the imagination of the public. Take
Noah we all know the look of him, but
there is no description of him anywhere.
And there are many more of the same kind
whom I could mention."
"Well, well," said Aunt Mary, " have it
your own way, though I think you are
wrong. But there is another thing. I don't
like your putting in Miss Brown's letters.
They are not in the spirit of the book, and
they are a little vulgar in places, I think, if
6
you will excuse my saying so. Those
absurd names she gives to people do not
deceive anybody, and the letters are calcu-
lated to do a great deal of harm. Louise
made a great mistake in letting you have
them."
" Anyhow I asked Miss Brown," I replied,
" and she said I might do as I liked. She
will never come back here, and the reason I
wanted them is that my own view of Mill-
port is one-sided. I have a filial sentiment
for it, and I couldn't describe it with the
kind of photographic falsity which is some-
times a help when such an unstable person as
myself is trying to set down emotional
truths."
" Still, I think it is a mistake," said Aunt
Mary. " I don't like descriptions which, as
you say, are like photographs. I never
thought that Miss Brown showed much
insight or tried to enter into the spirit
of Millport society. But joking apart
couldn't you, Martha dear, write a nice little
chapter, just giving a bird's-eye view of the
7
town, and explaining who all the people are
who come into the book ? "
I made several beginnings to please her,
but it was no good. If I ever write a novel
it will have no scenery, and no furniture, and
very little gesture in it. People will speak
as they do in nightmares, crowding round
and peering into the sufferer's face, and the
reader will gasp as he turns over to the other
page, " Oh ! There's Fred ! stop him ! He's
going over the cliff ! " But every reader
must bring his own cliff. All that I supply
is the dream people who have every one
of them got faces which we have seen at one
time or another.
CHAPTER II : CHINESE
TORTURE
p ^HE civilization of the Chinese is
admittedly very old, and their
-*- forms of torture are supposed to be
extremely subtle. Perhaps with great age
has come the knowledge that the tortures
which have occurred naturally to man since
he first existed are not likely to be improved
upon by those who wish to inconvenience
their fellow-creatures. It is probable that
the first human owner of a cave, gnawing
his bone at the end of the family table,
gnawed it in such a manner as to make some
peculiar grating, slooping or gnashing sound
which aroused the indignation of his hairy
partner. It may almost be taken for granted
that he forgot to help the stuffing. The
rude physicians of that epoch would, in all
likelihood, have testified that the cave ladies
as a class were evasive and unruly, and that
they would insist upon sitting round the fire
9
capturing the parasites in one another's
tresses instead of coming to bed at the proper
time. There can
be no doubt that
the children
speedily ac-
quired the
habit of saying
"What?" every
few minutes,
that the slaves
hid things, that
the dweller in
tne next cave
was the earliest
inventor of a musical instrument, and that
the first door which the first man put to
his cave in self-defence banged the first time
it was left ajar.
It may therefore be, for all we know, that
the subtle devices called Chinese tortures are
quite modern arrangements adapted to a
frailer generation, and that the real old,
original Chinaman just left his victims
10
to suffer unprotected in an ordinary house-
hold. The prevaricating, garrulous female
prisoners were, perhaps, shut up for years
with a gentleman who slooped at his meals,
thus killing two birds with one stone. The
children who asked " Wha-at ? " when their
questions were answered for the first time
were immured with parents who said
" Waddear ? " at the end of an animated
description of a day's adventure. Prisoners
of both sexes who left their clothes on
the bathroom floor and never destroyed
envelopes were served exclusively by maids
who threw everything portable into the
dustbin, except clothes, which they hung up
in the wrong side of the wardrobe. People
who laughed incessantly while they spoke
kept house for those who grumphed and
blew air through their cheeks at breakfast.
They were a merry party in the prisons one
way and another if you come to think of it !
And there was another very dreadful thing
that I can hardly speak of. Taking one
hundred as the maximum that anyone can
1 1
understand of what is possible in human
thought, the most loving hearts whose com-
prehension equalled, say, four, were given
a love potion and immediately introduced to
some lady or gentleman, equally tender and
sincere, whose comprehension ran up some-
times as far as nine. This is not the same
thing as being misunderstood. That is
a grievance which no one really minds
unless they are very hard at work altering
their natural character ; as, for instance, when
the born miser who has forked out three-and-
sixpence instead of two shillings, after heart-
breaking struggles with himself, says bitterly,
" It is so horrid of you to suggest that I
don't like giving money away. It hurts me
far more than if you had accused me of
something that I really do." But to return
to the ninepence and fourpence. It is not
misunderstanding ; it is what an earnest lady
was heard saying at a party when the music
stopped, " Of course I was never able to go
quite all the way with John Stuart Mill."
If that lady had been John Stuart Mill's
12
bosom friend he would have felt the remark
as an awful blow. Can anything be more
painful than for some one to refer to, let
us say, the resemblance of the human skeleton
to that of a pig and for his companion to
reply with tears springing up from an injured,
loving heart, " Oh, please don't talk like
that ! I hate it when you say such things.
As if there could be any resemblance ! " Of
course it doesn't matter now and then, but if
it is to go on all the time you can't do much
better with a thumb-screw. One need not
go far to see tortured men and women with
their dear ones simply dancing on their
vitals. The sharp intake of Reginald's
breath is audible when Polly says at dinner,
" My husband never can keep a toothbrush
more than a fortnight, can you, Reggie f It
gets in a perfectly impossible state. I have
to " etc. If Reggie tells a funny little
story all about a spade a story with a
good point to it and quite impersonal
she will most probably blame him for
vulgarity, yet his little story about the spade
'3
was as detached as a robin's song in
December. It is the personal touch in
speech which only the unimaginative can
hear unmoved. Men have complained that
they were obliged to say indecent things
themselves as a protection against hearing
some one else say something less indecent in
an indecent way. By their method they
shut the others up.
" What does he mean ? " a woman asked
on one of these occasions.
" Well, Polly gets so gross when she begins
to talk about ordinary things," said Reginald,
" that I have to shout out all I know about
more difficult subjects for fear she should
begin to attempt them."
" What did I say that was gross ? " asked
Polly, opening her large eyes.
" I don't want ever to remember what you
said about the baby," Reginald answered
with haste. " Let us talk about something
else quickly ; rape, sacrilege, anything you
like, but don't mention the child's toes
again."
H
CHI&CSS6 T O^T
" But Reginald " protested his wife.
"Silence, woman ! "commanded Reginald,
and when he had gone out of the room Polly
said that she was quite coming round to the
idea that women ought to vote. Men cared
nothing whatever about children and lots
of other things. They were so utterly
material, and political life ought to have an
element of delicacy and refinement to keep
it on the highest level. As a child Reginald
had, of course, suffered the usual forms of
infant torture. He used, as we all did, to
come into the drawing-room to see visitors.
His sisters became inured to this, although
it bored them. They got a certain interest
out of the visitor's appearance and tricks of
manner, which were all reproduced with
merciless accuracy in the schoolroom after-
wards ; not ill-naturedly, but because they
had been stored as sounds are stored on the
phonograph. Reginald was more than bored ;
he suffered from the personal attentions
of his mother and her guests. Personal re-
marks always hit his comfort like unpleasant
15
sounds hit the sense of music. " Where
have you been ? ' his mother would ask,
which she would not have done if they had
been alone, because she knew that there was
practically nowhere to go except the park.
Then began the old, old rigmarole : how he
had grown, whom he was like, what form
of exercise he took there is no need to go
into details, because we are all familiar with
the stupid, tactless business. We have all
sat and simmered while the little creatures
stand kicking one foot against the other
until we release them from our impertinence.
Then his mother either repeated something
he had told her in confidence the day before,
or she made affected use of his schoolboy
slang as if it were her own, or she blew his
nose with her handkerchief, and showed off
generally, and made him show off, and it
was all beastly. He suffered incessantly
from this showing off on everybody's part.
In his public-school days his sisters showed
off when he came home. They borrowed
his forms of speech. These were not his
16
c H i ^s s s ro^r
own to begin with, but they were the
language of his tribe, and what was his
by capture was theirs by theft, which is
quite different and creates a false situation.
He never got at these facts by himself, but
he felt uneasy and strained. Later on he
much preferred strangers to his own family,
because they kept out of his bathroom and
he was free to present his own idea of
himself without the risk of some one remark-
ing across the table, " Why, Reggie ! You
loathe poetry ! How can you ! You always
said it was such humbug ! " We can never
alter or enlarge our tastes in the family
circle. A strict record is kept of all our
utterances, and they are brought up against
us as if we had crossed the floor of the
House of Commons. Strangers take all
for gospel and do not know what we said
last year.
But apart from Reggie's little troubles,
we all have our own. For instance, there
is the torture by question. This is suitable
for both men and women, and it is most
B I 7
effective, perhaps, when administered by
women, because they have the pertinacity of
insects and cannot be got rid of; slapping
doesn't destroy them. You may even burn
sulphur, it doesn't keep them off a bit.
Remember, it was a poor, lorn widow who
defeated the unjust judge. If her husband
had been there he would have blushed and
said, " Come away, Maria it's no good
he won't listen." But Maria lit once more
upon the bald head of the judge and set up
her interminable buzz, and lo ! the thing
was done.
The following scene illustrates how the
torture by question is administered :
SCENE. A cosy apartment (the only one
in which there is a fire after breakfast)
provided with a telephone. The meals are
ordered for the day. You have seen about
the children's spring hats, you have tele-
phoned for a man to see about the knife
machine. " Seeing " stands for opening it to
get out the knife which cook dropped in with-
out thinking, and that means ten shillings,
18
" for man's time rep. kn. mach." There
does not seem to be anything else to see
about just at present, and you settle down
to a bit of crochet or, perhaps, to some
occupation which takes your whole thought,
such as writing a story for the magazines.
Cook slides round the door and looks at
you. At the sight of her, all your ideas
get up and say they are afraid they must be
going. Ideas don't like cook, because she
doesn't like them. She has a heavy hand
with them and they won't settle.
" Yes, cook, what is it ? " you ask.
" If you please'm, the butcher hasn't veal
to-day."
" Hasn't he ? " you say patiently, " then
tell him to raise some animal that he has
got."
You wait, pencil in hand, for her to go.
" What shall I order, m'm ? " she insists.
" The boy is waiting."
You quickly review last week's meals.
The household has had cutlets, fish, fowl,
steak and a good many other things. Some
'9
people dislike the insides of animals so we
will not complete the list. Anyhow, they
seem to have eaten everything that there is
in the world, except veal. Your horizon is
all veal. There doesn't, in fact, seem to be
anything but veal to eat, " without," as cook
says, you have just what you had yesterday.
The sudden passionate anger of the inter-
rupted flies to your head.
" I don't care if it's stewed missionary,"
you stammer ; " but I will have something
new. Go away quickly and think of
something."
Cook, like the fly, takes wing as far as
the kitchen dresser and returns ; stands once
more, as it were, washing her front legs in
the doorway.
" May I telephone, please, m'm ? ' see
inquires.
You sharpen your pencil meanwhile, and
there is a faint rustle in the air as of lost
ideas peeping round to sec whether every one
has gone.
" H'm, h'm (a little cough from the
20
direction of the telephone). If you please'm,
Jones says that the haddock isn't very nice
to-day ; he has some nice turbot at two-and-
sixpence."
" Ask the silly idiot if he sends up turbot
for his own nursery breakfast, will you," is
the only reply your indignation will afford.
Goodness knows what all the haddock are
about in these days ; they always used to be
" nice " at any time of year.
" Shall I tell him not to trouble about it,
m'm ? " she says, holding the receiver away
from her ear.
" Oh, yes, don't let him break up his
health over it," you say, and once more
resume your work. Your quiet room is
now, in your imagination, a seething, noisy
mass of food, all of it quarrelling as to who
shall climb on to the table at dinner.
" What shall I order for breakfast instead
of the fish ? " demands cook, lightly poised
for flight beside the writing-table.
" Bacon," you say, " bacon, bacon, bacon,"
and you look up hoping^to see a mess~of
21
squashed cook on the blotting-paper. But
not at all. She is round the other side,
tickling your left
ear.
" The bacon's finished
to-day, m'm. Did you
remember to order any
more?"
" Are the hens all
dead ? " you inquire.
" Oh, no, m'm, I don't
think so."
"Very well then,
squeeze them and go
away."
And then when the same old scrambled
eggs, too heavily salted, come up next
morning for breakfast she will have the
effrontery to say that you ordered them !
What does the perfect woman do in
these circumstances ? Does she put down
her occupation and say, " Dear me, cook,
what a pity, isn't it ! What shall we do ? "
and does cook reply, " It is a pity, isn't it,
22
mm. I I don't know what to suggest, I'm
sure. Would you like a nice egg ? " and
then does the perfect woman say, " Well,
you know we had eggs yesterday, cook, but
I don't see what else we are to do. It's very
awkward. But you can't have anything
nicer than eggs, can you ? Suppose you get
some eggs, and if you tell me when they
arrive I will come down and look at them."
I believe it is this quality that makes women
easier to rear than men. You can't kill
them by ordinary methods.
There is one more form of torture which
no quiet home ought to be without if there
is a contemplative enemy to be destroyed.
It is called the torture by vivacity. The
sort of thing you get in this book, only
worse. The victim is put down in any
ordinary chair, rather too near the fire
if possible, and then the torturer begins.
" What plays did you see when you were up
in town ? Can't remember ! Well you are !
You ought to have seen Such-and-such. Do
you know the story ? There's a man who's
2 3
tremendously in love with a girl and she
won't have him. Eileen Protheroe takes
the part don't you admire her ? of course
you do what nonsense ! Don't try to be
clever that's your way. Well, she's ab-
solutely splendid in this. She comes on in
a wonderful dress of pale champagne with
heliotrope, most beautifully draped, and
her hair done wonderfully under a small
hat. Well, she won't have him, but she
tries for Tom let me see what is his
name ? What was the name of that friend
of yours whom you used to see sometimes in
Buxton ? Awfully smart, in a brown suit
oh, you must remember Well, this man
reminded me of him you must know
whom I mean don't be silly. Anyhow
this man is just like him "
My pen has fallen off the table in a
fit and is panting on the mat, protesting that
it cannot run another inch.
CHAPTER III : THE
MARRIAGE OF HENRY
IT must be funny to have the partner of
one's life say, "You are quite beyond
me, Henry dear, altogether." It must
give one such a shock, although of course it
is true. Henry is so far removed from Mrs.
Henry that if they manage to keep within
calling distance of one another all their
lives they are said to be " quite an idyllic
couple." We all know that if two people
are knocking about idly in a field, one of
them looking for golf balls or beetles or a
lost trifle from the pocket, the other sewing
or aimlessly preoccupied with thoughts
about moth in the cupboards or the drawing
in of the days, their conversation is not
likely to be either profound or meaty ; nor
can it be even that interchange of feather-
weight looks and intonations which are the
pollen of mutual understanding. Mr. and
Mrs. Henry's life is very like this sort of
2 5
knocking about together in a field. Some-
times Henry wanders off and says something
with a little more ginger to it, and then
Mrs. Henry is exceedingly offended, and
complains that he is quite beyond her
altogether.
The Henrys have not drifted apart lately ;
they are as near together now as ever they
were. In fact, they are far less likely to
drift apart now than they were at first.
They are kept together by the strong tie of
habit, and, some say, by public opinion.
Others maintain that although public
opinion prevents Henry from ever thinking
of bolting, if he did entertain the thought
public opinion would have less hold upon
him than would his deep-rooted habit of
staying with his wife. Thirty years ago
they were kept together by a different tie,
which might easily have been broken had
either of them thought to break it. The tie
was a sort of chemical affinity fortified by con-
science. Love in all its expressions is more
like something chemical than anything else,
26
gs OF H 6
and the chemical experiment of Mr. and Mrs.
Henry's marriage was, at one time, a very
touch-and-go business. Chemical affinity
caught them as they meandered at a garden-
party ; it kept them together at several
subsequent entertainments, just because
neither of them were the sort of atoms that
are so I don't know the right expression ;
it may be volatile, I call it impulsive as
ever to unglue themselves from the atom
they chance to unite with, unless under
great provocation from some other very
masterful atom.
Henry was not such a gluey, adhesive
atom as Mrs. Henry, but he had a conscience,
and a dash of imagination or poetry or
something. He saw much that was invisible
to Mrs. Henry, and he saw it better when
there was a female figure in the foreground
of what he saw, giving just the human
touch to the picture. When he became
attached to Mrs. Henry he kept his atten-
tion riveted on her without an idea of the
dangers by which their union was beset.
27
There were hundreds of brilliant and power-
ful atoms whirling past under his very nose,
but their chemical attraction was neutralized
for him by the fact that he never lifted his
eyes from Mrs. Henry and his dreams.
This instinct of keeping the eye of love
fixed on the beloved object is implanted in
the heart of man by the god of populations,
who knows that marriages must be kept
going the Henry kind of marriages any-
how. It is impossible to stop and consider
each case separately.
" You must get on, Mr. Cupid ; move
quickly, please. Pair them off (we can see
the testy old gentleman in the spectacles)
yes, yes, just like the frogs, certainly ; we
must get on. There's this batch of babies
to be got off at once to keep up the numbers.
So Harper, Harthorn ; Jones, Johnson ;
Smith, Smithson. Couple them up, please,
anyhow. Light and dark alternately if you
can ; don't put two tall ones together, nor
two dwarfs if you can help it ; mix the tem-
peraments as much as possible " Cupid
28
gs OF
strikes ; stops dead. " I refuse, sir. I am
very sorry, but there are two here whom
you must let me con-
sider, please. The very
foundations of your
throne will be shaken if
these are ill-assorted.
Very dangerous ele-
ments to combine, these
two, sir. Very little
known about their
action "
My metaphors are
getting so mixed that it
will soon be impossible
to disentangle them. What I meant was that
although it is said to be in the nature of atoms
to stick together until one or other leaves for
some more powerful attraction, in the case
of the human atom a protective quality has
been given which enables them to resist
other attractions so long as they do not look
about and consider. This saves a lot of
time for the testy old gentleman in spectacles.
29
In fact, the work would never get done
otherwise ; there would be a dozen changes
of plan before any marriage came off.
But it was touch-and-go many a time
with Henry had he but known. Atoms
came near his path, which, had they drawn
him to themselves, might have brought
about a richer fact than that which is called
the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Henry.
For although they have lived together so
long, he is still altogether beyond her, and
she is (though he does not mention this)
altogether beyond him. They hear each
other saying things all day, but, in so far as
speech is a meeting ground for thought,
they have never spoken to one another. If
Henry were a lop-eared rabbit he could not
expect less from each day as it dawns. He
expects breakfast (dear thing), but then so
does Bunny, and he expects other meals
throughout the day. He expects his house
to be made clean, and Mrs. Henry on the
one hand and the gardener on the other very
kindly see to that. He expects changes in
3
gs OF H
the weather, in the seasons, in the dawn and
fading of day ; but he expects no other
change. How surprised Henry or the
rabbit would be at anything unusual in the
behaviour of Mrs. Henry or the gardener.
Suppose Mrs. Henry were to say with
sincerity, " I think so-and-so," instead of
" I always say so-and-so." Suppose that
she showed by a sudden look of life behind
her eyes that for one moment her thought
had stood beside his thought and had seen
what he saw. Nothing in the papers would,
I believe, surprise poor Henry more than if
this happened, for in these thirty years it
has never occurred once.
At first in his humility he thought that
it was because her thoughts were above the
range of his coarse words ; that when she
said, "Yes, dear, quite so," it meant that
she was reaching down to grasp his idea, and
that when she had pulled it up beside hers
he would see to a distance he had never seen
before. But, instead, he found that he
never reached her mind at all ; he called to
3 1
her and she answered as people answer on a
golf-course, or in the street, or in the hall of
an hotel, with lookers-on within hearing,
careful of the prejudices of society. But
just where she stood he never knew, of what
she saw he had no idea. He sometimes
thought that her dwelling must be under a
green canvas umbrella behind a mole-hill.
Then Henry became more and more ex-
clusively male. The chemical tie between
him and her had been strengthened by
conscience and habit until there was very
little fear of the busy old gentleman's plans
being upset by any untoward volatility on
the part of atom Henry. But perhaps if
Henry had heard some of the things his
wife said when she was driven to involuntary
candour by the weight of many years' disgust
with the male sex, he might have oh no,
hardly that ! She must have a home and
so on. And then the fuss ! fancy inquiries
and no real reason to give ! Besides, she
was a very good sort of woman. Women
would not be such faithful mothers, perhaps,
3 2
gs OF H 8
if they were not rather limited in their
desires : no man could stand the strain of
what they have to put up with. So Henry
would surely reflect, and as he reflected he
would put his hand in his pocket with the
ease of habit, and pay the tax-collector, and
the doctor, and the gardener, and the
schoolmaster and all of them.
" Of course, my ideal," says Mrs. Henry
in confidence to Mrs. James, " is to have a
nice house quite in town ; close to the trams,
so that there is no difficulty in getting about
in the evening. If you dine out two or
three times a week, and pay a cab each
time, it runs up so but men never think of
these things ! ' Henry does think of them
a good deal, but paying the cab bill is a mild
and peaceful occupation compared to getting
into evening clothes half an hour after he
comes home, in order to sit through a long
evening between two women, one of whom
looks like a muffin which has fallen, wet, into
a box of cheap jewellery, and the other looks
c 33
like a cormorant who has just been con-
verted to some rather faddy new religion.
He has to turn
from one to the
other for two
hours, as sweet-
bread succeeds
fish ; and when
the women have
gone, and the
pleasant smile has
left his face, he is obliged to follow them
almost immediately (for, after all, what is
half an hour's rest ?), and stand about suffer-
ing all sorts of torture, music perhaps, or
more rot from a pair of lacy old idiots. And
then to be driven home too late to do any-
thing ; for you can't sit up at night if you
have to be off early next day. It is all very
well now and then, for a change, and to go
to people whom you like
Let us now hear some more of what Mrs.
Henry really, really thinks.
" You know," she says, " children are a
34
gs OF H s
great tie." I wish that some one would
explain exactly what they mean by this
remark. Suppose that children are a tie to
bind Mrs. Henry down from those wild
flights of adventure and the freedom of the
buccaneer to which she is naturally prone,
well, what a pity ! However, we all admit
that they are a great tie. Their childish
thoughts are such a dull field in which to
confine the brilliancy of mamma's reflections
on Hall Caine or the ladies whom she
knows, or our spiritual nature in general.
Of course they are not nearly so great a tie
to a man.
Now Henry has got so used to looking at
things in one way that he would agree to
this proposition, because he knows quite
well that he never in his life sat up with
baby, no matter what was wrong, while
Mrs. Henry never left the children at all if
they were ill ; and she never got away for a
whole morning like he did. Why, he
could fritter away the whole day at the
office and never be called off for anything !
35
But then, if the chemical attraction that
brought him and her together had contained
a spark of anything like laughter, he would
have made his own ribs ache and hers too
when she said that children were no tie to a
man. If they tie her to the house what else,
in heaven's name, ties him to the office ?
Isn't he bound to his stool by cords woven
of school bills, doctor's and dentist's bills,
rent for larger, airier premises, the elaborate
" summer out " in seaside lodgings instead of
the cheap holidays in god-painted solitudes
before the nursery days ?
But then, as Mrs. Henry so justly says, a
man never thinks of these things. Perhaps
it is as well that he doesn't or we might
none of us be here, either to write or read
this captious book.
Such analytical thoughts do not amuse the
Henrys, and quite rightly. He sometimes
had freakish moments, and gay imaginings
flew high through his head thirty years ago.
There were all sorts of merry firework stuff
ready to burst into Catherine-wheels and
36
4$ 8 OF H 8
" God Bless our Home," if anyone had
brought a little living spark of fire to set it
off. But Mrs. Henry
does not think in that
way. There never
seems to be anything
to laugh at that she
can see, although
she enjoys a joke as
much as anybody.
But what is so
amusing about the
whole thing is that under the canvas umbrella
behind the molehill where Mrs. Henry lives,
there is a strange life that is quite beyond
Henry altogether. There are large qualities
like unselfishness, innocence, courage. In
case of fire or flood Mrs. Henry would save
all the children, or even Henry himself, at
the cost of her life, without a thought
beyond annoyance at the incompetence of
men who build houses that catch fire like
flannelette.
Virtues like those would be brilliant
37
JlllH
objects if they were taken into the air and
allowed to mix freely with vices, so that we
could have a good look at both and decide
which we prefer, honestly and without
prejudice on either side. If, instead of
stuffing all the vices into a box where they
get mouldy and breed maggots, and instead
of keeping all the virtues folded up with a
string round them and a macintosh over the
top, they were both taken out and used as
occasion offered, Mr. and Mrs. Henry might
find it necessary to approach one another
enough to hand things backwards and
forwards. And so they might eventually
get talking, and neither be quite beyond the
other any more.
CHAPTER IF : THE SECOND
SISTER'S HUSBAND
GOING into town one day I met
two people on the road. One was
a gloomy-looking elderly woman
in a bonnet and the kind of things that go
with bonnets ; the other was a young,
probably married, girl, who walked by her
side, and on whom the burden of conversa-
tion seemed to lie. The burden was heavy,
but, if it had not been, neither of the women
could have handled it. I used to wonder
why the commercial travellers who called at
our door never had any needles smaller than
a small sausage-skewer. Then one day a
quite nice woman with whom I was sewing
remarked, " It's no use giving me a needle
like that, my dear, I should be dropping it
all the time ; I should never know I had it
in me hand." The same thing happens in
conversation. Many people do not know it
is there unless you cut it a bit thick " so as
39
they can get a hold of it." And not only
must they be able to grasp it, but it must
stay quietly where it is for some time. It
must be a sort of parcel that you can carry
in your arms and then hand to some one
else. None of that juggling with balls,
which some author speaks of as a desirable
form of conversation.
" And your second sister's husband, Mrs.
er , is he still alive ? " said the younger
woman to the elder as I passed them. It is
funny, now you come to think of it, how
we neverj can remember our friends' names
" without we think," as they say in Millport.
" Mrs. er ' is the usual form of address,
I find, and we repeat it constantly ; perhaps
in the hope that by and by the name will
come back to us.
" And your second sister's husband, Mrs.
er , is he still alive ? " I nearly said it
to the ticket man at the booking office.
Instead I leaned over the little opening and
said, " Third return Southfield, Mr. er ,
thank you pleasant change after the rain,
40
isn't it ? It is indeed, thank you. You
haven't got two halfpennies for a penny,
have you ? Oh, never mind, don't trouble ;
but it's handy to
have about you ;
saves waiting for the
change sometimes
if you're in a
hurry." Then I
dropped a shilling
on the ground and
fell over the man
behind me.
In the train I found myself in imagination
again pursuing the second sister's husband.
Was he still alive or not ? He had married
into the family of those strange, flat sisters,
who looked like vegetables. He and the
first sister's husband were, probably, very
much alike ; only one was called Tom and
the other Willie, and one did well and the
other didn't. Unfortunately the first sister's
husband had been conversationally disposed
of before I met the elder and the younger
4 1
lady, so it was impossible to decide whether
he were still alive or not. Perhaps he had
been carted away in a hearse, followed by
six or seven cabs full of black people, all
minding their own business, but glad to get
a nice drive and a bit of rest ; pleased also
to see Annie and her husband, who had
come over from Manchester for it, and
Willie's nephew, who had got a day off
from the works. It was
all very nice, but a pity
about poor Willie ah,
dear me, yes, to be sure
a nice bit of country
you pass through on the
way to the cemetery
yes, indeed ; and how
they are building out in
that direction too ! I
went all the way to
Willie's funeral with that
lugubrious lady in the
bonnet, and thoroughly enjoyed the trip.
But still the problem vexed me her second
42
sister's husband ; was he still alive ? Prob-
ably not so well in his health, anyhow, as
he used to be, poor fellow ! But the three
sisters would most likely go on for some time.
Sisters are easier to rear as babies and they
last longer, for they don't trouble their heads
so much. It is worry kills people, and a
hen does not worry much. It squawks and
flutters if anything comes on it, sudden-
like, but it'll soon settle down again and
pick its food and lay another egg if you
give it time eh, dearie me, yes, to be
sure !
I finished up the afternoon at a tea-party,
and sat next to a lady whom I had met
before but did not really know. I think
that I must have fallen asleep for a moment,
because I suddenly found myself looking at
her with a glassy eye and asking, " And
your second sister's husband, Mrs. er , is
he still alive ? "
No nothing happened. It was at a
time of year when the days are closing
in we had all just remarked on the fact
43
and my lucky star was twinkling through a
gap in the curtains.
" He's very well, thank you, Mrs. er ,"
replied my neighbour with a pleased smile.
" He's doing very well now. You knew
he'd been ill, of course so good of you to
ask but they think he's quite turned the
corner now."
I wonder if she saw my blushes. Perhaps
she put them down to the tea ; and there
was a good fire going too. Some of us, I
remember, preferred to sit a little away
from it, thank you ; there's always a risk in
going out afterwards. I had been so success-
ful that I ventured again and asked, " Has
your sister many children ? " " Oh, just
the three she's always had," was the alarming
reply I got. " Did something prick you,
Mrs. er ? "she asked kindly. " Oh, that's
all right. I thought you seemed to give a
jump. No, just the same three. The
eldest, you know, are at school, and there's
the baby. He's just two now ; such a nice
age ! "
44
" Do you think so ? " I said, I couldn't
resist it ; it was what the young lady in the
shop had said to me that morning when I
told her I would rather have a boot that
fitted me. Of course, two is a nice age,
but if you only knew how often I have
heard the same thing said about every child,
from an infant a day old to a great dolloping
creature of fifteen, with spots !
" Oh, I think so, don't you ? " said the
poor thing, a little surprised. " They're
just beginning to pick up everything, aren't
they ? "
" Yes," I answered bitterly, " measles and
pins, and all sorts of things. It's wonderful
how they do it, isn't it ? "
Some one began to sing just then so we had
to be quiet. Everybody hushed, except two
old ladies who looked up in surprise at the
sudden silence, and I caught the concluding
sentence of one of them, " Windermere, did
you say ? Oh, very nice indeed, for those
that like foliage."
After the song my neighbour left me
45
and went to our hostess. The business of
good-byes had begun. " Oh, it isn't late,
Mrs. Deane, you
mustn't think of
going.
X
" I am
afraid I must be
going, thank
you. Mind you
come and see us
some day soon
yes, any day,
just look us up.
No, I've given
up my Thursdays now. I found it cut
up the week so, and one day doesn't suit
everybody no, of course not and if you've
another engagement it's awkward to break it,
isn't it ? Well, you won't forget ? That's
right and bring baby. She'd love to
play with Sammy and Edna. We've the
new nursery now, you know. A great
improvement. Oh yes, the other wasn't
half large enough. No, it doesn't do not
to have enough room. You're well off
SECOND
here, aren't you ? Such a lovely outlook !
and the bushes quite cut you from the
houses "
They were both standing all this time
with the front door open behind them. Our
hostess had rung the bell, and the parlour-
maid was waiting in a thorough draught
(she had come up in the middle of her tea, I
believe, as she looked a little crumby about
the apron and not very pleased). " Well,
Mrs. er , I mustn't keep you. Don't
come out, please, you'll take cold. Is this
your hall ? How well the prints look ? You
must get your husband to come round and
have a look at ours " Our hostess came
back at the end of twenty minutes and went
straight to the fire to warm herself. But
some one else was ready to go then, and
the same ceremony had to be repeated.
The second sister's husband must be a
plucky man the way he clings to life ; but,
after all, he's not much in the house. When
I married I was told by an authority on
provincial etiquette that it was not looked
47
upon with favour if any female guest were
found in the house after the man's hour for
coming home. Being fresh from the school-
room, and not having noticed during my
excursions downstairs any arbitrary distinc-
tion of sex in the matter of visitors, I found
this rule a little difficult to understand. But
in a year or two it became not only an
excusable breach of hospitality, but an
obvious necessity if the breadwinner's life
was to be pro-
longed. My own
second sister's hus-
band, who is
extraordin arily
patient and fairly
inattentive, would,
I am sure, have
jibbed if he had
ever been asked
whether he did not
find his work a
great strain, his children a great relaxation,
his hobby a great expense and his politics a
great mistake. Besides, he loathes standing
in a draught with his hat off, and not one of
the kind of women who call on me would
sit on his chair and twiddle his whiskers,
which my sister Maud says is what he
really likes. So, when anyone asks me
whether my second sister's husband is still
alive, I shall tell them that he is, and why.
Perhaps it will be a warning to them to take
more care of poor Tom and Willie.
49
CHAPTER V : WHY NOT
REST?
IF you say you can't go to bed, the
doctor says " Boo ! Let somebody else
do the work. What are your servants
for ? " You try to explain that you can't leave
a baby with a cook. He replies that it
won't hurt your husband to have a cold
dinner for once. You explain with infinite
patience, slowly and as grammatically as
possible, that it is not a question of dinner,
but that cook doesn't understand what baby
wants. Then the doctor crams on his
hat and says that inexperienced people make
the best nurses, and will you be in bed,
please, in half an hour from now, and don't
get up until he sees you again the day after
to-morrow.
At first it is rather nice, having a fire lit
in your bedroom, ordering tea to be brought
up, beginning a new novel, drawing the
blinds, and lighting a little silver lamp.
5
WHY
Cook says that she can manage Master
Tommy splendidly until nurse comes back.
It is a pity Maggie has to count the laundry
to-day, but it can't be helped.
The bed is soft and warm ; the hot-bottle
is almost as good as a visit to the Riviera ;
you turn the pages of your novel.
A piercing shriek rends the air and
another and another hot and damp with
terror, your heart galloping like a fire engine,
you are in the nursery no time for a
dressing-gown. It
is impossible to
say which is
making the most
noise, the baby or
the cook. "Yeow,
yeow, yeow, yeow,
hush, hush
yeow, yeow, yeow
there, there,
there : there's a pretty boy upsy-daisy !
peek-a-boo! yeow, yeow
Exactly
5 1
what I told that vile doctor would happen,"
you mutter, stopping your ears. " Don't
rock him like that ! " you bawl. " Beg
pardon, m'm ? " inquires cook, with a
smile and cocking one ear at you while the
baby's head swings now to the lamp above
his head, now down to the ground, missing
the coal-scuttle by a hair's breadth. " Beg
pardon, m'm ? I'm sorry he's disturbed you.
Upsy-daisy ! We've been getting on
capitally."
Struggling between politeness and grati-
tude, fear of offending the cook (it is
the great dread that hangs over us all), and
the murderous instinct of the parent whose
young has been annoyed, you take your off-
spring on your knee and offer him your
humble apologies, while cook runs off "just
a moment to see to the kettle."
Ten minutes elapse. You are getting very
cold in your little cambric nightgown. The
baby is inclined to be exacting, like one who
brings a petition for heavy damages for
a small injury. He is rather jumpy in the
5 2
WHY
nerves, and inclined to be suspicious and
contradictory.
" Why don't you want me to break that
cup ? " is the kind of question that he asks,
" Why don't you ? Why " increasing to a
wail "why don't you? Willyou tell me why
you don't want that cup broken " " Oh
hang ! " you say, " because I don't. What
on earth is cook doing ? " You are hot now
instead of cold. " Do play with your soldiers,
Tommy." " Why do you look like that ? "
says Tommy, beginning to cry. " What's that
on your cheek ? " he demands suddenly,
fingering your pet mole with a sticky finger.
It is now twenty minutes since cook left the
room. You ring the bell violently.
" Why do you ring the bell ? " asks
Tommy, now weeping unrestrainedly. " I
don't want you to ring the bell I want my
tea I want Nanny I don't want medicine
I don't want you to ring the bell my
tooth is sore I want Nanny "
Cook comes rushing up. " Sorry to
have kept you, m'm," she says, " but I had to
53
chop a few sticks for the kettle ; the fire
had gone that low. Now, master, come to
me and we'll ride-a-cock-horse."
There is nothing for it. Tommy's interest
is on one side, a long life of seclusion in the
asylum on the other. Tommy must go to
the wall.
" I think I wouldn't move him about,
Jane," you say. " If you will read to him and
give him his tea he will be quite happy."
Then you escape with a heart of lead and
ears of granite, and lay you down once more.
You get hot and cold alternately as occa-
sional faint screams reach you from the
nursery. The coals fall, one by one, lower
in the grate. The fire is nearly out. You
see the cold, grey trees waving outside
the window. The hot-bottle got chilled
while you were in the nursery. The only
warm thing in the room is your pillow which
is boiling
Pop-op-op-op-bang !
That is how Maggie always announces her
presence. She staggers into the cold twilight,
54
WHY
bearing an immense tray with tea sufficient
for a school feast, and all the other items on
her long menu are stale and tasteless. The
butter is so shivering with cold that it is only
able to clutch a few crumbs out of the bread,
and these lie petrified on its chilly flakes.
The sandwiches are too small, dry besides,
and the jam inside them is an old enemy.
The cake is last week's : one of Jane's
failures, which, as she says, " seems to hang
on a long time." Maggie sweeps your
book, your lamp, and everything you are
likely to want off the table, and plants
her horrid collection of uneatables in their
place, lights a flaring gas immediately in
front of your eyes and prepares to depart.
" Maggie," you say (how hatefully irksome
it is to ask for the obvious when one is
ill), " would you please draw the blinds,
and make up the fire, and put out that
gas, and bring me back my lamp and
books."
Oh, why did you ever let her go near
the grate ? It would have been chilly work
55
making up the fire yourself, but next time
a thousand times Yes.
Banger, banger, banger, racker, racker,
racker, PONG ! racker, racker, racker, rack,
rack, rack, PONG ! PONG ! ! PONG ! ! !
Your spinal cord splits in sympathy with the
brave lump of coal which has held out
so long against Maggie's invincible poker,
and which now retreats in a million fragments
to the other end of the room. Shovel, ovel,
ovel, ovel shovel, ovel, ov " Surely
that is enough, Maggie ; you will make it
so black," you venture at last.
Down come the blinds with a sickening
rattle, and you are left to take what comfort
you can from the cold, strong tea (she has
forgotten the hot water and the bell is
at the other end of the room), the shivering
butter, and the stern, unpopular cake.
These sit on like unwelcome guests, hour
after hour. There is no room for anything
else on the table, and there they remain ;
that horrible cake staring into the fire, just
56
WHY 5\co r
like the kind of person who sits on and
on after tea, and breaks your marked silence
by asking, " Have you heard anything from
Annie lately ? " and futilities of that sort.
The butter, perhaps, is prepared to leave,
and says, " Well, we ought to be getting
home, I suppose ; we've paid you quite
a visitation." But the cake takes no notice
whatever, and the sandwiches stand about
on the tray, fingering things and asking,
" That's new, isn't it ? Who gave it you ? "
and so on. If Maggie had had the intuition
of a louse she would have announced their
cab I mean she would have carried them
away ages and ages ago.
It is impossible to read with the cake
looking like that. You doze a feverish,
thirsty doze. Dinner will have to be very
tactfully presented. You wonder whether
Jane will have thought of sweetbread or
what. The bed is very crumby. Can that
odious cake having been leaning over us
to see whether we were asleep, whispering,
perhaps, " Well, good-bye then, I won't
S7
disturb you ? " Probably the sandwiches
giggled and said, " Don't get up, we can let
ourselves out." The sandwiches' names are
Catherine and Agnes, and one is thirty-
seven and the other thirty-one ; both are
unmarried and very fond of us.
Hang the cake ! Why couldn't it go
when it saw we were asleep, without spilling
those wretched crumbs. One is just in the
small of our back and another is under our
left leg. How hot the bed is !
Pop-op-op-bang ! Crash !
The door-handle all but went through the
looking-glass that time. Maggie pushes the
door gently after her with her leg as she
comes in.
" Shall I put it on the bed, m'm ? "
You start up in a fright. The cake has
not gone after all ; it is still there, looking
very hard and seedy and disapproving.
And there are those silly sandwiches looking
w th disdain on the new tray with the new
58
wur
batch of arrivals. But their disdain is
nothing to your disgust. Sweetbread, did
you say ? " It's stewed steak, m'm," says
Maggie, " won't you have any ? "
Stewed steak ! Grey, heavy, steaming,
thick, nutritious, and garnished with two
potatoes, very blue about the lips, and an
ample supply of cabbage ! " Take it away at
once, please," you say in trembling tones,
" and that horrible tea too. I don't want
anything," you add, deeply injured.
" There's roly-poly pudding, m'm, and
macaroni cheese," says Maggie ; " will you
have both ? "
You are very hot by the time she quite
understands. The crumbs in the bed are
like living coals, and Maggie was in such a
hurry to get away that she did not notice the
fire. You get up and remake the bed, fetch
hot water, wash, and return to bed shivering.
Then a kind and anxious husband, with a
peculiarly pungent cigar, comes up and
reports that the macaroni cheese is excellent,
won't you have some ?
59
You drop into a sound sleep at about ten,
which is the hour Maggie selects to " do "
the washstand and tidy the room. If any
one has not the experience or the imagina-
tion to supply details of the subdued clatter of
soap-dishes and glasses, varied by heavy falls
of coal and hair-brushes, or of the piercing
squeak of each drawer as it opens and shuts,
neither will they realize the significance of
a basin-cloth left on the floor just where
it catches the eye. At about eleven
you probably rise, seize its clammy edge
between your finger and thumb, and fling it
into the passage. After this you return to
the cold bottle and the hot crumbs that
were not all brushed out when you remade
the bed.
Morning dawns brightly with the prospect
of a pleasant day of peace and leisure. You
make your own bed, and perform an elaborate
toilet between early tea and breakfast, so
that by eight o'clock you are sitting up, good
and happy, waiting for a lightly boiled egg.
At eight-fifteen an agitated husband enters^
60
WHY
looking at his watch, and says he will just
go down and hurry them up. Punctuality
is your especial fad, and unpunctuality is
Maggie's, so by eight-thirty you are already
warm with the heat of battle. You rehearse
your displeasure beforehand. Biting sarcasms,
haunting home truths, pungent, pathetic
appeals to humanity and reason are prepared
by your active brain, already aglow with the
necessity for being " after " every dratted
person in the house if any hanged thing is to
get done.
At half-past eight the door is flung open
with the inevitable crash, and reason and
eloquence give place to the stronger spirits
of fear and gratitude. You mentally
apologize to Maggie for all the things you
were going to say. Your heart is wrung
when you see her staggering under a load of
silver jugs and entree dishes, two loaves, a
ham, and five plates with knives and forks to
match.
" I am sorry the master was obliged to
complain about breakfast being late, m'm,"
61
says Maggie, looking like a thunderstorm
with heart disease. She disposes the feast
all over your room, plates on the top of your
clothes, two entree dishes at your feet (just
where you can't reach them without spilling
the tea), and the ham on the washstand. " I
had to get the extra dishes out of the plate
chest," pursues Maggie reproachfully, " and
they were all to polish before I could take
them down to the kitchen."
To explain just then the ideal breakfast in
bed would involve " suiting yourself" in a
month, or, more probably, recantation, ex-
planations, tears, emotions, and all sorts of
luxuries in which you are unwilling to
indulge Maggie at the moment, so you
decide to wait for more settled weather.
At ten o'clock the entree dishes are still
weighing heavily on your toes, you have
heard tradesmen's boys come and go (re-
peated falls of plaster from the ceiling and
sudden shocks to your frame have betrayed
their several applications to the bell), but
cook has had no orders and it is certain that
62
WHY
she will not act without them. This means
that nothing will arrive in time for anything
throughout the day, and the master will
consult his watch, and your temperature will
rise from nervous apprehension before every
meal. Also, you would like your room
tidied. Where have all those miserable
women gone ? They seem to disappear like
worms into the sand and all is silent as the
grave. You tumble out of bed again and
go to the bell. If the tradesmen's boys can
raise the dead and restore the deaf to hearing,
shall our efforts not be equally blessed ? At
last you get hold of the cook. She had not
come up for fear of disturbing you. She
has no ideas at all about food. " Would
you fancy some stewed steak for lunch ?
There doesn't seem to be much else to have,
without you have the hot-pot oh yes, of
course there is the fish if you care for that ;
would it be substantial enough for the
master ? Oh, beg pardon, she understood
for lunch and dinner both quite so.
Would master fancy roly-poly pudding and
63
macaroni cheese ? Yes, he had them last
night, but she thought he liked them better
than anything else and there didn't seem to
be much else at this time of year, without
you went to the expense of fruit "
" Now I suppose," you reflect afterwards,
" that that ass of a doctor would say, why
don't I order what I like for myself. Could
Cleopatra have had the energy to order any-
thing but an asp for herself after she had
c seen about ' the figs for the rest of the
household ? "
Clara has now been up and dusted under
the bed. Does any happy, hearty, healthy
person know what this means ? If not, let
him take the next time when he is tired and
in a temper, and let him lie on two chairs
and get a child to joggle all the legs of them
in turn.
You doze.
Pop-op-op-op-BANG !
" If you please'm, Mrs. Jameson has rung
WHY
up to say, could you lunch with her to-day
at one-thirty ? "
" I suppose you didn't think of telling her
I was in bed ? " you suggest.
" No, m'm, I thought you might wish to
speak to her yourself."
You doze.
-pop (very gently). Jane
Pop
enters.
" Please'm, did you telephone for the
fish ? "
Any amateur can supply the answer to
this question.
You sleep.
Pop- op -op -op- ?
BANG!
You were so sound
asleep that you could
only catch the concluding words of Maggie's
sentence : "... and she thought, m'm,
E 65
perhaps you'd like to look at the pipe
where it's burst."
(A few minutes later) "... nor you don't
wish to see the man ? "
" I think not, thank you. I could draw
him with my eyes shut."
" Would you wish me to telephone or will
you ? "
" ! ! ! ! and while you are about it,
Maggie, you might bring some coal."
She brings it in three-quarters of an hour,
when you have got nicely off to sleep again,
and before a fresh piece of coal can be put
on the fire the grate has to be raked com-
pletely to pieces and resolved into its original
elements of several bars and some other
pieces of very resonant iron.
Naturally lunch was late. You knew it
would be, and Jane was very sorry but she
had forgotten to order the cream. After
lunch there was an awful row with the baby.
He was left alone while nurse went down to
get some drinking water, and he fell off his
chair there has to be some one always on
66
WHY
the spot with children. You can't turn your
back a minute, etc.
Probably the doctor called at teatime and
asked why you were up, and it is improbable
in the extreme that he took in one word
of your lucid explanation of the facts. He
would tell you, if you asked him, that women
make difficulties, and that he himself once
had a week in bed and that everything went
on just as usual. But then doctors don't
mind the room not being " done," and their
daily work doesn't behave like a sucking-
kid after its mother. It stays where it is
until its master comes to fetch it, and if it
isn't done, well then, it just isn't, and that's
all about it.
CHAPTER VI : THE " WHAT
THE DEVIL?" CLUB
" TTT wouldn't be a bad plan, dear," Mrs.
I Henry once said sarcastically to her
-*- husband, " if you were to start a
' What the devil ? ' club ; you use the ex-
pression so frequently." The club was
never founded, of course, but it wouldn't
have been at all a bad plan. It would tend
to clear the mind. For instance, say that at
breakfast the eggs were a little underdone. If
instead of exclaiming, " What the devil has
cook been about ? " you reflect, " What the
devil does it matter whether these eggs stick
together in the shell or pour over the edge ?
The fact that the eggs are there, and are
more or less edible is enough for me," just
think of the different complexion it would
put on the whole affair. But in fact it
wouldn't do, because different people have
such different ideas about what they describe
as " the things that matter." The last time
68
TH6 T>SVIL?" CLWB
I called on Mrs. Henry she seemed very
pleased about having had this idea of the
club, and was quite excited at having used
the word " devil." She had a brother
staying with her at the time, and I think it
was partly his robust influence that made her
break out and be so racy.
" Henry's perfectly right, Maria, though
he doesn't know it," said this brother.
" There must be at least fifty occasions a day
for saying ' What the devil ? ' in your
house."
" Whatever do you mean, William ? "
said Mrs. Henry indulgently. He is her
favourite brother.
" I'll show you as we go along," he
answered, " I dare say the opportunities will
turn up."
" I can't believe that France will go
to war," observed Mrs. Henry a little
later.
" What the devil does that matter ?" replied
William. " I beg your pardon, Maria, but
it was your own idea. You see it is really
of no consequence whether you believe it or
not ; it won't alter the fact."
" Oh, of course, if you look at it like that,
William," said Mrs. Henry a little huffily,
" it doesn't matter what you believe. You
might apply your theory to anything."
William said calmly, " It doesn't matter,
except that your beliefs affect your character ;
they don't affect facts."
" In that case, I suppose you wouldn't
have sided with Mr. Sprigger who used to
be curate here. He left the Church of
England because he couldn't bring himself
to believe the story of John the Baptist and
the locusts. He had had a medical training
to begin with, as he thought of being a
doctor, and he was convinced that some
particular part of the locust I forget which
it was exactly would have been absolutely
impossible to digest."
" There you are ! ' said William.
" Either John digested those locusts or he
didn't. You can't possibly alter the fact
anyhow, and thinking about them was bad
70
me veviL?" CLU ( B
for Mr. Sprigger, because it got him into
the habit of taking a lawyer's view of life ;
arguing for the argument's sake."
" I don't understand what you mean,"
said Mrs. Henry coldly.
" Well, a lawyer will argue that a man is
guilty or not guilty, whichever way he is
paid to, won't he ? " said William. " He
doesn't want to get at the facts ; indeed, he
refuses to be told sometimes for fear the
knowledge should bias his mind. Now
Sprigger can't get at his facts, which is
the same as if he wouldn't, and so he
can only be arguing for argument's sake,
and he will never develop his soul in that
way."
" Mr. William," I was moved to suggest
later, " if I put my foot through that
picture you have been working at this
morning, would you say, ' what the devil did
it matter ? '
" No, certainly not, because it would
matter."
" Of course it would be very annoying,"
7 1
said Mrs. Henry, " but I can't see, myself,
that it would matter more than that Mr.
Sprigger's beliefs should be undermined.
You talk about facts, but Henry said only
the other day, that your pictures were
misrepresentations of fact."
" Did he ? " said William. " I'll have to
talk that over with him when he comes in.
Anyhow, I don't see what the devil it
matters what Henry or anybody else thinks
about my pictures so long as they don't put
their feet through them. They are definite
creations facts."
" Henry says not," she insisted. Henry
came in just then and they began all over
again.
" Well, now, about babies " William
was still pursuing his argument when we
went in to dinner.
ct Dear me, William," said Mrs. Henry
tightly. William waved her aside with his
knife. " Now I think, for my part," he
said in loud, burly tones, " that it doesn't
matter who the father is "
72
rue veviL?" CLUB
" You needn't wait, Janet, we'll ring," said
Mrs. Henry.
William paid the girl the graceful com-
pliment of waiting until the door closed
behind her, and then added, " So long as the
thing is a fact, it doesn't matter a hang how
it became so. The question is, there's a
baby ; that's all that is of interest to us, isn't
it, so long as it is strong and well ? "
" Henry, dear, do you care for more
beetroot ? " said his wife, and then there was
silence.
" Then there's another silly thing you
women do to confound issues and obscure
points," continued William. " When some
one comes to the place some poor girl
newly married and you are asked to call on
her, the first thing you ask is, ' And er
who was she ? ' Now what the devil does
it matter who she was ? Who is she ? you
might perhaps ask if you want to know,
though it is not of much importance. All
you want to find out, to my thinking, is just
this : is she, or is she not?''
73
" Is she, or is she not what, William ? "
his sister asked almost impatiently. " I don't
follow you."
" Good Lord ! is she what ! That's just
it. Is she anything^ my dear girl ; is she
anything with human blood, and bones, and
a presentable face in front of it, or is she
simply a mass of slowly decaying matter,
endowed with the gift of moving from one
chair to another ? That's the very thing I
want to know."
" What girl in particular were you speak-
ing of, William ? " said Mrs. Henry with
forced patience. " If I know to whom
you refer, perhaps I shall be able to tell you
whether she is what did you say ? decaying ?
or not. Cheese, Henry ? "
We were destined to see a good deal of
William. He was trying to run some
scheme or other in the neighbourhood, and
he went into rooms for a time. He was
asked out a good deal at first, but not so
much later on. To me he became a sort of
Eulenspiegel, and I delighted to hear of his
74
T>SVIL?" CLU<B
progress in the town. But I believe that
was not the light in which he regarded
himself; he quite intended to be a serious
reformer. One good thing he did ; he
stimulated industry in the neighbourhood.
Ladies almost invariably took up a piece of
knitting or work of some kind when he
came near them, and men would go off to
their studies, saying, " I'll leave you to have
a chat with my wife while I just finish a
bit of work." It interested him more than
anything to find out what were the various
landmarks in their past lives to which other
people attached importance. There were
some, he discovered, who thought that what
they called " sound principles " were of im-
portance, and when he pressed them to
describe by what process a principle became
sound, they nearly always said that it was
sound if the best men held it. It took him
many an hour's hard work running, the old
ladies of Millport to ground on the point
who the best men were. They dodged
and doubled, burrowed and soared, fluttering,
75
on to fences, which gave way under them
when they sat for a moment to take breath.
They took sanctuary in all sorts of funny
little temples, which they had built, from
time to time, of precepts gathered here and
there. I remember seeing Mrs. Beehive
flee, breathless, into one of these, and remain
for a long time, while William stood, so to
speak, baying at the door. It was the temple
of " Woman being a good influence over
man."
" Now, seriously," I heard William say,
" do you think that you are a good influence
for your husband to have about him ?
Remember, he is a very shrewd man, and
knows what he is about."
Mrs. Beehive for the moment completely
filled the temple, she swelled so much as
she replied, " I hope, indeed, that I am,
Mr. er "
" Why ? in what way ? " demanded deep-
throated William.
" It is not for me to describe in what
way," answered Mrs. Beehive, " but there
THS VeVIL?" CLUB
are many ways. Perhaps you will find out
some day for yourself when you are
married ! " she
added, artfully
drawing another
bolt across the
door.
He went round
to the back of
the temple and
shouted through
the window,
" Isn't it more
likely that the influence of the Almighty
keeps your husband friendly with you,
rather than that your influence keeps him
friendly with the Almighty ? Not of course
that it matters either way ; the result is the
same. He is a good honest man. But it
is worth getting at the facts."
" Wait till you are married," repeated
Mrs. Beehive shrilly, and I have no doubt
that soon he had her fluttering before him
once more, but I was obliged to leave them.
77
" What the devil do these people think
they are doing, leading the moral tone of
the town ? " he once said to Mrs. Henry.
" Women who don't understand the rudi-
ments of morality."
" Well, I am sure the men are no better,
William," said poor Mrs. Henry, who, as I
have said, really admires her brother, and
would like her sex to stand well with him.
" They are better in this way," observed
William, " that they treat their own morals
as what they are, manners suitable and
appropriate to the society in which they
live ; they don't take them seriously as you
do, as if they were ordained by Divine
inspiration."
" Do you mean to say that Henry, for
instance, is not in earnest in the things
which he believes to be right ? " said Mrs.
Henry, indignant at last. " Really, William,
I can't make you out at all."
" Henry's all right," said William, " leave
him out of it. What I mean is that when I
see that woman, Beehive, for instance "
THS WSVIL?" CLU<B
" Oh, William, do be careful. I feel sure
they can hear in the pantry "
"That woman. Beehive, I repeat,"
pursued William, " walking about and pre-
tending that she knows for certain that it is
wrong for other people to keep later hours
and to use more varied language than she
herself cares to do, I feel that I must some-
how compel her to look at the facts, and to
justify the high moral posi-
tion she has usurped, before
I can allow her to remain
seated there unchallenged."
William's progress
through the town was as
easily marked as that of
a tornado. I could always
track him by a glance at
the faces of people in the
streets. Where he had
passed there would inevit-
ably be one or more injured-
looking persons, readjusting their expressions
and muttering indignantly to themselves.
79
Sometimes a knot of women would be
seen gibbering at a street corner, their
individual disorders gathering them together
by a natural process like that which
goes to form an abscess. And when Mrs.
Beehive was so far off as to be scarcely
visible to the naked eye, I could tell by the
angle at which she rolled whether or no
she had fallen in with William.
Dear William and his facts were most
enjoyable when taken together with Henry's
quiet visions, and when Mrs. Beehive
crossed the field of their united activities
there was indeed a rare sight. For William,
in his relentless pursuit of Mrs. Beehive's
fallacies, had overlooked one most important
fact, that so fast as you disperse matter in
one direction it gathers together again in
another. Henry was a persevering visionary,
and no sooner had William scattered Mrs.
Beehive to the four winds, than Henry
built her up again, so that in the end one
was forced to the conclusion that the poor
lady had no independent existence at all.
80
THE T)BVlLr' CLUB
When Henry expressed his belief in any of
her assertions, she swelled larger than
any frog ; and when William ran at her
in order to get at the facts, she crumbled
to pieces like any other act of faith. The
marvel is that William himself lived with
a vitality independent of facts, and no
" getting at the facts " had any destruc-
tive power over Henry. But that, as
William explained when it was pointed
out to him, was just as it should be.
" There is better stuff in me," he assured
us, " than the mere fact of my existence, and
the fact about Henry is that he is a good
man. You can't do away with that."
Mrs. Beehive overheard this unintelligible
remark, and immediately, I believe, put on
more weight.
81
CHAPTER VII : THE MYSTE-
RIOUS MUNCHERS
SURELY there is something in Shake-
speare about somebody who "munched
and munched and munched." If so,
it is there because Shakespeare had to do
with theatres and evidently knew. When
you look at all the pansy-faces together,
munching, munching, munching, you begin
to wonder why it is that persons who
normally go for at least two hours at a time
without food require so much extra nourish-
ment all of a sudden. Sarah Jane, we know,
gets through a morning's hard work with no
other encouragement than a cup of inky
tea at eleven. Miss Simmons, the typist,
does not, surely, tick away at all that impor-
tant stuff with her cheeks bulging like a
monkey's over a hidden store of refreshment.
In the showroom you never hear such an
apology as, " Sorrv, Moddum, the young
lady's sweetmeat is unusually sticky for the
82
) US
time of year ; she will answer your question
in one moment." Therefore it cannot be
that they eat because listening to the play is
hard work and
they need support.
Can it be to cause
anasmia of the
brain by directing
the flow of blood
to etc. ? But
then why desire
to cause anasmia ?
They do not look
as if their brains were in a fatally active
condition ; in fact, no one in the audience
ever looks quite right in the head. But,
indeed, I have a theory that people are
no longer themselves when they enter a
theatre. Otherwise how is it possible to
account for the fact that all our friends
go constantly to the play and we go there
ourselves, and yet we never, never meet one
another ; at least hardly ever ? Isn't it
a bewildering surprise to recognize a friend
83
between the acts ? It seems to take at least
five minutes peering and goggling before it
is possible to believe the glad thing. And
then what a waving and commotion ! " The
Prenderbursts ! Just fancy ! In the third row
but two yes, quite sure that's Effie !
just turning round now behind the lady
with the orange scarf." Personally I go in
just any old thing, because I never expect to
be recognized ; and I hate leaving my seat,
because I generally have on an evening top
and thick boots, and it looks so bad if you
go out and the lights are up.
Being, like all idle people, an intolerable
wonderer, I have wondered for years " who
the people are who go to the theatre." One
thing is quite certain, and that is that
the people who go are not the same as
the people who have been. Every day
one knocks against the people who have
been, but the people who go one has never
seen before except at the theatre and will
never see again until the next time we
go. Where they live between the perform-
US
ances is a mystery. My own belief is that
they disappear into their holes in the town,
and there sleep until the next performance ;
they eat at the theatre, as we have seen. As
soon as you get a hypothesis started the
whole thing begins to work out together,
and all sorts of details arrange themselves.
The only doubtful point now is how far
the theatre managers are in the secret as
regards the origin of their audiences, or
whether they suppose them to be ordinary
persons.
According to my hypothesis the munchers
are a race of people apart, like the troglodytes,
with physiological and social laws of their
own, of which we know nothing. They
are unknown to the police because they
look more or less like human beings and
behave quietly. They come to the box-
office and book seats like you and I do, and
the man in the box is in a hurry and doesn't
notice any difference. But it is owing to
their numbers that you and I can never get
just the seats we want.
8s
The most curious thing about the whole
business is the munchers' power of turning
human beings into fairy changelings. It is
owing to this power that we hardly ever
meet our friends at the theatre. An instance
that absolutely proves this theory occurred
the other day, and it at once threw light on
what has been an irritating mystery to me
for years. The Blots were dining with us,
and some one mentioned a play then running
at our principal theatre.
" Oh, were you there ? " said Amy Blot,
" so were we. Where were you sitting ?
We never saw you."
" Second row of the dress circle," I
answered, " fourth from the end."
" But so were we," protested Amy, " at
least we were sixth from the end on the
right facing the stage." That had certainly
been our side. " Oh, well, it's too queer,"
Amy decided. She is a very striking-looking
woman ; you couldn't mistake her ; and her
husband is really remarkably fat ; you would
pick him out at once. I thought it over for
86
us
a few minutes, and then said quite definitely,
" My dear Amy, you must be wrong, because
I remember exactly who were in those seats.
There was a girl with her hair parted on
one side ; it looked very well in front, but it
was scrabbly at the back, as if it had been
eaten by rats. She had on a pink silk blouse
of the new shape, but beyond that I couldn't
see. There was an old lady with her, who
had loose cheeks and a small cap with a
butterfly in it your husband wasn't dressed
up in any way, was he ? "
" How absurd," said Amy, " of course
not. But those were our seats, and we never
saw you either. There were two minxes and
two pasty-faced young men where you say
you were."
I remember that I wrote to Sir Oliver
Lodge about it that evening, but tore up the
letter on my husband's advice, as he thought
the matter might get taken up, and we
should have men calling with notebooks.
It wouldn't have done. But, all the same,
this is probably what poor Shakespeare
87
meant when he wrote about the lady who
munched and munched and munched.
Looked at from the point of view of
psychical research, munchers are extremely
interesting. Any natives with horrible
ways are all right if viewed scientifically.
Munchers have many offensive habits which
one might be inclined to resent were it not
that it is nice to know how different we are.
For instance, this sort of thing. You may
be sitting enraptured, the tears streaming
down your face, and the hobgoblin behind
you starts her reminiscences :
" Something the same sort of story as
H indie Wakes, isn't it, Lizzie ? "
" Yes, did you see that ? "
" My word, yes ! A funny sort of story,
wasn't it, didn't you think ? "
" Yes, do you remember where she comes
on in the first act ? Something the same
sort of thing, wasn't it ? "
" Were you ever at Blackpool ? "
" Oh yes hush ; look at him there
now pity he don't move up a bit sharper
we were at Blackpool a week, and mother,
she " etc.
The munchers have almost nerveless fingers,
and drop their possessions a good deal. " I
wonder if you'd mind, one moment ? '
is the sort of thing they ask just when some
climax or other is being reached. " I've
dropped my hat under your seat." When
the wretch by your side has dropped an
umbrella, and the two at the back have
dropped a purse and a spectacle case, and
have put a muff down your neck, and got
some beads entangled in your hair ; when
eighteen of them have squeezed over you
during each interval in order to reach seats
that are next the gangway on the other side ;
when the one who looks like a debilitated
porpoise has clapped his hands down your
ear for ten minutes, and succeeded in re-
calling the singer whom you were so glad to
get rid of; and when laughter, which is
about as harmless and irritating as eggs shot
from a cannon, has at last died away into
mere sniggering at some homely detail in a
tragedy : then, if you still feel cross, you
must try to divert yourself with the mystery
of the munchers,
and remember
that one of your
dearest friends
may be sitting
next to you, dis-
guised by the
spell. The de-
bilitated porpoise
may be your friend De Vere, whose
manners are so perfect, whose social sense
is so developed that we none of us know
what clods we are when we go to tea
with him. It is only afterwards that we
realize our deficiencies : when the Prender-
bursts come to tea and we want to make
our party feel like De Vere's. And he
may think he was sitting next to a lemon-
coloured lady with an angry face and a box
of chocolates.
Now and again, of course, one sees an
acquaintance or two, but they are nearly
90
always rather dry and emphatic people, who
have evidently escaped the power of the spell.
You see them standing up, peering through
glasses, and saying how odd it is that there
seems to be no one here. When they read
this they will say that they have not the
least idea what it is all about.
Music seems to have some power of dis-
enchantment, because at a concert, though
the munchers fill a good part of the building,
there are always dozens and dozens of people
whom one knows. It may be that the awful
weariness paralyses the hypnotic power of
the munchers. They are there just the same,
with their vacant faces, and their queer screws
of hair, and their unsuitable clothes, but they
are almost too weak to chew from their
packets of refreshment. In fact, no one
chews at a concert, except surreptitiously in
a box.
There is a special subdivision of munchers
who frequent the boxes both in theatres and
at concerts. They are like the queen bees
in the hive of theatre-goers. They are
9 1
monstrously fat, female, and innocently
foolish. Instead of having a pinched and
wispy appearance, they are like the plump,
precocious, affected, happy-looking children
who perform on the music-hall stage. It is
possible that the inferior munchers rear and
keep these immense females to decorate the
boxes, feeding them luxuriously at all hours,
while they themselves subsist on their timid
feasts of chocolate that tastes of hair oil.
The right
attitude for the
box can, surely,
only be acquired
by special culture
and constant
practice. To be-
gin with there
must always be a
huge white arm
with a podgy
little hand on the
end of it draped along the edge of the box. The
gigantic body, squeezed like blancmange into
92
whatever mould the latest fashion dictates, is
turned towards the stage. The round, good-
natured face, with its natural vulgarity break-
ing through the assumed air of the Princess
of Many Sorrows (imagine a jolly country
butcher's wife in a tableau as " Our Lady of
Pain"), is directed down and towards the
auditorium at the angle of a turnip about to
fall from a shelf. Bless the dears ! It is a
treat to see anyone so happy. But that is
what the munchers are, depend upon it.
93
CHAPTER Fill : SHEER
TEMPER
JUSTICE and Generosity are often sup-
posed to be a pair of excellent friends
who have an influence for good on one
another's character. But Generosity has a
still closer friend whom she says nothing
about, namely Injustice. She cannot always
behave as freely as she would like when
Justice is there, explaining things and being
so absolutely right. But when Injustice
has been to tea with her, talking his bad,
unscrupulous talk, making everything so gay,
and putting the blame on all the wrong
people, then Generosity has a free hand and
can be as lavish as she likes.
" Come in here for a minute," said
Reginald to Percy one morning in the City,
" I want to get this hat ironed."
There was some delay, and Reginald was
both clear and original in what he said.
Percy was lost in admiration. The shop-
94
S H 6 8^ TS^MTS <%
man, expert in silence, by long practice,
forbore to reply except by deprecating sounds
which but served to inspire Reginald to a
richer eloquence. At last the hat was
brought in, ironed to perfection. Reginald
finished his sentence, which glowed with
the imaginative splendour of a Turner
sunset.
" Oh, we never make any charge, sir, for
ironing a hat," said the expertly silent
shopman.
.
" I don't agree with you," said Percy,
removing from his coat the little tufts of
hair which his friend had flung about in his
careless agony. " You had the ball at your
toe ; then was the time to express a large,
generous forgiveness for the unconscionable
delay."
Unless we are unpleasant sort of people
we cannot be generous about an injury
unless we have first been mollified to some
extent ; and what more mollifying than to
find that the supposed injury has never been
95
done ? Percy saw this more clearly than
Reginald, who was quite morbid about
wanting to be in the right, always.
It is an interesting question what stupid
persons find to get in a temper about,
because, if you come to think of it, there is
nothing in the world except stupidity (our
own or other people's) to make anyone
fractious, and, of course, stupid people
cannot mind or they wouldn't be stupid.
Good, just people may be angered by the
wilful wickedness of some one who is
determined not to do the thing required ;
but anger is not temper. Temper, that
horrible itching and pain in one's social
sense, can only be brought on by stupidity,
real or imagined, in other people (I count
inanimate objects such as shirt studs and
hair as people because they can be just as
irritating). Consider for a moment the
persons who cause temper in a household ;
husbands, wives, children, and servants.
Wives and servants, on an average, probably
cause more temper because, on an average,
sue 8^ r e
they are stupider than husbands and children.
Relations are apt to be very thick-headed
perhaps because blood is thicker than water
almost as bad as tradesmen at the
telephone. Friends are practically never
stupid, while acquaintances often reach the
extreme limit of what it is possible to bear.
Compared to relations, who, as we have
said, are as bad as tradesmen at the telephone,
acquaintances are as bad as the half-witted
boy who is usually left in charge of the
station-master's office.
Talking of station-masters, and a propos
of wives being stupider than husbands, I
feel absolutely certain that no station-master
has ever spent such a day as would be
inevitable for him if he were a wife, and his
staff were nice, hardworking girls.
Imagine a platform full of people waiting
for the 9.45 express to Holyhead. " Oh
no, m'm," says the female station-master's
second-in-command, with a silly smile, " the
9.45 hasn't come up yet. I expect it'll be
just coming now. I've sent to tell the
G 97
engine-driver that you're waiting, and she
says that she was a bit late this morning, as
they hadn't brought the coal." She observes
the infuriated passengers and beams upon
them with her
I
mouth open. "It
is a pity, isn't it,
keeping them wait-
ing ! They do
seem upset ! Just
fancy! What a
shame ! ! " (It will
be such a help to
everyone connected
with this book if all the capable ladies who
run their houses to perfection will just begin
to skip here, and not say anything more
about it ; because we know the other side
of the question quite well, and the whole
thing is hardly serious enough for argument.)
When the matter of the 9.45 has been sifted
to the bottom, it is found that the coal was
only an excuse ; the engine-driver really
hadn't an idea of the time. She was just
S H 8 8^
washing out a few handkerchiefs in the
waiting-room, where the old lady in charge
never noticed her doing it ; she thought she
had come about the windows.
i: Or, again, what would happen if a man of
business told his clerk to telephone for a
hundredweight of grey blotting-paper, and
while he wrote at his desk he had to endure
this sort of thing
(as we do when we
ask our maids to
send a telephone
message) : " Is that
Hoggins's ? I say,
is that Hoggins's ?
Hoggins. Aren't
you a stationer?
Beppardon ? yes,
a stationer oh,
well, we want a
hundredweight of
blotting-paper at once, please. Beppardon ?
This is Mr. Beadle's. Beadle and Sons J. J.
Beadle and Sons will you send it at once,
99
please. Beppardon ? Beadle and Sons Oh
yes, I'm sorry I 'thought you knew 44
Dacre Street Dacre Street No, not Baker
Dacre. [The man of business growls from
his desk, " You didn't tell him grey blotting-
paper."] What's that ? Beppardon ? Yes,
Dacre Street. A hundredweight of blotting-
paper at once. [The man of business intervenes
again, gnashing his teeth, " Grey blotting-
paper."] Beppardon ? Pink or white ? Oh,
either, thank you yes, please. Good
morning. [Rings off.] Beppardon, sir ?
Did you speak ? "
That is the sort of occasion when Gene-
rosity does not care to hear what Justice has
to say. If an angel came down from heaven
and unjustly beat the offending clerk, the
man of business would find it easy to say,
" Poor fellow, he was doing his best," and
to give him half a crown for a new hat.
If all the efficient females will sit down
quite quietly we will add what we were
about to say, that men are just as irritating,
but they don't mean so inexcusably well.
100
S H 8 8 ^ r
Take, for instance, the man at an inquiry
office ; he doesn't mean well. " I want a
ticket to Leamington," you say. He gives
you a first-class ticket, and you remonstrate.
" You didn't say which you wanted," he
retorts, getting impudent at once. " You
never asked," is your very natural reply.
Or, take a conjurer or magic-lantern man.
You say, " I want you to be very careful,
please, not to do anything to frighten the
children. There will be some quite little
ones, and they don't like anything at all
alarming." " Oh, we understand children
perfectly, Madam," he says, " I know
exactly the sort of thing you require."
The first picture that he puts on the screen
is of a child awakened from its sleep by an
enormous beetle with coloured eyes and a
walking-stick. When the commotion and
the screaming are over, the smaller children
are brought back and sit sobbing on their
nurses' knees, somewhere near the door.
The proceedings are a trifle damped, but the
babies promise, with a catch in their voices,
101
to be very good as they know it is funny.
The next picture shows a happy family
party at breakfast. There enters a police-
man, who by carrying papa away to prison
leaves the family in tears, and the breakfast
spilled on the cloth. The arrest is found to
be a humorous mistake, and papa is brought
home after a painful scene in the prison, but
the story proves beyond a doubt that no one
is safe, even in their own nursery with
both parents present. Here, however, our
argument seems to break down, because it
is probable that the man meant well.
But in the upper classes take, for instance,
Reginald himself. He is sometimes appal-
lingly dense, and can be very intelligently
tiresome. He lived, until quite lately, with
three unmarried sisters, and sometimes when
he came home it happened that none of
them had been out, and all were eagerly
sociable.
" Well, dear, what's the news ? " Louisa
might ask.
" Oh, nothing," Reginald would reply.
1 02
S H 8 8^ T
" I thought that cook said she had seen
posters about a railway accident," said
Agnes.
" Possibly," replied Reginald, " there may
have been."
" Didn't you see anything about it ? " asked
Theresa wistfully.
" It was all in the paper I got coming
home [Chorus : " Where, oh, where is
it ? "] Sorry, I left it in the train," said
Reginald, and then he would go off to dress.
Or the same thing might happen the other
way round. Louisa had been out to tea on
Saturday afternoon, and seen the paper at a
friend's house. Reginald had been playing
golf and was lying half asleep in his
chair.
" Such an awful thing has happened,"
announced Louisa, very properly, the
moment she came in.
" Oh," said Reginald.
" A frightful railway accident ; four
killed, and sixteen taken to the hospital."
" Who are the four ? " Reginald inquired,
103
putting his bottom leg on the top one and
knocking out his pipe.
" Oh, no one we know ; but just
think ! ' I actually heard all this one after-
noon, and it is perfectly true that Reginald
replied in the following way :
" At least four people whom you don't
know die every day, anyhow, so to-day is no
worse than yesterday."
Really, it is impossible to know whether
they do it on purpose or not ; especially
Reginald, who is supposed to be clever.
However, it all just shows that it is stupidity
that makes one get in a temper. There is
often nothing to get angry about, but the
whole thing gets on one's nerves. But there
is worse to come. So far we have only
touched the fringe of what is bad for the
temper. We will now visit a land of torture,
parts of which are, I believe, untrodden by
the male sex.
Has any man ever had to defend his own
self his ego call it anything you like,
from the pursuing eye of a friend ? Has he
104
s ne e^ T
ever been obliged to draw a veil over the
process of his living and say politely,
" Excuse me, my ego I think ? " It has
become the custom for people to go about
in society more or less clothed, and we get
to know our friends fairly well, even when
thus attired ; indeed, it is unusual to insist
on a complete deshabille before we can enjoy
a pleasant chat. But it would be very
tiresome if we were obliged to cover up our
face and hands with a mask and thick gloves
because our friends insisted on examining
the pores of our skin through a magnifying
glass. Some women habitually treat those
whom they love to such a dreadful moral
scrutiny. Men don't do it to each other.
Has any man ever gone to his work and
been met by a fellow labourer who gazed
into his eyes and said in a voice that seemed
to lift his spinal cord and search beneath it,
" You are looking tired to-day."
Now that is a remark which, except it
be made in the most casual and perfunctory
manner, is intolerable from any one but a
105
member of the opposite sex, with whom we
are passionately in love. Women seldom
understand that it is not enough that they
love the person whom they examine in this
way. The victim must be deeply in love
with his tormentor before he can bear it,
and even then it is a risk. For of course
the rash loveress, emboldened by silence,
goes on to ask, " What's the matter ? " and ir
it happens that the Beloved is wearing boots
of which he is immoderately anxious to be
rid, the loveress is almost bound to be the
victim of Injustice before she obtains any-
thing from Generosity.
All personal remarks are to imaginative
persons a heavy strain on endurance. Their
imagination at once conjures up a loathly
picture of themselves in the circumstances
suggested by the remark. It also mentally
fits the remark with an answer, and another
offensive picture results. For instance, there
is the question, " Are you very tired ? '
The imagined answer, in a tone to fit the
question, is, " Yes, dear, very." Plop !
106
S H 8 6 ^ T
You immediately see yourself as a great, fat,
loose body dropping into an arm-chair. You
see a luscious smile spread over your imagined
face as the kindly solicitous one unlaces your
boots you feel mushy all over. " Damn ! "
is probably yout ungracious reply as you
hurriedly put the mask over your normally
apparent fatigue. " What the deuce should
I be tired for ? You're tired yourself I'll
take your boots off." So you divert attention
from the anxious scrutiny of commonplace
blemishes which in tactful circles " we don't
notice." Then you feel a brute, and you
get in a temper at having been made to feel
a brute when you were not really one at all ;
and you were already in a temper before,
because you had seen an incorrect vision of
yourself as a juicy fool. And yet there was
nothing in any of it to get in a temper
about. There are scores of harmless remarks
that have this irritating, personal effect.
" Is your head very bad ? " is a ticklish
question for anybody but one's old nurse to
take upon themselves. It is not often that
107
there are more than three people in the
world who may ask it. You see, the only
possible answer, " Yes, very," is so silly.
What a thing to be asked to say ! The
next move on the part of the dear enemy
can only be, " Would you like anything for
it ? " and what on earth could one like for
it that one has not already done of one's own
accord ? Even if we haven't put on a
wet handkerchief with eau-de-Cologne it is
unthinkable to have any but one of the
possible three persons fiddling with wet
things about our head. Our forehead would,
to a certainty, be shiny and the hair pushed
the wrong way. The wretch would probably
smooth back the curls behind our ears, and
we should know what a hideous fright we
looked and that they loved us just as well
like that No, three people is too many.
No one but our nurse who was there from
the very first can be suffered to deface our
beauty and not know what they have done.
All sensible people will have abandoned
this chapter long ago, so I may as well
108
S H 6 8^ ?
finish it for the morbid delectation of the
neurotic, or for those perfectly sane, yet kind-
hearted sufferers, who have not yet dared to
speak of their sorrows, even to themselves.
Let us collect some other impossible, search-
ing remarks and leave them to soak in with-
out comment. " My darling's eyes look
heavy to-day" (if you are not very careful
the adjective may quite well
be " puffy ") " perhaps you
have eaten something that has
disagreed with you." I had
to write this in a great hurry
for fear I thought about it
and began to get furious again.
" You must tell me when
you are tired of me, and I'll
g."
Murder is too good for the
inquisitress who subjects one
to this last torture ; and yet
she sins in the name of Love,
and we dare not complain for fear of angering
the god, who employs the weak-minded as
109
often as not. I never heard one man say to
another, " Your beard has lost its pretty
colour since you were ill. I wonder if you
tried vaseline " or, " I can't bear to see
you wear those trousers ; they are too loose
on the hips ; they make you look quite
stout. You don't mind my saying so, do
you ? " This would entail a searching
finger through the beard or a playful pinch
on the hips. No, men don't do it. They
have' to bear it sometimes, but they don't do
it. Decidedly the fringe of aggravation
is male and female in fairly equal proportion ;
but when you get to the very heart of it, you
will find a lady sitting there as sure as fate.
And it is only after you have been thoroughly
unjust that you can begin to lavish affection
on her with a generous hand.
I 10
CHAPTER IX : THE
ROYAL VISIT
IT was first rumoured and then announced
in the papers. By and by the full pro-
gramme of events was published, and
then invitations to this and that were issued.
There was nothing unseemly about the
Millport manoeuvres before the great battle
of Exclusive Rights. No one admitted that
there had been, was, or would be any demand
for invitations to anything ; not even for
the big garden-party where the King and
Queen were to be present. There was
a semi-private luncheon too, but that was a
sacramental feast. No one spoke of it
beforehand, any more than a duke would
rush into his club, shouting, " I say ! I'm
going to get the Garter are you ? " No.
One read about it in the paper next morn-
ing ; that was all. But there was a wider
choice of behaviour with regard to the other
invitations. People behaved like the animals
1 1 1
in the Ark, each one after his kind. The
sort who are at their best early in the
morning, and are therefore unpopular with
liverish hosts, were in great spirits about the
whole thing. They applied early for tickets
for everything. The appointed day lay
before them as a rosy picnic. But this was
not the attitude of quite the best people.
They did all their spade-work by moonlight,
when the busy revellers were in bed, dream-
ing happy dreams, with medallions of their
Majesties put out with the clean shirts for
the morning. But in those dark hours
the county families worked for promotion
like heroes, appearing next day spruce and
unconcerned as usual, with the suggestion,
" Shall you be going to the garden-party ?
We might drive out together Oh,
haven't you ? How extraordinary ! These
things are frightfully badly managed. I
expect they haven't got half the invitations
out yet ; ours only came last week." In
the case of those whose midnight labours
had been unblessed with cardboard fruit the
I 12
THS ^or^L VISIT
formula was a little different. There was
no pretending that the fruit was unpalatable
and had been rejected. Millport is not so
crude as all that. The formula was to the
effect that invitations were being issued on
a purely official basis, and mismanaged at
that, and that there would be an awfully
queer crowd there. How would they
behave ?
Reginald was on the committee of the
hospital which the King and Queen were to
visit, so, of course, Polly would be provided
with a good place. One thing was quite
clear, that the occasion asked for, if it did not
actually demand, a new dress.
"My dearest life," said Reginald, "to
begin with, the Queen is short-sighted, and
to go on with, you will be hidden by abler
and stouter persons than yourself in the
front row."
Polly argued that there would be the
tea afterwards, and, besides, anyhow
Reginald gave her a cheque at once, because
when women begin saying, " besides, any-
H 113
how," it is far wiser to give in. Such words
never preface the truth, and the business of
hearing what follows is generally very long
and tedious. Polly had an almost new
afternoon dress which, had it been a success,
she would have worn ; but it was not
altogether right, and Mrs. Henry, whose
husband was also on the committee, had
been in the shop when she bought it, and
would remember its age. Also she had since
been given a hat which was not quite right
with the dress. It would need all a woman's
life as a context to show up trifles like these
so that they would figure as reasons before a
husband's mind. Therefore, we invent
reasons which look solid, rather than bring
forward the nebulous truth which would
probably be met with contempt.
" I want a dress for the King's visit, Miss
Price," said Polly, standing next day in a
small room at the top of a dingy little house.
Miss Price, very minute, very wizened, very
commanding, stood beside a round table on
which were a vase of artificial flowers,
114
<r H s i^or*AL VISIT
several photographs of worn, though cheer-
ful, faces, and some fashion papers of remote
date.
" I am afraid I shan't be able to manage it,
Mrs. er ' she said, " I am so rushed
already, I can hardly get through the orders I
have." Polly took no notice of this. " Are
you making for a lot of people ? " she asked
with deep interest.
"There's Mrs. Beehive," began Miss
Price. " She's ordered a very nice dress."
" Oh, has she ? " said Polly, " what fun !
I shall look out for it. Is it very new ? "
" Well, no," Miss Price said hesitatingly,
" the new styles would hardly suit Mrs.
Beehive. She is all shapes and sizes, you
would think, according to the weather."
Polly sopped this up like nectar, and
retailed it to Reginald when she got home.
" Great Scot ! " he said, " I hope Beehive
doesn't go and look over my waistcoats at
the tailor's, and ask the fitter how much he
has let out since last year. What^curious
creatures you are."
" It's all right," said Polly, " I love to
know beforehand what people are going to
wear, and then I know what to avoid."
" But I think you told me that Miss Price
said she couldn't make it ? " said Reginald.
" Oh, that is just a little nervous habit
of hers," Polly assured him, " like nice-
mannered people wanting to be pressed to a
second helping. Would you believe it if
your tailor said he hadn't time to make you
a new coat ? '
" I never heard of any tailor saying such
a thing," Reginald replied.
" No, of course not," retorted Polly con-
temptuously, "because you order your clothes
in March, and they come home the year
after next. I might undertake to make you
a pair of boots if I could wait to deliver
them until after you were dead. And I
don't suppose you ever complain, do you ? "
" Oh yes," said Reginald. " Haven't you
seen boys tearing along the Exchange with
large cardboard boxes under their arms ? If
you got on to the Flags you would find the
116
THS
VISIT
place littered with tissue paper, and Beehive,
and Henry and I trying on each other's
trousers. That means that we complained
of the delay and sent a boy to fetch the
things at once."
One rather sad feature of the traffic that
went on in Miss Price's dingy apartments
was the immense pains which were taken
by all the ladies to find out what was the very
last word in fashion, and
so attire themselves for
the delight of their
Sovereigns. Little did
they suspect that a
creation from the Rue
de la Paix will avail a
woman at the gates of
Buckingham Palace no
more than a pair of blue
corsets will soften the
heart of Peter. In both
cases the facts would very
likely be used against her. The desire to please
nearly always contains elements of pathos.
117
The programme of the great day's pro-
ceedings was dull enough reading. It not
not only left one with a strong belief in the
divine right of kings, but also suggested
that Providence went a step further and
provided rulers who, though human in
many respects, were fashioned of immor-
tally tough material. We read about the
woman's heart beneath the queenly robe,
of the home life of monarchs, and the birth-
day festivals of princes. The papers assure
us that the King frequently expresses regret
at the loss of his collar-stud, and that the
Queen enjoys a chat with her intimate
friends. Anecdotes are related of how an
emperor once remarked to a gamekeeper
whom he met traversing the park, " I
expect you find plenty to do towards the
middle of August," andi-how the wife of a
reigning Sovereign entered the cottage of
an old woman and observed with a smile,
" I see you have been peeling onions ; you
must remember not to cut your husband's
bread with the same knife." All these
118
rue ^orwz, VISIT
incidents show, beyond any doubt, that the
same heart beats alike for rich and poor.
But there is one heaven-sent quality which
distinguishes rulers from the common herd,
and that is an insensibility to boredom and
the pangs of platitude which transcends
all mortal endowments. Human nature has
the power to endure ; the higher and royal
nature, I hope and believe, does not mind.
How much the Imperial pair observed of
all the labour which had been expended
for their pleasure it is impossible to say.
Whether it ever struck her Majesty that
Polly's sleeves were cut from a more ex-
clusive design than Mrs. Henry's, or whether
she was startled by Mrs. Beehive's superior
knowledge of the habits of the Court, no
one will ever know. But probably the fact
that all sorts of hidden details had been at-
tended to with enthusiasm by every one, that
a spider on the roof of the hospital had been
dislodged from his perch, that the chairman
had given extra attention to the parting of
what hair he possessed, that the matron had
119
on her last new underbodice, and that the
address which was to be delivered by the
Recorder had been carefully prepared : all
these trifles, if unrecognized separately, must
yet have combined
to express a general
sense of happiness
and welcome.
The morning of
the great day
dawned gloomy and
cold, the first wet
day there had been
for three weeks. A
chilly north-west
wind brought,
alternately, pene-
trating fine rain and short intervals of greeny-
grey sky, through which the sun peeped
without interest. On the first moment of
these intervals macintoshes and umbrellas
were eagerly put aside, the enthusiasts lining
the streets emerging gay as a rainbow,
until the fretful clouds gathered once more,
120
rue y^or^fL visir
and everybody with one voice exclaimed,
" Dear me ! What a pity ! "
Inside the hospital there had been very
little sleep for anybody. It would be in-
teresting to know whether persons marooned
on a desert island, with the whole day before
them, begin to get in a hurry when the time
comes to dish up what frugal meals are
available say, two bananas and a sweet
biscuit. It is certain that the importance
and extent of preparations to be made for an
occasion have no bearing on the amount of
time needed to complete them. There will
be a scurry at the end, whether the occasion
is the beanfeasting of a thousand people, or
the getting off of one man and his papers
for an early train. Whether we allow half
an hour for the one (and make the beanfeast
impromptu), or whether we prepare for the
other six months beforehand (reminding
him every hour that the time is getting on,
and finally ourselves putting the tobacco-
pouch in his pocket), the result will be the
same ; the thing will get done with equal
121
hurry and impatience. Everything had
been quite ready the day before this visit
of the King and Queen ; yet no one in the
hospital went to bed, except the patients,
who were in bed already, and they got
very little sleep. The visit, which it was
reckoned would take half an hour, was
timed for eleven, and by nine o'clock the
invalids were all washed and had ribbons in
their hair ; the wards were spotlessly tidy,
and such windows as were to be occupied
by guests were already nearly filled. There
was to be a short reception in the hall when
their Majesties arrived, and a few people
were to be presented.
When the moment was over, and the
royal couple had passed on their way
through the wards ; when they had been
ushered past the fluttering windows ; when
they had re-entered their carriage, and dis-
appeared, methodically bowing, along the
glittering, bobbing, trotting, waving, cheer-
122
TUB f^
ing vista, which is to most of us the whole
life of our King and Queen, then, happy
and relieved, we returned to the official
tea downstairs, and resumed our several
natures.
123
CHAPTER X : FIDELITY
" "W" WISH that people wouldn't write
T these ridiculous letters," said Polly,
-- laying aside a bundle of about eight
closely written sheets. "It's Octavia Sinclair.
She says she is quite sure that I have for-
gotten her. I have not forgotten her in the
least, only she doesn't fill the whole of my
landscape ; it is so absurd that people should
want to."
" It is almost barbaric to want a landscape
to remain the same always," I agreed. " One
runs up villa residences everywhere now, of
course, and the place looks different ; but
the old earth is the same underneath, if
people would only have the sense to under-
stand."
" Do you think I run up lots of villa
residences ? " Polly asked wistfully.
" I was trying to help you, dear, not to
criticize," I replied.
" You see," Polly explained, " if you are
124
FIT) 6 L irr
making anything, no matter what, the pieces
you are making it with don't all stay in the
same place. When the world was being
made it would have been dreadful if all the
mountains and countries had been made in
succession and just stuck down one in front
of the other, and if each tree and each
animal had stayed where it was "
" My dearest Polly," I begged, " stop
just one minute. You don't see trees as
men, walking, do you ? "
" If you are going to be like the serious
raconteur's comic brother in the pantomime,
I'll stop," she answered. " You must
either follow me or stay at home. I see, in
my mind's eye, the Almighty evolving a
perpetually changing order out of the chaos
that occurs every day. You don't make a
world out of a hill, and then a tree, and
then an ocean, stuck down like salt-cellars
on the table. The sea is being made into
rain to wash the ground into different
shapes : the trees settle down into coal, or
we cut them up to build things with, and
125
we clear the ground for villa residences to
hold the new people whom Providence
sends. Sometimes there is an earthquake
which throws up the dead whom we have
forgotten and swallows up the living. It is
all like a kaleidoscope making different
patterns of the same bits."
The door opened and Reginald looked in,
decided that the moment was not for him,
shrugged his shoulders, and went out.
" You can't play a game with every one
staying in the same place," resumed Polly.
" You can't embroider if you don't use first
one thread and then another ; you can't
paint a picture without adding new colours
to the old ones ; you can't make music with
one note ; you can't "
" I've got that point, dear," I said. " You
can go on. You can't make a hotel a lively
place with only one guest. Yes ? "
" I am not talking of enjoyment," said
Polly, " but of any work of construction.
I am constructing my life, and even though
I were a hermit (so you may dispose of your
126
F IT> s L irr
vulgarities about hotels and villas) I could
still add new experiences to the old without
being accused of infidelity."
" But suppose you repented of your past
experiences ? " I suggested.
" I shouldn't wish them undone," said
Polly calmly. " I should merely see them
in a new light, and they would fall back
into their place in the background of my
life's pattern."
" Poor experiences ! Alas ! Octavia, my
poor friend ! " I murmured.
" I feel the same thing about men," said
Polly ; " they are in the pattern too. Sex
is merely a matter of colour in the threads."
" Which is what colour ? " I asked.
" They are both all colours," she said ;
" that is why they make such a good picture
together."
" Well, what do you mean by saying that
it is the same with men ? " I asked. " What
is the same ? "
" I mean that it takes a great many men
to make one husband, just as it takes a great
127
many Octavia Sinclairs to make one person's
life," she explained.
" How many husbands have you besides
Reginald ? " I asked with some hesitation.
" It is very difficult to be patient with
you, Martha," replied Polly. " I have only
one husband, as you know, but he is com-
pounded of all the men I ever met. When
I meet a man who is bad-tempered, I weave
the thread of his ill-temper beside that of
Reginald's amazing patience, and you can't
imagine how Reginald's colours glow. When
I meet another who admires what Reginald
calls my waffle-headed ness (which he dis-
likes, by the way), I enjoy a perfect orgy of
waffle-headedness, and use it all up before
Reginald comes back, and then he restores
the balance on the other side, and there,
again, we have proportion, which is the art
of life. I know several men whose trousers
are either perfectly creased or not folded at
all, and between them I realize that Regi-
nald's are the nearest to the ideal trouser,
showing thought for the temple of his spirit
128
F I'D 6 L ITT
without the exaggerated anxieties of you,
for instance, Martha. Wasn't there some
poet who spoke of c the need of a world of
men for me ' ? The lady whom he men-
tioned there had lost her husband or her
lover, or whoever he was, and she felt, I
suppose, that it would take several men to
replace him. Now I have not lost mine,
and his beauty is immensely enhanced by
the qualities of all the rest of his sex. As
for embracing and that kind of thing, that
is quite beside the mark. I dare say that
if we were all in the garden of Eden I
might occasionally salute the marbled brow
of one or two of the most perfect, just to
emphasize some point in what I was saying,
or as the expression of some passing emo-
tion ; but the thing has got to mean so
much more than Nature intended, that one
doesn't do it, and it is no special deprivation
to me to do without."
" And suppose the threads of your pattern
get restive," I asked, " and won't stay in
their proper positions. Are you never con-
i 129
fronted with a blazing flower of the tropics
when you were at work on a daisy ? "
" No," she replied quite seriously ; " but
if I were, of course I should
work it in somehow."
"Does Reginald embroider
on the same plan ? " I asked
after a pause.
"I expect not," she
answered ; " because I don't
think that men are so
wrapped up in themselves as
we are I don't mean fond of
themselves, I mean wrapped
up. And another thing. I
never think that there is
much substance in my mind except what
other people put in and that, I admit, I
develop very nicely but Reginald has stuff
of his own which he spins out of his inner
consciousness, and which takes shape when
it encounters facts. I don't know whether
that is the difference between other men and
women, but I have an idea that if Moses
130
F I'D 6 L ITT
had been a woman he would have come
back from the wilderness rather bereft of
ideas, and not having done any useful think-
ing at all. Perhaps his (or her) mind would
have ' turned on itself,' as they say, and he
(or she) would have been at loggerheads
with all the fowls of the air. ' There was a
most impertinent vulture,' the female Moses
would have told the children of Israel, ' who
made a point of settling down first on which-
ever rock I had arranged to sit on. Of
course if I had been a man he wouldn't
have dared. It has taken me forty years
of intense thought to dodge him, but I
believe I could manage it now if I went
back.' "
" But Moses had no society, either, to
help his great thoughts to take shape,"
I said pettishly ; " and when he did get
back he was a kill-joy, and finally died of
temper."
"Well, my dear," said Polly, "you find
taking two children to the seaside quite as
much as you can manage. I don't know,
'3 1
I'm sure, what you would say to forty
thousand, or whatever the number was
whom Moses took. If you got through as
well as he did you'd
be lucky. And re-
f~ ' \ \V ^^ 1_ 1 1- J A.
member, he had to
keep them amused
for more than a
month."
Polly is like that;
it is impossible to
take any of her
argumentstoa
logical conclusion.
I tried to make her see that Reginald
was very forbearing to find all his ideals
of womanhood in her without seeking out-
side inspiration, and she said that " men
were like that " ; they had no ideals, and
were prepared to take just anything and
muddle along with it provided it fulfilled
some of its purposes. " Have you ever
watched them shopping ? " she asked ; " they
never turn out a whole shop as we do.
132
FIT> 6 L irr
They say, vaguely looking round, ' Is this
all you have ? ' and the girl, of course, grins
and says, ' Yes, it is the very best, and the
other kinds are never asked for now ' ; and
he says, c Oh, very well then, just send it up,
will you, please,' and he pays far too much
for it. Now we, even when we have
bought a thing, often see something else
that would have done far better, and then
we fret over it, or take steps to alter it.
That is idealism."
"Oh,Polly!" I remonstrated. " You make
my head ache so. Do you mean that men
are never discontented with their wives ?
And, besides, you said yourself that all the
other men you saw only made you admire
Reginald the more."
" Martha, Martha," said Polly, reprov-
ingly. " You have that worst type of mind
if it can be called a mind that labours a
point until it breaks. Everything that I
have said to you is perfectly true, but if you
pick the whole of it to pieces you will find
that none of the bits match, and that none
T 33
of them are alike on both sides. Character
study is not a science it is an art ; and you
have to keep one eye closed very often while
you work."
" Anyhow," I said, " to return to the
original subject, Octavia Sinclair. What
arc you going to say to her ? "
" Tell her not to be an ass," said Polly.
" Is that your best way of making her
understand that you ' love her still the
same ? ' ' I inquired.
" Well, I don't love her the same when
she is an ass," said Polly. " She was a duck
when I loved her first. I tell her not to be
an ass, because I can't love her under that
disguise. When she stops being an ass she
will become a duck again at least, I hope
so and if she is the same duck I shall find
a nice pond for her in my heart ; n6t neces-
sarily the same pond, because that may be
filled up by now I forget but one quite
as good as the old, if not better. And if she
has any sense, she will get out of it sometimes
and walk about on the grass by herself."
134
FIT) 8 L ITT
" I shall go home and write a chapter on
' Fidelity,' " I warned her.
" It is not fidelity to your friends to put
them into books," she said severely.
" It is not worse than putting them into
embroidery-frames," I answered snappishly,
" and then luring them into that monster
hotel of yours, where you even forget their
numbers, and don't answer their bells."
" Never mind, don't let's quarrel," said
Polly. " You repeat in your book what I
say to you in confidence "
" Not at all," I assured her ; " I am merely
assimilating other people's ideas in the elegant
way you described just now as being the
habit of women, and when they emerge
again you won't know your own. They will
have taken life in an entirely original shape.
I can't spin new stuff out of nothing, as you
say your husband does "
The door opened, and the parlour-maid
announced, " Mrs. Beehive and Mrs. Henry."
J 35
CHAPTER XI : THE RETURN
OF THE BRIDE
POLLY had invited several of us to
meet a young bride. Mrs. Henry
said that when her brother William
heard of the party he said at once, " Of
course you won't go until you know 'who
she was." His sister assured him that it
was a matter of indifference to us who the
girl was ; we all knew her husband, and
that would speak for her.
" I don't believe that was the end of Mr.
William." This was the little bait I offered
her, and it landed a beauty.
"The end of William !" she exclaimed ;
" not a bit of it. He said that if the girl
was a nonentity to begin with, marrying
Mr. Spicer wouldn't galvanize her into any-
thing worthy of the name of life ; and that
if she was anybody before she married, the
fact that we knew Mr. Spicer wouldn't
alter the shape of her immortal soul. And
136
OF THS
what do you think he said after that ? " she
added rather breathlessly.
" What ? " we asked all together, with
round eyes.
" That we were evidently going to
meet to-day in the spirit of vultures on the
track of food, and that if the girl happens
to be rather dead stuff we shall probably
like her better than if she is a frisky
lamb ! "
Mrs. Beehive confessed that she " didn't
quite follow his idea." Polly, who was
looking out of the window, remarked,
" Mr. William would make the world an
awful place if he had his way. Imagine
the menus he would write ! Your talking
about carrion well, you said something
very like it reminded me.
" Soup. Odds and ends off people's
plates.
" Fish. Brill. Not absolutely fresh.
Has fallen once on to the pavement
and innumerable times on to the floor
of the shop before it got here.
'37
" Cutlets. (Then there would be a short
history of the lives of the lamb and
the butcher who killed it very
unfavourable to the butcher.)
" Pudding. Batter made of eggs a week
old, margarine, milk (chock-full of
germs), flour Oh, here she comes."
We were talking like monkeys when the
bride was announced. She was small and
pale and pretty. We gave her tea, and then
invited her to unbosom herself, which she
did.
" Do you find it awfully dull when your
husband goes down town in the morning ? '
she asked.
We looked at one another, and Mrs.
Beehive, who is never at a loss, replied pom-
pously, " No, I can't say I have ever felt
dull for a moment ; not even when I was
first married. I was always a great house-
keeper, and attended to everything myself;
and after I had paid the books and been to
give my orders at the shops, the morning
seemed to have flown."
38
OF r H s
" Oh dear ! " said the poor bride. Polly
made a comforting little muddle with the
cups and winked at me.
" And in the afternoons, of course, there
were social duties," continued good Mrs.
Beehive. " My husband and I were, I
think I may say, exceedingly popular, even
in the early days."
" Oh dear ! " sighed the bride again, " but
this is the first social duty I have had at all
yet."
" Well, don't bear it unaided," I said ;
" do let us help you if we can."
" You don't care for fancy work, do
you ? " asked Polly.
" No," the poor girl said dolefully. " You
see, I never had time for it at home. I used
to ride and go out with my brothers a good
deal, and there were always people straying
in to talk."
" But what about your cook ? " I sug-
gested. " I find that she fills my day so
completely that I have no time to think, or
to paint in water-colours."
*39
' My cook ! " she said with astonishment.
" Why, there are only ten minutes in the
day when I am allowed to see her."
" Now, look here," I said ; " you must
learn this sooner or later, and we are all
among friends that is a ruse of hers, like
an ogre pretending that he is out district-
visiting all day, and that the little girls he
brings home are orphans whom he is taking
care of. She just does that to get your
confidence. Then, by and by, she'll begin
inviting you down for a minute or two at
a time "
" Why, she did ask me to come down
and look at the tomatoes to-day, just before
I came out," reflected the bride.
" That's it ! " I exclaimed, slapping my
plate triumphantly. " To-day it was the
tomatoes, to-morrow it will be the sausage-
skewers : there will be one missing, and she
will wish you to see for yourself, so that
there can be no misunderstanding later on.
The next day it will be two things : to
smell the rabbits in the morning, and see
140
OF TH6
whether you a young, inexperienced child
think it wise to cook them "
" But, my dear," interrupted Mrs. Bee-
hive, " surely there is no harm in that,
and Mrs. Spicer would prefer to make
sure."
" Do you know how a rabbit ought to
smell ? " I asked the bride, in fairness,
" because I don't know to this day. It all
seems to me equally uninviting."
" I didn't know they ought to smell at
all," the girl murmured.
" You've a lot to learn," I said kindly.
" Anyhow rabbits in the morning, and in
the afternoon, say, perhaps, that it is early
closing day and she had forgotten that you
would want butter."
" Then what does one do ? "
" Ah, that is what cook says that she
prefers you should decide," I concluded
happily. " You won't find the time heavy
on your hands for very long, especially if
anything turns up that you want to do."
"Thank you very much indeed," she
141
said gratefully ; " it is so good of you to
tell me these things."
" Is there anything else that troubles
you ? " asked Polly, holding out a piece
of cake.
" No, I don't think so " the bride hesi-
tated, and then, after a moment's pause,
threw this at us : "I suppose there isn't
really very much that one can have for
breakfast, is there ? "
" Just the bacon," I remarked ; " that is
always as nice as anything."
" Oh dear me," said Mrs. Beehive, " surely
we have got beyond those days when it was
4 bacon and eggs, eggs and bacon,' every
morning. The Americans have done so
much for us there : all sorts of tempting
little hot dishes can be made and fruit ;
you should give your husband fruit , it is so
good for him."
" Paul won't eat fruit," said the bride.
" Well, then, try him with some light,
vegetarian dishes," said Mrs. Beehive, now
quite in her element. " Onions farcies^
142
OF r H 8
tomatoes and cheese, ramikins of prawns,
souffles of liver, rechauffes of marrow on a
hard-boiled egg, with soubise sauce "
" Well, you see," the perplexed little dear
objected, " cook doesn't come down much
before half-past seven, and we breakfast at
eight sharp, be-
cause Paul
"Make her,"
Mrs. Beehive in-
terposed, rolling
her kid gloves into
a hard ball.
"How big is
your cook in her
stockinged feet ? "
asked Polly.
" Oh, she is quite a little thing," answered
the innocent bride, " quite young, and very
pleasant. But I couldn't exactly go and fork
her out of bed, could I ? I shouldn't like to."
" Give her orders," said Mrs. Beehive
firmly, " and if she doesn't obey them
dismiss her."
'43
" No, no," Polly and I almost shouted in
the same breath, as we each laid a hand on
an outlying knee of the bride. " Don't do
that ! Never change anything but your-
self," said Polly. " Remember, dear, it is
like the sun revolving round the earth-
things are not what they seem. Never sack
your cook, never leave your tradespeople,
never be disillu-
sioned in your
friends, never
divorce your
husband. All
the others you
could get instead
would be just the
same, fixed and
immovable like
the sun. You
can only shift yourself and look at them
from another side " Polly was quite
breathless.
" Only the sun does move," I said
gloomily, " carrying us with it. ' Soon will
H4
F THS
cook and I be lying each within our narrow
bed,' thank heaven ! "
" You are letting your spirits run away
with you, Martha," said Mrs. Beehive, " and
you arc not helping Mrs. er at all."
" But, then, aren't all wives alike, too ? "
asked the bride, who had evidently been
swallowing Polly's metaphors whole, and
feeling very uncomfortable.
" Certainly they are," replied Polly ; " at
least they are all the same as each other, but
they are never the same as themselves for long.
But all the people, men, cooks, etc., whom
we have to handle can be depended on to a
certainty. That is why I suggest that any
shifting which has to be done shall be done
by ourselves if we^want to be comfortable."
" You are not a suffragette, are you ? v
the bride asked in alarm. " Paul can't bear
them."
"Oh dear no," said Polly airily. " If my
dear Sisters in the Cook became a govern-
ing body they would be lost to me, because
they would become part of the solid mass
K 145
of things which you and I have to handle
and walk round. It's no good mixing or
changing governing bodies. They'll go on
governing away just the same, and as fast
as they do away with one thing another will
crop up. Some one has to stay outside and
see to things. Have some more tea ? "
" And what about all the evil in the
world ? " demanded the round-eyed bride,
" Paul says "
" My husband takes a very peculiar view,"
interrupted Mrs. Henry, who had not had
her fair share by any means ; we all felt that
and made way. " He says that the evil
arises it is really very naughty of him
from our first parents having been driven
out of Eden before they had had time to get
enough apples. That if we were to know
good and evil anyhow, we ought to know
enough about it. I think he means that we
are all being as clever as we are able, but
that there is not enough intelligence in the
world to cope with the demand : so he just
does the best he can. But he talks a great
146
F THS
deal of nonsense, of course, and doesn't mean
half he says."
" I wish that Paul had a profession that
would make him work at home," the bride
said presently. " If he were a clergyman,
now, or an artist, just think how nice it would
be!"
" My dear, you don't know what you arc
saying," Mrs. Henry assured her. " My
husband works at home, and there are times
when I would pay anyone any sum to take
him away, and let him join the Morris
Dancers, or anything that would take him
into the open air."
" Really ! " said the bride. " But can't you
take him out yourself if he needs exercise ? "
Mrs. Henry snorted. " It is not that I
care whether he needs exercise or not," she
said, " but I should be thankful to have the
house to myself sometimes. If I so much
as start the sewing-machine in the room over
his head, he comes out like an animal from
its den, and says he can't think of a word
with that noise going on. Or if Bella is
'47
turning out the room either above or below
him, he complains that she is throwing rocks
about, and he can't keep his papers on the
table. If we clean
the passage outside his
room, and the carpet-
sweeper happens to
touch his door once,
he flies out in a rage;
and I can't talk to
anyone in the drawing-
room without his hear-
ing. Then either he
wants his meals taken
to the study, or else
he comes down and
won't let the children speak ; and he slops
the gravy all about, and wants the meal
hurried through so that he can begin to
smoke and I do draw the line at smoking
at meals, don't you, Mrs. er ? "
" Oh no," said the amiable little bride,
" my husband might fill all the dishes with
smoke if he liked, and I would turn out the
148
OF TUB
rooms myself if only he would stay at home ;
but it is so dull being alone."
" Well, my dear," said Polly, " if there
were a way to preserve your present super-
fluous loneliness in water-glass or screw-
topped bottles, I'd buy it off you with
pleasure, or, better still, make you keep it
to use later. You'll want it."
" We are dining out to-night for the first
time," said the bride, cheering up at the
prospect ; u and then, perhaps, I shall get to
know a few people." We felt that it would be
only right to take the top off this dream as well,
and to show her the realities which lay
beneath. " Oh, I expect you'll have plenty
of callers by and by," said Mrs. Beehive.
(" The better to see you, my dear," I added
in my mind, remembering Red Riding
Hood.)
" Don't pour out all your soul on the carpet
after dinner, there's a dear," said kindly
Polly.
" What do you mean ? " the victim asked,
beginning to get frightened.
149
" Well," I suggested, " if anyone asks you
whether you have early tea in the morning,
and whether your husband finds that he can
manage with four clean shirts a week, put
them off with some excuse "
Polly broke in earnestly, " And don't let
out any little theories you may have formed
about living or anything, and don't answer
when they ask if this was your first offer of
marriage, and "
" And," I interrupted across her, " don't
say if you like games, or you will be pla-
carded as a champion hockey-player. Don't
admit that you can read, write, cipher, walk,
ride, drive, see, hear, taste, smell, get in a
temper, or play on any instrument, or that
you ever wash, eat, sleep, cry, laugh, or
thread a needle. Admit nothing, deny
nothing, express no hopes or fears, acknow-
ledge no creed. There is only one subject
on God's earth which you can broach
without danger to your reputation, and that
is the weather. If you find yourself being
led into an expression of opinion about
150
OF rue
anything, throw the evil thing from you
and take up the weather where you left it
and may heaven defend you."
" One more thing," said Polly ; " and
mind what I say, or you'll regret it. If
anyone offers you a footstool or a cushion
behind your back, kick it away and sit up,
whatever you feel like."
" But I do very often feel tired," said the
bride.
" Never mind," replied Polly, with in-
exorable breeziness, " sit up ; lock the gates ;
put your tongue out. If the rabble once
gets into your heart, they'll sack the place
and use everything in it to your disadvan-
tage."
Mrs. Henry was tying her veil a,nd
thinking about something else, but Mrs.
Beehive looked, somehow, as if she had
eaten too much. The little bride hurriedly
looked at the clock and exclaimed : " Oh
how late ! Paul will be back ; I must fly !
Thank you a thousand times for all your
kindness and advice. I can't believe all you
y o
said just now, but I expect you didn't mean
it, did you ? "
She wrung our hands and disappeared.
Mrs. Beehive and Mrs. Henry summoned a
taxi and drove off together.
" Why were you so frank, Polly ? " I
asked when we were alone. " I am always
pleased to back you up, but do you think it
is any good ? "
" Of course not," said Polly ; " I should
have bitten my tongue out if it were. But,
anyway, we shan't have it on our consciences
that we didn't warn her."
152
CHAPTER XII : JUST
THE USUAL
IF there is anything more remarkable
than the way in which everything in
the world is constantly changing, it is
how everything goes on just as usual ; just
as it has gone on for centuries and centuries.
That perpetual business of the toilet dates
from the Fall. Sundays have always come
round in due course. I expect that the family
dinner-table, that uncouth institution, has
been going on a long time. Domestic fric-
tion occurs in the first pages of Genesis.
Who was the first monthly nurse ? She
probably dates pretty far back. And the
only part of the show which we are definitely
assured will be done away with is the only
bit of it which has any real permanent
interest marrying and giving in marriage.
On that showing we may have to face the
endless routine of getting up, washing,
eating, talking, and going to bed again with
'53
all the flavour that there is in any of it
gone ! It will be worse than being in a
nunnery, because there will be nothing to
renounce. So long as one knows that the
world, the flesh, and the devil (which are
for each sex concentrated in the other) are
only separated from us by our own will it is
all right ; but not to have them prowling
about outside within reach, should we
change our minds, is unthinkable. It will
be just like an everlasting party of pew-
openers, for they are the only people I can
think of who have no sex. Another curious
thing is that Creation Nature whatever
you like to call her manages to vary her
show continually, while the lords of creation,
who are supposed to be better equipped
with intelligence, cannot for the life of
them think of any new way of doing the
same old thing. In Nature the same ideas
are repeated, without appearing to be the
same. Quite old-fashioned customs like
sunrise and sunset, the seasons, the weather,
recur as usual, but they are not often mono-
*54
y us r r H s us
tonous : except in exaggerated places like the
Poles or the Equator, where it goes on being
dark or light for too long at a time, or only
rains once a year, or where the snow doesn't
know when to stop. But these exceptions
are just faults. They don't show the utter
lack of resource displayed by the mass of
human beings. Think what it means to
pass our little span of time in a world where
one may ask on any Sunday, " What is there
for dinner ?" and be told, "Just the usual !"
And the usual is the absolutely usual ; it is
not like the setting of the sun, which goes
on as usual, but with differences enough to
make the performance always surprising.
There is no difference whatever between the
beef of one Sunday and that of the next ;
every bubble on the Yorkshire pudding is
in its appointed place even the burned side
is the same and the tart or pudding (it is
immaterial which) is so identical with last
Sunday's that no thinking mind can seriously
reject the doctrine of immortality.
" What fruit have you to-day, Mrs.
'55
Globe ? " you may ask the greengrocer's
wife on Monday.
" Well, m'm, there's not very much to-
day, except the apples ; they're very nice ;
two - pence -
halfpenny the
pound." And
yet the shop
"
_^^^-"**7=a^ i _r T^N. _ lv ^-^>-rn \\v-_ .
looks full of
fruit. But
when you come
to look at it
closely, it is
like the egg
in " Alice in Wonderland," which receded
from every shelf to the one above it. The
other fruit doesn't actually melt away under
one's gaze, but it becomes impossible to
obtain. It is either a pine-apple at seven-
and-sixpence (very nice, but quite out of the
question), or nice English grapes (which
you can't make into a serviceable pudding
for a family), or some outlandish fruit, two-
pence each (which, of course, wouldn't do),
.56
j us r rue us U*A L
or else the oranges, which we are rather
tired of; and besides, they are going off now
and are not recommended.
There are some days when I believe all
the food in the shops is made of painted
cardboard like a doll's-house dinner-party,
because, although there appears to be an
endless variety, there is, in fact, nothing
that can be bought and eaten by ordinary
people. If you examine each item separately,
this will become evident. All the things
in the windows are frauds, for the reasons
described in Mrs. Globe's shop, and there-
fore there is nothing for it but to have just
the usual ; to return up the street again to
the butcher. We always " fall back " on
his bloated, striped perpetuity.
" What about a nice fowl ? " asks some
bright spirit, and, indeed, that is true ; what
about it ? except that, even supposing you
can afford to spend three-and-sixpence on a
quarter-of-an-hour's amusement for four
persons, there is not really any difference
between this fowl and the last we had, so we
'57
may as well fall back on the butcher, who
gives more for the same price. The fish-
monger has all sorts of delightful traveller's
samples in the way of foreign birds hanging
over the front of his shop, but, if you look
into them, they are all plain fowls at heart ;
and when you get the two-and-sixpenny
ones home and undress them, really it would
come cheaper and be just as satisfactory to
pot a sparrow out of the bath-room window
with a catapult. By the way, I wonder that is
not done oftener. It would be a change from
the neck of mutton, and until they become
"just the usual" sparrows, and find their
way to the poulterers, we shall not be told
that they are very scarce and not in season.
Perhaps the reason why many of us behave
so much as usual is that, although there are
many varieties of conduct available, we have
got into a nervous habit of eliminating most
of them from our list of what is possible,
iust as we reject many eatables which the
shops would provide. But in either case it
is not actually necessary to fall back on the
yusr rns U
apples or the butcher or the nice thing to say.
There is plenty of variety to be had if
people would stop falling back on the " old
favourites " either in food or conversation.
The dullest permanent officials and ladies in
the world have thoughts about what is
going on, if they would only allow them-
selves to think them : thoughts as peculiar
to themselves, as different from their neigh-
bours', as are the curves made by two lambs
jumping in the air. But they won't tell us
what these thoughts are. They push them
away, saying to themselves, " No, that
would never do," and so they fall back on the
apples. That is to say, they dish up the same
old remarks in the same old way, until those
of us who feel boredom begin to scream
and cry and throw the food about. It is
dreadful. I have seen people sitting round
a table deliberately, wantonly refusing us
the thoughts which the good God put into
their heads in order that that they might
share them with us. Some funny fellow on
reading this will discover that it would be
*S9
capital sport if we all said what we thought.
He will picture insults flying like bullets,
and all decency at an end. But no one is
suggesting that the usual topics of conversa-
tion should be changed unless with the
consent of all present. All we require is
that when the scenery of Dorsetshire or the
marriage of one's son or the book which
every one is reading is under discussion,
the company should not limit their con-
versation to what it is "always as nice as
anything" to say ; that they should not give
us "just the usual," but try some of the
other things in the shop, in season and
out of season, as we have been taught.
The price, of course, may be a little
higher ; but though some will call us
vulgar if we do not fall back on the apples,
others will call us dull if we do, so what
does it matter ? No one, however careful,
can be a perfect lady to the whole world.
So when Mrs. Beehive asks us what we
feel about the scenery of Dorsetshire, let us
be as open with her as we should be with
1 60
JUS? TH8 U
our doctor if he suddenly lost his temper,
thumped his fist on the table, and, looking
us straight between the eyes, thundered,
" Damn it all, madam, what have you had
for breakfast ? " We should tell the truth
at once then, without stopping to think
whether we had not better leave out the
fifth cup of tea. It is just the fifth cup of
tea that may be the significant note in an
otherwise commonplace breakfast. It is
sickeningly dull hearing you tell us, not what
you noticed about the scenery of Dorset-
shire, but what you decided years ago that
it was a nice thing to think about the
scenery of any county. The apples were
all right in their place, but why fall back
on them ?
I once had a cook who greeted me every
morning with the same remark, " There's
nothing left but just the spinach." She
pronounced it " spinack," which made the
offence worse, and she referred to the fact that
we had eaten all the other vegetables in our
twice-a-weekly hamper from the country.
L 161
Conversation among careful people has, as
a rule, very little left in it besides "just the
spinack." I mentioned this to Polly one
day, and she said at once, without a
moment's reflection : " I have just had
a luncheon-party, and there is nothing left
of me but just the spinack, I can tell you.
Another quarter of an hour and I should
have fallen back on the apples."
" I thought your party was delightful,"
said Mrs. Spicer, who happened to be
present.
" Of course it
was," said Polly,
" because I gave
you the best I
had. It wasn't
much compared
to the intellec-
tual treat you
might have had if I happened to be one of
the Great Spirits of the Age, but it was all I
had in the box ; it wasn't 'just the spinack.'
I kept nothing from you."
162
JUST rue U
" But " Mrs. Spicer seemed about to
raise an objection, and hesitated.
" Yes ? " said Polly ; " don't hover round
your mind, please, rejecting things ; we're
not tied to the apples."
" You said yourself," Mrs. Spicer re-
minded her boldly, " that you advised me
never to say what I thought about anything
that it was not safe that the weather was
the only possible subject of conversation."
" I never said that anything else was safe
now, did I ? " inquired Polly. " But you
won't make your parties a success if you go
on the lines I indicated as safe. After all,
what is life without risks ? especially in
conversation."
" But I don't believe I could be interesting
anyhow," said Mrs. Spicer with a forlorn
sigh. " I never can think of anything to
say."
" Then don't say anything," Polly ad-
vised, " and your silence will become so
rich and meaty with thought (for every one,
even a canary, thinks, there can be no doubt
163
about that), that after a time, when you
have quite lost the habit of thinking what
to say, a moment may come when some
slight emotion will unloose your tongue and
it will speak for itself, and
" Polly, dear," I warned her, " you will
be so sorry when you have drawn the
analogy between what Mrs. Spicer will say
and Balaam's ass ; it will be easier to stop
now than to explain it away."
Mrs. Spicer giggled. We know her
pretty well now, and she doesn't mind.
" I wish, Martha, that you would rely a
little more on my judgment and less on my
knowledge of Scripture," said Polly. " I
had quite forgotten the story you refer to.
What was in my mind was a vision of what
it would be like if the things we call ' still
life ' suddenly spoke and told us how the
world looked to them. It would be a
delightful change from hearing how it looks
to clever men. As it is, we have no missing
link between the unusual sincerity of some
of us and the usual insincerity of the rest.
164
JUS? TUB US Uvf L
What we want is the truth the whole
truth about what people with faces like
turbot and macaroons think. I should stay
awake all night with the excitement of
knowing Mrs. Beehive as her Maker knows
her. Probably she could throw a great
deal of light on all sorts of obvious things
that complicated people, like Reginald, miss
owing to being tangled up in their own
intelligence."
" By the way," said Mrs. Spicer, " talking
of food, isn't it absurd how we keep on with
the same dishes when the cookery books are
full of different ways of cooking everything ?
But, somehow, if you look through the
books, there are only about three things one
can have, because the others either want
ingredients that we haven't got in the house,
and that are not worth buying for once, or
they have to be prepared the day before, or
they use too many separate pans, and cook
grumbles about the washing-up ; but it does
seem unenterprising, as you say."
" Considering, my dear, that since the
time of Noah, or thereabouts, we have been
going on as usual and found it less trouble,
it is not likely " said Polly sententiously
:c it is not likely, so far as I can judge by the
look of you, that you will return our calls
by moonlight, or go to church on a week-
day, or tell me which of us you would rather
ran away with Mr. Spicer "
" But you don't do those sort of things
yourself," protested Mrs. Spicer.
Polly said, " Excuse me a moment," and
went to answer the telephone.
" I never knew Polly do anything actually
unusual," I said to Mrs. Spicer, " but she
seems to do the usual things because they
have just occurred to her for the first time
as a good thing to do ; not because there is
nothing else she can do."
"Just fancy ! " said Polly, coming back ;
" Reginald says that the Henrys are dread-
fully upset because their cook is going to
marry the chauffeur, and she won't be able
to stay on with them. It is just what always
happens, isn't it ? "
1 66
J US? T H 6 US U *A L
"Just the usual," I agreed, "unless you
care to go to the expense of a Morganatic
alliance for the chauffeur."
We all agreed that there was no other
way out of it.
167
CHAPTER XIII : HOW
NAUGHTY
p ^HE deliberate pursuit of naughti-
3 ness may seem absurd to those who
JL have a natural superfluity of it, but,
all the same, it is much in vogue. And, as
in other matters besides naughtiness, the
amateurs who most wish to excel are those
who arc the least likely to do anything of
the sort. Every one knows theoretically that
possession is nine points of desire, that in
love there is always run qui baise et I'autre
qui tend la joue^ but how many have realized
that the Evil one is also human, and pursues
those who shun him, while he turns a deaf
ear to those who really long to be naughty.
It is the nice, mousy dears whom he runs
after with some brilliant new devilment in
his pocket. When the young desperado or
the middle-aged lady with nothing in par-
ticular to do runs up to him and exclaims,
" Oh, Mr. Satan, do let us have some of
168
HOW
your lovely, wicked suggestions ! " he turns
green, and says, " Go away to a supper
club. I will send my junior assistant to
you there." And off he flies to refresh
himself at the nearest rectory.
Equally incomprehensible are certain
other folk who, themselves incapable of any
vice, set forth armed to the teeth against
a spiritual enemy who knows them not ;
just as innocent old ladies in silk mantles
cling together at railway stations for fear
of being abducted to San Francisco. Many
sensitive young clergymen have been known
to speak in an uncommonly plucky way
about a hot bath as if it were a sporting
enterprise ; showing no delicacy whatever
on the subject, but attacking it as man to
man, without any of that nonsensical reserve
which, as they say, drives so many good
people out of the Church. It is difficult
to explain why boasting of having had a
hot bath should imply a defensive attitude
towards Satan ; but, in fact, these heroes
seem to cry aloud, " Parsons are not such
169
old ladies as you think. I could ruffle it
with the best of you dog foxes if I chose,
and, as it is, a feller gets jolly hot sprintin'
round the parish if he's not in good con-
dition, I can tell you." When they behave
in this wild fashion they are consciously
playing with danger. Not exactly ringing
Satan's front-door bell and then running
away as one type of woman does, but rather
showing how, properly armed, one may walk
through his domains and take no harm.
But suppose that after coming down from
the heights of the life apart, and proclaim-
ing himself an ordinary person, he should
discover that he may walk in " the flesh "
all day and be as safe as if he were in the
Albert Hall. If it is "influence" that he
wants, shall we suggest that man's respect is
more easily roused by something different
from himself than by a half-baked imita-
tion ; that non-churchgoers are not really
surprised into admiration by learning that
a clergyman washes more than his hands ;
and that a sailor who is already intimate
170
HO w ^c^ug nrr
with the reckless elements will not believe
more readily in God because His exponent
has been seen to gather up his petticoats
and play football or to take a hand at whist ?
In fact, if details of the toilet are to come
into it at all, a verminous hermit must seem
almost more spiritually detached than a
young gentleman who makes such a fuss
about "boiling himself" after a game of
tennis.
This dare-devil attitude has perhaps been
adopted by some men who have taken to
the profession of the Church partly because
their natural inclination is towards a life so
harmless that they might feel it to be not
quite manly unless it were supposed to be
compulsory. So they hide their mildness
by eating a bun as if it were horseflesh,
assuring the bad boys that their own tastes
are extremely dashing, but that they have
chosen to throw away the forbidden fruit
and keep only the skin ; to reject the ger-
minating kernel and nibble the husks, which
are really most enjoyable. The truth being
171
that the fruit as the boys eat it would give
our friends " with no nonsense about them "
the most horrible indigestion. There are
of course others who passionately loved the
fruit and threw it away deliberately ; but
you never find them nibbling the husks,
any more than Brutus would have had his
son whom he sacrificed stuffed for a draw-
ing-room ornament. It is quite one thing
for a lion to find a baby in its path, and to
refuse, from conscientious motives, to eat it,
and another for a chicken to plume itself on
having had such a jolly run after the cat
without killing it.
We have referred, in passing, to the lady
who rings Satan's front-door bell and then
runs away. In considering what Miss
Corelli has taught us to call the " Sorrows
of Satan," even so small an annoyance as
this very hackneyed trick must have its
place. The ladies who practise it are those
who make an appointment with a man
whom they know to be in love with them,
and then turn up with a chaperon. They
172
HOW 3\c<ixf ug H T r
are the ladies who like their relatives to be
respectable and their friends to be dis-
reputable, so that they may have all the fun
and none of the
responsibility ;
who devour all
the indecent
books they can
get hold of during
the week, and
then go to church
on Sunday ; who
would run miles
to be introduced to a murderer at dinner,
but would feel really hurt if their parlour-
maid so much as cracked the command-
ment which comes next to the one about
murder.
People of such various types, those who
wheedle the Devil for no particular purpose,
those who assume the defensive when the
poor fellow wasn't looking at them, and
those who call him down from his study to
answer the bell and then make a bolt for
1 73
sanctuary, are examples of a class whom the
Evil one leaves to his subordinates.
A promising young assistant of his
works, disguised as a waiter, at one of the
supper clubs to which we have supposed
the naughty ladies to be so contemptuously
relegated. I caught his eye one night
when he was cynically winding up the
strands of coloured paper that are some-
times thrown about at the end of the pro-
ceedings. " Another evening wasted ! " he
exclaimed with uncontrollable displeasure,
" They might be a lot of blooming
anarchists for all the harm they've done
to-night. And here am I, who have
waited on the House of Commons from
its earliest years, and put 'em up to all
their best tricks, literally throwing myself
away." He stopped to brush aside a
yellowish tear. " Mr. Satan himself," he
continued, " won't come down here at all ;
he says they're not worth it. Look at that
there innocent mother of a family a-dancing
the Tango ! We'll never do any good with
174
HO w wi^ug nrr
her, yet she likes to come here and waste my
time a-calling for cigarettes. Look at her and
her party now, Miss turn your head so
now then you see ? One of our clients is
there, with the bald head, behind the
pillar. We'd have had him anyhow, with-
out the club, so it doesn't even pay us that
way. Hair, did you say, Miss ? No, the
gentlemen with a good deal of hair aren't
as a rule much good to us, and they en-
courage the women."
" Encourage them in what ? " I asked.
"Toasting their toes at the mouth of
hell, they thinks, Miss, though it's nothing
of the kind really ; it's just pestering Mr.
Satan something awful."
" Then where does your real work lie ? "
I asked. " Where is hell ? "
It was some moments before I could get
an answer, as the noise suddenly became
terrific. A negro at the piano had begun to
play, accompanied by guitars, tambourines,
and a howling chorus of tired-looking
cquatorials of some sort. Three or four
on
scandalous old women, with transformations
their heads, and trophies from the
bargain sales on
their backs, were
joylessly smoking
and applauding in
a frightful state of
nerves. They
looked fish-out-of-
wool-shops, and my
heart ached to pop
them gently back
behind the counter
and draw down the
blinds while they had a little nap. My
friend was very busy opening bottles of
champagne. Presently he stood beside me
once more, napkin on arm.
" What was that you asked me just now,
Miss ? " he said.
" I asked you where hell was," I replied.
" Well, I couldn't say exactly, Miss. Mr.
Satan, like, he takes the interesting cases
very quiet folk mostly ; you'd hardly believe
HOW wi^A ug Htr
what a powerful lot of harm they do in a
lifetime. A different lot altogether from
these 'ere naughty cards, Miss. They ain't
no manner of good to us."
He disappeared then, but I met htm again
later. He was still a waiter, brought in on
the occasion of a small dinner-party in the
suburbs of London. I thought he looked
much happier, but I wondered what he
found worth his attention in the present
company. My host I knew to be an angel,
scarcely disguised, as incorruptible as fire.
The guests seemed nothing in particular.
They left at the hour decreed by good taste ;
we left an hour later. I had a moment's con-
versation in the hall with my friend, while
my husband was saying his last " Well now,
look here," over a drink.
" Who is it to-night ? " I said. " Do tell
me before they come out."
" A gentleman as Mr. Satan has set his
heart on, Miss," he replied, with a careful
eye on the open door of the smoking-room.
" Third on your left as you sat at dinner. [I
M 177
remembered his face after we got home, a
blue-eyed, nervous little father with a droop-
ing moustache.] He's a gentleman in
business, Miss, and would like to do right,
I feel sure of that. That's why I've been
sent. Fortunately for us his trade's a specu-
lative one, in which it's easy to make
suggestions. A little intelligence is all
that's needed, and that, as a rule, they
haven't got. Mr. Satan's a good deal inter-
ested in this case because of the gentleman's
principles. He's been brought up with a
great fear of anything like dishonesty. I'm
afraid it's upsetting his health a good deal.
Good night, Miss ; here they come. Your
carriage up now, sir."
CHAPTER XIV : ELEC-
TIONEERING
1 TURNED the corner of the street in
a tremendous hurry and ran into Regi-
nald and Polly. They both looked as
if they had had news of a death, although
they did not actually show signs of grief.
It was a peculiar look they had, half
importance, half vexation. I stopped for a
moment in surprise, and Polly said to her
husband, " I think we shall want Martha,
Reginald."
" Now, be careful," I said, a little shortly.
" I have had almost enough of you two.
If you want to have your photographs taken
again you must go by yourselves. Polly !
[It was a dreadful idea, but quite likely.]
You weren't going to ask me to help you to
have the baby taken ? "
" Baby ! " Polly said contemptuously.
" It will be a long time before I think of
having baby taken anywhere. I certainly
179
won't take it round canvassing with a blue
ribbon round its neck like those other
dreadful people did."
" I have got to have an election, Martha,"
Reginald explained. " It is my turn to
come out, and they are going to oppose me.
It is nothing personal ; they are fighting
all they can this year all over the town."
" I forgot that you were on the City
Council," I said.
" You wouldn't forget if you were me,"
observed Polly. " Here, come into this
cafe and have tea, and we'll make things as
clear as possible to you."
It was a large cafe, with a band, where
you get the kind of tea that doesn't include
bread-and-butter. You can get tea-cake
that is like hot skin and oil, and you can
put aniline raspberry jam on it, and follow
it down with dandelion-coloured cake that
has a suspicious flavour. But if you ask for
bread-and-butter, the rather spent young
person with the apron says, " Cut bread-
and-butter, did you mean ? " and makes it
180
8 L 6 c r 10
sound like a faddy temperance food. If
you are brave enough to admit that you do
mean cut bread-and-butter, she brings some-
thing thin and mottled like German sausage.
But it was only for convenience that we
turned in there ; it is not like criticizing
Polly's tea.
" We have only got a week or two to do
it in," said Reginald, " and there is a lot to
do. The organization is not up to much."
" But look here," I said ; " I don't know
anything at all about politics, and I can't
argue, because I always agree with what
anybody says ; it always seems so sensible
until one thinks it over quietly at home."
" Well, common sense will teach you the
main line of what you have got to drum into
them," said Reginald. " You see, there are
always no end of things that they want ' put
down.' Very well, then. I am the man to
put them down, whatever they are, because
I have a good deal of time to give to the job,
see ? Then there's the Church. There's
Canon Black you know the man I mean
181
they all know him, and he's very much liked.
If he speaks for me, we'll get a lot of votes ;
do you know him, by the way ? "
" No," I said, " I've never heard of him."
" Yes, you have," Reginald corrected me,
" because I have just told you about him ; so
you can say that you know he approves of
me he does, really I'm not joking. Well
then, you know, I haven't got any fads
temperance or such things but if any one
wants you to say that I'll support their fads,
you must just use tact, and, if necessary, say
I'll call. You write on the card here,
I'll show you."
He pulled a card out of his pocket and
showed it to me. It was a drab little article,
with the mysteriously depressing influence
which always accompanies a space for a name
and address. Anything which emphasizes
the fact that we are one of millions of
similar works of the Almighty has the same
dingy effect. To be one of numberless leaves
on a tree is delightful enough, but to have a
caterpillar come round with a note-book and
182
s L s c r 10
enter, " Name of tree, number of branch,
time of fall in preceding year," etc., gives an
air of squalor to the whole tree. There was,
unhappily for my peculiar talent, no space
in which to record the appearance of the
voter, but the canvasser was instructed
to classify her victims as " Conservative,"
" Liberal," or " doubtful," and was en-
couraged, besides, to add such code signals
of distress as " Mr. call," " won't say,"
"dead," " at sea," "carriage on day of elec-
tion," or anything else likely to be helpful in
the committee-rooms.
For the benefit of those who have never
canvassed, I here explain the spiritual mean-
ing of these different signals. " Mr.
call " means that it is impossible for the
candidate to blandish each of his four thou-
sand or so of voters, so he reserves himself for
the very good and the very bad, and those
who are described in the jargon of the com-
mittee rooms as " the doubtful ones." But
beware of the trap which underlies the fair
word " doubtful " ! There are no doubtful
'83
ones. People who express doubts on any
subject are rarely concerned with the merits
of the case on either side. All they are
waiting for is something that will turn up
to give a picturesque glow to whichever
side their instinct favours ; and they are
seldom disappointed. Except in certain
spots, where some common interest like
nationality or sectarianism, or the nature of
their employment makes a group of people
definite and outspoken in their political
feelings, it is remarkable what a lot of rate-
payers one may fawn upon without being
thrown off the door-step or welcomed with
open arms. This alleged indecision is a
pastime and a trap which the canvasser
provides and falls into with unfailing regu-
larity. The attitude of the voter is generally
that of the tease among school-children.
" Ticky, ticky, tack, which hand will you
have ? " he asks, and the coveted apple or
vote shifts about with hardly a show of
deception. Now and then they are secret,
like a dog with a bone. " We have the
184
e L s c T i o
benefit of the ballot," th-ey say, with the
most aggressive purity-in-politics face, all
pursed up. But if no one came prying to
find out where their sympathies were hidden,
they would be the first to throw out hints
of " hot and cold " to promote the game.
The voters who throw the " benefit of the
ballot " in our teeth are regular old chase-
me-Charlies.
But it took me three cold, wet, weary,
underfed weeks in October to discover
all this. Reginald took his election very
seriously ; so did his rival. Millport was
shaken by the warfare of other excellent
gentlemen in different parts of the town,
and they were all serious. So far as one
can see, it is only bad men who go into
politics or administration with a light heart.
Playful minds arc so easily led astray.
Reginald made all his canvassers take it
seriously too. He put the fear of John
Bull into them. Our faces grew long or
wide with the timid earnestness of the
perfect lady, convinced of the honesty of
.85
her commander. So did the faces of the
Liberal candidate's assistants, only they were
of a rather different build from ours very
nice, but bonier than ours as a rule ; and
when we met them on the opposite side of
the street, sometimes actually on the same
door-step, they looked to me the sort of
women who can carve a duck for eight
people.
" Will you take these cards, please, Mrs.
Molyneux ? " said a fat, cheery man at the
committee rooms when I presented myself
there for the first time. The room seemed
full of men, strangely shaped like fancy
breads ; some of them writing at a bare
table ; all of them as active as dry leaves at
that time of year.
" You will," continued the agent, shuffling
the cards with the help of a moistened
thumb, " do these houses not marked with
a tick. The rest have been done, but these
were either not at home when our canvasser
called, or there was some other reason why
they have to be done again."
1 86
8 L s c r 10
Reginald came in then, looking as if the
fate of continents were secreted under his
hat, and Polly arrived at the same moment.
" Ah, Martha," Reginald said, with the
smile of a clever actor playing a crisis in
the Foreign Office, " that's good of you.
You'd better take Polly and go round
together. How are we getting on, Hoppes ? "
He leaned over the table in an absorbed
attitude, so I left with my cards and
Polly.
Christabel Street was a quiet little neigh-
bourhood of yellow brick fronts, red stone
steps, and brown doors, at the back of the
main line of frowsy shops which ran across
Reginald's ward. I found number 102, next
door to an inquisitive young person with a
pail of dirty water and a cold in the head.
We knocked at the door. The name on the
card was Eliza Wickham. It will probably
save explanation if I add a picture of Eliza
Wickham and Polly (I kept in the back-
ground to learn experience), and record the
conversation exactly as it took place.
ELIZA : " Is't for the votin' ? Well, 'oo
is he ? "
POLLY : " Oh such a good man ! I expect
you know all about him." (1 asked her
afterwards why she
did not explain that
he was her husband,
and she said she had
done so in a great
many cases, but found
that it sometimes pre-
judiced them. They
drew personal com-
parisons between her
and the Liberal candi-
date's wife, who ran
clubs and concerts in
that district.) " You know Canon Black ?
Well, Mr. Ashfield knows him very well,
and he has had so much experience on
the School Board Oh no, that is the
Liberal candidate that you mean No,
he has had no experience at all. He
couldn't reduce the rates by a penny because,
188
s L s c no
you see, he doesn't know how to do it.
Now, I am sure you will get your husband to
vote for him ; a good-looking woman like
you can always get round her husband, and
we can call for him at any hour. Good-
bye, and you'll say I called, won't you ? "
" What shall we mark her ? " she asked,
as we turned away.
" She didn't give us much clue, did she ? "
I answered. " She hardly said anything.
But she had a very firm eye. Suppose we
say c doubtful.' '
We came upon Mrs. Henry at the bottom
of Christabel Street, and Polly took her
away, sending me alone to Llewellyn Street,
and promising to join me at the other end.
" But surely John Hughes won't be in at
this time," I protested, hoping for respite.
" He may be a sailor or a policeman,'*
said Polly ; " you find them at all sorts of
queer times. But mind : if he is in bed you
must rout him out all the same ; he has
been visited a great many times."
John Hughes, to my surprise and alarm,
189
was on his door-step, smoking a pipe. I
gathered together in my head all the direc-
tions that Reginald had given me, and we
conversed as fol-
lows :
JOHN HUGHES:
" Don't know
anything about
him. What's
his views on this
'ere Irish busi-
ness ? "
ME (Aside :
" Dash it ! Re-
ginald never told
me that ! ") " Oh, you had better ask
him yourself. That is just the sort of
question he delights in. Do you know
Canon Black ? "
JOHN HUGHES : " Never heard of 'im."
ME : " Oh, well, I will send Mr. Ashfield
to you. You are Conservative, aren't you ? '
JOHN HUGHES : " I'm not particular. I
vote for the best man."
190
8 L 8 c r 10
ME (eagerly) : " Oh, he's far the best.
You see, he has done so much work before.
But he will call on you, and then you will
be able to hear everything he says."
JOHN HUGHES : " You needn't trouble.
They all talk alike. I'll make inquiries,
and if I find he's the best man I'll vote for
him. . . . No, I don't want no fetchin' ;
I can walk. And I'll vote one way or the
other. We 'ave the benefit of the ballot,
you see."
" There is only one way to mark John
Hughes," I said to myself, as I retraced my
steps, " and that is c WON'T SAY ! ' I wrote
it very distinctly and felt that I had done
my duty.
I looked at my card and found a dozen
names in Confucius Street, of which the
only one unticked was that of Robert Taylor.
But on Mr. Taylor's door-step another of our
canvassers was already waiting for admit-
tance. I thought, at first, that she belonged
to the opposite camp, but a second glance at
her face and figure reassured me. "Church
191
school teacher," I said to myself, and waited
patiently to go to her assistance if Mr.
Taylor became restive, and, in any case, to
enter the result of the interview on my
card. Mr. Taylor was not at home, and
my brave young lady did her best to gain
the sympathy of his wife, who was a little
chilly and preoccupied, I thought. The
conversation, though delightfully friendly,
was almost one-
sided.
"You know
Canon Black,
don't you?
("Ah," I thought,
" she has got our
trump card too,
has she ? ") Mr.
Ash field knows
him. very well. He
thinks so much of
him. . . . Yes, I quite agree with you, there's
a great deal too much of it, and Mr. Ashfield
is just the sort of man you want to put it
192
6 L s c no
down. He gives so much time to the work,
too. (" I must remember always to put that
in," I said to myself.) You have no idea
the trouble he takes with it. ... No,
I don't think the other gentleman does ;
you see, he has hardly the time for it.
That is why we are trying to get Mr. Ash-
field in ; just because of that. He is such a
sound man and can give the time to it.
Thank you very much. . . . Oh, we shall
certainly get him in if they all help us as
much as you ! "
" What do you think ? " I said to her,
card in hand, " doubtful ? ' :
" No," she replied brightly, her inextin-
guishable optimism shining through her
glasses. " I think it will be better to say ?
' Not at home, but probably Conservative.' '
One of the greatest blows to my pride
was Clarissa Scholefield. I wound up with
her before lunch, and it had to be a good
lunch ! No amount of buns could have re-
paired my body after the humiliating loss of
stamina what I call " sawdust " caused
N 193
by that astonishingly powerful Clarissa with
the butterfly in her cap. It had come on
to rain, too, and, altogether, I cut a sorry
figure in her well-ordered apartment with
the mats and the shells.
" No, I don't hold with the votin','' she
pronounced, grasping my offering of a shiny
card, decorated with Reginald's portrait, the
names of his supporters, and seven reasons
for preferring him before all other candi-
dates. " No, I don't hold with the votin',
and, what's more, if I did vote I must see
first what he's goin' to do when he is in.
I always was and have been Conservative,
but I haven't voted for forty years and I
don't care to undertake it. Besides, I'm
not at all sure he's the right man. There's
a great deal of mischief goes on in public-
houses, and the question is ' who's goin' to
stop it ? ' I was sayin' to a gentleman as
was in here the other day that I hoped they
was going to send men on to the Council as
would put a stop to it. ... Yes, it's very
wet : I dare say you find it tirin'."
194
8 L S C T TO
I wrote, " Mr. Ashfield call," with a very
sharp pencil, against Clarissa's name, and
thought with
pleasure, as I
ordered a fried
sole and chop to
follow, of Regi-
nald pommelling
her silly old head
with masterly
repartee. After
lunch I thought,
with a more re-
fined and indul-
gent glee, of dear
Reginald's silken head writhing under the
podgy grasp of Clarissa's hand metaphori-
cally, of course.
After lunch I went with Reginald's
sister Kate, who had just come back from
college, to call on the Rev. Owen Griffiths
ap Davis. I left her with him (which I
would not have done had I known that a
reverend gentleman could be so vicious) and
J 95
went myself to recommend Reginald next
door. Miss Kate told me afterwards exactly
what happened, and having caught sight of
Mr. ap Davis in the hall as he came out to
see what all the talking was about, I could
picture the scene exactly. Miss Kate curled
up and looking very severe, the Reverend
Davis opposite
her, spitting out
his remarks with
absurd venom.
l < Well, I don't
mind telling you
frankly that you
are canvassing
for quite the
wrong man alto-
gether, and you
will allow me to
say that I hope very sincerely he won't get
in. I don't know what he thinks about
this Disestablishment Bill, but until that is
passed I shall record my vote for whoever
I think likely to put it in force. You say
196
e L s c r i o
he's your brother ? Well, I think, if you
will excuse my putting it plainly, that the
fewer men of the stamp of your brother
that there are in this town the better. . . .
Oh, no trouble I assure you. Nasty damp
day. Good morning."
I had not met with much more success
next door ; in fact, I never got farther than
the step. When Miss Amelia Carraway,
dressmaker (I found this out by looking at
her brass-plate), saw me from the window
of her front room, where she was engaged
behind the lace curtains with her mouth
full of pins, she shot out at the door and
at once gathered from my apologetic smile
and the tell-tale cards in my hand what
I had come about. I have drawn her
in her room because she looks best there,
although, in fact, I did not get so far until
another day when I returned on legitimate
business. She is like that " animal of merit,
and perfect honesty, the ferret," who, we
are told, " bites holes in leaves, ties knots
in string, or practically anything," in the
197
matter of clothes. But to return to that
afternoon.
" It's my sister that's got the vote," she
said in a rapid, dry patter. " No, thank
. ,, you, she doesn't
"'- vote. She's not
the time. No,
she doesn't care
for it, thank you.
No, you can't see
her ; she's busy.
. . . No, it's no
use, thank you.
She's not in-
terested. No, she
won't come. . . .
Oh, it's all right.
It's no trouble. There's been two ladies
before. . . . Allow me. [Picking up my
scattered cards.] Thank you. Good after-
noon."
" That's a first-rate canvasser, I believe,"
said Miss Kate as we passed down Elysium
Street, where a cheery little lady in warm
198
8 L S C flO
clothes was standing in front of an open
door. On the step, beside a steaming pail of
water, the lady of the house was reluctantly
wiping her hands on her apron in order to
meet the persistent cordiality of her can-
vasser. As we passed I heard the cheerful
little lady say,
hopefully :
" Well, good-
bye, and you'll
say I called, won't
THE LADY OF
THE HOUSE:
" Oh, yes, I'll tell
'im. He don't
take much in-
terest in the
votin' ; h e's a t
sea now. Of course if it were me it 'ud be
the Liberals I'd be for. My father 'e always
voted Liberal."
CHEERFUL CANVASSER : " Thank you.
However, you'll tell him ? "
199
" Then does she write c at sea,' on her
card ? " I asked.
" More likely, c carriage on day of elec-
tion/ ' replied Miss Kate bitterly. " At
one election Polly was sent to fetch ninety
people who were all at sea except those
who were dead ! "
We were passing an oil-shop at the
moment, and Miss Kate suddenly began to
laugh. " If you can look through that door
without attract-
ing attention,"
she said, "just
take a good
squint at Mr.
. Albert Vickers,
and I'll tell you
what happened
there this morn-
ing."
Mr. Albert Vickers, who had a pale face and
the eye of a cod a cod, moreover, of whom
its parents always boastfully foretold that it
would " do something yet " was leaning
200
6 L 6 C T I O
against his counter in his shirt-sleeves and a
hat, negligently worn. His trousers were not
well braced and he wore thin, brown boots.
" What happened ? " I asked as we went
along.
" Mrs. Henry went in quite airily," said
Miss Kate, " and began ' Oh, I was just
canvassing for the Conservative member/
etc. Albert said, ' Well, I don't think I
shall give me vote at all this year. I'm
inclined to think we'd do better to be with-
out 'em altogether and let the town manage
itself a bit.' ' Oh, but we can't do that,
you know ! ' said Mrs. Henry, c I dare say
there are faults on both sides ; but the Con-
servatives as a body ' Albert went on
as if she hadn't spoken. 'There's none of
'em straight to the working man. Now,
'ow d'you make this out ? I'm told there's
sixty-two councillors as sits down to cham-
pagne and shilling cigars four days out of
the week ' ' But Mr. Ashfield never
touches champagne,' burst out Mrs. Henry,
' and he's very particular about all those
201
things.' ' I don't say he isn't,' grumbled
Albert. ' I don't know 'im. But from
what I can 'ear I think it very likely that
I shan't vote at all.' '
" And what do you suppose she put him
down as ? " I asked.
" Oh, Liberal, of course," said Miss Kate,
with innocent surprise.
" Good heavens ! " I exclaimed, with a
sudden glance at my card, " this is where my
next house is, and it is this cellar apparently.
I must fish out some eyeglasses to go down
these steps or I shall break my neck."
" It is Eliza Thomas's own vote," said
Miss Kate, examining my card. " I will
wait up here for you."
Eliza Thomas had, very likely, been cele-
brating her first centenary that afternoon
in a glass of port. She was far and away
deafer than the deafest person I fiave ever
met. My throat becomes dry as I think
about her.
" 'Oo is it ? " she asked, with her hand
behind her ear. " There's been a lady
202
6 L 8 c no
round and give me this card [fetching from
the mantelpiece the portrait of our hated
rival], and I said I'd
give me vote, so it'll
be all right, my
dear."
ME (very loudly
and distinctly) : No,
no. You are a CON-
SERVATIVE, you know.
You mustn't vote for
THAT one THIS is
the one."
ELIZA (with a re-
assuring dribble) :
" Oh yes, I said I'd vote. It'll be all right,
my dear."
ME (bawling) : "YES but you mustn't
vote for THIS one. You're a CONSERVATIVE ! "
ELIZA : " They told me it was to be for
this one, but I don't know. Is't for the
Parliament ? "
ME : " Oh no, the City Council. Do
you know Canon Black ? "
203
ELIZA : " Know 'oo ? "
ME : " Canon Black. The low Church-
man. Never mind ; you have promised
me the vote, and I'll call for you."
" Pouff ! " I said, as I came up the steps.
" That's hot work ! Take my card, would
you, please, dear, and write down ' carriage
as early as possible.' It is just a question
of which gets there first, Esau or Jacob."
" I have got one or two in this street,"
said Miss Kate. " I forgot about them, or
I would have gone while you were cracking
your tonsils down there. If you will go on
slowly I will catch you up, and you can be
resting your voice."
I walked down the street and turned back.
I walked up the street and turned back.
" In another minute," I thought, " I shall
be arrested for loitering with intent. I wish
Miss Kate would hurry up." I was just
passing a little house with dingy green cur-
tains half-way up the windows when, to my
surprise, the door burst open and Miss Kate
shot out like an arrow aimed with temper.
204
Run don't let
s L 8 c no
" Run ! " she breathed.
him get us."
We ran like sandpipers for a mile, and
then Miss Kate stopped and looked behind
her. " It's all right," she said, " I don't
think he has followed us. He was an anti-
vivisectionist -just fancy ! I would have
sent one of the men from the committee
rooms if I had known."
" But you say he is an 'anti,' " I remon-
strated, a little peevish and out of breath.
" If he is an ' anti '
he wouldn't have
cut you up. What's
the fuss ? "
"They talk"
said Miss Kate,
with a long breath.
There was a pause ;
I still didn't under-
stand.
"They talk!"
she repeated. " He's anti-vaccination too ! "
" Well, he sounds most peaceable," I said.
205
" I can't understand your behaving like that
at all."
" All right," she retorted, " go back and
talk to him."
" It's no good doing that," I replied, " he
has probably stopped by now."
" Not he ! " said Miss Kate with a
shudder. " He's only just begun."
" What are his politics ? " I asked.
" No one knows," she replied, " not even
his wife. She made me a sign from the
door."
" Well, what have you written ? " I per-
sisted, for I had seen her scribble something
as we ran. With a weak gesture she handed
me her card, and against the name of
William Evans I read, " When you get home
at bedtime mark, HELL ! "
" Come, come," I remonstrated, " that
will never do. You can't send in that sort
of remark to the committee rooms. It's
quite one thing for Mr. Bernard Shaw and
another for a young girl."
" All right. Put him down as a cubist
206
s LS c no
if you like," she said defiantly. " I don't
care."
" No," I said, " I'll tell you what" and
I wrote down, " Mrs. Ashfield call." " Polly
is inclined to be self-opinionated and this
trial may soften her."
I went alone to Solomon Levy, while
Miss Kate finished her appointed round and
went home for a
cup of tea.
" I shall vote,"
Mr. Levy assured
me, leaning over
his newspaper
with the remote
look of a sage ;
"but I'm not
going to tell you
who it's for.
No, I shan't say.
I've never said
who I've voted for. I can tell you it
will be for the man who brings the rates
down, but I'm not going to say who that
207
is. ... What's that you say ? No, I'm
not a Churchman, and I don't know the
gentleman. I've my own views, and if
we all do our duty that's enough, isn't it ?
What ? Yes, I think so. It's enough for
me anyway, and, what's more, I'd sooner
vote for a man who had no religious
opinions ; he's more likely to be fair to all.
No, I shan't say.
Good day ! "
" She's away, next
door," said helpful
Mrs. Murphy, with
her large smile and
the voice of a dove.
I felt a sudden friend-
ship towards her, as
the thought struck
me that any emotions
she might ever feel
would be as untouched by human shame as
are changes in the weather.
She was very dirty, but it was the dirt of
208
8 L 6 c no
a potato=field and a pigsty, which I find less
revolting than " tapestry curtains, art table-
covers, fancy and silk blouses, soiled evening
dresses," and other horrors which, if we may
believe the dry cleaners' advertisements,
form so large a part of every refined home.
" She's away, next door," I heard the
dove-like gurgle, when I had knocked in
vain for some minutes at No. 47. " I think
it'll be the Liberals she's for, but you'll do
well to call again. We've not the vote,
else we'd be pleased to oblige you, for we're
both Conservative. There's been six ladies
before, but you can leave another picture
and welcome. . . . Oh, it's all right Get
back, now, Flora, and leave the lady alone.
Have y' tried Mr. Hanny, now, on the
other side ? It's likely he might vote if y*
asked him."
" One more," I said to myself, " and then
Polly shall give me tea, or be answerable for
my loss." Stanmore Road was on my way
home, and I proposed to have a word with
Mr. James Groat. That would leave me
o 209
only three to do after tea. I knocked at
the door. It was opened, after some delay
and shouting, by a minx M-I-N-X minx.
Editors, I notice, always alter this name to
" maiden," or " debutante," or something
that does not mean quite the same thing.
A minx, therefore, standing with reluctant
feet where the door and door-step meet. I
asked if Mr. Groat
were at home, and she
replied that she would
"just see " ; I could
wait if I liked. She
came back in a few
minutes, leaving the
parlour door open.
" Father says, ken't
you send a message ;
he's busy," she clipped.
(You will, perhaps,
observe " Father " in
the picture.) I said " No," out of sheer
contrariness, and added that I only wanted
to ask him one question,
210
e L s c r 10
She returned again to the parlour, where
a short conversation of whispers and snorts
took place.
" He says he doesn't mind the voting, and
you can leave it," was the next message.
" He'll see about it. ... No, you needn't
put him down anything at all ; he kent'
attend to you now."
I found Polly sitting with her feet up on
the sofa, trying to pour out tea. " It's all
right," she said, in answer to my criticism of
her manners. " I have just been arguing with
a gentleman of the name of Potts, who kept
his feet up the whole time I was talking to
him. I never got a word in. He just lay
and smoked, and talked me down, so I
thought I would come home and revenge
myself on his memory .-"
" I wish you would hurry up and give me
some tea," I said.
" Mr. Potts was just about to enjoy his
when I called," Polly continued, aggravat-
ingly suspending the teapot. " ' 'E's just
come 'ome to 'is tea. Miss,' his silly wife,
211
with a black eye, informed me as if that
were any excuse for lying on the sofa when
a lady called."
" Quite so," I
replied. " Please
get up and pass
me the cake."
"All right,"
said Polly.
" Well, as I was saying, I said to Mr. Potts,
' Oh, Mr. Potts, I was just canvassing
for my,' etc. etc. Mr. Potts shifted his
pipe and spat, and then bellowed at me,
' Well, I'm a ' now what was it
he said he was ? How stupid ! I can't
remember."
" An ill-mannered ape, perhaps," I sug-
gested.
" No, no. I mean that he held principles
of some sort," Polly continued, taxing her
brain. " Anyhow, it doesn't matter. ' And
I'm going,' he assured me, c to vote for them
as'll be true to [whatever-principle- it-was-
he-held] principles on the Council.' c Oh,
212
6 L 6 c r i o
but,' I chipped in, c my husband is wry
strong on that point.' (I wish I could re-
member what it was, and ask Reginald.)
' I know,' he replied ; ' they all say that, but
they don't DEW it. They want more men
like ' (I forget whether it was Keir Hardie
or Cunninghame Graham he said) 'to make
'em DEW it. There's not a member of that
there Watch Committee as is fit to be on it.'
(What is the Watch Committee do you
know ?) c It's time something was done, and
we're going to elect men as will DEW it, and
not be afraid to speak out on the Council.
I've not thought about it yet,' he added
(just fancy the cheek !), 'but I'll see when
the time comes.' '
" What did you put on your card ? "
I asked. " It is such a help to me to
know the sort of way to classify these
people."
"Oh, I didn't attempt to classify him,"
said Polly. " I just wrote, c Some one else
call,' and then I came home and put my own
feet up and smoked."
213
" I shan't do much more to-day," I said,
when we had finished tea.
" Don't do any more at all, unless you
like," Polly remarked generously. " I am
not going to. I can't risk two Mr. Pottses
in one day."
" I have got three more on my card," I
said, " and I would like to finish them if I
can, but not if it's going to rain again ; it's
too depressing."
On my way to Paradise Terrace I met the
same little school-teacher lady whom I had
first seen attacking the preoccupied mother
of the baby who was so contentedly grasp-
ing the carving-knife. This time the little
canvasser was standing looking forlorn and
discouraged before an excessively clean
housewife, who, late though it was, knelt
by her door-step, ornamenting it with a
pattern in yellow donkey-stone. A person
like that would never have delayed to wash
her step until the afternoon, so I expect she
was removing the traces of some bold spirit
who had ventured to take tea with her.
214
s L s c no
" No, he's not at home," she was saying,
without pausing in her work. " Couldn't
say, I'm sure, when he will be. ... I
couldn't say."
(In answer to a
timid question) :
" I never asked
him. He always
votes himself,
and never men-
tions it to me.
You can leave
the card. I think
he's had one. . . ." (Another timid ques-
tion) : " I couldn't say. Sometimes he's
not back until two in the morning from
his work. . . . Yes, I'll tell him. Good
afternoon."
The little lady turned dejectedly away,
her brightness all crushed, and I went on to
Paradise Terrace. But before I got there
the rain came on again, and I was fumbling
under my umbrella for the everlasting cards,
when Mrs. Salisbury came to the door on
215
her way out, dangling a large key from her
finger.
" Conservative ! " she said, when I ex-
plained my errand. " I used to be, but I
voted for the Liberals last
time, because the Conser-
vatives, to my mind, ain't
actin' straight. They do
more 'arm than good, and,
like enough, I shan't give
me vote at all this year. I
'aven't made up me mind.
I shall hear what's said a
bit first, and what they're
going to do. It's as much
as I can do to pay me rent
as it is. ... Oh yes, I've
got 'is picture ; yer needn't leave any more.
I'll just think it over."
" Yes," I said to myself as I turned away,
" so will I think it over in the seclusion
of my own apartments."
For three weeks this was my daily life,
and at last we went to the poll all of us,
216
s L 6 c no 3\c
shepherds and sheep in borrowed carriages,
motors, traps, and side-cars. It would take
another chapter to describe the fever and
the flurry, the mistakes, the counter-orders,
the number of canvassers sent at once to the
same house to fetch hale and hearty sup-
porters of the opposite party, while faithful
invalids who had hobbled to our assistance
for eighty years were never fetched at all.
However, when the last bedridden cripple
had been hoisted into a motor at the eleventh
hour, and the door of the polling-booth had
been held open by courtesy for an extra
moment, only to find that his name was not
on the Register, we went back to supper
feeling that we didnt care! They might
elect the Rev. Griffiths ap Davis if they
liked, or carry Mr. Potts or the Anti-
Vaccinator shoulder-high, and proclaim him
king if they were so disposed. All that we
wanted was food and a fender. But by
ten o'clock we were all in Reginald's club,
shouting ourselves hoarse, and by a quarter
past he and Polly were in such a turmoil
217
of speeches, and handshaking, and general
absurdity, that I slipped out at a side door
and took a taxi home. Half an hour after-
wards I laid my weary head uncombed upon
the pillow.
218
CHAPTER XV : LETTERS OF
GEORGINA BROWN
" LONGMOOR," MlLLPORT.
MY DEAR LOUISE, The address on
this paper does not mean that
I have run away with a rich
merchant. There is one in the house, but
I am not his affianced bride. What has
happened is far more absurd, and bewilder-
ing, and unaccountable. He wants me to
paint his portrait, and, " if it is satisfactory,"
as he says, I have his leave to go on to
mamma and the children. Unfortunately,
they are not a very reproductive family, or
else I might have become a naturalized
member of it ; while I was painting one
child, they could be getting another ready,
and so on, until my old hands were hardly
able to handle the brush.
What moved these people to choose me
for the task is an interesting problem. I
rather suspect that it was my weak points.
219
To begin with, it was Bessie Lovelace's
idea ; you know she was at school with me,
and the merchant's wife is her second cousin.
She told them that I have remarkable talent,
and am to be had cheap (God forgive her !).
But still, that was only the placing by a
master hand of a germinal spot within the
protoplasm of their intelligence. A lot more
was needed before that spot became the full-
blown absurdity which it is now. It had
to be fed and kept warm by some natural
inclination on their part.
Here it was, I believe, that my weak
points came in. You know as well as I do
what is bad in my work. A certain sick-
liness creeps into it, do what I will. I can't
trace this quality in my tastes, except that I
have a passion for over-ripe melons, and
I feel a stirring in my gizzard when I am
in a dark church, and the little choir boys
look more saintly than my reason tells me
that they are. But the main thing is that
I am here and likely to stay some weeks at
any rate.
220
The house is like nothing you can ever
have seen unless you have been in one of
the large provincial towns. It is not a
town house nor a country house nor a cot-
tage. It is more as if its father were a
seaside hotel, and its mother were a villa,
and it took after an aunt who had been
a country house. There are two tennis
lawns and a croquet lawn fenced round by
netting. There are round flower beds and
wide borders full of flowers of the sort that
gardeners always delight in. I don't mean
the job gardeners that you and I labour under
they wouldn't allow us to have any beds
at all, because flowers " make work." I
mean the experienced and rather huffy
gardeners, who are employed by the rich,
and who are indifferent to work because
they don't do any. I think that Waring
and Gillow must, originally, have supplied
the garden as well as the furniture, because
the flowers are all in " suites," and they go
so well with the curtains. They look un-
usually expensive, and as if they wouldn't
221
have very much smell. The roses, which
all belong to the very best families, and are
named after baronets' wives, live apart in
a sheltered elegance of their own. The
vegetables and the hens amuse themselves
as they like behind the garage. The clean
and prosperous-looking garage, dividing the
vegetables from the flowers, has a funny
resemblance to the position of their owner
and his place of business in the social scale.
In former days there would have been a
discreet plantation of shrubs between the
stables and the flower garden, between traffic
and the retreat of elegance. Now the
shrubs are behind the garage, but still in
front of the lowest society (the vegetables
and the hens). Next year I confidently ex-
pect so see a hen lolling with a parasol
under every rose bush, and rhubarb flourish-
ing in the window boxes. It will be quite
sad for the poor democrats when they have
removed the last social barrier. They will
have, as it were, to teach the amoeba to
cheek the hens and the vegetables.
222
The garage shelters an any-number-of-
horse-power Rolls-Royce, which must not
be used too often, and an open car with a
canvas hood. This one jolts so much that
when we are all in it we grind against
one another the whole way, like stones
washed about on the beach. The chauffeur
hates it, and has blown it up twice, but
they always stick it together again to save
the Rolls-Royce. I forgot to say that in
the West End, so to speak, of the garden
there is a hot-house where they keep the
huffiest gardener of all. He must not be
spoken to except in questions, but if you
ask the right kind not knowing too much,
and yet not being at all silly he gives you
three spiky things, one red, one blue, and
one yellow, which don't look nice in a vase,
and which you can't wear.
Every one here is hospitable in away that
exasperates, because it embarrasses me, and
I cannot understand why it should. I have
often felt this anger with people who are ill
at ease in their bodies. Whenever I find
223
them doing some kindly, simple thing, it is
as if I had stumbled into their bedrooms
when they were having a bath. In the
same way I cannot be as friendly as I feel,
because they would dislike it as much as if
I wore an unconventionally low-cut dress.
The man himself is so nervously suspicious
of friendliness that he sometimes makes me
think of a darling old scarecrow in a field
from which all the crops have been gathered
long ago. Or can you imagine a Lifeguards-
man feeling so shy and indelicate without
his full-dress uniform that he insists on wear-
ing a tea-tray strapped to his chest when
he is off duty ? That is the sort of defen-
sive attitude that Millport people adopt
towards their friends.
The children are a little disappointing.
They have cracky voices and want too much.
They have been brought up by a nurse
who is accustomed to every luxury except
freedom of opinion, and has, therefore, no
repose of manner, and they themselves are
in a perpetual state of discontent, looking for
224
El Dorado in their neighbours' larders.
Children have a certain community with
animals, which makes it unnatural for them
to desire anything that they cannot by
fair means or foul get for themselves, and
although these twins and their brother are
still young enough to have some remnants
of individual taste, they are rapidly settling
down into their parents' habit of systematic
borrowing borrowed hopes and fears,
borrowed likes and dislikes everything, in
fact, except a borrowed husband. I do
not want a borrowed husband, but for
the life of me I cannot understand why it
should be necessary to draw the line there
when everything else, from the phrase on
our lips to our idea of Divine Revelation,
is borrowed from the borrowings of our
neighbours.
To-morrow I am going to begin on the
first portrait. You will probably say that
it is unnecessary to have any sittings at all,
as with a grain of imagination it would be
easy to paint a portrait that would fit any
p 225
commercial gentleman. But I am begin-
ning to know something about the species
and to recognize differences between them,
just as my particular one knows a difference
between grains of corn. Of course, in
many things there is a certain uniformity
between him and others of his kind. His
house, for instance, is like the houses of his
friends, but that is partly because bad archi-
tecture is a sort of head-and-hand disease
which breaks out in some architect's office
and spreads rapidly to others. A man gets
a bad house in his head, and the design is
carried from one town to another until
people get used to living in bad houses just
as they once got used to being marked with
small-pox, and very few of them have the
intelligence and the technical knowledge to
invent a cure even if they have the time
or the money. Naturally, good houses are
built sometimes, but their architects are
probably in a state of moral health that can
only be transmitted by the slower process of
breeding. It does not seem to be contagious.
226
I wish that somebody would investigate the
pathology of taste.
Neither are my sitter's habits altogether
peculiar to himself, because of the borrowing
propensities of his womenkind. He has
not the time nor the energy, when he gets
home in the evening, to think out what he
wants, therefore he exercises his personal
taste at the office, and borrows comfortably,
like the others, when he is at home. I
hope you understand all this stuff about
borrowing ; I know that we have all got to
live on other people, but while it seems
suitable to borrow a neighbour's fowl if we
eat it up and it is made into blood and
muscle and energy, yet it is merely dis-
gusting to swallow it whole and then treat
it as the whale treated Jonah. I have been
living lately in drawing-rooms that are
strewn with conversational Jonahs.
But there are bits of the man which arc
quite his own, and these bits he keeps in
town. Every day at five o'clock he hangs
up his individuality on a nail behind his
227
office door, and when he comes home he
slips on an easy suit of tastes provided for
him by his wife. What a revolution there
would be if he once brought home the
creature whom he hangs up at the office !
He knows good from bad there ; he is not
imposed upon by meaningless phrases ; he
can conceive a fine scheme, and is master of
the technical details necessary to its per-
fection. I believe that his honesty and
shrewdness would teach him discrimination
in the things which he buys for his house,
but the poor man is too tired to fight the
battle of honesty both against thieves abroad
and against his wife at home, so he gladly
accepts any opinions upon unimportant sub-
jects so long as they admit of comfortable
arm-chairs and are not too expensive.
Now and then he indulges in one of his
natural vices, as, for instance, when he
allowed himself to enjoy the over-ripe
melons and choir boys of my pictures,
although he knew quite well that his wife
would rather have commissioned some one
228
equally bad but with a safer reputation. In
this case he had enough support from Bessie
and her friends to make it possible for him
to indulge his taste without appearing abso-
lutely eccentric. So now I think you know
why I am here.
He met me himself at the station, with
the small car, not the Rolls-Royce. It is
about twenty minutes rattle out to Holly
Park, where he lives. " Longmoor " is the
name of the house. I noticed it on the
fragile gatepost as we squeezed and scraped
up to the front door, just missing the
lobelias. A butler came out, looking ex-
ceedingly angry. I have seen inscrutable,
wooden servants, and rough, loutish ser-
vants, and flighty, silly servants, but I never
before saw permanently angry servants, such
as they keep in Millport. The creatures
are quite good-tempered when you get to
know them ; the anger is just a trade-mark
to show that they are the genuine, old,
tawny Millport, and would sooner give a
month's notice than put up with something
229
I have not yet discovered what ! One
imagines that a certain amount of abstract
indignation is necessary to them in the same
way as a parrot requires chillies in its food.
It may be difficult to digest " the best
families," unless one is indignant with
everybody who differs from them.
There was a tremendous barking when
we arrived ; a dog barking in just the same
tone of voice as the butler looked. I could
hear it shrieking : " What's this ? What's it
all about ? Who said so ? Who has come ?
What are they for ? Don't let them in !
I shall have to hear something first before I
can give an opinion ! "
When the animal appeared, I thought
him less like a dog than an imitation of
one ; he ought to have had green wheels
and a flannel tongue. He is a priggish little
thing, who knows when there are peas for
dinner, and expects to be asked to beg at
tea-time, instead of being ashamed of his
tricks, like a decent dog. He is, actually,
offended if no one asks him to make a fool
230
of himself. I know he thinks that all ladies
ought to like to see a little dog beg so nicely
it ought to make them laugh. I always
smoke in his face
when he does it,
which I wouldn't
do to any other
dog ; but he
maddens me. The
merchant threw
down his hat
wearily, snapped
his fingers at
" Punch," as the
little beast is
called, looked through the letters that were
on the hall table, and then asked for his wife.
She was in the garden, and there we found
her sitting among the remains of tea, strugg-
ling with an acrostic in some magazine.
The angry butler caught up the teapot, as if
it had made a face at him, and bore it off to
refill it, evidently against both its wish and
his.
231
Mrs. Merchant has a great deal of a
certain quality, definite enough, but for
which I know of no name, which is in part
natural goodness and, in part, only a queen-
like unawareness. Whatever it is, it reacts
on some submerged part of my character,
and produces in me a sort of street arab
whom I do not recognize. You know that
I am not fast nor vicious nor dishonest, only
an ordinary person enjoying life, yet with
this woman I feel like Eve after the Fall. I
rush helter-skelter from every topic of con-
versation, covering my harmless, natural
thoughts with platitudes. Some serpent has
told her that I have an "artistic tempera-
ment," and I see her straining her mind,
enough to rupture it, in efforts to appear
" understanding." I am supposed to know
how many pictures Lord Leighton painted,
and what are " the things to admire " in the
Academy " all the nice, out-of-the-way
things," she calls them. I told her once
that I should like to draw the huffy butler,
and she said it had never occurred to her
232
that he was picturesque, but perhaps I was
right, and what costume would I like to
" do " him in.
Now, please do not remind me that
a moment ago I was blaming these people
for covering their instinctive thoughts of
kindness, and that I spoke contemptuously
of uniforms and tea-trays, while I now
confess to covering my own thoughts with
platitudes. The truth is that this is the
most self-conscious household I ever was in,
and when I see them all rushing for covert,
of course I catch the panic without knowing
what is the matter. Then, when all is calm,
I get very angry at seeing myself and them
tightly wrapped in moral shawls of one
kind or another. The sight of the others'
shawls makes me conscious of my own, and
I begin to tickle all over and fidget with
annoyance.
We had such a good dinner ! Vol-an-vents^
and mousses^ and souffles^ with ice inside them,
and such horrid coffee ! Mrs. Merchant lit
a cigarette afterwards, spluttering when she
2 33
got any smoke, and chewing the end to
ribbons ; not as a hospitable fiction, for she
did not begin until after I had finished ; but
she says she likes an occasional cigarette.
You do not smoke, I know, but you have
fifteen love-affairs a week, so I can explain
the absurdity of the occasional cigarette in
terms that you will understand, by saying
that it is as if some one told you she did so
enjoy being made love to, now and then
about once a year by a really nice old
gentleman with a bald head, so long as he
did not attempt to kiss her.
Some people came to dinner that evening.
I had forgotten to tell you, being so busy
about the food and tobacco. I shall call
every one whom I meet here including the
Merchants by the name of whatever they
look like, because then you can tell that
inquisitive Bessie, if she asks you, that you
do not know whom I have met. She enjoys
everything too much for it to be quite right
to describe people by name to her. She stores
things in her mind, and brings out plums for
234
her guests in a way that is more hospitable
than discreet.
I shall call the people who came Mr. and
Mrs. Ritz-Trotter, Miss Darling, and Mr.
Friseur. I am always puzzled as to how
the Mr. Ritz-Trotters get wives. They
are all right in an office, or on a board, or as
butlers, or in any kind of man's work (except
soldiering, or sailoring, or diplomacy). But
why does anyone want such a person in
the house to keep ? If one had dozens of
husbands, it would be useful to have one
Mr. Ritz-Trotter to manage the shares, and
tell one where to sign things ; but as we
are limited to one, it seems such a waste of
a unique opportunity to choose that sort.
When Mr. Ritz-Trotter was young, he can,
at best, only have been like Mr. Friseur, who
looks to me altogether a bad egg so far as
companionship is concerned.
I have called the young one Friseur,
because he is like a hairdresser's assistant,
though that is, perhaps, scarcely fair on the
hairdressing profession.
2 35
Personally, I do not like the chatty young
man at Beau's, who tells me that my hair is
a very dressy colour, and that Blackpool is
likely to be full this year ; but at least he
has a definite nervous system and vertebras,
so that he can jump about. I expect he will
develop some day into a cheery old person,
whereas Mr. Friseur, who is only in the first
stage of becoming a Mr. Ritz-Trotter, will
go on getting more and more depressing.
Women like Mrs. Ritz-Trotter are won-
derfully adaptable. I think that if she were
taken away now and given to a pirate, the
natural fidelity and cheerfulness that keep
her attached to her husband would turn her
into a very attractive woman. But to acquire
any decorative value these gems of character
have to be cut by a life of more active horror
than her present one. She was dressed last
night in very expensive clothes, just enough
like those of the demi-monde to be thought
up to date, but not sufficiently like them to
scare her magnate, who is as conscious of the
habits of such ladies as a jelly-fish is aware
236
of the presence of titbits on the shore, even
if they are not actually within his reach.
Mr. Friseur took me into dinner, and
tired me so much that I was obliged to drink
champagne,
which is always
bad for me. You
know those
dreadful things
called Sparklets ?
You can shoot
them into any-
thing, and make
it fizz "aerate"
is the proper
word. If you
can imagine
aerated mutton
sparkling mutton you will know what
that young man's conversation was like. I
could see it, in my mind's eye, advertised
as " Friseur's Frisky Food for Fascinating
Females." It got up my nose and stodged
my spiritual digestion at the same time.
2 37
When I let loose any pleasant fancy, he
became sentimental ; and when, just to
restore his balance, I talked about bishops,
and asked him to pass the mustard, his
ideas frothed clumsily, and he said that he
didn't know artists went to church and
wasn't mustard bad for the palette ! I know
he was trying to please me, poor thing, and
that I was very ungrateful and nasty ; but I
felt all the time that he was really resorting
to the device of the curlew, who utters shrill
cries to divert the attention of a harmless
traveller from its nest. He was trying to
prevent me from remembering that he had
had a respectable commercial home and up-
bringing. If young men in business had
more outdoor pursuits, they would easily see
in proper proportion such a trifle as their
own origin. It is sitting on an office stool
that makes people begin to wish that they
were descended from a long line of Vikings.
Miss Darling, I find, loves the silly thing,
and intends to marry him. She is a simple
person with a heart of velvet, and she will
238
grow old with her hairdresser, taking him
out to dinner three times a week, seeing the
sparkle subside and the mutton grow tough.
She will have, probably, about three senten-
tious, knock-kneed little boys, and one
anaemic, over-dressed little girl, and will end
her days in a house three times as large as
the one in which she began housekeeping.
There ought to be a larger kind of men who
prey upon and eat hairdressers.
I will write next week, and continue
the story of what a journalist would call
" A lady artist's plucky attempt to disarm
Provincials."
Yours ever,
GEORGINA.
239
CHAPTER XVI
" LONGMOOR," MlLLPORT.
MY DEAR LOUISE, I have nearly
finished Mr. Merchant's portrait.
I showed it to him yesterday for
the first time, and it apparently " proves
satisfactory," so I shall very likely be here
for weeks. He gives me two hours sitting
every day, which, I am beginning to realize,
is a remarkable thing for a business man to
do. It is almost the first time in his life,
except during the inevitable August, that
he has not left his house at a quarter to
nine every morning. But he has been ill,
and I think that he intends, sooner or later,
to retire from business and live awav from
J
town, as this is what they all aspire to. In
the meantime he is only allowed to work
for a few hours at a time, so he has taken
the opportunity to have his portrait painted
and so fill up the leisure which might other-
wise hang heavy on his hands.
240
He went off this morning at eleven, and
I worked on without him until luncheon.
Then I was shown some more of the social
machinery of Millport ; that part of it
which decides in what mood the fighting
apparatus shall begin its day's work a very
important matter, if you come to think of
it. Mrs. Merchant had a party of women
representing different sections of society,
and, so far as I could judge, they did not
seem to be working quite in unison. The
only one whom I knew was Miss Darling,
who is a great friend of Mrs. Merchant's
and comes to everything. There was also
a fat, elderly thing, in a satin coat and skirt,
plumed hat and boa, besides a prettier edi-
tion of Mrs. Merchant, dressed in tweeds,
which are the uniform of the more distant
suburbs and indicate the magic word
" county " ; and last of all, like a French
squirrel in a hurry, murmuring some domes-
tic apology, the wife of a professor at the
University.
You know how, in any town which is
Q 241
given up to a University, even the bald-
faced old women with hair like char-
women's, who stamp through their social
duties with the
corsetless aplomb
of the born moral-
izer, are recog-
nized as forming a
sort of aristocracy
in keeping with
the spirit of the
place. But here
all the academic
flowers, good and
bad alike, are
looked upon as
interlopers. I have heard many of the
vieillesse doree of Millport lump them
together indiscriminately as " peculiar " and
" too clever for us." If I had my way I
would make it criminal libel to apply the
word " clever " to any persons but those
who have been found guilty of attempted
intelligence. The Romans are spoken of in
242
history books as having brought the blessing
of education to the untutored savages of
ancient Britain. But I can imagine the
snuffy look on the faces of the female aristo-
cracy in woad when the high-browed
matrons of Rome landed among them,
armed with copy-books. You may see the
same look spread over a party of Millport
Druids and their wives when the University
is mentioned.
I don't think that everybody by nature
likes being educated. Improvement is forced
on some by others who have an inherent
morbid craving for it, and when the victims
have been compelled to accept it, they behave
as the fox who was accidentally deprived of
his tail behaved to his friends who had
escaped the misfortune. The foxes of Mill-
port are, one by one, losing their tails. The
old-fashioned appendages of fat and fur no
longer command general respect among the
neighbours ; yet the fashion dies hard. All
the same, how pleasant a few little feathery
tails, sewn with sequins, would be in Oxford
2 43
or Cambridge, would they not ? It is so
tiresome when people insist on all trying to
be one particular thing.
But to go on with the luncheon-party.
The fat elderly fox was invited to lead the
way to the dining-room, and she gave the
impression that if she had not been asked
to lead the way she would have led it of
her own accord. She has such an expres-
\ sive back ; it
seems to be wait-
in g impatiently
for other people
to do right, yet
almost hoping
/ they won't, so that
' she may have the
pleasure of correct-
ing them. Mrs.
County followed
next, with the
goo d-na t ur e d
politeness of a Prime Minister sent in to
dinner behind a knight ; the French squirrel
244
smiled at us and went after them, and Miss
Darling and I scuffled amiably in the door-
way over Mrs. Merchant's toes.
The hostess's task was a difficult one, but
she showed wonderful tact. She was con-
scious of having at her table two persons
who represented the established authority
of commerce and landed property (even if
it is only a couple of fields and a carriage
sweep for flies to drive up). Opposed to
these were two others, one of whom (myself)
belonged to a community whose wildness
and eccentricity, it was rumoured, knew
no bounds, while the other (from the Uni-
versity) was associated with certain unintel-
ligible heathens who were said to " poke
fun " at the idols of Mrs. Bushytail, Mrs.
County and herself. Miss Darling, she
knew, could be relied upon to interpose her
soft form as a cushion if anybody took to
throwing anything : still it was anxious
work.
" The trees are quite losing their leaves, are
they not ? " began Miss Darling, unfolding
2 45
her napkin. It was like the tuning up of
the violins before the rise of the curtain.
I tried to tune up too, but no words
would come. Do you remember how
Dick told us that he sometimes could
think of nothing to say but, " Do you wear
drawers in autumn ? " The trees reminded
me of it.
" Yes, aren't they, dreadfully ? " said
Mrs. Merchant. " It is quite sad." We
had some more tuning up, Mrs. Bushytail
(I still refuse to give you their real names
because you and Bessie are too unreliable)
taking the part of the drum.
" Ahem ! B-r-r-r-r-r-um ! " she coughed.
" It is quite impossible to count on the
seasons at all in these days. They are all at
sixes and sevens. Such warm weather at
this time of year cannot be healthy."
Mrs. County gave us a few languid runs
on the French horn, foreshadowing her
leit motif^ the West Cheddar pack, with
whom she hunts now and then. She said
that frosts were of no value to anyone except
246
plumbers, and that now everybody found
Christmas such a bore, it seemed hardly
worth while having snow and all that sort
of thing, except that it made an occupation
for the poor wretches in town to shovel it
away. It kept them in the fresh air instead
of stewing at home all day.
Perhaps Mrs. Merchant thought that the
tuning up was getting too discordant, for
she collected us with her eye and gave out
the hymn of Literature. You see, literature
is such a good subject, because it can never
get hackneyed (with so many books coming
out each year), and everybody is sure to
have read something. Sooner or later Mrs.
Bushytail's voice makes itself heard above
any babel. She had the upper hand of us
in a moment, and discussion lay dead beside
her plate. One would suppose that the
raison d'etre of human speech was to further
exchanges of opinion, but Mrs. Bushytail
pursues this intention with relentless ferocity
as if were moral vermin.
" No interesting books are written nowa-
247
days," she said, giving a final throttle to our
already extinct debate. " They seem all
nonsense about heredity and character, and
things of that sort. That doesn't make evil
any better. If people had larger families
there would be bound to be some good
children among the lot, and the others
would soon find their level."
Miss Darling interposed her velvet heart
between further severity and us.
" You ought to read some of George
Birmingham's books," she said bravely.
" They are so amusing, and not a bit
morbid."
" I have read one," flourished the old
lady, "and I never met with greater non-
sense in my life. Most impossible rubbish.
I know numbers of Irish people, and they
are indolent and dreamy, with an immense
respect for England. I never heard of any
of them poking fun at our Members of
Parliament, and that sort of thing, and they
were all far too idle to think of going on
ridiculous adventures. What do you think,
248
G 6 O^G
Mrs. Cambridge ? Your husband is an
authority on literature I am told." This
was no more an invitation to discussion than
is the spider's lure the bidding of a genial
host, but Mrs. Cambridge is far from in-
genuous.
" We both liked some of them," she said
quietly, " but then my husband is Irish, you
know, so you must excuse him."
Mrs. Bushytail scowled at her and re-
marked, " Humph ! I suppose there are
different grades of society in Ireland, just as
there are here. Are any of you going to
the Mayor's reception ? "
" I suppose I ought to go," said Mrs.
County wearily, " but I declined ; they are
such dreadful people ! "
Mrs. Merchant said that she was going,
and asked me if 1 would like to go with
her. She added, poor dear, that she was
" afraid I should not find it very lively not
like my Bohemian parties with all the great
Academicians, and clever people. . . ."
Dear Louise, why does not a merciful
249
Providence, whose will it is to fashion us
in such humorous variety, put directions
for use on our backs, or send a bottle of
medium with us by which we could com-
municate with one another ? Ought I to
have replied, " Dear Mrs. Merchant, I will
make the best of your friends, and when
you come to stay with me I will try to
collect some people with double chins and
dictatorial manners who know all about
boiling soap and making beef-juice " ? I
should take it for granted that she would
like my friends, or, at all events, that she
would find something interesting in them,
and perhaps enjoy a change from her own
species. So why is it to be supposed that I
cannot live without my own form of shop ?
" Who is the present Mayor ? ' : asked
Mrs. Cambridge. " He came to the Uni-
versity the other day, and I thought he
looked rather a strange person to have at
the head of a big city like this."
" Not a gentleman, of course" pronounced
our Dictator, helping herself to another lot
250
of Peches Melba (the vigorous old creature
had cherry-brandy with it too), " but a very
capable man. He is on our hospital com-
mittee and he puts his foot down on the
younger men in a very admirable way ;
never wastes too much time on discussion.
A splendid financier ; doesn't allow im-
provements to be carried beyond a reasonable
distance."
" He has dreadful manners, though,"
sighed Mrs. County, who eats nothing but
vegetables, and refuses sweets because she
says they spoil her form at badminton.
" The Duchess presided at the annual meet-
ing of our Waifs and Strays at the Town
Hall the other day, and she said that the
Mayor made his speech with his foot on her
muff."
" Then she shouldn't have left her muff
on the floor," replied Mrs. Bushytail. " The
Duchess was an old friend of mine when
you were in the schoolroom, my dear, and I
shall tell her that she ought to take better
care of her things."
251
" Lady Scelby said the Town Hall smelt
very strong of onions," Mrs. County ventured
again with her eyes half shut.
I was pleased at things going like this
maliciously pleased. Instead of the two
suspected firebrands setting up a conflagra-
tion in the camp, there were the two repre-
sentatives of law and order (the town and
the county) sparring together over the
personal habits of the chief magistrate ;
while the heathen and the anarchist sat
with milk and honey on their lips, ready to
pour balm on the wounds of the combatants !
All the same, I think that Mrs. Cambridge
and I would have let them lose a little more
blood before we actually interfered ; but
Miss Darling flew to the rescue and stopped
a second round by saying that the dear
Mayoress had been so sweet with the chil-
dren on Empire Day, and that no one knew
what a powerful force the Mayor was among
the inebriates of the city. She hoped it was
not going to rain : it was looking rather
threatening. But what a lovely colour
252
the leaves were at this time of year. It
seemed so sad that they must all come off.
" We will drive you to the reception,
dear," said Mrs. Merchant gratefully ; and
then we all rose, and I escaped into the garden
to have a cigarette behind the lobelias.
When Mrs. Bushytail had driven off in a
robust brougham, her two obese horses
guided by an apoplectic old man, and Mrs.
County had departed on foot to whatever
cross-bred residence her husband's particular
brand of ketchup provides for her, Miss Dar-
ling, Mrs. Cambridge (who was also going
to the reception), Mrs. Merchant and I
spread ourselves comfortably in the Rolls-
Royce, and were driven to the Town Hall.
Numbers of people were in the great hall,
waiting to meet their friends. There was a
large sprinkling of Bushytails and Countys,
but most of the crowd were of another type,
which I have not met before. I took them
to be honest tradesmen of the oblong and
erratic shapes which seem inseparable from
commerce. But several of them turned out
253
to belong to the best society, and the
dumpiest one of all, dressed in the most
creased and stained frock-coat and the worst
trousers, was Mrs. Cambridge's husband. I
have sometimes wondered why both com-
mercial and professional men are often so
incurably slovenly, and I begin to think it
must be owing to some instinct of self-pre-
servation which leads them to shun the sort
of women who would look after their clothes
by force. To make a busy man look tidy
when he does not want to, it must be neces-
sary to worry him all day, and no doubt
women who have the firmness and per-
tinacity for the task are recognized by
naturally baggy men in the same way as
the presence of a cat is scented from afar by
even the most absent-minded mouse.
At the top of a wide staircase decorated
with palms we found the Mayor and
Mayoress. Bessie would have called them
" fairies," but you know how inappropriate
her descriptions are. Anything from a
round of beef to a rainbow may be a fairy
2 54
if it excites her imagination. But, indeed,
they were wonderful ! Have you ever seen
a mayor ? If not,
take a stock-
.
broker and stun:
him quite tight
until he creaks.
Dress half of him
for a wedding
not forgetting
spats and the
other half for
" standing at the
plate " outside a Scotch kirk (he wears a
white tic and a frock-coat). Dab bits of
fur on his eyebrows, but not on his head
you leave that quite bare and then hang a
heavy locket and chain round his neck.
For a mayoress, take a gentle, timid old lady
out of a woolshop. Dress her regardless of
expense, and frighten her to death. Then
hang another locket and chain round her
neck, and there you are !
They were both shaking hands with the
255
rapidity of an experienced cook shelling peas.
Each of us was emptied out of our identity and
cast into the room beyond, pressed on by the
growing mass of those who had fulfilled the
object for which they came. By and by we
reached the edge of the heap and looked
about us. Mrs. Bushytail and Mrs. County,
each the centre of a group, were dispensing
the milk of their several words with reckless
liberality. Presently Mrs. Merchant drew
me to a small table covered with plates of
bread-and-butter, mixed biscuits, and wed-
ding cake. Then she artfully picked two
or three of her friends out of the different
groups, and formed them into a small private
tea-party. A maidservant brought us tea
so strong that it tasted like beef-juice and
tobacco mixed and while we were drinking
it I saw for the first time that a really nice
girl was making herself frightfully hot by
singing at the top of her voice. None of
us had realized what was happening, only it
seemed to me that it was becoming more and
more difficult to make oneself heard.
256
Mrs. Bushytail came to our table, and
there were also a German and his wife, both
of whom I liked very much. It was he
who first noticed the poor girl singing.
" Ach^ was \ " he said, " der is music,
and we knew not. Let us listen." We all
listened hard, but all I could hear was,
" blows part rose heart " and Mrs.
Merchant said, " That lovely thing ! I
always like it so much."
" She has a goot voice," said the German
lady, " but not str-r-r-ong."
" Absurd ! " Mrs. Bushytail informed
us. " They should have had a man to do
it."
The noise was fearful. You know what
a party is always like a yapping and drum-
ming that never stops, and every one stuffing
something down holes in their faces you
don't notice this effect unless everybody is
eating at once and the room began to
smell like an oven full of mice.
Mrs. Merchant asked whether I had
noticed the portraits hung round the room.
R 2SJ
She added that they were considered very
good.
" They arc all Mayors, hem ? " said the
German, peering through his spectacles.
"Kings," Mrs. Bushy tail explained angrily,
" all kings. We don't keep the Mayors
here ; they are in the Council Chamber."
" So we keep our Kaisers," said the Ger-
man's kind wife. " You are patriotic too ?
That is good. They look very nice stand-
ing so." She puffed out her chest, and
thrust a gloved hand into the front of her
mantle.
" Were the pictures presented to the
Town Hall ? " Mrs. Cambridge inquired.
" No," said Mrs. Bushytail, with reason-
able pride, " the city paid for them ; im-
mense sums. They are a great deal larger
than any at the Guildhall. What do you
think of them ? " she asked me. " You
ought to be a judge of art."
" I think they are beautiful," I said.
" They make me feel, for the first time in
my life, that I should like to be married to
258
a king. I love splash and rolls of parch-
ment and thunderstorms. I quite see what
you like about them."
I do not know whether I meant to tease
her or not. The pictures are just what I
said, but I think that if I had liked her
better I might have said the same thing in
a different way. Anyhow, it did not do at
all. My German made it worse by saying
critically, " Yes, that is so, you have it quite.
Now in Germany we care for the skill, for
the worthiness of the picture. We make,
perhaps, too much of it. And you, you
care more for the sentiment the t splash *
you call it ? What the common people
shall understand. Very good. You are
quaite r-raight."
Mercifully the fact that he had not been
introduced to Mrs. Bushytail prevented her
from using other weapons of destruction
than a look, which glanced off his spec-
tacles as harmlessly as summer lightning.
But Mrs. Merchant was clearly uneasy,
scenting trouble, but uncertain in which
259
direction it lay. She therefore slipped away,
taking me with her. Heavens ! the dressing
gong ! and I was just going to tell you
something more amusing about the Cam-
bridges, I will write again.
Yours ever,
GEORGINA.
260
CHAPTER XVII
UNITY SQUARE, MILLPORT.
MY DEAR LOUISE, I am sorry that
you are getting out of breath
with my experiences ; but just
think what it must be for me to have to go
through them ! If I had not a better-
balanced mind and a more stable tempera-
ment than yours, I should probably have
been returned dead on your hands a week
ago, and you would have found that far
more disturbing than reading my letters.
I am writing from the University, because
the Merchants' eldest child has got measles.
The higher powers are so ingenious in
devising these little bits of action to brighten
up the plot of one's life ! Measles is not
the sort of thing I should ever have thought
of for myself, but it has varied my days here
to an extent that I should have supposed to
be quite out of the range of a few spots.
I have had measles myself, and was there-
261
fore quite prepared to go on with my work.
I was even looking forward to brightening
the monotonous pallor of the children's
complexions by painting in a pink rash, but
I was not allowed to. Mrs. Merchant has
a warm heart, and said that it would not be
safe to trifle with illness. This means that
instead of everything going on as usual, as
it might quite well do, every one in the
house has to run up and down stairs all day
except the hospital nurse, who stands just
inside the child's door and heads the runners
downstairs again.
It was suggested at first that I should go
home for three weeks and then come back
here, but instead of that I am staying with
Mrs. Cambridge. I have forgotten why
she asked me to come to her, or why I
accepted. The last week has been like a
dream, where one begins by salmon-fishing,
and then suddenly finds oneself in a motor
accident on the top of the Alps. The
connecting links have faded.
Most of the Dons, or whatever their local
262
equivalent is, live in a square round the
University, which is a big building like a
cross between an office and a church. I
have told you that the Merchants' house is
a mixed-looking erection ; the whole town
is like that. The offices are half hotels,
the churches suggest schools or offices, the
private houses have borrowed a feature or
two from dovecots, mausoleums, and even
castles on the Rhine. The Town Hall has
a compromising resemblance to the Stock
Exchange, which, in its turn, is tricked out
in what looks like pink gingham trimmings
from the seaside lodging-houses. The
Cambridges' house is designed for the
greatest comfort of the few, and the greatest
inconvenience of the many, the many being
a large staff of maid-servants. All the rooms
are beautifully large and airy, the stairs
narrow and steep, the bedrooms infinitely
removed from the apparatus by which they
are kept clean. The kitchens are so re-
motely buried in the bowels of the earth
that, even if the smell of boiled cabbage
263
travelled as quickly as a ray of light, it
would take, probably, some weeks to reach
the noses of those fortunates engaged at
meals in the dining-room.
I have already described the Cambridges
to you. I should like to add that I am
beginning to be very fond of the beetle-like
Mr. Cambridge. As for her, it is a delight
to see her handle the town. I never in my
life saw such skill. Her "at-home" day
makes me think of one of the days of
creation about the middle of the week
when huge lizards, giant toads, and queer-
faced monstrosities of all sorts were being
delivered by the million at the front door of
Eden, and there was no one to show them
what to do next. Mr. Cambridge would
have made a bad Adam. He would have
looked at them through his spectacles and
said : " No, really, I can't think of a name
for that fellow. Let's try this fat old girl.
Let me see h'm, ha ! " (he gives his little
old - maidish cough) " er Pobbly omniba
Jessica perhaps "
264
" May I introduce Mrs. Blot ? " Mrs.
Cambridge would then have said in her
quiet voice, and
the matter would
have been settled
ty f (
tH(4
m
for all time, or
until the Blots
died out or were
replaced by a
more agile
species, the
Trots.
On her last
Thursday I pinned myself into a corner
behind the heaviest mammoth of the lot
a massive woman with a hairy face,
and arms like a prize-fighter's legs. I
have never recovered from my first alarm
sufficiently to ask her name, but I have since
gathered that she lives alone with a widowed
nephew, and is at once the terror and delight
of the junior staff of the University. People
of strong character are not afraid of her, but
the younger and less definite individuals
265
cower before her, although her mighty
hands shower sugar-plums, excellent dinner-
parties, and the kindest advice upon them.
I was resting for a moment on an ottoman
near the window when she sat down upon
me, and looked about her through a pair of
lorgnettes. Then she began to fan herself,
and the motion which this gave to her body
caused me such acute agony in my knees
that I gave a faint scream, and, I think,
moved a little. She looked round. I can't
think how she did it but, in fact, her face
came quite close to the top of my head.
I could feel her breath distinctly.
" God bless me ! " she exclaimed. " It's
a child ! A young person ! I beg your
pardon most heartily, my dear child. I
hope I have not injured you."
"No, indeed, I don't think so," I an-
swered when I could speak. " I shall be
quite all right in a minute."
I gave her my seat, and was beginning to
feel my legs again, when she said suddenly :
"Do you live here? I see you are not
266
wearing your hat." I explained all that I
have told you, and she became very much
interested. She said one especially amusing
thing.
" I hope, my dear, that you don't paint
still-life ? "
I said that I didn't, because I dislike any-
thing that sits still and looks heavy while I
am working. "That's right, that's right,"
she said, patting my hand. " Now do you
see that woman over there ? Dirty creature !
I believe she has come out again without
washing her neck. She gave an exhibition
of her work the other day ; it seemed to
me most deplorable. There was one picture
in particular which really vexed me. A
glass of water (a very ugly glass too a
common bedroom tumbler), a book (shame-
fully dog-eared), half a melon, and a boot
that a scavenger might have been ashamed
to wear, unlaced, and with a great bulging
hole in the toe. I more than half suspect
that she got it out of her husband's dressing-
room, because that is the sort of woman she
267
is. I was quite frank about it. ' No, my
dear,' I said, c I don't like it, and I'm not
going to flatter you. Art is meant to
ennoble us, and there is nothing ennobling
about untidiness and sloth. If ever you see
things of that sort about in your house,
don't immortalize them burn them. We
don't want to recall such things. Don't
even give them to the poor ! '
I longed for her to go on, but a disagree-
able, boasting woman came up and laid a
bold hand upon my mammoth. Such a
woman has no excuse for braving danger,
because, whichever place she goes to, she is
bound to be unpleasantly situated when she
dies. But to my great surprise, nothing
happened ; she was not trampled upon as I
expected. In fact, any fool may tamper
with these immense creatures, who very
rarely exercise their strength. Their real
anxiety is not to break anything, and the
desire of their hearts is to inspire confidence.
I have seen the other woman a brazen
serpent in my opinion at every house to
268
which I have been lately. She seems to
be an object of superstitious veneration in
the town. Whether she ever did any good
or cured people who had been bitten by
adversity I do not know, but now she is
nothing more than a fetish. Sometimes
she shows a more active vulgarity, and
mixes among us as an ordinary moral
bounder, a sort of " 'Arry " of the Chris-
tian religion. I have seen religious " Alger-
nons," too, more effete and less noisy, but
this woman, when she is at her worst,
clothes herself in virtue as though it were a
loud check suit, and wears her blameless life
like a buttonhole of dahlias.
Unfortunately she happened to catch
sight of my mammoth, who was swaying
in a leisurely manner above the heads of the
crowd, and, thrusting aside her worshippers,
she plunged across the room. She was full
of some pompous, trivial rubbish about a
churchwarden and a stained-glass window.
" Of course, the dear Bishop would never
find anything objectionable in it. They
269
were all Protestant saints that we chose.
John has been most particular on that point.'*
The wretched woman contrived to make
a mess of the whole tea-party in about five
minutes. Her brawling attracted other loi-
terers to the spot by the well-known dodge
of the Park preacher. If you get on a chair
in the Park, and in a high-pitched voice
address the baby and perambulator that are
nearest to you, and if you then rope in an
errand boy, and two maiden ladies, and a
tramp, you will soon have an audience that a
prophet might be proud of. I don't think
that she stood on a chair, but I know that
she began with one harmless, deaf old lady
whom she caught on the hearth-rug. When
she was removed by an indulgent and busy
husband, she left behind her the absurd
impression that we had all been edified and
improved. I meet her constantly, wherever
we go, and her behaviour always reminds
me of a temperance lecturer explaining lime-
light views of a drunkard's liver to an
assembly of school children. She assumes
270
that every one in the audience is either drunk
or likely to become drunk very soon if she
is not there to inter-
fere.
The mammoth
stayed to dinner that
evening, and I felt
that for the moment
chaos was over and
the earth resting.
She swept us all into
our places with a
gentle overpower-
ingness, and we
knew at once just
where we were. The large animals nibbled
their food, the small ones frisked about
unharmed. If any of us wandered for a
moment from the broad path of reason, the
mammoth drove the offender back again into
his place with irresistible common sense and
kindness. Mr. Cambridge teased her because
she goes to lectures.
" My dear professor," she said, " I like to
271
improve my mind. I was never educated as
a girl, and I like to know what is going on.
You young people know so much that I
have never heard of. I should be sorry to
go into another world having missed so much
of what is to be seen in this one. The clergy
are all very well : they mean excellently I
am a Churchwoman myself but it seems to
me that they spend too much time in laying
plans for what can only be a visionary future,
before they have mastered the wonders of our
actual past and present. How can they fit
their immortal souls for what is to come when
they know so little of what has gone before ?
Their ignorance is lamentable, if you con-
sider that their object in life is to adapt us
for association with beings of the highest
intelligence."
I said at dinner how much I disliked the
woman whom I had met that afternoon,
and when they understood from my descrip-
tion who she was, they all had so much
to say that I disentangled the facts with
great difficulty. I now understand that she
272
has declared herself a sort of Queen of
Morality in the town, and that her follow-
ing consists of those who will believe any-
thing that any one says so long as it is said
loud enough and often enough.
This is a queer, self-conscious place. The
people who inhabit it are neither living in
a state of natural warfare, nor is there any
domestic harmony between the species. They
walk in the glaring publicity of a small com-
munity, and each says to the other, " I am
I. Who are you ? Well, that won't do at
all ; you must be somebody quite different,
or I shan't like you." Mrs. Cambridge has
something of the contemptuous nonchalance
of a Persian cat, which is always sufficient
unto itself, and would rather, almost, that
the common herd were not cats, because
their inclusion in her tribe would lower its
exclusiveness. But my dear mammoth can
never look on while a bird flies, or a mole
burrows, or a squirrel leaps from bough to
bough, but she must exclaim, " Bless my
soul ! What a splendid idea ! I must learn
s 273
to step more lightly, and to know more of
the wonders of the underworld."
The city wives and the wives of the
University may not see eye to eye, but they
both have their value, and people like the
mammoth (for there are others like her)
provide a medium of common sense in which
these two very different elements may com-
bine for the benefit of what my chemist
calls the "pill-swallowing public."
"Then, my dear, you ought to," says
the mammoth (so
Mrs. Cambridge
tells me), when
some satin-coated
Ichthyosaurus,
spangled with dia-
monds, boasts that
she has not made
the acquaintance
of a certain little
spoon-backed mouse with spectacles and a
family. " She would do you a world of
good. If you had to educate your own dear
274
children as she has, you would have no idea
how to set about it. And as for myself, I
should be quite helpless without my chef.
I could never learn to prepare a dinner
equal to the one that she and her little
maid cooked for me last week. Quite
admirable, I assure you, and I am a greedy
woman."
But last night she spoke with equal frank-
ness on the other side. " You mustn't mis-
understand dear Sarah Plummins," I heard
her say to Mrs. Cambridge ; " her kindness
is beyond all description. She would give
the clothes off her back yes, I know what
you are going to say, and it is very witty, and
you shall not say it she would give the
clothes off her back to help a friend or an
enemy, and say nothing about it. Her
abrupt manner is just shyness. You see,
I am shy myself, and I know how awkward
it is to be thrown among people with ideas
to which we are not used. But I don't
mind your chaff, and I tell Sarah that she
is to come and see your lovely collections,
275
and take Mr. Cambridge out in her motor.
It will do them both good."
I went to tea with Mrs. Merchant yester-
day, just to see how the child was, and I
asked her whether she knew the mammoth.
She said that she had always been a little
afraid of her. " Tom likes her," she said,
speaking of her husband, " but she over-
powers me sometimes." I said that she was
like an oak among shrubs, and the literal
creature reminded me that a moment ago I
had called her a mammoth. Which did I
mean ? Mammoths were not a bit like
oaks. I was cross, and replied, " Yes, they
were, because they both had trunks," and
she went shrieking off to " Tom " in his
smoking-room, and said that I had made
such a good joke, fit for Punch. I came
back here before they had reached the in-
evitable sequel of a mammoth in a tight
boot being like an oak because it is sure
to have a-corn. By the way, I also men-
tioned the brazen serpent to Mrs. Merchant,
who rose at once to my bait.
276
" Oh, I am so glad you have come across
her," she exclaimed, " she is such a delight-
ful woman ! '
" Whom does she delight ? " I asked,
determined to get at the bottom of this
legend. " Not the police, I'll be bound,
for she takes the bread out of their
mouths."
" Oh, what nonsense," said Mrs. Mer-
chant. " Has she been scolding you ? I
expect you deserved it."
" Who first started the idea that she was
anything in particular ? " I asked. " Did she
tell you she was in the confidence of the
angels ? and, if so, can she produce any
evidence of such favouritism ? "
I could get nothing more definite than
the same vague rumours of her merit
repeated again and again. It is evidently
just as I thought. The idea has got
about that she does a lot of good. I am
inclined to put an advertisement in the local
papers :
277
SUSPECTED DISCOVERY OF A GIGANTIC
SOCIAL HOAX
reward to any man, woman or child,
who will give satisfactory proof of having
received moral, spiritual, or financial benefit
at any time from the well-known society
leader, Mrs. Evangelette de Rougemont (or
whatever her name is).
I believe that the mammoth would pro-
vide funds for a commission to investigate
the whole matter, if she were persuaded
that it were for the good of the town.
Most probably, though, she would do
nothing of the sort. She would say that
we all stand in need of improvement, and
that a borrowed twopenny dip strapped to
the back of a blind weasel may be tiresome
and even dangerous in society, but it all
helps to keep up the idea that there is a
good fire burning somewhere. I can
imagine her saying it with perfect con-
viction.
Yours ever,
GEORGINA.
278
CHAPTER XVIII
UNIVERSITY SQUARE, MILLPORT.
MY DEAR LOUISE, I am still hard at
it and shall probably be here for
ages. No more of the Merchants'
children got measles, and he is so pleased
with his portrait that I am to begin on his
wife's when I go back to Longmoor to-
morrow. I have so enjoyed being with the
Cambridges, and shall miss the peace of
being able to Be or not to Be, as I like,
without complications. I once read a
medical book called, " My System of Elimi-
nation," and it seemed to me the simplest
possible cure for all evils. If any one would
eliminate from the recollections of the
Millport belles everything that they have
seen without seeing and heard without
understanding they would be so nice ; really
nice dears. But it makes them so fussy and
nervous to masquerade as delicately bred,
and intuitive, and things of that sort, when
279
they are bound to be found out by even the
most weevily specimens of the real article.
I have been helping Mrs. Cambridge to
sell at a bazaar, where the special form of
masquerade practised was " smart setting."
I do wish you could have seen Mrs.
Bushytail being a duchess ; the kind of
duchess that you get in newspaper feuilletons
and cheap Sunday stories stout, short-
sighted, crisp, impertinent, and great friends
with the well-bred young girl who is not
afraid of her.
Each of the stalls was presided over by a
peeress of some sort, and " with her," as the
bazaar notices said, were two or three of the
fattest flowers of Millport. They were all
as nervous as lambs at Easter. Even Mrs.
County's beautiful pale face was hot, and
her dress looked tight, although it was one
of the new, very sloppy kind. Her parti-
cular Marchioness had on a dress of just the
same shape, and it looked as if she had been
to bed in it for years and yet had managed
to keep it quite fresh, because she was so
280
self-possessed that none of her ever came
through her skin. Mrs. County's garment
was equally loose, but it looked about as
convincing as a Greek dress does on a school-
mistress in three pairs of combinations and a
lamb's-wool bodice. Mrs. County never gets
flurried like this except when she is mas-
querading well like the dickens.
Mrs. Bushytail's stall belonged to a duchess
who didn't turn up ; so although for some
hours Mrs. Bushytail, like good dog Tray,
grew very red, and would have growled and
bit her till she bled, had she happened on
the duchess just then, yet, when the first
shock was over, she began, like a sensible
woman, to count her blessings. She soon
discovered several. One was that she would
be able to run the stall as she liked, and
bully every one else as the duchess might
have bullied her. Another substantial
blessing was that strangers coming round to
the stall would probably mistake her for the
duchess. It must have been after the
discovery of this second blessing that I
281
caught her pretending to be short-sighted
and peering at people in a supercilious way.
Her expression suddenly reminded me of a
cook we once had who was not quite sober,
and that finished it ! I had to go back to
my stall and hiccup in lonely pleasure, for I
did not dare to show Mrs. Cambridge ; she
exaggerates sometimes.
We were oneof thirteen stalls who were
all selling what you might class together
under the head of " mats." Mats (by which
I mean embroidery on things that are not
of much use to anybody) are the special
industry which the bazaar was laying itself
out to promote. They are made by the
natives of some island in the Archipelago
where Mrs. County's boss-marchioness's
husband has some land ; she says that the
natives are very poor, and that she is going
to try and get our Government to do some-
thing for them. The bazaar was to help to
make the industry known. One of the other
three stalls sold native tobacco, one Home
Produce (that is, all sorts of eatables and
282
uneatables), and the third sold books about
the Industry. The boss-marchioness got
some one to go out to the islands and paint
pictures of the country, and her husband is
building a big hotel there, and is going to
run it himself. It will be a sort of paying
house-party, with golf and mixed bathing
and gambling, and all sorts of games, and
cost a good deal to go to. You can imagine
the whole gang exploiting the ladies of
Millport. If you had only seen Mrs.
Bushytail sitting so happily in her trap,
shelling out pounds and pounds for the
privilege of looking short-sighted and de
haut en has I Her three daughters really
nice girls of eighteen to twenty-five were
there, taking it all as innocently as puppies
take it when their mother does tricks for a
piece of cake. Mrs. Merchant, as good as
gold, had another stall of mats, and I helped
between her and Mrs. Cambridge. Our
marchioness (I forget who she was) didn't
turn up either ; and Mrs. Merchant had
Lady Lacey, who is a Quaker and wouldn't
283
hurt a fly, so none of us had to pretend to
be tired, or deaf, or immoral, or any of the
things that Mrs. County and the others
were playing at.
I think that the natives would have been
amused if they had seen who bought their
things, and why. Of course the Millport
ladies are very, very kind ; you must never
lose sight of that for a moment. They have
all or most of them, at any rate " come
through " a good lot themselves in the way
of ordinary domestic care. They live nearer
to the workings of their houses than one
would suppose from their wealth. They
keep comparatively few servants, and those
they have stand in a very human relation to
their masters. The angry butlers and huffy
parlourmaids, who are so confident about
what is " done in the best houses," are often
quite as devoted as any aged Highland
retainer to be found in literature. This
means that the Bushytails and Countys, if
they would only leave off being so absurd,
have lots of stuffing in them. It is the non-
284
sense on the top of the stuffing that makes
Mrs. Bushytail look so tight. I have wan-
dered off from what I meant to say, which
was that they have great sympathy with any
form of work, and they were really much
keener about the natives than were most
of the marchionesses, who, on the whole,
looked as if all they asked was to be taken
" back to Dixie " and their illicit unions.
Most likely they are all as virtuous as
Penelope, and the loose-living, passionate
doll expression that they all have is as much
a pose with them as it is with Mrs. County
when she imitates it. I have seen really
good young girls do it right up to a tennis-
net, until they became busy and forgot.
We all did a roaring trade. Mrs. Cam-
bridge made up for her lack of a marchioness
by her own talent for making people do
what she wants. You know the sort of old
wretches who haunt bazaars ? I do not
know whether the number of them accounts
for the bulk of the money raised, or whether
they are more nuisance than they are
285
financially worth. It is certain that they
don't spend much individually. But then a
horde of locusts lay a field bare very quickly ;
so, owing to their numbers, they may be
valuable, though I have grave doubts. Any-
how, you know them, don't you ? With
long lines down the sides of their mouths,
and snuffy green coats and skirts, and hats
like one's morning tea-tray, with one cup,
a little jug, and some bread-and-butter on it.
Mrs. Cambridge catches them with her eye,
and then begins to arrange the most offensive
things on her stall. The prey she intends
to catch always loves any appliances for
discomfort : cosies to make the good tea
strong and bitter and horrible ; or useless
objects with a picture of a detestable cock
making noises to wake every one up ; or
garments but we can't go into that. These
old ladies make me shiver and feel grey, like
an eclipse of the sun does ; and I remember
all sorts of depressing things, such as hair in
brushes. They seem to bring these sugges-
tions with them, and to be searching for
286
horrors. They are the scavengers of every
bazaar, and are really a very morbid class, I
believe.
Myself I can do nothing with them, but
Mrs. Cambridge is as impervious to senti-
ment as they are, and equally obstinate ; and
having her mental powers in more efficient
order than theirs, she generally gets rid of
more than they intended to buy and they
have to be nice about it, too, or they don't
get the things.
I enjoyed seeing Lady Claneustrigge, at
the next stall, in the grip of one of these
scavengers. The wretch had been to us for
toast-warmers (I think she called them), and
we had not got any.
" Toast-warmers ? " said Lady Claneus-
trigge helplessly, looking about her. " Have
we any toast-warmers, Mrs. Trotter ? "
Mrs. Ritz-Trotter hurried up, all smiles,
and took possession of Mrs. Cambridge's
lost prey.
" No, I am afraid not," she said ; " I
don't think that the natives, you see, use so
287
much toast as we do. They live on a
peculiar sort of bread which they carry
next the skin, in these bags aren't they
quaint ? Two-and-six. Not at all dear,
are they ? "
The prey waved her aside without cere-
mony, and ran her experienced, mauve eyes
up and down Lady Claneustrigge in silence
the sort of
silence there is at
whist.
" Have you any
handkerchief-
shams?" she
asked at last.
Lady Claneu-
strigge backed
nervously down
the stall, and then
lost her head altogether. " This is it, isn't
it ? " she stammered, shaking out a yellow
table-centre embroidered in shells. " They
work beautifully, don't they ? " she added,
with a smile of obvious fear and mistrust.
288
" It is quite worth helping them, isn't it,
to make such lovely things ? It is such a
splendid industry."
" I said handkerchief-shams," said the
prey in her flat, patient tone, " that's a
table-centre ; my table wouldn't hold that."
" It wouldn't do for a wedding present
for Lizzie, would it, auntie ? " whispered a
kindly girl who came with her.
" Wouldn't stand wear," said the prey
tersely.
" I am afraid we have none of those
things just now," Mrs. Ritz-Trotter said,
throwing a protecting arm across Lady
Claneustrigge, who looked on the verge of
tears under this inexplicable form of torture.
" You see, in those hot countries the natives
take such light breakfasts of fruit, and so
on, that they hardly understand our home
comforts. But I expect they could easily
be taught to make them, couldn't they,
Lady Claneustrigge ? "
A grateful nod and incoherent assurances.
You must remember that the mauve eyes
T 289
had never ceased their travelling, up and
down, up and down, taking in every detail ;
sucking it in, absorbing every knot, every
jewel, as though it were some harmful,
irresistible drug.
" I'll take one of those," she said at last,
pointing to a small purse of shells marked
one-and-ninepence. I know, as surely as
a mother knows what a baby will do with a
pot of jam, that the woman took the purse
home and put it on the dressing-table of her
spare room, and that her frost-bitten guests
put hair in it on every day of their critical,
ungrateful visits.
" Very tahrsome, isn't it, explaining to
those sort of people ? " was apparently the
last word that Mrs. County would ever have
the energy to pronounce, as she passed our
stall with the preoccupation of a woman of
ten thousand worlds.
I wonder how I shall paint Mrs. Merchant
to-morrow. She wants me to do a thing in
a white satin evening dress, sitting on a sofa,
or standing up near a doorway, or just
290
looking intelligent and ladylike on canvas,
with a dark background and a light forehead.
I can't paint her as I should like at the head
of a breakfast table, feeding all the little
Merchants with Force out of a packet with
the label on, or in a nightgown and a fur
coat, with her hair down, and flames all
over the back of the picture.
She has a beautiful character, and if only
they had not frightened her as a little girl,
no one could have been more charming.
They began by telling her how easily
shocked the angels were, and that there
could be no moments of indulgence in moral
carpet slippers and dressing-gown, because
the angels never went down (or up) for
meals, or even to fetch a handkerchief.
They were " there all the while," like the
gentleman at the famous siege, and they
were shocked if children did practically
anything that their elders do. Later in life
the bogy held over her head was what
" people " would say. The angels appa-
rently don't concern themselves with any
291
one over half-fare age. When she turned
twelve they dropped off, and that vague
creature " people " took on the job. You
can imagine " people " buttoning on his
uniform and taking over the name, age, and
previous record of the young sufferer. Do
you remember how you exploded the idea
of " people " when we were at school ?
You walked down
a whole street
with your tongue
out, and I ate
peas with my
\ p knife at a res-
Jj \k taurant, and no
one said anything.
You went home
and told your mother that if " people "
were ever going to say anything, now was
the time to do it, and you didn't believe
that there were any " people " at all.
Mrs. Merchant still " goes by what people
say " a good deal, and I sometimes find it
difficult to talk to her on this account.
292
There is a " people " deposit left on her
mind, which has to be scraped off before
one can see what she is like. She and her
husband came to supper at the Cambridges'
last Sunday, and after supper, when the men
were downstairs smoking, we got on the
subject of religion.
In that respect Mrs. Merchant does not
altogether " go by what people say." She
goes by it for a time, and gets over a good
many difficult bits with its assistance, but
when it comes to plain ethics she does as
she likes.
" I don't think that bazaars are very
nice, do you ? " she asked Mrs. Cambridge.
" People seem to like them very much, but
I think it would be nicer if we all sent the
money to the Archipelago if they really
want it there, or if the natives' work were
introduced at some shop we could buy it if
we wanted to. People did stare so at the
stall holders, didn't they ? "
This gave me an idea. Suppose that
" people," who say all the horrible things
293
that frighten us, are the ghoulish ladies
who buy receptacles for hair ! Suppose that
they go about dressed like that because they
are detectives (if you come to think of it
they never look as if they had any legiti-
mate business of their own to mind), and
that after a visit from one of them this or
that information " gets about," " people are
saying it," etc. If I had thought for a
moment when I was at the bazaar that I
had run down my lifelong enemy, I should
have taken a revolver and sacrificed myself
for the good of humanity by shooting the lot
of them dead and taking the consequences.
Then those two got on ethics in general.
Mrs. Cambridge never goes by what people
say, but she seems to incorporate their re-
marks with her own experience, and out
of the two together makes a very service-
able guide which takes her down paths
pleasant to herself and agreeable to her
neighbours.
" Oh, I think most likely the Old Testa-
ment is true," I heard Mrs. Merchant
294
saying when next I caught them up. " At
least people say that it is all quite possible
if you think what conjurers do and the East
and all that : and even part of the New as
well, it is possible " but that was getting
a little uncomfortable, and her voice died
away in a self-reproving silence. " But I
think," she went on with apparent irrele-
vance, " that the clergy might be more strict
in how they teach us to behave ; they are
a little vague, don't you think ? " " I don't
think they know themselves what they
want," was Mrs. Cambridge's opinion.
" Oh, don't you ? Perhaps that is it,"
said my dear innocent. " I am quite sure that
if instead of taking the text we had to-day,
4 And Israel set Hers in wait round about
Gibeah,' and just telling us that we ought
to take a strong line against slackness in the
education of our children if, instead, they
had said to us, ' You mustn't be hypocrites
with your children and pretend that God
makes one law for you and another for
them '"
295
" That we have the entree to heaven, in
fact, while they have to go round by the
front and take the risk of being turned
back," suggested Mrs. Cambridge.
" And if they had said, ' You must stop
that everlasting talk about what other people
ought to do, either as regards your children
or your friends, and you must forget your-
self when you want to be nice to people,
and remember yourself when you want to
be nasty to them ' '
This was too much for Mrs. Cambridge ;
it made her laugh, and Mrs. Merchant began
to drink her coffee, which was quite cold,
and the men came upstairs. Mrs. Cam-
bridge, who is devoted to Mrs. Merchant,
gave their husbands an outline of what had
been going on. They took it up, but we
had to stop them almost at once, because
they left the nice personal line and began
philosophizing and generalizing. It made
us all yawn and get tired about the eyes.
If they had really let themselves go and had
told us what frauds public men are, and
296
what their platform tears amount to in
private, or if they had given us practical
instances, in strict confidence (we were all
among friends), it would have been so
pleasant. But you never can bring men
down to facts. Their conversation is a
perpetual vague laying down of the law for
everybody, and never following it by any-
body year in and year out. I like getting
at people individually, and then offering
myself for a jab in return, don't you ?
Yours ever,
GEORGINA.
297
CHAPTER XIX
" LONGMOOR," MlLLPORT.
MY DEAR LOUISE, We havej ust come
back from a wedding; the wedding
of Miss Darling and Mr. Friseur.
You remember, he is the young man I told
you about at the first dinner-party. It seems
such a long time ago since I first came here
portrait-painting. I am getting so fond of
them all that I believe I shall think you
rather drunk and disorderly when I come
back. The extraordinary innocence of every
one amazes me. Most of them are as good
as gold (nice refined gold with enough alloy
in it to stand hard wear, and really quite
good enough for all one wants). Perhaps
they are innocent because they live within
a short distance of the country, which makes
them healthy and not morbidly civilized,
and on the other hand, rumours of the
Court and fashion filter through to them
298
quite rapidly, which prevents them from
relapsing easily into bucolic vices.
Miss Darling's wedding was about as flat
and comfortable and sensible a proceeding
as you could well imagine. No passion in
it to lead to possible disappointment and
disaster ; no marrying for money or posi-
tion, as they are both already comfortably
seated on the top branch of their social tree,
and both have about the same amount of
money, enough for perfect ease and to cover
sudden emergencies, but not enough to lead
to riotous living. Miss Darling loves every-
body, so it is not likely that she will leave
out her husband. Mr. Friseur loves himself
chiefly, therefore, having chosen a wife,
there is nothing to tempt him to ask for
any other lady. If you like gooseberry-fool
better than any other dish and are already
eating gooseberry-fool, you don't bother
about the relative value of the other dishes
on the table. You may need a biscuit of
some sort to bring out the flavour of your
choice, and Mr. Friseur has chosen Miss
299
Darling to be his biscuit, so that he may
enjoy himself more. But the other women
may leave the world so far as he is con-
cerned ; his interest in the meal is at an
end.
We had an early lunch, and got off after-
wards in a great hurry. The coffee was late
and too hot to drink. Our hair did not go
so well as it did the last time we wore the
same hat, and our gloves were a little tight,
which made us flushed. It is only at a
wedding that these contretemps happen ; one
can get to any other sort of party quite
calmly. It is all such a self-conscious cere-
mony from beginning to end. The crowd
by the awning leading to the church seems
to have one gigantic eye fixed on the first
leg one puts to the ground in getting out of
the motor. When it is a motor I can just
bear the ordeal, as the step is broad and low,
but when I have to shuffle out of a cab,
and hit just the right spot on which to
plant my toe, the eye of the crowd slays my
ease for the rest of the day. " Eh, look !
300
g 8
h'm " says the eye, and off I go up the red
carpet, thoroughly flushed, and with my
dress up to the knees on one side and a tail
of chiffon dragging in the mud at the other.
I find this out when I get home, and the
mark always shows afterwards. The church,
again, is all eyes. Every one has been there
for hours, in a state of acute observation.
The young gentlemen with shiny hair and
buttonholes don't mind this much. Boys
are more or less uncomfortable anywhere in
society, and have to be brave about it, so
this is not worse than any ordinary party.
Besides, it takes them all their time to re-
member the things they have been told to
do ; to see that the right people get seats
beyond the cord, and so on. We were just
short of the cord and in a perfect nest of
acquaintances. I saw Mrs. Bushytail and
Mrs. County, and Mrs. Cambridge was
tucked away comfortably under the lee of
the mammoth, who sat down upon me that
afternoon I told you about. The brazen
serpent was also there, looking about her
301
through a lorgnette. She is very religious,
and therefore behaves in a church as if she
were very much at home, and could sit in
all the pews at once if she liked. She
reminds me of a person one always meets on
a sea voyage, who wears a yachting cap
and examines the wheel and the barometer,
and counts the knots at breakfast. I once
met one who was seasick, and I was so
pleased. I should love it if an angel came
into the church and didn't recognize the
brazen serpent, and she had to explain who
she was. She was taking charge of the
whole wedding. I wish I had been sitting
next to her ! I should have tried to put on
a face like G. P. Huntley's, and drawled,
" Oh, that's the bride, is it ? What'll they
do with her, now ? Oh, do they ? Very
nice, yes. Who's the old fellow dressed up
in calico, what ? Vicar Ah, quite so, yes,
very nice. Cuts the cake and finds a ring
and a sixpence in it, doesn't he ? Yaas,
thanks what a lot you know about it ! "
Miss Darling is, as I have told you, a
302
velvet-hearted creature, and no doubt the life
she is to lead will give her more opportunity
of cultivating her good qualities than if she
were marrying any one with intelligence
enough to be a connoisseur in velvet. Mr.
Friseur will know how to keep himself
warm with the velvet, but that is all ; he
cares nothing for quality or light and shade.
Bridesmaids always look their worst, don't
they ? whereas brides just look queer. Very
often brides are persons rarely visited by
emotion. But on that day they have an idea
that emotion is not only natural, but neces-
sary ; it would be an opportunity missed if
they did not have some then. So they
either fish a little out of the pockets of
their own consciousness, or they borrow
some from friends and relations, who are all
ready to contribute for the occasion. "It
is quite right that dear Emily should be
upset," they say ; so dear Emily manages
somehow to get a little upset, and looks it,
and the guests revel in her indisposition.
Her red nose and trembling hand have the
303
same luscious, nutritive quality for the wed-
ding-guests as the implements of a murder
or other work of the emotions have for the
unemployed. People who are themselves
sensitive to the varying weather of the
passions are usually eager to keep those
whom they love as warm and sheltered as
may be when a storm threatens, but those
who habitually lead the sheltered life like
nothing better than to stare out of the win-
dows at their friends who are being buffeted
about in the gale.
Miss Darling, however, was not out in
any storm. She walked to the altar as to a
new plateau in an altogether agreeable
country, where her Friseur figures as a
picturesque object for the devotion which
she lavishes on every human creature within
her reach. He will need to beat her very
hard indeed before she takes a dislike to
him. But to go back to the bridesmaids.
They were not queer, like the bride ; they
were just sticky, and they were suffering as
we had suffered about our hair. I don't
34
g 8 o^g
know which of them were the worst those
who had done their own hair with trembling
fingers, or those who had got in a man and
had it waved. They were as solemn and
self-conscious as a stuffed owl that tries to
look natural with its foot on a real egg
which has, unfortunately, been blown pre-
viously. Miss Darling's awful father (as
they described him
in the hymn, with
unnecessary rude-
ness, I thought)
looked really detest-
able in a white
waistcoat and spats,
and a pink skin
head. Men, when
they get to that age, look so much better if
they have been exposed to the weather a good
deal. I should think that Mr. Darling had
been kept too warm, and given too soft food.
All the slyness and cupidity and harshness,
which may be quite dignified when they form
a horny skin over a heart full of natural fire,
u 35
are in his case just spongy and unpleasant
indications of general rottenness. I don't
think that Miss Darling has a mother, but
the bridegroom's was there a bad woman,
I should think, from the look of her : thick-
skinned, over-dressed, and with short legs,
which are always a sign of doubtful virtue.
I don't think that her son drinks ; in fact, I
am sure he does not ; but she is the type of
woman who schemes indefatigably to find
a good young girl to marry her drunken
blackguard of a son in the hope of keeping
him straight. The bridegroom looked like
the man who takes the leading part in that
wearisome type of play where the old men
are fossils, the young men are nonentities,
the elder women are saints, and all are mar-
shalled into a ritual of self-revelation by a
girl of eighteen, who has sown some fairly
commonplace wild oats. Well, that is all
over, and they have gone off to the Riviera
to listen to the Voice that breathed o'er
Eden.
I spent the evening helping Mrs. Merchant
306
with the accounts of a ball which she is get-
ting up for her favourite hospital. Wherever
one goes in this town, some one is doing
something for his neighbour, or, rather,
for an organized section of his neighbours.
There is any amount of kindness to be had,
but very little pleasure. There are parties
any number of parties for all classes of
society (the kind creatures give parties for
the poor and for themselves), where the only
practical difference is in the quality of the
refreshments ; but I have seen very little
happiness since I came. People like every-
thing very much, and it is all most enjoyable,
but I have not seen any one make any attempt
to jump over the moon. In fact, if a scheme
were got up for hoisting the public over the
moon, a good many would take advantage of
it. And then, by and by, the lift would get
crowded with the wrong sort of people,
who smell and make a noise, so the parties
would be discontinued. Probably by that
time some bright spirit would have begun
prganizing trips to hell, and it would be so
37
interesting getting special asbestos clothes to
wear going down.
Last week I went with Mrs. Merchant to
her hospital. It was her day for visiting
there, and we also met Mrs. Bushytail going
her rounds. She looked tremendously fat
fatter than usual and was simply all over
the place as regarded management.
" Well, now, how are you getting on,
Mrs. Tibby ?" I heard her ask at one bed-
side.
Poor Mrs. Tibby looked at death's door,
but I believe she had a lurking instinct that
it would be as much as her place in bed was
worth if she were not found to be getting
on nicely, so she made a weak profession of
well-being, and lay patiently awaiting what
might come.
" That's capital ! " said Mrs. Bushytail.
" Capital ! Such a pleasant day, isn't it ? "
Mrs. Tibby, who, by the way, had been
taken to pieces like a clock only a day or
two before, would, I think, have privately
described the day as something a little short
of pleasant ; but you never know. I have
met before now Mrs. Tibbys who found
pleasure in sermons, in strong tea with sugar
in it, in a visit
from a lady, in a
crochet petticoat,
in all sorts of
queer things,
in fact, so per-
haps she found
disintegration
pleasant.
"We all have
to be thankful if we
ma'am," she observed.
" Quite so," agreed Mrs. Bushytail. " And
you are going to have yours now, Mrs.
Tibby, and go back to your dear husband,
and be able to take up all your duties again
as fresh as ever. I never feel half myself if
I can't get about and attend to my house,
and I'm sure you feel the same."
I had a private vision of Mr. Tibby as the
forlorn husband trying to decide whether
39
have
the herring should be made into a souffle, or
served on toast as a savoury in the evening,
or, perhaps, remembering to speak to the
milkman, and write to the rent-collector.
It would be a nice little occupation for Mrs.
Tibby to take over the household again.
These little tasks prevent us from dwelling
on ourselves.
" And what are you going to do when
you come out ? " my fat friend asked a
young girl with a deformed body and a face
like clay. " You must look on the bright
side, and not think of yourself, you know,
or you will never get well."
The girl smiled a feeble smile and
twiddled the bedclothes.
" There's plenty of work to be got," the
excellent lady continued, " if you apply in
the right quarter. Everything is so splen-
didly managed nowadays that nobody need
be out of work if they don't want to. And
it will be delightful won't it ? to think
you are earning your own living and putting
by a little for a rainy day. The great thing
3 10
is to be thrifty and avoid spending money
on things you don't want. I am sure you
must be very grateful for all the care that
has been taken of you in this terrible illness.
Yes, I am sure you are ; that's right.
Always be grateful and happy, and you will
never want. Now I am going to leave
these flowers just where you can see them,
and then I must be off. There are so
many poor things like you, you know,
who have to be cheered up. Good-bye
good-bye, Mrs. Tibby. Hope you will
have a splendid night and be about again
directly."
I was so entranced by Mrs. Bushytail's
vigour and excellence that I forgot about
Mrs. Merchant, who had in the meantime
been quietly rambling through the wards,
timidly passing the time for the patients
one by one. She is not a vital person, and
she is very shy, but they watched her with
the idle, restful pleasure which, when one is
ill, a cat performing its simple toilet may
afford without raising one's temperature.
3 11
I was left to my own resources, and felt
most grateful when a thin, wiry little woman
addressed me from the end bed.
" Nice change in the weather, isn't it,
Miss ? " she said.
We exchanged a few comments on the
uncertain habits of the sun, and then she
said, with considerable feeling, " My ! I'll
be glad to be about again. I'll be out next
week if all's well, and I'm just going to
enjoy meself a bit."
" How ? " I asked.
" I'll be out a bit of an evening and get
to one of the 'alls, perhaps. Do you care
for them places, Miss ? "
" I love them," I assured her, feeling as if
a great weight of care had been lifted from
my chest. " Bert Hoskyn is coming this
week, I know, and I wish I were going to
see him."
" Is he, indeed, Miss ? " she said politely.
" I don't know his name exactly, but there's
many of them that's grand. I'll take a
good look round next week, and maybe see
312
the one you mention. You do get a bit
down-'earted lyin' 'ere with nothing to
think of all day, without it's the nurses or
the food or your own inside. I'd show you
the place, and welcome, where they stitched
me up, Miss, but maybe nurse wouldn't
like it."
" No," I said, " I am sure she wouldn't
like you to disturb it ; but you must show
me some other time, if I meet you
again."
" That I will, Miss," she promised
heartily. " Any time you're passing. Do
you come far from 'ere ? "
Mrs. Merchant took me home before our
conversation got more interesting, but I
came away refreshed and with a feeling that
pleasure is not dead as I had suspected during
the last few weeks. After all, pleasure to be
any good must be something that sprouts in
one's own senses, and may be called to life
by anything. The Millport idea of it is
something of which you buy from a pur-
veyor as much as you can afford, and
313
then you pour it over yourself and other
people. It rather deadens the spontaneous
kind.
Good-bye,
Yours ever,
GEORGINA.
3H
CHAPTER XX
" L.ONGMOOR," MlLLPORT.
MY DEAR LOUISE, This day week
will see me back. The portraits
are finished. I huddled them all
on to one canvas at last all, at least, except
papa. The children would not sit still
without mamma, and mamma had a sort
of unemployed, forcible idleness look about
her without the children, so there they
are. I won't bore you by telling you any
more about the pictures. I have told you
about the people themselves, and if you
don't see their portraits in your mind's eye
it is owing to your slowness in the uptake.
My last experience in Millport has amused
me as much as any. I had a whole day with
Mrs. County, and I have not yet quite got
back my power of moving naturally. Mrs.
Merchant had to go last week to the other
end of Cheddar to do some good work or
other sit on a Board or in a Chair, or
something and suggested that I should go
with her for the run. Mrs. County, who,
by the way, lives farther away than I
thought, would give me luncheon, and had
asked me to stay until the car picked me up
again on its way home.
We motored miles and miles through
something that certainly is not country,
though neither is it town, sea, desert, or
icefloe. Perhaps it is just arable land ; I
had not thought of that before. It looks
like acres of brown paper, slightly wrinkled,
and marked into irregular shapes by lines of
the mixed rubbish that a bird makes its nest
of. The dusty road runs alongside of these
lines of dusty twigs and straw and rags, and
every few minutes we passed a house built
either of red brick or of that white mud that
has had gravel thrown at it. Exasperating
houses, planned often in imitation of a farm-
house with some cut about it, only, unfor-
tunately, the builders have copied all the
details and left out all the point. Any
details they liked have been exaggerated,
316
such as sloping roofs, odd levels, incon-
venient entrances. These houses are the
nurseries of Millport. Here the married
sons and daughters live after they have left
papa's luxurious nest on the outskirts of his
business, and before they have developed
into full-blown county specimens, with a
hunting stable and the supreme terror of all
forms of discomfort, mental and physical.
In the eye of God I believe the last state
of that man to be worse than the first, and
that the middle state partakes of the vices
and virtues of both. Papa is often self-
made, but whether he has made himself
bad or good, still he has done it in the way
he likes, and often in fighting other people
he develops a flair for sincerity like that of
a pig for truffles. The young people in the
nurseries, having papa's enthusiasm for pro-
gress without his gouty rigidity, are some-
times a little priggish, but more often they
are generous and amusing. They have a
great many babies, and work hard and keep
young a long time. Apollyon waits for
3'7
them farther afield. If they escape his
clutches they may come out top among the
angels, but he manages to catch quite
enough of them to keep him strong and
active. When he catches them he imbues
them with an almighty terror of the word
" it." They become " it's " slave. Any trifle
may involve them in the shame of not being
quite " it " (in my mother's time people
called it "the thing"), and yet no one can
tell them where " it " lurks ; every one has
to find out for himself. " In the sweat of thy
brow shalt thou find ' it,' " says Apollyon, and
they never know a moment's peace after that.
I was left for a few minutes alone in the
drawing-room before Mrs. County came
down. Her drawing-room is pretty, and
smells delicious. No human being could
work, or, I should think, live, in a room
like that, but it is as pretty as a skilful
conjuring trick. If one looked carefully at
any detail of it, its charm was gone. I
could imagine any number of cats feeling
at home in it, because all its chairs are
3-8
luxurious, and, apart from bodily luxury, a
cat's whole creed is negation and denial.
Presently the door opened and a lovely
creature came in. The butler looked round
the room and said : " Mrs. County will be
down directly, ma'am." She was just like
Mrs. County, except that all her features
turned a little down instead of a little up.
Even her eyelids were nearly closed, whereas
Mrs. County's are nearly always turned up,
with an appealing expression, as though she
were about to join the angels but was too
tired to make the first move.
I find it so difficult to observe by-laws,
such as ignoring people unless one knows
them. I should have chatted to this weary
Wilhelmina if I had thought that there was
a chance of her answering, but I had an
instinct that she would partially raise one
eyelid at me and pretend to be either a
dying empress or a virtuous barmaid accosted
in Piccadilly under a misapprehension. I
therefore looked down my nose too, and said
nothing.
3 1 ?
Mrs. County, of course, introduced us
when she came down. The other one's
name was really Mrs. Smith, and that
in itself is disguise enough, so I need
not invent one for her. She had a deep,
rich voice, full of good food and the health
which comes from taking plenty of exercise,
and letting every one else do everything
except what every one wants to do. That
you make haste to
do yourself, with
carefully concealed
greed.
They were very
entertaining.
First they licked
one another all
over " Darling,
such a lovely hat !
m'm m'm. You do always manage to get
hold of such wonderful things ! " Then
one or other got a little playful pat on the
ear " Tours, darling ; he never was mine ;
nothing to do with me. I'm absolutely out
320
of it." Then a swift retreat " Lola ought to
be more careful, shouldn't she ? I mean, it's
too pitiful running after any one like that ! "
We went in to lunch, and they purred
together over the good food. Now and then
they left for a moment their absorbing occu-
pation of the preliminaries of battle while
they took a detour round me. They had to
do this for the sake of politeness, but they
were both quite pleased to prolong their
delights by a little diversion in between.
Mrs. County brought Mrs. Merchant's name
in her mouth, and laid it before us as a morsel
to worry. Being, more or less, in charge of
it for the moment, I was able to slip it into
my pocket and substitute a mixed variety of
their Millport acquaintances. All of these
they pretended to know in the slightest
possible degree, they having now crossed the
Rubicon between Millport and the County,
and burned their sauce-boats (you know,
don't you, that this is the great ketchup
country ? You pass whole fields of it when
you come through by train),
x 321
" Funny little place, Millport, isn't it ? "
said Mrs. Smith. " I never could stand it
when I was there. We're having a party of
natives next week ; will you come, Rita,
and help ? I shan't know what to do with
them."
" What sort of natives ? " asked Mrs.
County.
" Oh, you know the freaks Sam collects
in Millport. He says we should not have
any money if we weren't civil to them."
" It gives one such an insight into what
the King and Queen must feel at Drawing-
rooms, doesn't it ? " I suggested.
" I don't quite see what you mean," Mrs.
Smith said, screwing up her eyes at me with
elaborate attention. I explained that my
cook's sister was lady's maid to one of the
Queen's ladies-in-waiting, and that she used
to describe the fun that was often made,
behind the scenes, of some of us middle-
class people who go to the Drawing-rooms.
Of course, they never suggested that the
King and Queen made fun of their subjects
322
for, naturally, they wouldn't ; but some
of those quite near the Throne did some-
times.
" You get all the best of
the fun here," I added,
" because you see it from
both points of view. Of
course, the class below ours
get it when they snub the
tradespeople and then get
snubbed by us ; but the top
dogs can only get one side
of it all the time, until,
perhaps, they go to heaven.
Do you think that the
Beasts who are described in the Book of
Revelation will snub the ladies-in-waiting
then ? "
" I don't know, I'm sure," said Mrs. Smith
coldly.
Mrs. County giggled, and, I thought,
looked gratefully at me, as if I had been
trying to score a point for her, which really
hadn't entered my mind. I was pursuing
3 2 3
my own thoughts entirely. A great many
people came over for tennis in the afternoon.
Such a lot of cackling went on, but very
languid cackling, like sick hens. At first
it all seemed to consist of, " Now then,
Hartley ! Here, Lola ! Where's Bob ?
Teddy, have you got the balls ? Will you
take Emma ? All right, take Lola then ; it
doesn't matter which. Now then, Bob !
Where's Hartley ? Lola, have you got the
balls ? Here, Teddy ! " And then the same
all mixed up again in a different way. But
by and by, when they began to play, I be-
came conscious again of the awful, cold
shadow of fear that seems always upon
them. Fear of losing some man's allegiance.
Fear of a husband discovering that a man's
allegiance is coveted. Fear of all their
friends not knowing that there is any man's
allegiance for the husband to be prevented
from discovering. Fear that there may be
allegiance of greater social value which is
being offered to some one else. Their life
is like that fatiguing game called Demon
3 2 4
Patience, where everybody tries to be the
first to put the next card on six different
heaps at once. I felt that Mrs. County and
Mrs. Smith, and all the rest of them, were
watching with the most practised rapidity
of glance to see where a rival was going to
plant a new dernier en, whether in clothes,
tricks of speech, paramours, or accomplish-
ments of any kind. I longed to become a
Yogi : to turn in my tongue, and sit motion-
less under a tree for a thousand hours and
observe the slow processes of Nature.
When Mrs. Merchant came to fetch me
I could have thrown myself into her arms.
She is as simple as the day, and as dull
as ditch-water (a clean ditch with clear
water in it and rare ferns growing on the
banks), and as pretty as a picture (a chromo-
lithograph of an amiable and beautiful lady),
and as wise as an owl which knows that
the tree it lives in is hollow and prefers
it that way, and as harmless as a dove
whom I have been brutally making into
pigeon-pie for your delight, but really that
3 2 5
you may the better appreciate her full use
and beauty. I should like to explain this
to her if there were any chance of her ever
coming across these letters ; to tell her that
we love
First when we see them roasted, biras we
have passed
Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see.
We left Hartley and Emma and Lola and
all of them hard at work, evaporating
metabolizing rather than playing or doing
anything else. Their existence seems to be
continued by a succession of little explo-
sions, when they leave off one habit and
begin another. Some one, I suppose Mrs.
County, had been rash enough to tell them
that I belong to the professional classes.
That set them off exploding like little
bombs all round. " By Jove ! " "You don't
say so ! " " Dear me ! " " Artists and those
queer kind of beggars ! " " Ever meet So-
and-so ? He painted my missis and we
had the time of our lives," etc.
326
g s o ^ g 1 3\Off s ^ o
Have you ever, in a big hotel where an
orchestra played after dinner, noticed the
faces listening to the music ? Sometimes in
those orchestras there are men who can
play. I have seen some of our brothers
saying in their inner consciousness, and
almost unknown to the part of their minds
which they are
using at the
moment, " Queer
beggars, by Jove !
makin* chunes and
fiddlin' away there.
Curious sort of life
it must be workin'
a stick up and
down on a string
made out of some
por brute's inside ! wonderful how they
manage to keep it up La da, da de da,
pretty little thing that. Tomkins is a deuced
shrewd feller the way he handledtithat con-
tract " and their thoughts go wandering off
again. So I have wandered off myself; but
3 2 7
this pigeon-holing of people is a habit I have
learned here for the first time. I never knew
before how much you and I pigeon-holed
merchants and their kind as miserly and
uneducated persons, just as they pigeon-hole
us as queer beggars with eccentric hair and
polygamous habits. When we got home I
explained all this to Mr. Merchant, and we
spent an evening of vigorous discussion.
He rolled me over, so to speak (I have
got into the way of explaining all forms of
hyperbole), and trampled on me.
" What you long-haired chaps don't see "
he began.
" Now, if I am to stop calling you and
your friends fat you must stop calling mine
long-haired," I interrupted.
" Very well," he agreed, " but what you
and your friends don't see is that there
must be different kinds of people to keep
things going. You can't have every one
alike."
" God forbid ! >: I said, " no one ever
suggested it."
328
" Now suppose one of your long-haired
friends came into my office "
" Yes," I said, " or suppose one of your
fat friends came into my studio "
"Just so," he replied. " Well, they'd both
be fish out of water, wouldn't they ? "
" In a state of chaos," I explained,
" animals, birds, fishes and so on lived
together, and such as could not agree ate
each other in silence. Later in history
they became civilized and masqueraded in
one another's skins, and we are led to hope
that, by and by, the lion will lie down with
the lamb, and the merchant and the cocka-
trice "
The angry butler came in just then and
Mrs. Merchant gave a slight cough and
frowned at me, so we never finished our
discussion. I shall be sorry to leave them.
Good-bye,
Yours ever,
GEORGINA.
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